A police officer is laid to rest.

The line extended from the door to half a block down the street. The visitation hours had begun. Uniformed police officers directed traffic as police cars, marked and unmarked, lined the street and started to fill the parking lots of the bowling alley across the street.

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Police officers from all over the city and surrounding departments got in line as they always do when one of their own has made the ultimate sacrifice and is being laid to rest.

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A thumping sound is heard over and over again along with quiet voices as officers greeted each other. (thump thump) "how you doing, brother?" (thump thump) "good to see you again." It repeated all along the line, in the lot, in the vestibule, and in the hallway. This is unique to police funerals. It is the sound of officers embracing and slapping each other's back. The thump is the sound body armor makes when it is struck during the embrace.

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Smartly uniformed Honor Guard members were placed along the path to the chapel. The voices grew quieter as the line neared the casket. Those that knew the officer exchanged brief words with the family members and the slain officers partner. Officers who came only to pay their respects uttered condolences and continued walking. Hundreds of officers payed homage to their fallen brother whether they knew him or not. A prayer session was held later that evening just before the wake ended. It was led by a police chaplain.

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The funeral service was held the following day. The street leading to the church was lined with officers in full dress uniforms. The parking lot was filled with officers, civilians, news media, and curious onlookers. Every conversation was hushed.

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The sound of bagpipes and muffled drums announced the arrival of the procession. They slowly marched to the front of the church and suddenly stood silent. A silence fell as the hearse approached the curb and stopped. The Honor Guard reverently lifted the flag draped casket as the order to "Present Arms" was heard. Local police officers as well as many from other states raised their white gloved right hand in salute. The salute was held as the honor guard entered the church. "Order Arms" The officers lowered the salute and stood proudly as the family then police brass and other dignitaries filed into the church. Loud speakers set up by the city allowed the crowd to hear the proceedings from outside.

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The procession to the burial site was led by a ten motorcycle escort, slowly moving along the planned route, all emergency lights flashing. The lead car of the honors escort followed the motorcycles. He kept the pace slow. He choked back tears as every intersection along the route was lined with officers. The route to the cemetery passed through small towns. It looked as if their whole police force along with the fire department lined the street in a sign of respect.

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Two fire trucks, with the tower ladders raised, formed an arch the procession would enter the cemetery gates through. The escort vehicles pulled aside and watched as brightly flashing lights marked the procession as far as the eye could see. Over 300 police vehicles passed into the entrance before the motorcycles leading the hearse approached. The escort detail saluted smartly as the slain officer passed on his way to his final place of rest.

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Only the family, the police upper echelon staff, and dignitaries could get close enough to hear the graveside ceremony.

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The honors escort detail formed a small motorcade and headed back to the station. Proud to have again done their solemn duty to take one of their own to rest with dignity and honor.

Becoming the real police.

It's amazing what goes through a copper's mind in the middle of a knock down drag out tooth and nail attempt to put handcuffs on somebody who just doesn't want to go quietly.

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Standing at a window entangled with a police fighter and his partner the thought comes "If I shove him through this window will he hold on to us so we all go down two floors? Why is our police car the only one on the street? Did the call for help go out?"

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As if reading his mind the partner says, " I called ."

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There is a lull in the fight. The bad guy, the officers, and even the victim (who decided she didn't want her man arrested after all) are exhausted. The officer's are able to grab a breath but so does the offender. The battle resumes. The woman jumps on an officer's back clawing at his eyes. The copper twists and throws her across the room. He turns back and sees the bad guy is about to bite his partner in the groin. He reaches in grabbing the mans face and feels a crunching pain as his fingers become the target of the bite. The two officers throw punches, knees, and elbows trying to get cuffs on the tremendously strong man they are trying to arrest. Hell, at this point they are just trying to survive.

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Like music from heaven, sirens can be heard in the distance. The struggle continues. A short time later the door flies open, a mass of blue uniforms rush in. It's a most beautiful thing. Now the odds are in the police officers' favor, fifteen to two, the way it should be. Peace through superior firepower!

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The bleeding exhausted men watch as the offender is buried under a flurry of punches and kicks as the situation is brought back under control. Now they only have to go home and explain to their families how they got the bleeding hickeys, the stitched up fingers, and the stripes across the face and eyes.

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Often a situation rapidly escalated to where force became necessary. Pepper spray? Tasers? They didn't exist up until a few years ago. It was all manual combat. Coppers died in the double digits every year until the bullet proof vests began to be issued in the mid eighties. A tee shirt with an "S" emblazoned on it didn't do the trick.

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An amazing thing happened when the partners returned to work after a brief recovery period. Prior to this incident, they were two FNG's (effen new guys). It was "hey kid, I'm driving you do the paper." and "hey kid I'll be right back wait in the car." Suddenly every one knew their first names. They got invited to coffee. They were accepted. Real coppers aren't afraid. They had stood and fought and had been bloodied. They were now the real police.

