Good Cop - Bad Cop

He was a mild, unassuming kind of guy, not the type you would think would be successful in this kind of work.  When he was a student at Archbishop Molloy High School, one of the Marist Brothers infuriated my mother by saying, “he’ll never amount to anything” because he seemed so timid and “never spoke up”.   My mother was furious and this teacher was so terribly wrong.   

My brother, Charlie, had wanted to be a cop for as long as I can remember.   As a little boy, he stood at attention and marched up and down the street with a rifle laid over his shoulder.  Maybe he wanted to show that teacher and the rest of the world that he could do it, that he could make something of himself.   Maybe that’s why he applied and was accepted to New York City’s Finest.

He joined the NYPD and easily rose to the rank of Captain.  He would have gone higher but the more advanced positions were all political in nature and that just didn’t appeal to him.   Charlie was a tremendously good cop.  He was honest, hard-working, intelligent and kind.  He was slow to anger, calm and reflective. As a cop, his temperament was an asset rather than a liability.  When you carry a gun, it’s best not to be a hothead.   Charlie was well-loved and brought people together.  He had a great sense of humor and was well-respected and well-loved by all who worked with him.

I’m certain, there was no better cop than Charlie.   

I grew up feeling that cops were marvelous people. Both of my grandfathers were police officers with the NYPD and it seemed that there were always police officers, firemen and correctional officers surrounding me, both in my family, and in my circle of friends.  Even as a nurse, it always seemed there was a special connection between the nurses and “the officers of the law”.

But, and here is the important “but”.   Not every cop is noble.  Never every cop is blameless.  Police Officers are human beings like the rest of us.   They carry prejudices, too, and some are hotheaded and downright nasty.   I venture to say, some people join the police force because they want to laud it over others or be in a position of power.   I personally overheard cops talking after a beer or two.  They laughed and joked along these lines, “we held the Ni_ _ _ _ down on the ground with our foot and taunted him, calling him, Ni_ _ _ _, Ni_ _ _ _, what’s the matter, can’t you get up?   Boy wasn’t that hilarious, “one of them said.    Honestly, it made me sick to my stomach and I had to leave the room.

Another cop I knew, who wasn’t really a bad guy, had way too much to drink one day and shot his gun off through the ceiling of the tavern.    I felt he was really a good cop at heart although his behavior that day was extremely horrifying.   He was thrown off the force.

So, what I am trying to say here is this:  police officers should not be above the law, simply because they are police officers.    We have to respect all human beings and judge them not because of the role they are in or the uniform they wear, but because they conduct themselves in a manner that deserves our respect.    I grew up respecting Catholic Priests because they were priests.  I learned over the years that not every priest deserves my respect.  Not every cop deserves my respect either.   I cannot respect someone simply because they hold a position that typically deserves admiration.  

Addendum added on 12-13-16 

I have decided to write a follow-up to “Good Cop-Bad Cop” because I received some rather intense feedback that this blog entry was felt to be an attack on the police.  Let me state clearly and for the record that it was not my intention to attack the police force.   I thought I made it perfectly clear that I have always had very positive feelings towards the police and other officers of the law. 

I am sorry if people were offended that I did not mention their names or state them as other examples of “good cops”.   I was simply using Captain Charles A. Fries, Jr. as one instance of a genuinely wonderful police officer.   He was my older brother and my “hero”.   Since I knew and loved him the best, I picked him as my positive example.   And, I will say again for the record, that as far as I am concerned, there was no better cop that Charlie.    

I have also learned over my lifetime that not every cop is a “good cop” or, at least in certain instances, their behavior is less than stellar.  As a matter of fact, at one point in his career my brother, Charlie, was in the very difficult position (Internal Affairs) of having to investigate and determine culpability of other police officers. 

 So, once again let me re-state that what I am trying to say is this:  police officers should not be above the law, simply because they are police officers.    We have to respect all human beings and judge them not because of the role they are in or the uniform they wear, but because they conduct themselves in a manner that deserves our respect.

This follow-up entry is dedicated to all the great cops I know.  You know who you are and I invite you  to add your names in the comment section.  I don’t want to offend anyone by missing someone, so I will leave this up to each and every one of you.

 

Prejudices and Racism- 5 - Miss Connie Thomas, RN

Over the years I have missed having a relationship with Connie Thomas, RN.

We lost touch with each other shortly after my wedding in 1971.  I received a few letters from her when she joined the US Army and then she went missing from my life. 

She never knew my first reaction upon meeting her at the American Red Cross on Amsterdam Avenue in NYC and for that I am grateful.  This is not an admission that I am in any way proud of.  But I feel that it might be a confession that needs to be shared.

