My professional journey has spanned more than four decades, including thirty years in policing and more than a decade in security, leadership, and public safety. Throughout my career, I have been fortunate to serve in roles that allowed me to support communities, mentor others, respond to complex challenges, and contribute to safer and more respectful environments.

At the heart of that career has been a commitment to values that have guided both my professional and personal life: integrity, service, respect, compassion, accountability, and a belief in the dignity and worth of every individual.

While the responsibilities and environments have changed over the years, those principles have remained constant. Whether working with police officers, university students, community members, international partners, or vulnerable populations, my focus has always been on building trust and serving others.

During my time at Lakehead University, my responsibilities extended beyond the day-to-day operation of Security Services. Over the years, I was invited to participate in Indigenous engagement, present to Senate on matters of campus safety, and contribute to sensitive adjudication and review processes involving human rights and sexual and gender-based violence. My work was also recognized through the President's Office and Board of Governors, and in 2025 Lakehead described me as a “vital member” of the university community. That same year, my receipt of the King Charles III Coronation Medal was included among Lakehead University's Top 10 stories of the year. I regard these opportunities and recognitions less as personal achievements than as reflections of the many people and colleagues with whom I had the privilege of working during my years at Lakehead.

Before my time at Lakehead, I began my policing career with the Thunder Bay Police Service in 1983 and retired in 2013 after thirty years of service. During that time, I progressed through operational, investigative, administrative, and executive leadership roles, each providing opportunities to learn from others, contribute to my community, and develop a deeper understanding of what effective public service requires.

As an Inspector with the Thunder Bay Police Service, I served in several command positions, including Uniform Patrol Branch Commander, Corporate Services Branch Commander, and Community Services Branch Commander. These roles brought responsibility for frontline policing operations, emergency response, investigations, human resources, budgets, policy development, risk management, professional standards, and community partnerships.

Command brought the privilege of leading dedicated police officers and civilian members through both routine operations and some of the most challenging circumstances a community can face. Those experiences reinforced my belief that leadership is not about authority alone. It is about responsibility, fairness, listening to others, making difficult decisions with integrity, and supporting the people entrusted to your care.

As Corporate Services Branch Commander and Executive Officer to the Chief of Police, I worked in areas involving professional standards, internal investigations, public complaints, human rights issues, organizational accountability, and government and community relations. These responsibilities strengthened my understanding that public confidence is earned through transparency, ethical conduct, and a willingness to continually improve.

A significant part of my career involved developing people and strengthening leadership within policing. From 2007 to 2010, I was seconded to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police at the Canadian Police College, where I served as Officer in Charge of the Police Executive Centre. There, I supported the education and development of senior police leaders from across Canada and internationally.

That experience reinforced one of my strongest beliefs: organizations succeed when they invest in their people and create leaders who understand that service comes before self.

Earlier in my career, from 1995 to 1997, I was seconded to the Ontario Police College as a recruit instructor. Working with new police officers at the beginning of their careers gave me the opportunity to share lessons from my own experience while helping recruits develop the skills, judgment, and values required for effective and ethical policing.

I took great pride in that work. Mentoring new officers and supporting them as they navigated the challenges and responsibilities of a profession I loved gave me the opportunity to discover another part of policing that I came to love: training police officers.

My commitment to public service eventually extended beyond Canada's borders.

In 2009 and 2010, I worked with the Pearson Peacekeeping Centre in support of the United Nations Mission in Sudan, delivering training to United Nations Police officers in the investigation of sexual and gender-based violence. This work required sensitivity, significant cultural awareness, and a deep respect for human rights and the experiences of survivors of conflict-related violence.

In 2011–2012, I served as the Canadian Contingent Commander with the European Union Coordinating Office for Palestinian Police Support (EUPOL COPPS) in the West Bank. In this role, I led a multinational training and advisory team supporting the development of police education and professional standards within the Palestinian Civil Police.

Working in an international environment reinforced the importance of dialogue, cooperation, and recognizing our shared humanity despite different backgrounds, beliefs, and perspectives.

These experiences shaped my understanding of the intersection of law, safety, security, culture, and human dignity. They strengthened my resolve and reinforced my belief that creating conditions where people feel safe, respected, and valued is a force multiplier.

