So, What’s Your Excuse?

Where were you? What If No One Showed Up to Your Funeral?

Contributor to
(This article was originally published in

You should have been there. You owed it to them. It was the very least you could do.


It was as moving, as profound, as beautiful, and as incredible as any have ever been. The Candlelight Vigil is the emotional peak of the Week – maybe of my entire year. There were tens of thousands of cops and survivors there, but I didn’t see you and I wondered: why?

I was asked to speak to a national audience of seasoned veterans on Wednesday. There were some who still choked in tears when the issue of the Vigil came up. I shared what I had been taught in the academy with that prestigious group: we have two duties to the 18,271 officers whose names are etched in that Memorial.

First, we owe them our best. We must conduct ourselves in a way to never brings dishonor to them or the badge they wore as they gave their life.

Second, we must never forget.

I intend no disrespect for the officers from bygone years whose names were just added. However, my heart and my focus went out to those who made the ultimate sacrifice in 2007. I felt like I was attending the funeral for 181 of my brothers at one time.


As active cops, our presence at the Vigil is important to many. It makes a great difference to the surviving family. The family of officers who directly suffered the loss will be affected in ways we hope never to know. Our presence bolsters all of the other cops who are there and reaffirms their faith in The Brotherhood. Maybe most of all, it reassures each of us and our decision to join the fight for what’s right.

This year, I traveled with a long time friend named Joe. It was Joe’s first time. It was my eighth. I saw the wonder in his eyes as this experience unfolded before him. I shared in his awe and tried to make the experience even better for him.

Prior to the Vigil, Joe and I were walking along the Wall, looking at the newly inscribed names and the mementos that had been left in their tribute. We came upon two females who seemed to be studying and poring over one name that was new.

We stopped and asked if they had lost someone who had been close. They both nodded as they choked back tears. Joe asked who he was to them. The first replied, “We worked together. He was my best friend.” The second followed, “He was my big brother. I miss him so.”

They told us of how this fine young officer had been taken out in a tragic event. His sister then talked about The Brotherhood. While he was alive, the family often felt cheated because they had to share their cop’s attention and love with his fellow officers. It was a part of his life that they somewhat resented and certainly didn’t understand.

On that day, in that place, at that time, they understood. They had no concept of what being part of The Brotherhood meant prior to his death. They do now. They told us how they felt surrounded, enveloped, and cared for by thousands of cops from everywhere. While the names of the cops weren’t known, their love and concern resonated deep within the souls of the family.

Now, they know. Now they realize why their brother / son had been drawn so tightly to this bond of our Brotherhood.


I want to paint a word picture for you. It’s nearing dusk at the Memorial on the 13th of May. There is a large stage set for speakers and singers to use at one end. There is row after row of chairs neatly set, anticipating the arrival of the surviving family members. The grounds around are swarming with cops. Cops of every size. Cops of every shape, age and color. Uniforms, plain clothes, and honor guards are everywhere.

At the other end of the Memorial, hundreds of honor guard members from departments from everywhere stand at attention as the first of many buses arrive carrying the grieving family members of fallen officers. As the bus door opens, a family steps onto the walk and they are greeted by the honor guard from the agency where the fallen officer served. That family is escorted to a seat prepared just for them. It is done with the utmost love and respect for those who carry this awful burden.

One can witness family after family. Bus after bus is arriving and bringing those who mourn.

Joe nudged me. I looked up and see a small child – maybe 4 or 5 years old. He is walking just ahead of Mom. She is being escorted by the honor guard. That child is carrying the single rose that the guardsmen have given him. He walks proudly, but slowly, and with tears streaming down his face. He is looking around in total awe.

He is learning a lesson for which he’s much too young. He’s also learning a vital lesson, as well: The Brotherhood will never let that family stand alone. We will respect their fallen officer and always remember to honor what he (and his family) has given our great country.

But, I still wonder: where were you?

I guess that I must have missed your face in the crowd.

There are some who just couldn’t make it. A couple of years ago, I had to choose. My daughter’s graduation from college was in conflict with Police Week. I had to make a choice. I did. I chose to be with my daughter. It was the right choice. Yet, I missed being in D.C. terribly. Sometimes it just can’t be avoided.

