doteddie.com

End of Watch November 15th 2007

From Steve Mallonee:

Reading the eulogy definitely brought back some memories. I looked for a link on Eddies blog to add a story, but I am not overly 21st century smart on the “Information Super Highway” and especially not blogs, but I wanted to share non the less.

You know, one of T.J.s least favorite areas of law enforcement was traffic.

He just did not like it. Despised it for some reason.

Making fun of traffic officers, calling them names like “Asphalt Gophers”, “Traffic Nazi’s”, and affectionately referred to the Georgia State Patrol as “God’s Special People”.

He was issued a traffic citation book when he first went to work with the St. Marys Police Department. A ticket book in those days consisted of 25 tickets. I think after nearly 20 years of po-licing in St. Marys, T.J.

still had the original ticket book issued to him with maybe 3 tickets missing. One I think was destroyed because it contained several coffee stains whereas the ticket book served as a shelf for his coffee while driving. The white pages of the book had turned yellow.

I don’t remember the night, or time of year. It was after dark though and definitely late. The vehicle description, perps name and license numbers are fictitious because I do not remember the exacts, but you will get the jest.

ANYWAY, one evening radio silence was broke with the sound of T.J.’s

voice:

T.J.(114) - 114, St. Marys.

HQ - 114.

114 - 10-38 (police talk for a traffic stop in Georgia) on a brown in color Buick sedan Florida license plate WXY-310, we are on Dilworth St.

at the Mom and Pops.

HQ - 10-4, 2330 hrs.

114 - St. Marys, run me a 27 (Po-lice talk for a license check) on a Florida License # J762-795-67-401.

HQ - 10-4, stand by.

After several minutes.

HQ - St. Marys, 114.

114 - Go ahead HQ.

HQ - Florida License # J762-795-67-401, comes back to a John H. Smith of Yulee Florida, suspended for Insurance cancellation.

Now at this time in the state of Georgia, if a person was operating a motor vehicle with a suspended license, it was an arrestable offense.

Which meant impounding the car, writing a report, transporting the suspect to the county jail…etc. Easily a 3 hour ordeal.

The next sound over the radio was:

114 - HQ, how about trying Georgia, License # 456899746.

HQ - Stand by.

By this time, EVERYBODY on duty or within earshot of a radio or scanner that was picking up St. Marys police traffic was chuckling to themselves awaiting for the next response.

Frank Thornal (109) - 109, 114. Are you alright?

114 - 10-4.

109 - Do you need assistance?

114 - Negative, I CAN make a traffic stop.

109 - 10-4.

HQ - St. Marys, 114, that license, Georgia, License # 456899746, comes back to a John H. Smith, also suspended.

114 - 10-4.

114 - HQ, Try South Carolina, same name and DOB.

HQ - Suspended.

114 - HQ, last one, try Virginia, same name and DOB.

109 - 114, is your car damaged…..?

HQ - 114, that license comes back to John H. Smith, valid through the state of Virginia.

114 - 10-4, 10-8. One out of four aint bad is it…..?

By this time, everyone within earshot of the radio was busting out with laughter.

109 - 114, 109.

114 - Go ahead Frank.

109 - Any damage to the car?

114 - No but the idiot pulled out right in front of me and almost hit me.

There was another car right behind me that saw it, so I had to stop him.

As long as he had A valid license, I was alright, right…??????

Yup, T.J. hated traffic duties.

T.J., from an old friend, a young student officer some 20 years ago, may you forever rest in peace, taken long before your time.

Steven P. Mallonee

By Ed Wassman Sr.

A Promise Kept

By an Ole Brother Master Mason, a Beloved Friend,

 

and,

 

A Retired Chief’s Eulogy for a Trusted Police Officer

T. J. you did good…most people just don’t know how good, ‘cause you didn’t brag about it, you just did what needed to be done.

T.J. and I, due to our chosen calling and history of poor health with the men of our families, always promised the other that the surviving brother Mason would deliver the Eulogy at the first-passed’s funeral, and also owe the first-passed a fifth of Jack Daniels. Although we could never quite work-out just how to collect on the Jack Daniels.

Unfortunately, I can’t travel any distance any more, and this IS the toughest duty I’ve ever had to pull. But, I will keep my promise, and I respectfully offer these words for my fraternal brother, my friend of twenty years, and one of my Top Cops.

