Precinct houses are bugs trapped in amber. The desk sergeant greets outsiders like they’re ne’er-do-well uncles looking for a handout. In the far corner is a Shine-o-Mat machine with two worn-down brushes that look as though they haven’t been replaced since men wore hats.

The air is filled with the pervasive stench of old cigarettes, even though smoking hasn’t been permitted for years. And the far wall — the Wall of Shame — is covered with mugshots that leave no doubt why the cops call these recidivists “skels”; most of the grizzled mugs belong to men who appear to have already been dead for three weeks when the photo was taken.

So perhaps it was foolish to think a columnist from the other side of these particular tracks could breach this blue-walled fortress last week, despite being given a rare chance to watch Sergeant Anthony Donadio of Bay Ridge’s 68th Precinct give his last roll call after 22 years on the force.

The roll call, of course, is that most hoary of Hollywood police cliches, typically featuring a gruff-but-lovable (think Jack Warden) officer barking out the day’s marching orders.

But before Donadio appeared, his officers — and superiors — sang his praises like mob stoolies squealing for a reduced sentence.

“This is a guy who tells you like it is,” said John Iorio, who has served under Donadio for seven years. “He’s real world. No sugar-coating.”

Pressed for an example, Iorio couldn’t find the words.

“If you ask him something,” Iorio tried, “he’ll tell you straight out, what’s what.”

For example?

“He’s just no bulls—.”

For example?

“He always used common-sense,” offered his C.O., William Aubry. “This was a guy who knew how to talk to people on the street.”

For example?

“I couldn’t have learned from a better teacher,” said Peter Pasqualone, who just made sergeant after 11 years at Donadio’s holster. “He was the kind of sergeant who never asked anyone to do anything he hadn’t done himself.”

For example?

“He was just such a hard-worker.”

For example?

“Coming into this job, you look for a father figure, someone to show you how it’s done,” said rookie John Papio. “He was that guy for me.”

For example? No matter how diligently the columnist dug, no answer was forthcoming.

So, as easy as it was to see that “the men” loved their sarge, it wasn’t exactly clear why — until it was finally time for Donadio to read the roll, the four hashmarks on his arm and the flinty awkwardness of being in the spotlight the only thing distinguishing him from the others.

He took attendence with little fanfare, then told each pair of partners about robbery patterns in the vacinity.

Then he mumbled out three paragraphs so reluctantly that it almost appeared that he knew he’d no longer be a cop the minute he stopped speaking.

Yet the advice was timeless and universal, even to this outsider.

“Do not wish away your career,” he told his mostly young cops. “Trust me when I tell you the years will fly by. Savor the good times and learn from the bad.

“Second, take care of your partner; take care of your squad; take care of each other. Treat the NYPD as your extended family. This will make for a better job and a better cop.

“Lastly, remember this: Having 22 years on the job, my experience has been that there are two kinds of cops: NYPD officers and all other law enforcement officers who wish they were NYPD. Other police departments use the NYPD bar as a standard of achievement. I am proud to have served as a New York City police officer and worked with officers of your caliber and character.”

He was nearly crying by the end, but, fortunately, state Sen. Marty Golden (R-Bay Ridge) and City Councilman Vincent Gentile (D-Bay Ridge) came over and give him proclamations, allowing Donadio to steel himself behind the blue wall of stocism again.

Chatting him up later, it was clear it’s not a wall he often allows to come tumbling down.

“In 22 years, the only thing I learned is how to dry my hands using only toilet paper,” he said, keeping a questioner at a distance (another officer gave the entirely unnecessarily explanation: there are never any paper towels in a stationhouse bathroom).

But pressed, he at least admitted why he was leaving the best job he ever had.

“I think the department lost sight of the job,” he said. “Years ago, it was more of a family. Obviously, we’re not paid enough, but it’s more than that. We’re pushed and pushed and pushed. Yes, the city is safer for it, but it makes for a force where everyone can’t wait to do their 20 and get out. They don’t enjoy the work.”

He laughed a few times when other offers were roasting him around a table spread with deli sandwiches and mayonaise-based side salads, but this cop’s cop never really let anyone in, even on the one day when that’s where everyone wanted to be.

Of course, there was still police work to be done, and Donadio seemed eager to get back to it — despite knowing all about Hollywood’s other main cop cliche: that a police officer who is celebrating his last day on the job in Act I will most likely be dead by Act II.

“Yeah, they’ll probably try to keep me in here all night, doing paperwork, but I’m going out on the street,” he said.

“It’s my last night. Where else would I be?”

Gersh Kuntzman is the Editor of The Brooklyn Paper. E-mail Gersh at gkuntzman@cnglocal.com

©2006 Community Newspaper Group

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