Working the wagon in the big city

Working the wagon for a big city copper was sometimes the worst assignment to get. There were regular officers assigned to the squadrol or "meat wagon" as it was sometimes called. Days off, vacations, or medical time meant the new guys had to fill in. Sometimes the day went by with only a few prisoner transports to make and the occasional disturbance requiring a two man unit but some days the salary had to be earned.
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It was a "suspicious odor" that prompted the landlord to call when he went to pick up the rent. The sickly sweet smell hit as the officers entered the first floor entrance. If it wasn't January they would have smelled it from the street. (The apartments were never on the first floor.) The smell got thicker as the they climbed the stairs to the second floor front apartment. The landlord gagged and almost vomited as he opened the door. The young officers light up cigarettes, an old timer’s suggestion."If you keep the smoke in your face , it doesn't smell so bad," he said. Old newspapers, garbage, and junk was piled up everywhere. The smell led the officers to the bathroom. It was the neatest room in the place except for the dead guy. Seated, actually only kind of sitting, on the toilet was the victim. He hadn't been crapping. Between his bloated, stiffened, and stretched out legs was an over turned five gallon plastic bucket holding a beef pot pie and a jelly glass filled with coffee. The poor guy vapor locked at his dinner table.
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Now, normally the officer's didn't mind disturbing a man's dinner to take him to jail but this guy had the misfortune to die several days sooner without anybody who cared enough to look in on him so the officers were obliged to take him to the morgue. The smell was horrible. The lit cigarettes barely helped. Worst of all the victim had to be carried down two flights of stairs to the truck. The bathroom was small, only the bowl and a bathtub. The younger officer decided to take the inside. He stepped gingerly around the man's legs and stepped into the tub. They each grabbed an arm and shoulder and pulled upward. BIG new guy mistake. The body burst open and even more foul smelling fluids splashed over the corpse and spilled to the floor in a slick thick mess. The lit cigarette was dying out now as the officer gasped and frantically puffed to keep it lit. He noticed the window ( a veteran copper would have already had it opened) and forced it open. Down on the street, the more fortunate officer was laughing hysterically. Officer "okay, I can take the inside" sent a few choice expletives his way to get him back up there. The only wise decision made that day was to step into the tub before moving the body. Officer "I laughed till I cried" finally returned with a blanket from who knows which pile of rags. The blanket was laid down in the hallway and the body was unceremoniously shoved off the bowl onto the blanket. Officer "still laughing" blanket dragged the guy down the hall a ways so Officer "inside" could put the lid down, step out of the tub, and jump over the mess into the hallway. The blanket drag worked up till the doorway where the body twisted sideways and hit the door frame. The forehead split open like an over ripe melon. They still had to get the body onto the stretcher and down the stairs. Another blanket was pulled out of a pile and the man strapped onto the stretcher.
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The officers finally began to think like veteran coppers and went down the street where several men were hanging around a burning trash can. Two dollars each bought some helpers. The officers suggested the street people take the bottom. Heck for two bucks they should have, right? Several sloppy curse filled minutes later the wagon was loaded up and headed to the hospital for the guy to be officially pronounced DOA.
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The hospital staff just extended the hilarity. The attending physician refused to pronounce the body on the officer's say so and insisted they bring it into the E.R. The county hospital had an enclosed driveway for ambulances so the truck was driven into the passage way and the hatch opened. The funk that permeated the E.R. had staff and patients puking almost immediately. "Get it out" screamed the doctor. "Please sign here" replied the officer with a "I told you so" grin.
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Finally arriving at the morgue the officers found that the morgue attendant was an experienced ghoul who agreed to take the body out of the truck for only five bucks each.
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The department contracted out the body removal responsibilities some years later so many younger officers have never had this unique experience. 

Officer Shot

Every copper knows that a typical day is usually everything but. One minute it's scrounging around for traffic cones and barricades to block off that pothole that's blowing out tires on the drive and the next it's lights and siren because the dispatcher says a police officer is shot and you're only a few blocks away.

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Traffic never moves fast enough when it's important to get somewhere. Is it a false alarm? Is it a crank call? No, this time the call has been made over the radio by other officers. Sirens can be heard from every direction as officers respond. A fellow policeman, a brother, has been attacked!

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Is it bad? Will we be going to yet another funeral? We are good at funerals. Our full honors funerals are a sight to behold. Not a dry eye among the hundreds who show up from all parts of the country. Lots of practice I guess.

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There are police cars every where. There is also a lane open for the ambulance. Police officers know to leave a lane for the ambulance. The scene looks chaotic in a controlled way. Again, too much practice.

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A big sigh of relief, the only body on the ground is not wearing police blue or the body armor of a plainclothes officer.

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Leaning on the hood of a police car with a look of terror and shock on his face is one of us. The man in blue, a brother officer who has survived to serve and protect another day. His shirt is torn where the bullet tried to pierce his always worn, but seldom really appreciated, bullet proof vest.

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The good guys win.

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This time.

First Day

The door bursts open and three men in mask's carrying shotguns and pistols enter screaming "Get on the floor now motherfuckers or you're dead." They quickly run out the door as fast as they came in.

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It is day one of the police training academy. The instructor say's "Okay describe what just happened in detail, sex, race, clothing, weapons, everything." The descriptions vary greatly as each recruit attempts to recall specifics. The lesson? Be observant to detail, stay calm when the shit hits the fan.

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It has been a long day. The recruits are treated as if it is military boot camp. They march as a group. The instructors yell at any misstep or mistake. Those recruits that are former military take it in stride. It is actually not even close to a real boot camp but the civilians don't know that. The classes are really no more than instructors telling war stories of their experiences and exploits, physical training, and how to write a report.

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By the end of the day we are told a female recruit resigned without even making it to the lunch break. I am surprised at how much fun it was. I am looking forward to this.

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This was twenty seven years ago. I still am surprised at how much fun it was and still is.

Every day.