It is in times like these, that it is very normal for a person to be flooded with a mix of emotions; from numbing shock, to anger, to denial and disbelief, to speechless grief and, to very deep sorrow. However, and “trust me” in this, I also KNOW that it is T. J.’s burning desire for us to smile through our painful tears, and recall the many happy times with happy tears, and to celebrate the promise of his raising to come.

T.J. and I (and my family) spent nearly twenty of our most productive years together. We began and ended our tours of duty at SMPD within months of each other, and our failing states of health drove us out together. Because of that special relationship between a command officer and his chief, there is no doubt that we spent more waking hours together than with our own families.

In fact, in private, his conversation usually began with “Hey, Butchy-boy baby, have I got a deal for you… (Butch is a family name given to me at birth by my mother)” and, it would inevitably ended with “Trust Me.” Think about it, just who else but our T.J. would have the guts to name his chief’s wife “Wormy.”

It is also a fact that T.J., as a Police Captain, worked seventy or more hours per week; and, sometimes, he lived out of the trunk of his patrol car, or a vacant jail cell when he was between one of his many marriages.

Well, as anyone can imagine there are more war-stories INVOLVING T.J. than can be shared in polite company. So, with respect to time, propriety, and the fact that I suspect “the statute of limitations” has NOT yet run-out on some of T.J.’s more unique deeds, I will choose my stories very carefully:

 

 

 

Them ain’t grits on the ground, T.J., its snow: On Christmas Eve 1989 we had a record-breaking four inches of a very wet snow. Even I-95 was closed…now us ole Midwesterners saw no major problems that we hadn’t handled before. T.J. on the other hand, who had never driven on snow and knew nothing at all about wind-chill, saw a mighty challenge. Yes, we were in for a very interesting and somewhat entertaining night on patrol with T.J.

Well, it seems that Emma Lou (Wormy) and I were coming down “the spur” to meet T.J. for a cup of coffee. Now T.J., who was at the same time coming up the spur sideways, was attempting to drive on the slick roads at his normal, somewhat excessive pace. When it came time to make his left hand turn into the parking lot, he cranked the wheels to the left and slammed on his brakes.

Yep, T.J. suddenly discovered that the car just kept on skating ahead, only crosswise in the roadway, and out of any kind of control what so ever. Seeing his dilemma, and us being in his crash path and, after due consideration of about a nanosecond, I picked up the mike and simply said, “T.J., take your foot OFF the brake.” That was probably the only order from me that he ever followed promptly and without question.

So, after making a semi-safe landing, T.J. triumphantly emerged from his patrol car, wearing those now very hot, car-heater-blasted, slick-soled, plastic Corfam uniform shoes, and promptly placed them on the icy parking lot. Yes sir, he did a full, very undignified, heels in the air flop on his back, and slid half way under his car door.

Enjoying the moment when the unflappable Captain Sievers was totally out of control, I sauntered over to him, shoved my hands a little deeper in my parka pockets, and looked down at him. Then, he, looking up at me somewhat sheepishly, simply said, “Them ain’t grits on the ground, are they Chief.”

The Chief’s Business Cards: T.J., as an instructor and member of the command staff, was sent to most of the specialized police training that was offered up at Forsythe. T.J., who was single at the time, rifled through my desk for a fistful of my business cards to take along on his week-long training session. You see, business cards were always handy for the inevitable after-class-hours evening “choir practice,” something of a pub crawl to the many cop watering holes.

Well, a few days after T.J.’s return, I started receiving a number of calls from people I never met, about how good of a time I had during after hours affairs; but, it was suggested by the various instructors and, the director of the police academy, that I might be a little more discreet about handing out my very generous waitress tips, wrapped around my business card; which, it seems, also had a room number written on the back…yep, this story needs to end right there…trust me.

Like your Mamma, the Chief Knows and Sees All: Proper honors and a very precise Class A Dress Uniform Code was always worn to a police officer’s funeral services. It seems that T.J. and, as I recall, Frank (Thornal) were representing our department at the funeral of a fallen Jacksonville police officer. Well, it also seems that T.J. talked Frank into leaving their hot and cumbersome Class A headgear in the car, rather than be properly covered…yes, this is an unforgivable transgression of the Manual of General Orders.

Now, T.J., the ranking officer, who had file folders full of reasons not to wear that hot Smokey Bear hat for any reason, simply reasoned that; one, they were away from Saint Marys, so nobody from the city would see them bare-headed and report back; and, two, with litterly thousands of police officers staining in-ranks (a few without hats), they’d be lost in the sea of police blue and nobody would really notice anyhow.

