The following is an excerpt from my book “Salt & Light: Being the Hands and Feet of Christ (in a cruel and dangerous world.” Salt & Light will be available 09-18-2019.
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers—for whoever sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother.” - William Shakespeare
I often wondered if I should even pen this chapter. The thought bounced back and forth within my mind for quite some time. Not knowing how the words would be taken, or if they would be taken at all, weighed heavy on my heart, but I felt it wise to recall the changing atmosphere within the brotherhood itself as it contributes to what I would call, a thinning blue line.
Though I could put together example upon example to lead you along a story-line of separation among officers of all callings and creed, I find it best to address this issue briefly, if I can without being laconic, as I fear my words may be taken out of context or even denigrate the message I believe God is calling me to pass on.
On September 27th, 2010, I put on my uniform as any other day, but this day I took extra care to present myself as best I could. My boots were shined once again, every hair in place and finely shaved. It was the day we would be laying a brother to rest. Cpl. David Ralph Slaton, 56, had been killed in the line of duty when he struck a cow in the roadway near the Oklahoma border. The resulting impact pushed his vehicle into oncoming lanes of traffic, where he was hit by a southbound semi. Many would tell you that David was nothing more than a large teddy bear of a man in a tan Trooper uniform, kind and gentle. To this, I can attest and affirm.
The emotions ran deep upon arrival to the service. Hundreds of uniformed police officers and countless civilians congregated with nothing left but standing room to pay their respects. Every officer spoke to each other, giving their sympathies. There were hugs exchanged and tears shed. This was the thin blue line as big and bold as ever, swimming together in a room full of brown Stetsons, chocolate wranglers, and blue polyester.
The ride to the interment was no less spectacular. Had it not been for the judge riding in the vehicle with me, I would have completely lost it when I turned the corner and saw child after child, hands over their hearts, pictures of thanks being held high, and flags waving. I remember telling my wife that it was the most awe-inspiring and amazing display that I never wanted to see again.
Fast-forward March 5, 2016. I sat in a large stadium watching brothers and sisters in blue and tan line up in support of Officer David Hofer. I rode in a procession in his honor and piled in along others to be a part of his service. Many things got to me. His last call, the drums and pipes, his fiancé speaking, and his father. I stood there in his honor, not shaken, until I started to see his memorial wreaths fall. The men attending them started lying them down. Every time I saw one laid down, it hit me harder than the one before. But the real hurt came after his father spoke.
He made a request that all officers break protocol and turn to embrace one another. To my left, I was met with a gracious hug, to my right, nothing but contempt. I was reminded again of the derision that continues to float throughout the blue sea.
Some might have attributed it to the events of the year, sixteen officers killed thus far if I recall correctly. Some may have credited it to the emotional state that most officers had been in for some time due to the violence toward officers across the nation, or even qualified it as being emotionally numb in the moment. No, I tell you, it was disgust. This man wearing a uniform and shield just like me carried nothing but disdain about his face. He was a separate entity from the surrounding flock, a black sheep. This was far from any sad case of badge fatigue or blue falconry, it was the absolute will to stand as an island among men, dispersed from any theory of a physical or emotional brotherhood. I fear, in the end, we only have ourselves to blame for the condescension that continues to cling to our shields.
Some officer may blame the academies, the new generations or any number of ridiculously mundane courses implemented mandatorily on the force. Others might blame the age of the officer, be it true age or years of service. Whether we want to accept it or not, truth lies in the fact that this is a cultural issue systemic to law enforcement. Outside stimulus planted seeds within our hardened ground, a union of blue and blood, but there was just enough dirt on that foundation and just enough enrichment from vitriolic members to fuel the influence of division in a milieu known for solace, protection, and like-mindedness.
We are a strong family, of this I am certain, and I love each of my brothers and sisters. I would and will support them all to the end of their endeavors, but that does not mean I will cast blind eyes on the faults that live in our own house. The old refrain mentioned earlier, “sometimes there’s justice; sometimes there’s just us,” has long faded to the whisper, “sometimes there’s those we trust.”
I deeply love my blue family and the love that flows throughout a community of bluebloods is nothing short of remarkable, but I find that even though we are in a world that continues to scrutinize every waking action and every settling decision, we tend to be the most critical of ourselves in a long line of antagonists. Maybe we should focus less on ‘putting people in their places’ and focus more on putting ourselves in the place that directs them to where they need to be.