Those lessons strengthened my commitment to approaches that emphasize prevention, partnership, accountability, and respect for human dignity.

Following my retirement from policing, I continued my commitment to public safety through my role as Director of Security Services at Lakehead University. Since 2014, I have had the privilege of leading security operations for the university's campuses in Thunder Bay and Orillia, and soon in Barrie, supporting an incredibly diverse community of students, faculty, staff, and visitors.

This role has allowed me to continue applying the principles that have guided my career: collaboration, professionalism, preparedness, and, above all, service before self.

My work in security continues to reflect the same values that guided me in policing. A successful security program is not built only on policies, procedures, and response capabilities. It is built on relationships, trust, communication, and a genuine commitment to supporting the community being served.

Throughout my career, education and mentorship have remained important priorities. Through teaching with Confederation College, professional development programs, and mentoring opportunities, I have tried to share knowledge and experience while continuing to learn from others.

When I reflect on my career, I am most grateful for the people I have had the opportunity to work alongside. Any success I have experienced has been made possible by the dedication, professionalism, and support of colleagues, mentors, community partners, and family.

But there is another way I describe a career in policing. As a mentor to young people who are considering entering this field, I speak to them about resilience.

One of my favourite messages for people who ask me what a life in policing is really about is this:

In thirty years, not one person—not a single one—ever called the police to say:

"Hey, I'm having a really good day. I just thought you should know."

Nobody calls because everything is going well.

They call because something has gone completely wrong.

There were near misses where I genuinely didn't think I was going to make it through the day, surrounded by moments of abject terror. Times when partners, or I, were injured—sometimes horribly—when things went seriously sideways.

The first time drawing and pointing a firearm at someone armed with a weapon and intent on seriously messing you up.

Knives. Pool cues. Baseball bats. Hatchets. An axe—wielded by a young man wearing a white T-shirt with a homophobic slogan written across it in red lipstick.

I'm not kidding.

Robberies. Sexual assaults. Motor vehicle collisions—one four-car fatal that still wakes me up at night, sweating and occasionally panicking. Domestic violence. Serious physical carnage.

And so much death.

One Christmas Day, as a patrol supervisor, I went to six sudden deaths.

Four of them were suicides.

File after file after file, with no time to catch up on the reports.

Managing hardened criminals and difficult arrests.

Long days and even longer nights, followed by court appearances, followed by more long nights when you could barely remain conscious.

Missed birthdays. Anniversaries. Special occasions. Plans cancelled. Family events missed.

Life put on hold because the job demanded that it come first.

Other people and their problems always came first.

That is the police officer's lot.

There were moments of incredible satisfaction, too.

Lives changed. People helped. Colleagues who became lifelong friends.

And there was also a strange bond that develops between people who have experienced things together that they could never adequately explain to anyone outside of policing.

Knowing something you were prohibited from telling another person.

Carrying information that could change someone's life, but that you were both legally and professionally required to keep to yourself.

Sharing a look across a room with someone who was there too—and knowing, without saying a word, exactly what the other person was thinking.

That was policing, too.

And then there were the moments when you knew that what you had done mattered.

Those are the moments you remember.

And then there were the ridiculous moments—the ones that, years later, become some of the best stories.

I remember deciding that I needed a Slim Jim.

For anyone who hasn't had the pleasure, a Slim Jim was one of those tools police officers and tow truck drivers carried for those occasions when someone had managed to lock their keys inside their vehicle.

Long before the internet, I remember looking at one in the police supply catalogue and thinking, Twenty dollars? I'm not spending twenty dollars on that—especially twenty US dollars.

The reality was that, on a policeman's wage, I didn't have twenty dollars to spend on a tool I might never use.

But I was absolutely convinced that, at some point, I was going to need one.

So, naturally, I made one.

I fashioned a Slim Jim out of a piece of aircraft aluminum. It wasn't pretty, and it certainly wasn't something that had come with instructions or a warranty.

But it was mine, and I was convinced it would work if the day ever came.

Then I forgot all about it.

It was a different time in policing.

A time before air conditioning in cars. Before the comforts of music played over radios in our vehicles. In fact, things had reached the point where the police service actually paid to have the AM radio that came standard in the vehicles removed.