The next morning I called back to the squad room and asked the two of them to come see me. As they entered my office, with the ubiquitous cup of jailhouse coffee in hand, I suggested they might want to sit down and tell me about the funeral…not knowing that their close-up pictures were on the front page of the morning Jacksonville paper…which was folded neatly, picture down, at my right hand.

At the conclusion of the debriefing, I asked if there was ANYTHING else they wanted to tell me, ANYTHING. To which question I received a somewhat cautious, “No, not really, Chief.” To which I offered, “Well then, tell me about this fine picture on the front page of the Jacksonville Times Union.” Yep, there was a close-up of two solemn looking Saint Marys Police Officers amongst a background line of thousands of other police officers…no hat on head or, in hand. Gotcha!

Oh well, shame on me, but, I savored that singular moment for the longest time. Frank finally said, T.J. made him leave his hat in the car. T.J. said, as he choked on his coffee, “Chief, you’re just like my Momma, as a kid I couldn’t even get back to the house before she knew what I had done.” My reply, “Trust me, T.J., you are correct…chiefs will know the unknown.”

Well hidden under that irreverant façade, there is another very serious, values-driven side of T.J. that he kept from most people…but, not me. T.J. was famous for trying to make a deal or compromise on anything, just to get along with folks. However, as his children’s father (and grandfather), there were no compromises, no deals, only absolute pride, never-ending love, and a special duty to protect his beloved children and grandchildren well beyond the confines of any earthly grave. In fact, early in our relationship, T.J. was designated (in a sworn document) as our (then) young son’s sole guardian should anything happen to Emma Lou or me before Eddie turned 18. Needless to say, T.J. took-on that special obligation with a no-compromise determined reverence.

Yes, for nearly twenty years we learned together, we taught together; for better or worse, we built a police department from scratch together, we plotted together, we worked too many hours together, we made many mistakes together, we roomed together, we bled together (literally), in the bad times we hugged and cried together, we celebrated together, we bent the rules together, we prayed to our God together, we attended too many police funerals together, we got shot-at together, we got bad-mouthed by cheap local politicians together, we fished together, we cooked together, and we laughed together.

Finally, I don’t think God ever made a less selfish; nor a more benevolent soul than T.J. He is, and history will prove that he will forever remain, the keeper of the police soul, the steward of compassion and humanity, and the benevolent heart of community policing. Both SMPD, and the many hundreds of police officers who attended his academy classes are better cops, and more worthy as humans, because of T.J. Indeed, community policing—our beloved T.J.’s calling—in serving the Saint Marys community for nearly twenty years is where T.J. WAS “the heart and soul” of our Police Department. T.J. literally gave HIS heart and HIS soul to OUR police department and its never ceasing demands.

The Archangel Saint Michael, who God tasked to cast the criminal Satin out of heaven, is the Patron Saint of Police Officers. I have no doubt that T.J. is riding shotgun, at the right hand of Saint Michael, together to whatever call God has dispatched to them. And, while enroute, T.J. will be wise-cracking, “Hey Saint Mikkie-baby, have I gotta deal for ya…” I also have no doubt, what-so-ever, that the conversation will also end with T.J. saying, “Trust me.”

In fraternal conclusion, I respectfully offer his ole Chief’s obligation to one who has fallen long before their time:

[Attention in ranks]

[Hand Salute]

“Patrol Captain T.J. Sievers, SMPD 103 (retired), has answered his last Roll Call and is 10-7, 10-42. God Bless him. He is now relieved of all earthly duties. While he is relieved; he will never be replaced and, he will be sorely missed.”

[Recover]

[Parade Rest]

Most Respectfully and Most Sincerely Offered,

Colonel Ed Wassman, Chief of Police, SMPD Retired

and

Emma Lou (Wormy) Wassman

This is for T.J…..

[Play: Vince Gill’s Go Rest High On That Mountain]

Go Rest High On That Mountain
(Vince Gill)

I know your life
On earth was troubled
And only you could know the pain
You weren’t afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to the rain

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on earth is done
Go to heaven a shoutin’
Love for the Father and Son

Oh, how we cried the day you left us
We gathered round your grave to grieve
I wish I could see the angels faces
When they hear your sweet voice sing

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on earth is done
Go to heaven a shoutin’
Love for the Father and Son