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When we talk about police reform, we usually talk about body cameras, policies, accountability, or use of force. Those are important discussions, but I think we're missing something much more fundamental.

What if one of the biggest police reform issues isn't what officers do?

What if it's whether they're physically capable of doing the job in the first place?

Let's be honest about what police work actually is.

A police officer may spend most of his shift writing reports, answering calls, directing traffic, or talking to people. But that's not what defines the profession.

The profession is defined by what happens on the worst day.

It's defined by the foot pursuit.

It's defined by the fight.

It's defined by dragging someone out of a wrecked car.

It's defined by wrestling with a violent suspect who has no intention of going peacefully.

It's defined by sprinting across a parking lot, climbing a fence, jumping a ditch, and then making good decisions while your heart rate is 180 beats per minute.

And while you're doing all that, you're carrying somewhere around forty pounds of equipment.

Body armor.

Firearm.

Extra magazines.

Radio.

Handcuffs.

Taser.

Medical gear.

Flashlight.

Everything that comes on a modern duty belt.

Think about that for a second.

We ask officers to perform athletic feats while carrying the equivalent of a loaded backpack.

In almost any other profession we would recognize that reality immediately.

If I described someone whose job required running, fighting, climbing, carrying weight, making split-second decisions under stress, and performing in front of the public, most people would assume I was talking about a professional athlete.

But for some reason we don't treat police officers like professional athletes.

We expect athletic performance without athletic preparation.

And that wasn't always the case.

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It was poker night. Once a month the shift would get together and play poker. It rotated from house to house and this time it was my turn. My living room was crowded with about a dozen people. Eight of us were playing at the table and I was tucked back in against the wall. We were all drinking and having fun.

Cory stops bye. He liked to be the life of the party so when he came in it was high fives and greetings all around. Now Cory was a young officer, only been on the department for a little over a year or so, but I had known him for a couple of years already while he went to college and the IU police program. Back in those days he was cocky and that night was no different.

He started making fun of us being drunk, which was true and he said he could grab all the money from the table and take off and we wouldn’t be able to stop him. I called him out right there. I said “If you think you can grab that money and get out the front door before I stop you then go for it, and if you do, it’s all yours.”

Cory just laughed, knowing he was faster than me and I had a whole table between us. All he had to do was grab the money and get out the front door. I could see him measuring it up in his head.

But I had one little piece of information that Cory didn’t. I always…and I mean Always kept my front door locked.

Cory went for it. He grabbed a handful of cash and raced to the front, sure that he was going to make it.

I bounced him off a couple of walls.

[Insert Intro]

I went ahead and told that story because it is Cory’s favorite and he tells it all the time. A seasoned veteran with inside information and a cocky young cop who went on to be an FBI agent.

Cory Grass Graduated from IU in 1996 and worked for the Bloomington Police Department from 1996 – 2002. He then spent he next 20 years with the FBI. First in Miami with the Violent Crimes team and then in Terre Haute Indiana at the federal prison with counter terrorism, finishing up at the Bloomington Indiana office working on counterintelligence and source recruitment.

When I decided to focus on reform I knew I had to have Cory on the show. He is opinionated, outspoken, and really smart.

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I attended the police academy at Indiana University.

At the time, it was one of the only academies outside the Indiana Law Enforcement Academy in Plainfield that the state officially recognized as a full police certification academy.

The program itself was unique. While a full-time student with Indiana University you had to apply for the IU police department. The application process was very similar to getting hired by a police department. If accepted they put you through the complete Indiana Law Enforcement Academy over the summer while you were at IU.

But what really made the academy different was the way we were trained.

Most police academies in America were — and still are — based on a military basic training model. Drill instructors screaming at recruits, constant stress, punishment, collective discipline…You know, a lot of bullshit.

That wasn’t us.

We lived in our own apartments. We showed up for PT at six in the morning, then class at eight. We trained hard, studied hard, and we were treated like adults preparing for a profession instead of recruits surviving boot camp.

And a lot of cops around the state used to joke about it. They called it the ‘Country Club Academy.’

The implication was always the same — that somehow we had it easier.

But over the years, I watched the people who came out of that academy go on to become outstanding police officers, investigators, supervisors, and leaders at all levels of policing from local police chiefs, to sheriffs, to federal officers.

And I started realizing something:

maybe treating recruits like professionals actually produced better professionals.

Maybe teaching officers how to think was more valuable than teaching them how to endure screaming.

Maybe our so-called Country Club was working a whole lot better than the boys club.

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When I decided to talk about police reform I immediately thought of Brad Seifers. I had the pleasure of working extensively with Brad over the years and new that if anyone had solid thoughts on police reform it would be Brad.

Brad recently retired from law enforcement after a 32-year career. He started at the Indiana University Police academy in 1994, then spent over 22 years in municipal policing. He served in every roll from patrol officer to lieutenant of patrol and detectives. He then made the transition back to higher education policing by rejoining the IUPD as a lieutenant. Brad eventually moved up in the ranks to become the deputy superintendent of IUPD which is the position he retired from in January of 2026. Brad slso spent 29 years serving the US Army, retiring with the rank of Command Sergeant Major. That career was predominately in military police.  He also holds a BA in Criminal Justice and a Master of Science in Performance Improvement.

