Some policemen win respect with a deep voice, handcuffs and a gun.
“Officer Doc” won Ocean Ridge with a soft touch, a big smile and a box of Milk Bone dog biscuits.
Win the affection of the residents’ dogs and you’ve won the residents.
Wavell “Doc” Darville did that in Ocean Ridge for more than two decades, so when word came that he would retire, some of those residents gathered on Old Ocean Boulevard for a farewell portrait and a final biscuit.
Hunter, Stephen Schilling’s mini-Doberman, was there, and Buffett, Debbie Brookes’ black poodle. Katie Colleen, the Magruder’s Havanese; Noel, Lynn Allison’s Wheaton terrier. And the golden retrievers, of course — Hemingway and Anni, Sophie and Susie.
By 9 a.m. on Oct. 22, a breezy and sunny Saturday, nearly 30 dogs and their human companions were waiting. Some sat patiently atop Doc’s cruiser — the dogs, that is, not the humans. Others pranced and sniffed at his feet, waiting politely for just one more biscuit — please?
They didn’t bark. They didn’t fight.
“The support Doc’s received is nothing short of amazing,” Police Chief Chris Yannuzzi said that morning. “If there was a way to clone him so all the officers had that level of respect, it would be a boon to the whole profession. Doc was always the lead dog.”
Finally, Doc took his place at the front of the car, surrounded by dogs big and small. The photographer raised his hand for attention, the camera clicked, and the kind of respect a small-town cop with a big heart can earn was captured for posterity.
“I began with the department on April 5, 1991,” he said one recent afternoon, sipping coffee at a Starbuck’s near his Royal Palm Beach home. “And I’m leaving on Oct. 25, 2011, which makes 22 years, six months and 20 days. Not that I’m counting.”
He’s 69 now, ending a career in public service that began on Feb. 10, 1964, when he joined the Palm Beach Fire Department.
He was 22 then, a local boy, born and raised in Riviera Beach when Burton Reynolds was police chief.
“Burt Reynolds’ father gave me rides home, and another one, Officer Morgan — James Morgan,” he recalled. “They knew all the kids’ names, and if you looked like you were going to do something you shouldn’t, they’d say, ‘Want me to take you to your Dad?’ ”
When Palm Beach initiated a rescue team, he took the class, along with some teasing from one old-timer, who started calling him ‘Doctor.’ He’s been “Doc” ever since.
In March 1991, he retired from the fire department after 27 years and became an Ocean Ridge cop 10 days later.
“I’m Officer Doc,” he told the kids in town.
How could you not like a cop named Officer Doc?
“Out of a town of 1,800 people, there were only about five I couldn’t get along with,” he says proudly, “and nobody else could either.”
Officer Doc remembers the woman he handcuffed for beating her husband.
“Leave him alone,” she yelled as the cuffs went on. “Doc’s just doing his job!”
He remembers the drug addict who said, “Thank you for not shooting me.”
He remembers the 5-year-old girl who wandered from home. “I’m lost,” she cried when he found her across the bridge. “I’m lost.” Officer Doc took her home.
And he remembers the dogs.
“They used to tie loose dogs to a tree behind the station and call the pound,” he explained. “So I started carrying dog biscuits, and I could take them home.”
In 1997, he and dispatcher Jeanne Zuidema started the town’s pet registry. Local dogs were given a tag with the Police Department’s phone number on it.
When Ziggy, Lynne McGinn’s lab, got lost at his summer home in Bar Harbor, Maine, a stranger found him, saw the tag and called the Ocean Ridge police. Ziggy came home, too.
So far, the town has registered more than a thousand pets.
“I’ll miss the people,” he said, “the animals and a great career, but I never look back. I’ve also missed an awful lot of holidays with my family in the last 47 years, and I’m not going to miss any more.”
He’ll spend time with Rosemary, his wife of 48 years, and his children, Francine and Nick. But he’s already found a new vocation.
“I’m going to start my own Internet business,” he said, grinning enthusiastically. “I’ve got three exercise videos and a book called Says Who?”
You’re too old.
Says who?
He began studying jujitsu at 57, and entered his first contest at 62. Last November, he and Yannuzzi rode the Miami Dolphins Cycling Challenge, pedaling 100 miles the first day.
“Never say you’re too old or you can’t,” Doc says, “because you’re not, and you can.”
After the formal photograph had been taken that Saturday morning, the humans stepped forward for individual photos of Doc with their pets. He posed graciously, shook hands, accepted their thanks and best wishes. The humans signed a retirement card while the dog sniffed and chatted among themselves.
Earlier, he had summed up the 22 years, six months and 20 days he served the people and pets of Ocean Ridge.
“Instead of giving kids a hard time, I gave them a ride home when it was raining,” he said.
“I got to be like Mr. Morgan.”
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