Reports were “hand bombed”—handwritten in ballpoint pen, in four copies, on self-duplicating paper in multiple colours.

We carried revolvers in cross-draw “widow maker” holsters. Our dress uniform included a cross-body support strap known as a Sam Browne.

Technology was pretty much limited to whatever you could carry with you.

My Samsonite hard-sided briefcase contained enough supplies to turn the inside of a patrol car into a mobile office.

There was a small AM/FM radio that we weren't supposed to have. Spare speed loaders for our Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolvers. Spare flashlight batteries. White-out correction fluid—basically paint for paper, used to correct mistakes. A stapler. A small hole punch. Various reports in multiple copies. Neighbourhood maps.

And a spelling dictionary.

Because apparently, even while dealing with whatever the shift had decided to throw at us, professionalism demanded that we spell everything correctly.

That briefcase was my mobile office, my filing cabinet, my supply room—and, as it turned out, occasionally my locksmith's kit.

And somewhere in the bottom of that briefcase was my homemade Slim Jim.

One day I was dispatched to a call where a young mother had accidentally locked her keys—and her toddler—inside her car.

Naturally, she was hysterical.

From the time the call was received, to being prioritized, to dispatch, to my response, the little guy had, somewhat fortunately, cried himself to sleep.

That was probably a blessing for everyone involved.

His mother, however, was understandably terrified and in no way reassured by the fact that he was sleeping.

I could hardly blame her.

I walked up to the car, looked through the window at this little guy peacefully sleeping in his car seat, and then looked at his mother.

“Okay,” I said. “Let's see what we can do.”

This was where the homemade Slim Jim came into its own.

It wasn't particularly sophisticated. It wasn't department-issued. It certainly wasn't something I had picked up from a fancy police equipment supplier.

It was a piece of metal I fashioned myself and kept in my briefcase for precisely these sorts of moments.

My homemade, completely untested, twenty-dollar-saving piece of aircraft aluminum.

I worked the Slim Jim carefully down between the window and the door.

A few seconds later, there was a click.

The door opened.

To my considerable surprise, it actually feckin' worked.

How about that, I thought.

The mother grabbed her little boy, and the whole thing ended with a very relieved—and very grateful—mother holding a now-awake toddler.

No investigation. No arrests. No reports. No court.

Just a little kid, a worried mother, and a homemade piece of metal that had spent far too much time sitting at the bottom of my briefcase.

Sometimes policing was like that, too.

You can spend years training for emergencies, learning procedures, practicing tactics, and preparing for the worst.

And then, one day, the thing you need most is a piece of aircraft aluminum you made because you were too cheap—or too poor—to spend twenty bucks.

There were moments like that throughout my career.

Moments of terror.

Moments of ridiculous absurdity.

Moments of incredible satisfaction.

Moments that seemed completely insignificant at the time but became stories you carried with you.

But policing also takes something from you.

Sometimes you don't realize what it has taken until you're finally out of it.

When I retired, I asked a good friend and mentor of mine, Graham, a retired RCMP officer, if he missed the job.

His answer has stayed with me.

"Lorne, ole buddy, you'll miss the clowns, but you won't miss the circus."

He was right.

I miss the people. I miss the camaraderie. I miss the sense of purpose, the unexpected challenges, the stories that could only come from a career in policing, and the extraordinary people I was fortunate enough to work alongside.

It's thirteen years on, and I miss it every single day.

I miss the feeling that, on any given day, you might actually make a real difference in someone's life.

I do miss some of the clowns, too.

But the circus?

Not so much.

And perhaps that is the best way I can describe my career.

It was never really about the uniform, the rank, the authority, or the title.

It was about people.

It was about showing up when somebody needed help.

It was about standing beside people on the worst days of their lives and occasionally being there for something as simple as helping a mother get her toddler out of a locked car.

It was about the people I served, the people I worked alongside, and the people who taught me something along the way.

My career in policing and security has been a reflection of the values I hold most deeply: serving others, treating people with dignity and respect, acting with integrity, and leaving the communities and organizations I serve stronger than I found them.

Those values continue to guide my work today.

And, after more than four decades of service, I think that is what matters most.