The Zion Times

By: Sachet A. Sullivan | The Zion Times
Trust in law enforcement is often shaped in moments of crisis. In Cedar City, several residents say Patrick McCoy is an officer who consistently approaches those moments with patience and care.

Those residents describe encounters that took place in hospital rooms, homes and other high-stress situations — moments when communication, presence and restraint mattered as much as enforcement. Their accounts span years and circumstances but share a common theme: being listened to when it mattered most.

McCoy is a corporal detective with the Cedar City Police Department. He also serves in the United States Air Force Reserve as the first sergeant to the operations group for the 419th West Division. Residents interviewed by The Zion Times said his approach is defined less by rank and more by how he treats people during some of the most difficult moments of their lives.

“HE TREATED ME LIKE A PERSON”

Seth Nielsen, a local in the community, remembers March 15, 2023 clearly — the day before his birthday.

“I got stabbed in the chest and leg, real close to my heart,” Nielsen said. “I was bleeding really bad.”

At the time, Nielsen was in active addiction and under the influence of meth. He said McCoy was the first officer on scene.

“He laid me down and put pressure on my chest wound until the ambulance got there,” Nielsen said. “And when I got to the hospital, he was there waiting for me.”

Nielsen described hours of conversation that followed — conversations about addiction, choices, and life. He said McCoy did not treat him differently because of his addiction.

“He treated me like a person, not just a drug addict,” Nielsen said. “He stayed by my side from about 3 p.m. until 1:30 in the morning. He didn’t even leave to eat.”

One moment from that night stayed with Nielsen.

“I remember him saying, ‘I don’t think addicts are bad people. I think they’re good people who have made bad choices.’”

Nielsen says the conversation didn’t instantly change his life. He went to jail again. Recovery took time. But the way McCoy treated him changed how he saw himself — and law enforcement.

Today, Nielsen says he has nearly 15 months sober, has completed treatment and recovery court, and works full time.

“I give a lot of the credit to Officer McCoy,” he said. “He made a permanent impact on me.”

“SHE WAS TERRIFIED OF LAW ENFORCEMENT” 

Diamond Nay said her trust in law enforcement had been broken long before she met Patrick McCoy.

She said she spent nearly two years reporting abuse and threats from a former partner and felt repeatedly dismissed — at times even treated as a suspect herself.

“I’ve never been a criminal, but I was treated like one,” Nay said. “We were being made out to be the biggest criminals.”

Nay said her former partner later set fire to her home. She said she received a video of the fire before police arrived and that she and her daughter spent nine months living in a hotel afterward.

“We lived in a hotel for nine months,” she said. “No one took us seriously until Pat.”

Years later, after her former partner confessed to additional crimes while incarcerated on unrelated charges, Nay said McCoy contacted her and said he needed to interview her and her daughter. At the time, she said, neither of them were given details — only that the interviews were necessary.

Nay said her daughter was “in full panic” and terrified of law enforcement after years of feeling ignored, repeatedly saying she was afraid she would “get in trouble.”

After Nay told McCoy her daughter refused to speak, she said he came to their home instead.

“He was the calm to the storm,” Nay said. “She never had that until Pat reassured her.”

Nay said McCoy spent time talking with her daughter, explaining the process and building trust until she was ready. She said her daughter later refused to attend interviews or court proceedings unless McCoy was present — and that when it came time to read her victim impact statement, McCoy read it for her because she was too afraid.

“I feel like he’s the only reason they got anywhere,” Nay said. “The only reason we even went forward is because we had Pat.”

She added, “A lot of cops let the badge build their character. Pat honors the badge.”

McCoy’s contact with Nay did not begin or end with the prosecution, which resulted in one sentence of zero to five years and another of 15 years to life. Nay said she met McCoy when he responded to an altercation involving another party, and that connection continued beyond the case. She said he later introduced her to his wife, and the two clicked instantly, developing a close friendship.

A PATTERN, NOT A MOMENT

Other residents describe the same approach — even years apart.