Brad was gracious enough to give us some time.

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Real reform requires honesty.
It requires evidence.
It requires experience.
And most importantly—it requires conversation.

Not lectures.
Not slogans.
And not screaming people into silence.

That’s what this podcast is about.

Not defending bad policing.
Not pretending problems don’t exist.

But talking honestly about what real police reform should actually look like—from the perspective of the people doing the job.

Because for too long, police reform has been happening to officers instead of with them.

And that’s how you end up with bad policy, dangerous policy, and officers who feel abandoned by the very people making decisions about their profession.

This season, we’re going to talk to the people on the street. Patrol officers. Trainers. Detectives. Supervisors. The men and women actually doing the work.

Not because they’re perfect.

But because if you want to reform policing, maybe you should start by listening to the people who actually police.

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https://www.thethinlinerockstation.com/

In October of 2025, I got an email that made me pause for a second. It was from James Hathaway who said that he was one of the owners of The Thin Line Rock Station, an online radio station that was specifically designed for public safety. He had heard my podcast and thought I would have a great voice for their station and would I be interested in being a DJ.

I started doing a little digging and when I typed in The Thin Line Rock Station to my web browser it popped right up. I hit play and found myself listening to a real radio station. Commercials, ads, and DJ’s playing some really good music. A great mix of rock and country.

So, I responded and a week or so later, I was on the air, DJ’ing my first show.

Now for those of you that are hearing about this for the first time you really should take a minute and check it out. The Thin Line Rock Station is a radio station, like any other regular radio station you might listen to, but it’s streamed over the internet. You can listen to it from your computer browser or you can download the app and listen to it from any device.

To explain where the station came from and how it came about here’s a little background straight from the station.

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We find ourselves once again at the end of a season. This caps off Season 6 of Blue Canary and it’s been very interesting. I had been thinking about retirement for a couple of years. Once the greatness of it started to settle and the things you missed started to creep back in past the walls you built telling yourself it was the greatest decision you ever made, reality raised it’s ugly head.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy I am retired. But there are things I miss. I mean really miss.

I miss the people. The officers I got to work with every day. The ones who came to me for guidance. The ones who came to me with problems. And even the ones that came to me when they had screwed up.

I miss the work. Serving the community everyday was fulfilling. I knew what I was doing mattered, even when it didn’t seem like it at the time.

I miss the challenges, having to be sharp, fit, strong, and quick. Pitting yourself against bad guys and trying to solve problems on the fly.

I miss the adrenaline. Sure, that’s the thing you’re not supposed to talk about, but it’s there. They way your heart hammered in your chest when the Oh Shit button got pushed. The feeling you had at the end when you had won.

I miss the identity. I miss being a cop. And everything that comes with that.

When I settled on retirement for this season’s focus it was because I wanted to talk about that thing that had been weighing on me. The lack of support.

I had chatted with fellow retired officers who said they didn’t feel supported. I chatted with my military friends who had vastly different experiences upon retiring. And I did my research, looking for programs, communities, and people to help.

What I found just made it worse.

On a positive note, I am doing the DJ thing every Friday form 8am - Noon on the Thin Line Rock Station. Check it out.

https://www.thethinlinerockstation.com/

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“The Hollow Call” a Halloween Special.

Let’s just add a little more spook to an already spooky tail. 

I received this email from a user who went by Mallory98. The email didn’t have anything in it but this attached story. I tried several times to reach out and get more information, but every time I sent an email it bounced back as an invalid address.

Every time.

Through every email provider

So, I just decided to share it in its entirety.

We will call this one,

"The Hollow Call"

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Jessica Flores served as a police officer and detective in the Kansas City Missouri area, but was forced to retire early due to medical issues. That left her struggling to find purpose and meaning in the post law enforcement world. That all stopped one day when she realized she could help other officers find their purpose after law enforcement.

That’s how Next Shift was founded.

Today Jess runs Next Shift to help coach officers leaving the profession to help them find purpose and community after law enforcement.

Jess was gracious enough to sit down and chat with me for a few minutes about her own experiences and Next Shift.

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When an officer retires, whether it’s after 20, 25, or 30 years, there’s often a handshake, a plaque, maybe a party. Then the uniform goes in the closet, and that’s it. After decades of service—after countless nights on patrol, after seeing humanity at its worst and sometimes at its best—suddenly, you’re just… done.

There’s no transition program. No debrief. No structured counseling. No real roadmap for what comes next.

Contrast that with the military: service members who retire or separate are connected with the VA, with veteran service organizations, with peer support programs. They’re eligible for medical and mental health services for the long term. Whether or not the system is perfect, there is a system. For cops? Not so much.

When it comes to support for retired officers, it’s really a mixed bag.