An officer died yesterday. I did not know him, but I've known hundreds, maybe a thousand like him. Clean uniform (mostly), shiny leather gear, insignia all in place, scuffed shoes from all the calls and alleys and stairs and vacant lots.
Firefighters hang a flag before an ambulance arrives at the medical examiners office carrying the body of an officer who was killed during a shooting at Mercy Hospital which left four people, including the gunman, dead on Nov. 19, 2018, in Chicago. Credit -- Armando L. Sanchez / Chicago Tribune
I was young once, and seldom have I felt so old as I do tonight. I realize how much I've seen, forgotten, tried to forget and failed. Nearly 25 years. Still a rookie to some, a dinosaur to so many others. The Circle of Police Work.
In spite of all that's going on, on how "staying fetal" is the somewhat accepted practice of policing nationwide, this kid, this young and (I'm guessing here) idealistic kid, upheld the finest traditions of police work. He ran to gunfire. He wasn't ambushed like so many of our brethren recently, he ran toward danger. People were in danger and he went where he was supposed to go.......and it killed him.
What do you even say to that? What words can even measure up to that sense of duty, that willingness to sacrifice it all, that feeling that somewhere, someone is in trouble and G_ddamnit, I'm going there to sort it out somehow, even at the cost of everything.
Once again, the pipes will play and the drums will thump, a funeral will be held and the world will be less for the passing of a cop doing his duty.
RIP Officer Jimenez.