MOSES LAKE — “I can’t understand you when you yell into the phone, I need you to breathe,” a dispatcher at the Multi Agency Communications Center, also known as MACC Dispatch, says calmly into the receiver.

A caller, breathless, has just dialed 911 to report a violent family member. Unlike in the movies, the dispatcher’s first question isn’t “what’s your emergency,” but instead “what’s your address.”

The caller’s phone number has already popped up onto one of five computer monitors in front of the dispatcher, and next to it both an address and a set of coordinates.

But, at first, that address is not for the caller, but rather for the nearest cell tower. In a minute, the system will ping a much more accurate address, but time is of the essence. That address could still be as far as 300 yards away from the actual phone, and the risk of a hangup is real.

Perhaps a phone may die, or the caller might collapse, or the phone may be taken away by an assailant. This is why, when callers accidentally dial 911, they’re asked not to hang up — because an officer is then headed to their home one way or another.

As the dispatcher manages to make out the distressed caller’s address, she types it into the system. She asks the caller to confirm their phone number as well, just in case the call is dropped. Only then does she ask what happened.

“Are there weapons involved? Are there any current risks to anyone present or to officers?” the dispatcher says, methodically going through the list while trying to calm the caller.

To many callers the cool, deliberate questions can seem to be slowing down law enforcement’s response, because they can’t hear the dispatcher frantically relaying the information to police.

But as information comes in to the dispatcher, elsewhere the word goes out to available units that an emergency call has been made from the address. As more information gets to the dispatcher who picked up the phone, it is immediately fed into the system and to law enforcement.

On any given shift, about four or five dispatchers are on duty. They roll up their cubby-on-wheels containing blankets for late nights and puzzles or books to occupy the slow moments, then fire up their computers, customize what screens appear on what monitors, and plug into their channel for the night.

There are three primary channels — the self-explanatory fire channel; the data channel, which handles traffic for Moses Lake, Quincy and south county police, and the dispatch channel, which handles traffic for the sheriff’s office and north county departments.

On a foggy Friday night in January, five women — all of the current dispatchers are women — take up their stations. While two are dedicated as call takers, whether for emergency or non-emergency, three take one each of the primary channels.

There’s a lot of busy work involved for those manning the channels. Helen Haffner, the dispatcher plugged into the dispatch channel, calls over the radio to individual officers from Soap Lake, Ephrata and other towns every thirty minutes to confirm their present status.

Officers often speak over the radio slowly and in low tones, almost incoherently — in “mumble-ese,” as one of the dispatchers jokes — and in response a string of letters and codes spills out of dispatchers at a million miles a minute. Though neither side would make the slightest sense to the layperson, each is fluent in the other’s language.

Time management is crucial, because dispatchers have to be available at all times, so Haffner attempts to stagger out those calls in order to not be tied up for long at any given point in time.

Perhaps both of the call takers are already tied up when a third 911 call comes in, or perhaps dispatchers have to communicate with each other when an incident travels from north to south county. In those cases, being able to quickly switch tasks helps make the entire system work more smoothly.

But, conversely, striving always to be available means plenty of time in between routine checkups and unexpectable emergencies is spent with little to do, except to solve a puzzle or catch up on a murder mystery. Haffner fidgets with a miniature Slinky in her spare moments.

MACC Dispatch moved into its new and improved building in 2016. The computer servers which handle and delineate all of the center’s communications traffic, described by shift supervisor Jennifer Pitt as once being barely the size of a broom closet, now buzz and hum in large black towers laced together by bundles of blue wires.

Beyond technological improvements and a generally larger floor plan, many of the design choices for the new building were guided by input from the dispatchers themselves. The break room was one of the biggest asks, giving dispatchers a full dining room and kitchen so they would no longer have to rely on microwave meals and take-out during a long shift.

A few turns down a hall lined by administrative offices, guided by a wooden sign – inspired by the TV show “M.A.S.H” – that points to all of the important areas, a wall of windows offers a peek into the heart of the center’s operations.

Two doors that can only be opened with keycards lead into a space that looks like a miniature Pentagon war room: computer monitors, headsets and blinking multicolored lights, tightly organized but too jam-packed not to look a little chaotic.

Two circles of desks, each made up of four rounded desks, form a figure eight in the center of the room, and a set of five computer screens at each desk shows an encyclopedia’s worth of information for every dispatcher.

Down the hall from the much-beloved break room, a door — one of the few in the secure building that’s never locked — stands open, revealing another of the new building’s dispatcher-focused improvements. The room is nearly empty, but for a small bookshelf, a lamp and an oversized recliner with cushions plush enough for a person to disappear into.

A small plaque outside the door identifies this nook as the “Quiet Room.”

The job of dispatcher, much like that of firefighter or police officer, can be an exciting and fast-paced job, but it can also be a heavy burden to bear.

Perhaps they answer a call about a suicidal person, or the same domestic violence calls every week from the same house, or for a baby that’s been found dead in the crib. And unlike an officer or firefighter, the dispatcher, who heard the caller crying over the phone in those most desperate first moments, does not always get to know how an incident ends.

Finding ways to address that pain and keep on top of their mental health can be challenging, Haffner said, as can be finding a person outside of work that they can talk to about those experiences. Turnover is high in the industry as a result.

If there’s to be any longevity to the career, making space for quiet time after a traumatic call, like in the plush recliner, is important, said Pitt. No matter how busy the center gets, breaks are to be taken off the floor of the call room and are not to be interrupted.

A few hours into her shift, Haffner takes her lunch break, whipping up a steak and sitting down for a breather. Barely has she sat down — typical, she says later — when the call goes out: a low speed pursuit.

One dispatcher gets a call from a civilian reporting a hit-and-run, and they input plate information and a description of the vehicle. Then another gets a call for a suspicious vehicle traveling away from the scene, which they determine to be the same car.

Officers start pursuing the vehicle, showing up as several dots on one of the monitors traveling from all directions to convene on the last reported location. Once the vehicle is spotted, some officers pursue them, while others move to get ahead of them and lay down spike strips.

All the while, a third dispatcher is relaying information between officers, often repeating things because their signal overrides all others in the system, ensuring every officer hears everything.

For several minutes the room is abuzz as every dispatcher talks into their headsets or to each other, and then, suddenly, silence. A dispatcher calls for the officers nearest the suspect vehicle to report in, once, then twice, to no response.

A few pregnant seconds later, an officer radios in: the driver has been apprehended.

Not every call comes with the same level of tension, Haffner notes. There are desperate callers, delusional callers, disappointed callers, depressed callers, bemused callers, each with issues ranging from life-or-death emergencies to annoying trivialities. But, besides making sure not to tie up 911 lines with non-emergencies, dispatchers try to treat every call seriously, Haffner adds.

“It might be silly for us, but not for them,” Haffner said. “For them it might be a crisis.”

In all circumstances, the staff of MACC Dispatch stitches together the patchwork of law, medical and fire agencies across the entire county, enabling real-time communication and cooperation between those disparate entities. And, just like the men and women of those organizations, the dispatchers are in every way first-responders — perhaps the most important of all, Haffner quips.

“We’re the first-first-responders,” Haffner says with a small smile, her eyes not leaving her screens.

Emry Dinman can be reached via email at edinman@columbiabasinherald.com.