| Wednesday, March 09, 2005 |
| Requiem for a Cop |
Saturday will mark the one year anniversary of my Grandfather's death (aka The Colonel) . I can't begin to describe the patriarch that he was, or the curmudgeon either. He was my last grandparent and died at the age of 95.
He was a huge man in every possible way - tall, imposing, and to this day had the biggest hands of anyone I've ever known. I used to be able to put his wedding ring on three fingers, and even as an adult, it fell easily off my thumb. He didn't have hands - he had paws. He was a consummate equestrian. He loved horses his whole life, and instilled that same passion in me. He rode as a stunt rodeo rider and and flew as a barnstormer, and took me to the Police Stables as a kid to see 'his' horses. To this day, I have a very special fondness and appreciation for any mounted police officer and their steed, because I knew Grandad was one of the first and the best.
He was as terribly tough and judgmental, as he was sentimental and foolish. And as I grew older, I realized he was also a bit of an Archie Bunker bigot (mostly due to his generation, but I can't excuse a lot of his later views. Luckily - they were LONG after he had retired), but despite the tough exterior, he would cry at the drop of a hat, the lyric in a song, the smile of a baby, or the wink of an eye. He was the softest hard man I ever knew.
Later, in the nursing home, as his mental status diminished, we placed his riding stirrups on his door so he wouldn't forget which room was his. He didn't.
A son of German immigrants, he did not speak English until grade school, and he only had a 10th grade education, yet he became the highest ranking police officer in the state of ___, and later, (forced to retire at the age of 65), at the request of our Governor, began a drug control organization that would later become the Drug Enforcement Agency of the US.
The weather the day of his funeral was much like it was yesterday. Heavy, cold, wet, blinding, wind driven, late winter snow. When the procession finally reached the cemetery, we were all huddled in the small tarp at the gravesite with umbrellas to shield us from the snow. I was standing next to the State Police Commissioner who had accompanied me up the walk, and he was resisting any cover from my umbrella, just escorting me and standing at attention as the Honor Guard performed the 21 gun salute and a VERY cold Trooper tried to play 'Taps' in less than favorable blizzard conditions.
As the priest delivered the final blessing, every time he raised the scepter to throw Holy Water on the casket, the wind roared up and the snow just hissed harder and harder. The Police Commissioner finally started to lean in under the umbrella with me to escape the onslaught.
It was very spooky. The weather got worse and worse the closer we came to putting him in the grave. My brother leaned over and said that my Grandmother (in the plot next door and there for a good 10 years already), was saying, "Get your butt in here and close the door already!!!"
I am going to reprint an article / obituary that appeared in the regional newspaper for his funeral and eliminate references to the state and simply call him the "Colonel" for the sake of the blog and whatever small anonymity that grants me. We used to call him the Colonel too - especially as he got older, but he was always Grandpap to me.
The Colonel was a tough State Trooper, a cop who had survived many gun battles, who carried another trooper out of a gun fight, who clung spread-eagle to the pitched roof of a farm house to drop tear gas down the chimney and smoke out a gunman inside.
He was a rigid superintendent of the State Police Academy, yet fatherly: He urged cadets to go to college at night to earn degrees. The academy was just the beginning of one's education, he told them -- a sentiment that was not shared by other officers in the state police force in the early 19xxs. His cadets didn't know what drove him to give that advice: The Colonel, who rose in the ranks of the State Police from horseback patrol in the remote mountain coal regions of the state, to the High Commissioners office, had never finished high school. His lack of education always burdened him personally, even though he accomplished so much in his life, a son said.
The Colonel revamped the curriculum for the State Police force's training and worked as a consultant for the U.S. Department of Justice to help police departments across the country develop training programs and drug investigation procedures.
The Colonel was superintendent of the State Police Academy from 19xx to 19xx, a time when the state police force was about half as big as it is now. It was common for troopers to patrol the state's rural counties alone, and he realized that troopers had to be smarter, wiser and independent.
"You had to be very self-sufficient to make sure you came home alive and with all your body parts, and he understood that," said a County judge who was a cadet at the academy during the Colonel's tenure.