For Mitzi Bies, McCoy showed up during two very different moments — both when her family needed steady ground.

She said McCoy first helped her family while serving as the school resource officer at Cedar Middle School, ensuring her children were safe during a critical incident at the school.

Years later, McCoy again crossed her path — this time during one of the hardest periods of her life.

Bies later wrote publicly about that moment, describing the weight of what she was carrying and the stillness she found in the presence of someone who didn’t rush her through it.

“Officer McCoy stared at me while I tried to hold my emotions back like I’d lose my dignity and pride if I let a tear slide. “This is pretty bad” he said softly. “If I can help, let me know. He kept his uniform on, but his eyes took the badge off. They said, “It’s okay to break right here.”

— Mitzi Bies, Public Post on Social Media

Bies said McCoy knew how to meet her where she was — not only as a civilian, but as someone navigating military PTSD.

“He knew how to assist me not only as a civilian but worked with my military PTSD,” Bies said. “I think having an officer so well trained through his life experiences, military, and police training has really made all the difference.”

What stood out to her most, she said, wasn’t authority — it was communication.

THE ANCHOR AT HOME

When asked what it’s like being married to a law enforcement officer, Jessica McCoy paused.

“Rewarding, yet stressful.”

She said the best part is “knowing all the good he does” and “seeing him be able to help people.” The hardest part, she said, is “not being able to help him through certain situations.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” she said. “He comes to me if and when he’s ready.”

The waiting, she added, can be the most difficult part. Not knowing what kind of call he’s on, not knowing what’s happening until it’s over, and living with the what-ifs that come with the job.

What keeps their family grounded, she said, is communication.

“Communication,” she emphasized. “Transparency. Keeping things light. Being playful. Going on dates. Our teenagers.”

When asked how McCoy balances being both a police officer and a father to two teenage girls and a little one, she laughed.

“Depends on the day.” she said humorously.

Their daughters, she said, are proud of their dad and often brag about him. She added that he “holds high standards.”

“He has to have all the answers,” she said, explaining that the job has made him more conscious and protective — but also deeply committed to open communication at home. Any boy who comes to the door, she joked, should expect a handshake and to tell his “full story.”

Jessica said that of McCoy’s years of public service, law enforcement has been the scariest — while his military service has been the most rewarding. Having seen him work in both corrections and policing, she said the unpredictability of the street can be harder than the structure of a prison environment.

“In the prison, there’s a hierarchy,” she said. “There’s no hierarchy on the streets.”

Still, she said knowing his goal at the end of every call helps steady her.

“I know his goal at the end of a call or shift is to come home.”

When asked what sets McCoy apart from other officers, Jessica pointed to his leadership and military experience.

“He has to be a leader and still direct his superiors,” she said. “He’s someone they come to.”

She described him as one of the kindest people she knows, and said his work leading Crisis Intervention Team efforts in Southern Utah reflects his desire to help other officers as much as the public. When asked what drives him, she didn’t hesitate.

“Family.” she quickly responded.

One call that has stayed with her is a house fire where McCoy rescued an elderly veteran before other first responders could arrive.

“That really shows Pat’s character,” she said. “What he’ll do for someone in need.”

Jessica also spoke about his dedication to crisis intervention and helping people dealing with PTSD and mental health challenges. She said there was a period around 2021 when he struggled with his own mental health and talking about trauma didn’t come easily.

“He wasn’t raised like that,” she said. “He was raised to keep it in.”

Seeing the community publicly support her husband has been especially meaningful.

“It makes me feel proud,” she said. “I don’t have to come to his rescue — because the community does.”

Looking ahead, Jessica said she doesn’t have specific titles or milestones in mind.

“I just want him to be fulfilled,” she said. “It’s his calling.”

QUIET WORK, LEARNED OVER TIME

McCoy said his approach to law enforcement developed over years of service — and through personal experience.

He has worked for the Cedar City Police Department for seven years, serving as a patrol officer, school resource officer at Cedar Middle School, K-9 officer and detective. Before joining the department, he worked for three years as a corrections officer with the California Department of Corrections.

