Rookie police officer Sylvia Moir was alone at a Sacramento callbox when she saw a motorist who appeared to be in trouble.

Thinking, "Hey, I'm here to protect and to serve," she approached the driver, a large man.

She got an uneasy feeling immediately. Within seconds, they were struggling over an outsized knife.

He punched her, breaking her nose, and dove for her gun. She fought him off. He ran; she radioed for help and took off after him.

Tasting her own blood, she chased him into an apartment and caught up with him in the bathroom as he emptied his pockets of narcotics and dumped them into the toilet. By then, she could hear sirens. He reached for a sawed-off shot gun. They wrestled, crashing through the shower curtains.

It all took place in less than four minutes.

Sylvia Moir has learned a lot since that incident along a trajectory that has taken her from the head of the Sacramento Metro division to Menlo Park, where she was commander, to El Cerrito, where she was named chief in July.

Plenty has changed since her rookie days – tasers, bean bag rounds, flexible batons can give an officer the added space of a few seconds in which to make a crisis decision – but one irrefutable reality remains constant.

 "Police work requires us to impose our will on people to stop behavior that doesn't reflect our values," she said in an interview in her department office.

She's embraced analysis, education, and bridge building to serve that reality. If Moir gets high fives from those who have worked with her, it is uniformly for bringing both a compassionate spirit and street creds to the table. And incidentally, she uses the above incident as an example of what not to do ("It was not tactically sound for me to enter the apartment alone to apprehend the suspect").

She can apply both traits to her job as chief: "I'm where I belong," she said, with "a fast-paced operational tempo applied to a smaller city."

Moir, whose Facebook page includes a link to "Tools of Tolerance," now oversees a 43-member department that responds to 13,000 calls a year.

El Cerrito's character as a transit hub with two BART stations and a primary thoroughfare, San Pablo Avenue, ratchets up the need for strong inter-city relationships.

On her watch, a team effort reined in the so-called Red Bull Bandits: Two men and two women accused of stealing the canned drink en masse from groceries in seven towns and reselling it for 50 cents on the dollar. 

"She really has my admiration in terms of cooperation and enthusiasm," said Richmond Police Chief Chris Magnus. "She is extremely progressive thinking. In this kind of work it's impossible to be effective without the support of our residents, partnering at every level. That is something she really, clearly understands."

She is a strong proponent of community policing. She plans to focus not just on numbers of incidents, but on what works.

 "I want criminals to feel differently when they are in this town," she said. Already, "suspects tell us they go around El Cerrito.

A sturdy woman with blue-green eyes and a thatch of curly, dark hair, Moir is a lifelong athlete and a marathon runner. She also holds a master's degree in organizational management, is working on a doctorate in leadership and organizational change, and teaches in the Supervisory Leadership Institute as an adjunct professor at Cal State universities around the state.

Although her late uncle and great uncle were veteran Oakland police officers, she didn't realize she wanted to go into law enforcement until she went on a police ride-along in Sacramento.

 "I've been bitten down to the bone in my hand. I had two knees replaced. I've been shot at. I've had my nose broken. I've talked to parents who have lost their kids. I've talked to parents who have killed their kids. It's answering the call. I love it. I wouldn't trade it. It's the best job in the world."

Lieutenant Steve Bonini said Moir's energy and vision are revitalizing the force.

"Police work is a lot more complex than people understand," Bonini said. "Getting a new chief is like getting a new head coach, a whole a new way of thinking."

Unlike her predecessor, Moir jumped into service projects – like waiting tables with other cops to raise funds for the Special Olympics.

"As soon as she heard about it, she got right down to the Mac Grill and was carrying trays of water around," Bonini said.

That's partly the influence of her mother, a driving force in Davis who was "not only incredibly bright, but warm and personable." Patricia Kangas was "the best role model for anyone who is going into work that requires strength of character."

Sacramento City Councilwoman Lauren Hammond has worked with Moir to solve a number of public safety projects, including problem liquor stores that brought mayhem to one neighborhood. Suffice it to say, the stores are history.

When the city cracked down on prostitution, Moir and some colleagues came to Hammond to advocate for services for the women, whom Moir said tend to be victims of child sex abuse. The city now offers a program that includes counseling, job training and other services.

"She has passionate compassion," Hammond said. "El Cerrito is going to be a better city."