At the urging of Susan Smith and Mary Jane Sassone, two classmates from the 1965 graduating class of St. Vincent’s Hospital and Medical Center, I applied for a position on the American Red Cross Blood Mobile.   Back in early 1967, this was a really fun job, (although far from intellectually stimulating) for three 22 year old women.    We got to travel to West Point, police precincts, fire houses, business establishments, jails, etc.  Believe me, there were a lot of single men, flat out on tables, ready to give their blood to playful, young nurses.  It was better than Match.com and E-harmony, for coming up with dates.  But, alas, I am regressing and possibly trying to avoid the main point of my story.

Back at that time in nursing, vena punctures were not part of a nurse’s training – at least not at St. Vincent’s Hospital and we were noted for being top notch and cutting edge.    I remembering being “scared to death” when contemplating that this was one of the main responsibilities of being a nurse on a Blood Bank.   Being the blatantly honest individual that I usually am (some may refer to this quality as having a big, Brooklyn mouth), I told the person interviewing me that I had absolutely no experience taking blood and I was frightened to death by the prospects of doing vena punctures.   I remember being somewhat astonished by my Interviewer, when surprisingly this disclosure seemed to work in my favor.

I recall her telling me that they actually preferred to hire people who had absolutely no experience in vena punctures so they could train them properly in their techniques.    I believe their approach was correct.  As a matter of fact I took my husband, Bob’s, required pre-marital blood sample and he was delighted with my technique. To this very day, I pride myself on doing a brilliant, top-rate vena puncture.  I must also give credit where credit is due - right before sticking the needle into someone’s arm, I have always asked the Holy Spirit to guide my hand and keep me from hurting the person in front of me.

Once again, I am digressing.   So here is the point of my story:   After all the preliminary paperwork is filled out and all the verbal instructions are given, the day comes when the nursing supervisor walks me over to this black woman and introduces her as the person who is going to train me in vena puncture technique.  She is going to be the person working with me until she considers me skilled enough to go off on my own.   She smiles sweetly at me and offers her hand.  Of course, I take her hand and smile back.   After all, I am not prejudiced.

 But- and here is the horrifying realization that is difficult for me to admit - all the while this tape is playing in my mind:  “How can this black nurse teach me anything! Why couldn’t they have assigned me someone who is more competent; someone different (meaning white) I’m thinking, “She can’t possibly know more than me.  At the first mistake she makes, I’ll ask for someone else.”

I don’t think I was ever more wrong about anything in my life as much as I was wrong about dear, Connie Thomas.

She was a marvelous woman, absolutely brilliant, absolutely beautiful inside and out.  We became the very best of friends.  One time when we shared a room together at the Thayer Hotel in West Point, the American Red Cross Truck Crew teasingly said, “You girls can’t share a room together – you’re white and she is black.  This isn’t done.”   It was 1967.  But by this time, having had the privilege and the honor to get to know Connie, I didn’t see that she was black and I was white, rather  we were just good friends     I invited her to a party one weekend and I remember her asking me if there would be any black fellows there.  I hadn’t even thought about it since our “color” no longer had any meaning for me.  She went to that party and one of the smart alack white guys at the party showed an interest and escorted her home only to come on to her rather aggressively.  Connie had the impression he thought she would be an easy mark because she was black and I’m sorry to say, from the description of the events that occurred that night, I think she was right.

Prejudice was alive and well in 1967.  I’m embarrassed to say, it was alive in me.  But I thank God that I met Connie and I lament that I have lost her.  She was a very wonderful friend to me.  If anyone knows her whereabouts or how I could find her again, please share this information with me.  She lived in Queens, NY (I believe in Jamaica) with her family in the late 60’s.  I remember being at her home during a party. I was accepted like one of the family.  Connie Thomas is not an easy name to find through the internet or on Facebook.
Below is the crystal pitcher that Connie sent us for our wedding even though she was in the service and unable to attend.  It has always been one of my prized possessions, specifically because it was a gift form Connie.  It is all I have left of her besides my fondest memories.

The Greatest Love of All

65 years ago on October 13, 1951 a young man, not yet 30 years of age, sacrificed his life on a far away hill in South Korea.   First Lieutenant Joseph T. O’Donnell died defending the rights of the South Korean People.   This week, six and a half decades later, Joe’s youngest grandchild, Michael O’Rourke, celebrates his marriage to a beautiful young woman from Korea.   Her name is Yoonmi Lee and she seems to me to be a person worth defending and even, if need be, dying for.  I am now witnessing first hand a flesh and blood consequence of Joe’s ultimate sacrifice.   I am delighted to see this fruition of love between Michael and Yoonmi.   And, for the very first time in my life, I have finally gotten a sense of meaning, a sense of understanding and a sense of peace.   I realize now that Joe did not die in vain, he died in an act of the greatest love one man can show another.

“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.  “ John 15: 12,13 

The Gold Star that is given to a mother when her child is killed in action is a symbol of this ultimate act of love.  This Saturday I plan to give Michael and Yoonmi the Gold Star that belonged to Joe’s mother with the hopes that it will continue to be a visible symbol to them of the supreme love that it represents.  May  this extreme, supreme love remain with them,  and bring them peace and happiness, shelter and protection  all of the days of their lives.