Then there are the kinds of reasons that I hear most of the time:

My wife wants to go to (fill in the blank) on vacation and I just can’t go to D.C.
I forgot to put in for the time off at work.
I can’t afford it this year.
I’ve decided that I’d rather spend the time at the ocean this year. The list goes on.
Suppose, just suppose that your life was given in the line of duty next week, next month, or next year. God forbid it happens. But, let’s just suppose. How would you feel if everyone was “too busy” to pay their respects at your funeral? How would you feel if no one checked in on your family to make sure that they are OK? Would you expect the other cops in your life to find time for your family, or would their excuses of being too busy suffice?
Feeling guilty? I hope so. We can all find a few bucks to go for beer, to play cards, or other do stuff when we choose to. Do you realize that throwing $10 a week ($20 a pay) into your “locker fund” cup would produce enough cash for a trip to Police Week?
OK, if you live a long way off or will only stay in 4-star hotels, you’ll need a little more. What would you spend if your partner’s name were being added to the Wall next year? That’s what I thought. No amount would be too much.
Can’t get the time off? Come on. You want to go do D.C. for the Candlelight Vigil and the guys you work with can’t or won’t trade days or make it possible for you to go? Are you really trying to sell that one? I suggest you come up with a better story than that.

Joe and I decided that after we’d had a few barley pops at the FOP beer tent, we’d walk by the Memorial one last time before heading back to the hotel for the night. We bumped into a guy who’s a Fed. I forget the agency right now. They lost a guy last year and like us, our new friend wanted to stop by the Wall to see and touch that name once more before bed. He began to tell us the story, when tears began to flow.

We tried to bring him comfort. It was then that we learned that our new friend had lost his 18 year old son to suicide just a month before. What can anyone say to that? I didn’t know, either. We stood together. We talked. We smiled. We told stories. It was so very much like the experience one goes through during the visitation process at the funeral home when a loved one has died.

Just being together helps us to feel better. It’s therapeutic. It touches the soul. It gives us a few good memories to hang onto in an otherwise horrible time in our lives. You need to be there for those who need you.

I found this letter taped to the Wall this year. It was handwritten on loose-leaf notebook paper. I copied it down so that I could share it with you now.

Dear Daddy,

The past two years I have missed you so much! Sadly, there are many things in life that you missed.

But, I will cherish the months spent with me and I will never forget.
You loved the band, Rush, so much that you went to a concert and took me. You bought a tee shirt there and you loved to wear it.
On the last day you and I spent together, you wore that shirt. Now, every night, I sleep with it, thinking about you and how much I miss hearing your voice.

Every night you would tuck me in and say, “I love you baby, Goodnight.”

Daddy, there are so many things that I miss about you. The thing I miss the most is seeing you and hearing your voice.
You went to every soccer and baseball game I had. Now, I am on a swim team like you were in high school.
As I read this letter to myself, I cry. But, that’s OK. If I had one wish in life, I would wish that you had never died.

I love you and miss you. You will always be in my heart.
Love,Your Daughter, Lauren

That, my brothers, is why I go. It’s why you should go.
If you were there: Thank you.
If you were not: What’s your excuse? Where were you?
The Candlelight Vigil will happen on Wednesday, May 13, 2009. What will you do today to guarantee that you’ll be standing there next year?
We owe the fallen two things: conduct ourselves in a way that honors them and their service, and always remember them and what they did. Are you doing your part?
Your comments are always welcome. Click on my name below.


Jim Donahue is a native of the Midwest, getting his education at Michigan State University. He is now training patrol officers on Technology & Tactics. He has responsibility for training cops around the country to use patrol car computers – safely. Jim has worked with police departments across the country on process improvement at the patrol car level, focusing on technology to improve tactics, safety, and productivity. He instructs in a variety of police academies and having taught “Technology and Tactics” to thousands of cops in-service nationally. He is an accomplished grant writer. Jim is a certified ILEETA member. Jim has worked as a reserve officer, initially with U.S. Customs & Immigration at the Detroit/Canada border in the year following the attacks of 9/11. He has also worked as a patrolman on the street in a suburban Detroit community. Contact Jim.

Check out the web site.

