He had seen people sob.

He had seen people stumble away, their eyes glazed with disbelief.

But in all the death notices he'd delivered, Capt. Dan McOmie had never been more struck by another's grief: "It was like I hit her with a bat. She just collapsed in the doorway."

McOmie stuttered through a few more details - where the crash happened, when her husband died. But he couldn't continue.

So Mark Jervis continued the message for him. He held the widow as she cried. He offered counsel and comfort - to the woman and to the police officer as they drove away together.

But Jervis was neither cop nor partner. He was a pastor in Lander who also served as a chaplain for the police force. He rode with officers into the early morning hours, offering an ear, and often a voice when the officer had none.

They called him "Angel One."

"We all have issues with dealing with the dark side of the job," McOmie said. "We deal with the death of children and horrific crashes. We're all tough guys. We deal with it with black humor sometimes. But every one of those incidents scar you."

Sometimes even the tough guys need a shoulder.

Essentially, that is what Jervis is: a sounding board, a friend, a spiritual guide. As a law enforcement chaplain, he has chosen to support those usually doing the supporting.

"Pastors and police officers seem at times like they are interchangeable. People come to them both," said Undersheriff Scott Matheny of the Campbell County Sheriff's Office. That means sometimes police officers - and pastors - have to go to someone else.

Jervis was a charter member of the Wyoming Law Enforcement Chaplains Association when it formed in 1985. He served in Lander until 1999, currently serves in Gillette and is now president. The association is part of the larger International Conference of Police Chaplains, a network of 2,600 members serving 20 nations. Wyoming's chapter has about 35 chaplains, most working in detention and correction centers. Only 15 or so serve officers. And some of those 15 pull double duty, acting as chaplain to inmates and officers.

Now pastor of First Baptist Church in Gillette, Jervis rides with various deputies every Friday night from 10 until 3 or 4 the next morning - or until he falls asleep and they take him home.

"The most important part is just to be there," he said.

Jervis likes the open road. And he likes Jesus. The wall behind his desk at his church office is plastered with personalized license plates declaring: IM4 GZUS, CRE8TOR and PRAY. But Jervis wasn't always on the straight and narrow road of the pastorate.

"I was your typical preacher's kid," he said, a little rambunctious and determined not to become a minister like his father. After graduating high school though, Jervis had an overwhelming sense God was telling him to clean up his act and prepare for ministry. He attended college for one semester before realizing he needed to mature. So he joined the Navy.

After the Navy, Jervis joined the Manpower Program, a federally funded effort to get people to join law enforcement, and served as an officer in Lander for nearly two years. He then went to seminary and pastored in Iowa for eight years before returning to Lander as pastor of First Baptist Church.

His first year there, several pastors approached him about starting a law enforcement chaplains program in Wyoming.

With enthusiastic support from local and state law enforcement, Jervis started spending time at the Sheriff's office, building relationships with officers and the women running dispatch. Eventually he started riding. While sitting shotgun, he let the officers vent - about the stresses of the job, about paperwork, about family problems, about what they'd seen.

"Most people would flip-flop, not be able to sleep, if they saw what we've seen," said Sgt. Jeff Quillen of Lander. "We've seen bits and pieces of people, seen people burning. At an accident scene, we'll look over and say, 'What's that?' Then you realize it's a person and somebody's got to go pick them up. It's hard to shake that, you know, those images."

Sometimes Jervis is swept into police action. He's helped officers settle family disputes, deliver death notices and counsel suicidal individuals. And he's seen plenty of high-speed chases.

"It can be boring and then move into that high adrenaline situation just like that," he said.

In Gillette, Jervis was with Sgt. Curt Wendelboe the first time he got his truck up on two wheels - only Jervis didn't know it was the first time and frankly wasn't impressed. He trusts the officers: "We may have hit a bump or a ditch. We do get in some interesting rides once in a while, some chases."

Another time in Lander, Jervis was helping Quillen map out the scene of a car accident 25 miles from town when Quillen fell off a culvert hidden in the tall grass by the highway. Jervis turned around and didn't see him anywhere. Then he heard the moaning.

"You OK?" Jervis asked.

"No."

Jervis pulled Quillen to his feet. He crumpled in pain and looked at Jervis: "You're going to have to drive."

And drive he did. "We radioed in and I took the wheel," Jervis said. "Jeff would say, 'Go faster, go faster.' Then we'd hit a bump and he'd say, 'Oh, slow down.' So I'd ease off, and he'd say, 'Hurry, hurry.'"

Jervis chuckles at the memory. But he's glad he was there for an officer who would have been alone without him.

"It's all sorts of pieces," he said. "Is it big? No. It's just support. They can cry and then go back to being macho." And a lot of times, the support goes both ways. Jervis rode several nights a week in Lander while going through a divorce from his first wife because he found the police car a nice, safe place to be - even if it was speeding toward an unknown mess.

There have been times when Jervis wondered if he'd ever get home. He's safe 90 percent of the time, he said, but some nights in the squad car are more exciting than he would like. He carries no weapon. And he is in harm's way.

That's why his Friday night ritual is always the same: He kisses his wife, Shirley, looks her in the eye and tells her he loves her. Then, dressed in his black chaplain's uniform with a special badge and a cross pin on the lapel, he heads out for another night on the road, offering an ear into the early morning hours and getting involved in the action.

Gillette officers laugh about a marijuana bust turned practical joke to this day. A while back, Jervis just happened to be along when the department did a marijuana bust and found nearly 20 cases of alcohol. Jervis decided to help carry out the beer. However, one of the officers just so happened to have a camera. And photos of Jervis hugging a case of Budweiser just so happened to appear all over the office.

Sometimes, being a police chaplain has its fun parts, Jervis said, like conducting officers' weddings and attending barbecues.

Oftentimes, being a chaplain has its tough parts. Jervis still holds children while officers deliver bad news. He still sees officers broken by people's grief. And he still prays for all the people involved in law enforcement.

Jervis has also become a voice for police officers. He helped lead the ceremony for the Peace Officer Memorial, and he often speaks at Law Enforcement Academy graduations. He attends functions, meets people and garners as much support for the force as he can.

"On a day to day basis, cops don't get enough support. When a tragedy happens, yeah. But day to day, no," he said.

"Their position as a peace officer really is highly respected by me because they're really out there keeping peace."

It's a tiring, traumatic, sometimes thankless job.

"These things we see affect us," said undersheriff Matheny. "After you're finished with a situation and you take the officer hat off, you just sit there and cry. You go home and hug your kids."

With Jervis sitting shotgun, the officers at least don't have to cry alone.

* Reach Hannah Wiest at (307) 266-0535 or hannah.wiest@trib.com.