"In some places, if you said, 'Sergeant, I would like to go to night school,' you'd be on perpetual evening shift. It was significantly different back then. But the Colonel knew he had to create and craft and mold these raw cadets into a very self-sufficient officer who could deal with anything that came at him in the middle of nowhere." The Colonel's first assignment as a trooper was in 19xx, when he rode on horseback in the coal regions and mountains, patrolling strikes. He was assigned to barracks across the state until 19xx, when he was promoted to major and named Academy Superintendent.
Three years later, he was appointed State Police Commissioner, the force's top post, by the Governor. After retiring in 19xx, he was named Deputy Secretary of the State Department of Health and established the state's first narcotics investigation unit, which later became the model for the Drug Enforcement Agency of the US.
The Colonel received 23 citations for bravery and valor in the line of duty, but rarely talked about any of those accomplishments, his family said.
"He would grudgingly tell you a little bit when you asked him," said one of his sons. "I don't think he liked to talk about it as 'heroism.'" Instructors at the academy would hint about the superintendent's bravery as cadets memorized the state police's creed, a vow that troopers make to lay down their lives for others.
"They would mention the fact that on more than one occasion, he had done exactly that". It impressed the cadets. "You can talk the talk, but if you haven't walked the walk, you really don't know what you're talking about" a colleague said.
At home, he escaped police work by cooking, singing and gardening. At night, he would sit at the kitchen table, studying for a test he would have to take to earn a promotion in rank. "Almost every night he'd do homework," his son said. "But he was an incredibly bright man. He had street smarts and an unbelievable memory" that impressed prosecutors in the courtroom. While a sergeant, the Colonel moonlighted as a legal assistant, writing briefs for a County Judge.
His image of a State Trooper was one of integrity, an officer free of any political ties that could corrupt. He was registered as a lifelong independent in elections, and staunchly believed that all troopers should be independents, his son said.
"He thought a political party affiliation gets in the way of your job," his son said. "He demanded the utmost integrity from people. He had it himself. It was not just show -- he had phenomenal
integrity."
Sadly, it was his staunch political independence that lead to his replacement when a partisan Governor was elected and wanted unquestionable party loyalty from his Police Commissioner. The Colonel was sadly confused about that. He thought the job should speak for itself. I still make that same mistake of not playing the game politic like I should at times.
I hope I live up to his legacy. Thanks Grandpap. I miss you. |
posted by Broadsheet @ 8:21 PM   |
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| 2 Editorial Opinions: |
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My grandfather died about a year and a half ago, and while he was never a police officer, or cared for horses much, (threatened to shoot a dog once,though) your post really touched me, brought some tears to my eye, and made me really miss my grandfather (I thought that when I went down to the farm two weeks ago that if that didn't bring a tear to my eye, nothing would,then you went and just had to prove me wrong, didn'tcha?!?!). He was a
farmer almost his whole life - got shipped off to Europe as a 2nd lieutenant with the Md National Guard and returned three years later with a promotion, but without half his right ear. Farmed the same land his dad did, and lived on that farm until he passed away. He only had one wish: that his wife, kids, and grandkids would all outlive him. He was a stubborn old man -- he
was cutting the grass in one of those ride on mowers, and smacked his head against a tree branch - and got all kinds of mad when my Dad and Uncle took the mower away for fear he'd crack himself on the head again. Heh. He was a crazy old codger :)
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Thanks for sharing that as well. It was very moving, and reminded me a lot of my grandpa.
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My grandfather died about a year and a half ago, and while he was never a police officer, or cared for horses much, (threatened to shoot a dog once,though) your post really touched me, brought some tears to my eye, and made me really miss my grandfather (I thought that when I went down to the farm two weeks ago that if that didn't bring a tear to my eye, nothing would,then you went and just had to prove me wrong, didn'tcha?!?!). He was a
farmer almost his whole life - got shipped off to Europe as a 2nd lieutenant with the Md National Guard and returned three years later with a promotion, but without half his right ear. Farmed the same land his dad did, and lived on that farm until he passed away. He only had one wish: that his wife, kids, and grandkids would all outlive him. He was a stubborn old man -- he
was cutting the grass in one of those ride on mowers, and smacked his head against a tree branch - and got all kinds of mad when my Dad and Uncle took the mower away for fear he'd crack himself on the head again. Heh. He was a crazy old codger :)