When I got my cup of coffee at a downtown café the other day, I got in line right behind a police officer. Like me, he was going through his pockets in search of enough change for his java. I was about to say that I was sorry about the two officers who’d died on duty in Ontario this past week. But before I could say anything a woman in the café approached him.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“Sure,” the officer said.
“Is there any way I can report a guy who’s been stalking me in his car?”
“Well, here’s what you can do…” and the cop politely gave the woman some advice. He said while there was nothing anyone could do unless the alleged stalker verbally or physically assaulted her, he suggested that she record the man’s licence. That way the police could trace him on their database. I had to wait my turn to offer my condolences over the deaths of the Peel and OPP constables killed in the line of duty this week.
On March 2, Peel Const. Artem Ochakovsky, 33, was attempting to reach another officer, apparently in a non-emergency incident; his marked cruiser apparently collided with a vehicle, which sent him careering into a utility pole. He left behind a wife and three-year-old son. More than 5,000 officers from all over North American attended his funeral on Tuesday. The day before that, March 8, OPP Const. Vu Pham, 37, died in an exchange of gunfire near Seaforth, where he had pulled over a vehicle and then was confronted by an armed man. His wife and three sons were with him when he died later in London, Ont.
“One of our heroes,” OPP Commissioner Julian Fantino commented.
I have no problem with that description. As one often prone to identifying war dead or veterans in my writing the same way, it’s equally fitting to eulogize these fallen police officers that way. It’s a part of grieving, I suppose. They were serving and protecting. And calling them “heroes” at the very least gives those hurt most by their loss some solace during a time of great emotional darkness.
But a couple of things have struck me even more than that, in the aftermath of the officers’ deaths. First I’ve realized that being a police (or any emergency) professional means never being allowed to be “off” duty; constables are expected to react, to have advice and to always be right. Second, I’ve been struck by the power of what some describe as the policing family and its support system.
Back in the 1960s, when I was a teenager and employed for a summer at a huge family diner in Baltimore, Maryland, I remember meeting city and highway police at all hours of the day or night. Just like the constable approached by the woman about the stalker the other day, the police at the Baltimore diner were always expected to answer law enforcement questions, offer advice to inquisitive youngsters, and even break up the odd fight if it broke out in or near the restaurant. The officers could never let their guard down. They were always on duty.
Once in the 1970s, when I was a morning show producer and on-air co-host at a radio station in Saskatoon, I remember a police shooting in the city. I recall the manager of our AM station demanding that we do an open-line broadcast inviting the public to comment on whether capital punishment ought to be re-instated for anyone killing a police officer. I refused to agree to the open-line question on the grounds that he was inciting an audience to irrational reaction when rational thinking was required. Fortunately, the police service took the high road too. It closed ranks around the family of the wounded officer. It asked for calm. Instead of ranting about punishment, the force requested and received community support. I was impressed. It stuck with me.
Today, I have a greater respect for police, paramedics, firefighters – all those serving the public good. Perhaps, as I say, it has something to do with my own professional research into the commitment among those who serve in uniform. Perhaps it’s a realization that comes with maturity and experience. No doubt much of my education about policing has come from listening to my own son-in-law in the Toronto Police Service.
But I tend to think it’s also come from personal contact. When I finally got a chance to pass along my condolences to that officer in the coffee shop, he offered a police credo that seemed appropriate this week.
“Whenever anybody calls,” he said, “they know we’re going to come.”
