Abandoned by His Own Department After 24 Years

Collin McKee

Welcome to the Endeavors AI Podcast — a show where we talk to the people behind the mission about what it takes to actually move the needle on something that matters. I'm Collin McKee, founder of Endeavors AI, and today's episode is one I've really been looking forward to. My guest is Lieutenant Randy Sutton. Randy spent 34 years in law enforcement — 10 in Princeton, New Jersey, and 24 with Las Vegas Metro — retiring as one of the most decorated officers in the department's history. You may know his face from shows like Cops or the movie Casino. He's an author, a national commentator, a Points of Light award recipient, and he's been called the voice of American law enforcement. But the reason he's here today is the mission that's become his life's work: he's the founder of The Wounded Blue, the national organization supporting injured and disabled law enforcement officers. Randy, welcome — I'm glad you're here.

Randy Sutton

I'm happy to be here. Thanks for having me.

Collin McKee

Let's start simple. Who is The Wounded Blue for?

Randy Sutton

The Wounded Blue is the national assistance and support organization for injured and disabled law enforcement officers. It's a nationwide charity I founded about eight years ago that has now helped close to 17,000 American officers injured physically, emotionally, or psychologically in the line of duty. We're very unique: my entire team is made up of police officers who have been shot, stabbed, beaten, run over, or faced serious post-traumatic stress — and come out the other side. They're the heroes of The Wounded Blue; they continue to serve their brothers and sisters when they become injured or disabled. We are literally saving lives, careers, and marriages. It's very fulfilling work.

Collin McKee

Take us back to the moment everything changed for you — the stroke in the police car. What do you remember about that day?

Randy Sutton

Everything. I did 10 years in the small town of Princeton, New Jersey — my hometown, a great little town, but it didn't give me the action I wanted. I wanted to be a real cop. So halfway into my career, with about 10 years to go until retirement, I completely changed direction and started over with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department — re-took the test, went through the academy, began my career all over again. It's a decision I never looked back on. I rose to lieutenant, which in Las Vegas is the highest rank you can hold and still be in a black-and-white doing real police work, and I spent my entire lieutenant's career on graveyard, because in Vegas that's where the action is. Along the way I was on Cops — one of the most-featured officers on the show — which led to film roles and the Screen Actors Guild, and I've written several books. My first one came after the Twin Towers went down: it was the deadliest day in law enforcement history, with 72 officers dying, and I was frustrated I couldn't help. So I asked cops I knew to write their significant stories, put them in a book, and donated all the royalties to the Widows and Orphans Fund for the officers killed on 9/11. That started my writing career. My latest book, Rescuing 911: The Fight for America's Safety, came out about six months ago. If you'd asked what I'd do in retirement, it wouldn't have been this — but fate made a difference. I had a stroke in my police car, driving down the Las Vegas Strip at 2:30 in the morning with a young patrol officer beside me. I felt my brain slowing down, started talking slower, and I knew what was happening. I stopped the car in the middle of the road, said "Get me medical, I'm having a stroke," got out to go around to the passenger side, started speaking gibberish I couldn't control, then lost the ability to speak and move altogether and crumpled to the pavement — helpless, unable to move or speak, but fully aware of everything around me. It was devastating.

