This is the second in a year-long series offering a look at various “firsts” for people around the region.

 

By RYAN E. SMITH

BLADE STAFF WRITER

 

BOWLING GREEN - At the stroke of midnight one evening last month, something magical happened here. Like in a superhero's nightmare, all the Wood County sheriff's deputies lost their powers.

 

Eighteen deputies on shift at the time, milling around a training room in the aptly named Justice Center, didn't seem all that concerned, though. They just stood and waited.

 

At 12:01 a.m., Mark Wasylyshyn walked in and explained that Ohio law - in a gesture worthy of the Old West - calls for deputies to lose their law enforcement powers as soon as a sheriff leaves office.

 

As the county's new sheriff in his first minute of duty, Mr. Wasylyshyn didn't delay. He promptly swore them all in again as deputies and let them get back to business.

 

And so began his first day (or night) in public office, the culmination of a dream he's had since he was a tyke.

 

"He wanted to be a cop since he was 3," said his proud sister during a visit to the office. "Then he found out the bad guys carry guns."

 

Mr. Wasylyshyn (pronounced Va-si-li-shin), who lives on a farm in Webster Township with his family, has gotten over those concerns. A former Perrysburg cop, he said he just wanted to accomplish his long-time dream and effect some change.

 

"I can't wait to get started," he said. "People ask me, 'Am I nervous?' ... but the funny thing is that I'm not. I've been doing so much homework. I've worked so hard. I'm ready to do this. Let's get going."

 

Since Mr. Wasylyshyn's first day on the job, there's been plenty to test his nerves: flooding in Grand Rapids, a Level 2 snow emergency, and a fatal stabbing in Rudolph, to name just a few.

 

Consider that first day, then, good practice for things to come - a whirlwind of sleep deprivation, new policies, swearing-ins, and, unavoidably, some uncertainty.

 

Mr. Wasylyshyn, 43, who unseated three-term incumbent John Kohl in a March primary but didn't take office until January, is a serious, by-the-books kind of guy with short cropped hair, shiny black shoes, and two golden bars that say 'Sheriff" pinned to his collar.

 

He is confident and sure and a public official, but don't misunderstand: when it comes to the challenges of a first day at work, work spares no one.

 

He still had to get his bearings, learn his new phone number and the names of his co-workers, figure out his e-mail - just like every other new guy.

 

Case in point: Shortly after midnight and the first swearing in ceremony, Mr. Wasylyshyn was stuck trying to navigate the way through his new maze of an office.

 

"Let's see if I can find the garage," Mr. Wasylyshyn said, turning one corner, then another. "Doing OK, getting warmer."

 

This led him to the garage and the sheriff's Ford Excursion that was now his to use. The chief deputy took a towel and wiped off the front passenger door.

 

Mr. Wasylyshyn crouched down and took the backing off a sticker with his name on it. Carefully, he lined it up over the one on the truck with the name of the old sheriff and very, very slowly covered it with the much longer Mark X. Wasylyshyn.

 

"It fits!" he said, triumphant. "People didn't think the name was going to fit."

 

This was one of several changes Mr. Wasylyshyn was intent on making during his first day.

 

Some were basic, like naming a chief deputy and making other personnel changes - firing two employees who were appointed by the previous sheriff and installing two part-time replacements. After a night of only a few hours of sleep, there were papers to sign, officials to meet, assignments to dole out.

 

But there were other changes that got immediate attention, too, like his actual office, where the walls were bare save for a few holes where there used to be nails.

 

Here it became clear that while Mr. Wasylyshyn may be the sheriff, his wife, Jenna, is still the boss. She arrived after noon, bringing flowers, paint swatches, and their 5-year-old twins, James and Catherine.

 

"This is my job," she said as she considered color schemes - ultimately deciding on a light shade of brown called "sensational sand" for the walls - and walked off some measurements.

 

When she and a pair of other family members left for a tour of the facility, which includes the county jail, Mr. Wasylyshyn mixed lunch and a meeting.

 

Eating a Wendy's salad with chili dumped on top (he's on one of those low-carb diets), Mr. Wasylyshyn sat across a table from two men in the maintenance department, called in to discuss ways to improve security at the building.

 

But they had competition for the sheriff's attention as James, one of the sheriff's twins, would take an occasional break from his coloring to whisper sweetly to his father.

 

Hey ... hey dad. Look at this.

 

Later, James would join in on the swearing in process, which continued all day as various deputies began their shifts. Standing imperceptibly close to his father's leg, James mimicked the deputies as they held up their right hand and swore their oath.

 

An observer in the office gave him a star-shaped "junior deputy" pin.

 

"Wait 'til his sister finds out," Mr. Wasylyshyn said.

 

Minutes later, there were two junior deputies.

 

All the while, a solitary orange sat on the sheriff's desk - a desk that he vows will be clear of paperwork by the end of every day (and a vow he kept that day).

 

That orange isn't for eating. It's a symbol.

 

It helps him remember the long, hard days when he traveled door to door campaigning and a volunteer would make sure an orange was always waiting for him when he got back.

 

"That's a little reminder for me how hard we had to work to get into this office," he said. "I never want to forget that."