![Beverly (Brooks) Carroll [front row, far right] stands with nine other members of the Maryland Natural Resources Police Basic Recruit Class 40, upon graduation in 1990.](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/55113825971_9291ae7cc2_b.jpg)
Beverly (Brooks) Carroll is seen in the front row, far right, with other members of NRP’s 40th Basic Recruit Class upon graduation from the academy in 1990. Photo courtesy of Greg Bartles/Maryland Conservation Agency Museum.
Beverly Carroll is a pioneer – as the first African American female police officer in the history of the Maryland Natural Resources Police, she entered a world she wasn’t familiar with in more ways than one.
Carroll’s journey with NRP didn’t begin at a young age, nor did it come from an upbringing in which hunting and fishing were family traditions. Raised in Baltimore and working for the Baltimore City Sheriff’s Office at the time, Carroll’s budding law enforcement career presented the opportunity to change agencies and make history. The 38-year-old mother of two learned that a career trajectory change could provide greater financial stability, especially with one child in private school and another in college.
At a career fair in Baltimore City, Carroll learned about NRP, which opened her eyes to a new opportunity, as she had never seen Black people working on the water in Baltimore. After a conversation with another Black officer, Corporal Maurice Davis, Carroll filled out an application. She was hired to join Basic Recruit Class 40, which graduated and entered the field in 1990.
Academy life presented its own challenges. Carroll rounded out a recruiting class of 10, nine of whom were cadets who had just turned 21.
“My first daughter was nearly as old as them,” Carroll recalled with a laugh. “But I enjoyed them, because I watched them grow for six months. Just as much as I was encouraging them, they were encouraging me. When we had to run, a couple of them would stay back with me and make sure that I made it with them. It was a cohesive group.”
Carroll didn’t know she’d be the first Black female officer, and once she learned of the historic distinction, her focus never shifted. “It was just important to make it through the academy,” she said. “I was making my family proud.”
While the law enforcement-focused training wasn’t new to Carroll, the conservation side was. She had never worked on the water. She didn’t swim. Boat operation, commercial fishing regulations, and wildlife law were entirely new. Instead of viewing that as a disadvantage, she embraced it. “I love to learn something new,” she said. “At 38 years old, learning all this information for the first time … it was the most interesting time of my life.”
One of her most memorable moments came in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. During a training exercise, her instructor had her dock a patrol boat, knowing her family would be watching. “My mom and my aunt were there at the dock when I docked the boat, and they were just so proud to see me dock the boat and get off.”
After graduation, Carroll was assigned to patrol the waters of St. Mary’s County. Working alongside veteran officers and patrolling amongst commercial watermen, she quickly learned that respect on the water was earned, not given. On one of her first vessel checks in Breton Bay, a waterman joked that her partner had “brought his honey with him.” While writing citations for striped bass violations, she quipped, “I’m not his honey. My name is Officer Brooks, and that’s how I want to be addressed. Thank you, and I’ll see you in court.”
There were other challenges – threats from individuals who said they’d push her overboard, inappropriate jokes during training sessions, and taunts from peers who said they wouldn’t let her return to shore to use a restroom. Those experiences didn’t sour Carroll’s NRP career; they taught her composure and restraint. “As long as they see that you don’t have any fear, they back off,” she said.
Carroll’s steadiness in the face of adversity served her well throughout her five-year career with NRP and 16 years of overall state service. When knee injuries derailed her career, leading to a medical retirement in 1994, difficult situations prompted her to reflect deeply. She credits her faith for her ability to stay strong no matter the situation she encountered.
“I learned to walk by faith, and not by sight,” she said. “Without my faith, I don’t know where I would be.”
She acknowledges moments when she questioned whether race or gender played a role. Despite her experience and prior administrative background, she wasn’t offered light-duty assignments or alternative work options after doctors told her she could no longer serve on the water. “I really wanted to come back,” she reflected. “I wished I could have done more.”
When it comes to modern-day changes she’d like NRP to implement, Carroll believes that recruitment efforts must reach young people earlier, particularly at the high school level. She says it’s important for students to see conservation law enforcement as a viable and meaningful career option before pursuing another path in college, where recruiting has traditionally been a focus.
“Learn as much as you can and stay true to yourself,” she advises future officers, especially those entering as minorities. “It’s an excellent career, and I really enjoyed being out there on the water. I learned so much.”
When reflecting on the legacy she left behind, Carroll recounted a glaring issue that affects not just her but the entire Black community. “Our history is not being told when it’s happening,” she said. “It just took so long … I’m just now being recognized as the first African American female [officer at NRP].”
Addressing diversity in recruiting, building relationships with minority-focused organizations, and bolstering community policing efforts have been pillars of NRP’s ongoing transformation. These priorities have been reinforced under the leadership of Colonel Orlando Lilly, appointed in April 2024, whose community-focused and inclusive approach reflects the progress made since Carroll first broke barriers on the water.
Beverly Carroll’s career may have been cut short, but her impact forever changed the Maryland Natural Resources Police.