Randy Sutton

They got me to the hospital. The clot did its damage, but not what it could have. I was recovering and feeling pretty good — told the doctor I was ready to get back to work. He said, "I don't want you under the mistaken impression that anything we did here will stop you from walking out and having another stroke or a heart attack — you have a very serious heart condition, and you need to prepare yourself for your own mortality." That's not what I intended to hear. Three weeks before, my mother had died in my arms; a couple of months before that, I was in another fatal shooting. There was already a lot going on. And then what changed the trajectory of my life: my own department — that I gave 24 years to — said they weren't paying my medical bills or giving me my benefits. I was shocked. I said, "You can't do that, there's a law that covers me." They said, "Make us." The feeling of being abandoned and betrayed took me to very dark places. I had to get a lawyer and fight them. They lost every single hearing, and yet kept spending tens of thousands of taxpayer dollars to fight me. I went to the sheriff I'd served under for 24 years and asked how he could treat me like this. He looked me in the eye and said, "Randy, this isn't personal, it's just business." I was no longer an asset — I was a financial liability. And here's the part that astounds people: they knew I'd win, but they stretched it out for a year or more because they were hoping I'd die in the meantime. That's a harsh reality for someone who believed deeply in his agency and the brotherhood of policing. Then, because of Cops and the movies and the books and my training work, officers from around the country started reaching out with their stories: "I was shot in the line of duty and my chief never even visited me in the hospital — they're not paying my medical bills." "I was paralyzed when a drunk driver hit my police car — they've thrown me away." And they all ended the same way: "I feel forgotten. I feel alone." The worst was, "I wish I'd never survived that night." I realized this is a national issue — it wasn't just me, and there was no resource for these men and women. So I created it. We are The Wounded Blue, and we've touched the lives of almost 17,000 officers.

Collin McKee

A lot of people are hearing about The Wounded Blue for the first time. Tell them what the organization actually does when an officer reaches out.

Randy Sutton

Our main focus is peer support — because when it happened to me, I was shocked and didn't know anyone who'd been through it. Everyone on my team has been shot, beaten, run over, or screwed over, and they're all certified peer team members trained to counsel other peers. We have tremendous resources and get people into treatment all the time, but most people just need somebody to talk to who's been in their shoes — because none of them can believe how they're being treated. When you know you're not the lone ranger, that it's happening to thousands across the country — as wrong as that is — at least it's something to know you're in good company. We help people negotiate the trauma, get them into treatment for psychological trauma and for addiction, which is a major problem in law enforcement. And we've helped medically — an officer who was told he'd never walk again and was in horrible pain for seven years: we found him the finest spinal surgeon in the country, and he danced with his daughter at her wedding five months ago. We're touching a lot of lives.

Collin McKee

Knowing you can be that resource for your brothers and sisters in law enforcement — what does that do for you?

Randy Sutton

It's legacy. When the doctors told me to prepare for my own mortality, it made me think: in the time I have left, what am I going to do that makes a difference? The first thing was a book, The Power of Legacy, where I traveled the country talking to people who'd done amazing things about who encouraged them. It changed my life, because I realized how many people are changed by trauma. We don't grow through happiness — we learn and grow through trauma. That's why we hear "post-traumatic stress disorder." I don't use that phrase. We call it post-traumatic stress injury, because it's an injury and can be fixed. But there's also something we don't talk about: post-traumatic stress growth — taking the pain and trauma and using it for self-growth, to change the world for the better. People are starting to consider that now, and I'm a huge believer in it.

Collin McKee

A lot of people have no clue this gap exists in our law enforcement. Why do you think it stays invisible?

Randy Sutton

Even cops don't know. I was 34 years on the job and never would have expected to be treated this way. That disillusionment creates serious emotional upheaval, and we have a very bad suicide issue in law enforcement that this only exacerbates. The community, though small, is very fragmented — about 17,000 different police agencies, each with a different chief, different communications, no real unity or continuity — so officers don't even know these issues exist. And most people do support law enforcement; they believe in their police and that they're heroes. But it's incongruous to even conceive that a cop can be shot in the line of duty and thrown away. It's so unbelievable that people literally don't believe it. When I'm raising money and explain it, people look at me like I have three eyes — "a cop can get shot in the head in the line of duty and just be thrown away? That can't happen." It's so hard to get your head around, and as a charity with limited funds, getting the word out is a constant, expensive battle.

Collin McKee

If you could put one fact in the mind of every American this week, what would it be?

Randy Sutton

That the men and women serving in law enforcement today are facing challenges like never before. The disinformation about who cops really are is degrading to law enforcement, and we're in a crisis people aren't even talking about — which I address in Rescuing 911. There are cities that don't have enough officers to police effectively; they've been defunded, in some cases disbanded, and humiliated. We can't retain the officers we had, and we can't recruit, because people ask, "Why would I do this job for $50,000 a year, put my life on the line, and then go to prison over ten seconds of videotape?" I fight this as the founder of The Wounded Blue, speaking across the nation, and as a commentator on many platforms — I do at least one media interview every three days. I was on Newsmax at 4:30 this morning my time. I never turn down a chance to talk about the mission. People want to help; they want to feel safe in their homes, and the people standing up for them are the cops.