Alongside his law enforcement career, McCoy has served in the U.S. Air Force for 19 years, including two deployments to Iraq and the United Arab Emirates.

McCoy said working in corrections, policing and the military exposed him early to the consequences of untreated trauma — both in the people passing through the system and in the officers tasked with responding to it.

“We shouldn’t turn our prisons into mental health asylums,” McCoy said.

He said he repeatedly watched people enter custody already struggling and leave further traumatized, reinforcing his belief that incarceration is often used in place of appropriate mental-health care.

For the past four and a half years, McCoy has served as the regional director for the Crisis Intervention Team. He said the role allowed him to focus on slowing situations down and helping officers respond more thoughtfully to people in crisis. He also serves in a confidential peer-support role for fellow officers, a responsibility he said he holds “near and dear.”

“Sometimes we have to take a knee,” McCoy said, describing the cumulative toll of difficult calls. Officers who fail to address their own mental health, he said, risk becoming “victims to their own demons.”

McCoy said certain calls stay with officers long after the shift ends — including child-exploitation cases, suicides and repeated exposure to death. He said the hardest part of the job is continuing to show up for the public while carrying that weight home.

The motivation to keep going, he said, comes largely from his family.

McCoy credited his father, an oilfield man, with teaching him patience and the importance of taking care of the people around you, describing his time growing up in Bakersfield, California, when oil was booming. As a boy, he rode around with his dad in his work truck and saw firsthand how he treated the people he worked with — lessons he said continue to guide how he treats both the public and his fellow officers.

“My Dad always took care of his guys” McCoy said “He was respected, well-liked and he always made people smile.”

He also credited his wife, Jessica, as his strongest support, particularly after he sought counseling and worked to rebalance life outside the job.

“She really holds me accountable” he said.

As his retirement from the Air Force approaches, McCoy said he feels ready for that transition while continuing his career in law enforcement.

“I’m ready,” he said.

When asked what he thinks good policing looks like, McCoy said he tries to slow down and understand what matters most to the person in front of him.

He said he lives by a quote attributed to Jackie Robinson: “Life is not important except in the impact it has on others.”

SERVICE BEYOND WORDS

In January 2022, McCoy’s calm-under-pressure approach extended beyond conversation.

While on duty in Cedar City, McCoy noticed smoke rising nearby that he initially believed was a controlled burn. Moments later, he was dispatched to a house fire where an elderly veteran was believed to be inside alone.

According to ABC4 and reporting from St. George News, McCoy entered the smoke-filled home, calling out as he searched. Thick, black smoke quickly overwhelmed him, forcing him back outside. He returned moments later after tying a sweatshirt his daughter had left in his patrol car around his face — the only thing he had to shield himself from the smoke.

“I started to try to go in and look around for him,” McCoy told St. George News. “I kept getting lost and I couldn’t breathe.”

Crawling low and listening, McCoy eventually heard a faint sound and located the man near a staircase. He pulled him from the home as firefighters and other officers worked to suppress the flames around them.

Both McCoy and the man were treated for smoke inhalation. McCoy was released the same day; the man spent several days in hospice care.

McCoy later downplayed the rescue, saying he believed anyone in his position would have done the same. He was awarded the Medal of Valor by the Cedar City Police Department, and later formally recognized by the Utah Chiefs of Police Association with a commendation for his actions. Those closest to the moment said the rescue reflected the same instinct residents describe in quieter encounters — staying present, focusing on the person in front of him, and not walking away.

SERVICE BEYOND THE BADGE

The rescue earned recognition, but residents say it reflected who McCoy really is — someone who can act decisively when a life is at risk, and just as deliberately slow down and listen when fear or trauma are in front of him.

“He made me feel safe,” Nielsen said.
“He believed us,” Nay said.
“He listened and communicated,” Bias said.

The Zion Times’ Local Heroes series highlights individuals whose impact is measured not in headlines, but in lives changed. 

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