On the Job author Daniel P. Smith
on Officer Bob Rawa…
Bob Rawa was the first officer I interviewed for On the Job. Within one day of receiving my note asking if he was willing to participate, he called me and directed: “I’m in kid, but only on one condition: you get a picture of me and my dog in the book.” Our conversation took place in his home one week later. For nearly four hours, Bob talked openly to me about his career, his children, his own upbringing on the South Side, and, of course, the K9 unit. He moved from one story to the next with equal splashes of character, color, and comedy.
As I moved through completing On the Job, Bob was a consistent source of knowledge, insight, and, at times, my human Rolodex to all things CPD. It took over three years for On the Job to move from conception onto bookstore shelves and Bob waited longer than anyone, a position that agitated his anxious soul. Nearly every three months I’d get a call: “Hey, when are you making me famous?” was all I heard. I could only appeal to his patience and promise him he’d relish the final product. “And I want a signed copy, too,” he’d always remind me. Sure thing, I told him.
Though Bob passed before seeing On the Job in print, I’m thrilled he survives in black-and-white in these pages. Like all the officers I profile in On the Job, Bob had his human flaws, but remained a man of substance and spirit, passion and purpose. He went out his door each day to do the best he could—and that’s all we can ever—should ever—ask of our officers. I hope my characterization of him serves a fitting, worthy tribute to a man who lived with the dogs, yet—as Bob assured me—never laid down to be one.
on Officer Bob Rawa…
Bob Rawa was the first officer I interviewed for On the Job. Within one day of receiving my note asking if he was willing to participate, he called me and directed: “I’m in kid, but only on one condition: you get a picture of me and my dog in the book.” Our conversation took place in his home one week later. For nearly four hours, Bob talked openly to me about his career, his children, his own upbringing on the South Side, and, of course, the K9 unit. He moved from one story to the next with equal splashes of character, color, and comedy.
As I moved through completing On the Job, Bob was a consistent source of knowledge, insight, and, at times, my human Rolodex to all things CPD. It took over three years for On the Job to move from conception onto bookstore shelves and Bob waited longer than anyone, a position that agitated his anxious soul. Nearly every three months I’d get a call: “Hey, when are you making me famous?” was all I heard. I could only appeal to his patience and promise him he’d relish the final product. “And I want a signed copy, too,” he’d always remind me. Sure thing, I told him.
Though Bob passed before seeing On the Job in print, I’m thrilled he survives in black-and-white in these pages. Like all the officers I profile in On the Job, Bob had his human flaws, but remained a man of substance and spirit, passion and purpose. He went out his door each day to do the best he could—and that’s all we can ever—should ever—ask of our officers. I hope my characterization of him serves a fitting, worthy tribute to a man who lived with the dogs, yet—as Bob assured me—never laid down to be one.