Collin McKee

You run a tight organization without infinite resources. What's the bottleneck — what stops the right people from finding you?

Randy Sutton

I try to get out there as much as humanly possible. There's some apathy — people have their own problems and, given the economy, may not have money to give. What I ask of the normal person is to donate $9.11 a month to The Wounded Blue. Here's how I put it: when you need help, you call 911; but when the police need help, they call The Wounded Blue. If I could just get enough people to do that, I wouldn't have to beat my brains against the wall. You'd be shocked at some of the companies I've approached who say, "Randy, I love your mission, but we can't put our name on it because some people don't like the police." I have no respect for that. We saw incredible disinformation campaigns try to destroy law enforcement over the last decade, and they were highly effective in damaging the profession and the very cities police defend. Go to Minneapolis right now — they don't have enough cops to answer their calls, and can't recruit because nobody wants to work for them. I've visited those officers, and every one has the thousand-yard stare — beaten down by their own leadership. They need to believe what they're doing is valuable and that they're appreciated. That's part of our mission too.

Collin McKee

Let me get a quick snippet on AI, since I run an AI company — though for me it's not the tech, it's that it frees up time to do what you're passionate about, a force multiplier. If we could put a tireless assistant in place for The Wounded Blue that never sleeps and could find every department and every officer, where would you point it first?

Randy Sutton

I have two target audiences. One is the law enforcement community — most cops don't even know we exist, so we can't give them the help they need. At a national police week, an officer will walk by our booth and ask, "Who are you guys?" When I explain it, I've had officers break down and cry, and we get them into treatment within hours, because they had nobody and were suffering internally. The other audience is the vast majority of people who support law enforcement and would happily donate $9.11 a month. I have one donor who saw me on the news, reached out asking how he could help, and has since played an unbelievable role in saving officers' lives. So it's about getting people to know who we are, our mission, and how they can help — whether it's $9.11 a month or a five-million-dollar endowment. If you're moved by these stories, I'm out there all the time and I put my email out; people can contact me anytime.

Collin McKee

Tell us about Cops Coffee — that's coming down the pike.

Randy Sutton

I'm really excited about this. From being on Cops for years, I have a strong relationship with the show — I was on the very first year, and they just signed another two-year deal with Fox; they'll be 40 years on air. The owner, Morgan Langley — son of the original owner — is a huge supporter and donor. He came to me and said, "Randy, I want to do more than send a check. We've never let anyone use our intellectual property — our logo or song — but we'll give you the license to use all of it to raise money for The Wounded Blue by creating a coffee company." So Cops Coffee is about to be born: high-quality coffee at reasonable prices, with all profits going to help injured and disabled officers. There's not another coffee company in America that does that — you see "a percentage goes to this charity," but the sole reason Cops Coffee exists is to change the lives of injured and disabled officers through The Wounded Blue. We call it "sip and serve" — coffee with a mission. The site isn't live yet, but it'll be at copscoffee.org, launching the pre-order site within the next couple of weeks; you'll be able to subscribe — a bag a week or a month — and know you're helping.

Collin McKee

We'll put a link in the show notes. For everyone listening, what can they do to be useful today?

Randy Sutton

Go to TheWoundedBlue.org and hit the donate button — give what you can. If you can do $9.11 a month, we'd love it. If you've got five bucks, do that. And if you've got five million, give me a call — I'll take it.

Collin McKee

Last question. Years from now, when your legacy is complete and The Wounded Blue has done all you dreamed, what does the world look like for the men and women of law enforcement?

Randy Sutton

That they remember this phrase: you will never be forgotten, and you will never be alone.

Collin McKee

Amen. Randy Sutton, we really appreciate the conversation — we'll spread the word as far and wide as possible. I'm Collin McKee of Endeavors AI. Thanks for listening, and we'll see you on the next show.