Tippit Family Makes First Visit Ever to the Memorial

J. D. Tippit may very well be one of the most famous law enforcement officers in American history. A Dallas Police Officer for 11 years, Patrolman Tippit took great pride in his work. He loved his beat, the people he met, the work he did to keep Dallas safe.

Never a man seeking fame or prestige, he acted as a true officer – always looking out for those in need. The events that would eventually put him in the national spotlight were thrust upon him; and the man who never sought to prove his significance would prove it anyway, as a true hero acting to protect his country.

The date was Novemeber 22, 1963. John F. Kennedy was making his infamous ride into Dallas. Officer Tippit left lunch with his wife, Marie, early; he was worried about trouble. His instincts would be right on that day. While riding in his patrol car, he received a call that President Kennedy had been shot. Officer Tippit was instructed to move closer to the center of the South Oak Cliff area, keeping his eyes peeled for the assailant.

At approximately 1 p.m., Officer Tippit stopped his car to question a young man. Something about him didn’t quite fit. As Officer Tippit walked around the vehicle, the assailant shot him four times and fled. The 39-year-old officer died on the way to the hospital.

Witnesses eventually saw the suspect run into a movie theater. The police were able to confront the man and, after a struggle, arrest him. Lee Harvey Oswald was booked for the murder of Officer Tippit. Later, subsequent evidence conclusively linked Mr. Oswald to the assassination of President Kennedy. Without Officer Tippit’s intervention that day, there’s no telling whether Mr. Oswald would have ever been brought to justice.

Officer Tippit left behind a wife, Marie, and three young children, Charles, Brenda and Curtis. Marie Tippit had never seen her heroic husband’s name engraved on the walls of the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial … until today.

With the help of Dallas Police officers, Marie Tippit and her son, Curtis, made their first visit to the Memorial on Monday morning, May 12. With rain falling heavily around them, Mrs. Tippit gazed at her husband’s name, tears mixing with a sad smile in an emotional moment for her and her family. NLEOMF Chairman and CEO Craig Floyd presented Mrs. Tippit with a framed picture of her husband and an etching of his name.

Memorial Fund staff were honored to meet Mrs. Tippit, and grateful for her long-awaited visit.

13th Annual Law Ride

Video contributed by Elvert Barnes

An estimated 1,100 motorcycle riders – among them, U.S. Transportation Secretary Mary Peters – made the annual trek from RFK Stadium to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial this morning for the 13th Annual Law Ride and Wreath Laying Ceremony. Law Ride pays tribute to law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty, in particular the more than 1,200 motorcycle officers who have made the ultimate sacrifice throughout United States history.

With F Street, NW, filled with parked motorcycles, Law Ride participants heard from a number of speakers during a ceremony at the Memorial. One of the speakers was Secretary Peters, herself a longtime motorcycle rider. She expressed concern that although America’s roadways are getting safer for motorists in general, they are becoming more dangerous for the nation’s law enforcement officers. She noted that a record 83 officers died last year in traffic-related incidents, remarking that “83 law enforcement deaths are 83 too many. Safer roads start with safer drivers.”

Secretary Peters praised the NLEOMF’s Drive Safely campaign, which provides safety tips and other information for motorists to use in watching out for officers on the road. She also encouraged all law enforcement officers to use their safety belts and take advantage of other safety and restraint systems in their vehicles.

The keynote speaker was Michael Turner, a retired Supervisory Special Agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration and a member of the Blue Knights Motorcycle Club. “Strength, courage and valor are the hallmarks of those who serve in law enforcement. It is through law enforcement service and sacrifice that we gain hope – hope that we can one day live in a crime-free America,” he said.

Following the remarks, Law Ride leaders and special guests placed four wreaths at the Memorial’s center medallion in honor of fallen law enforcement officers from all four regions of the country. NLEOMF Chairman and CEO Craig Floyd also read the names of 11 motorcycles officers whose names were added to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial this year.

Law Ride 2008 raised close to $50,000 for the NLEOMF and the National Law Enforcement Museum. During the ceremony, generous checks were presented by SprintNextel, the American Heroes Foundation of the Defenders Law Enforcement Motorcycle Club, Panasonic, ICOP Digital, the Brevard County (FL) Sheriff’s Office Charity Ride and America’s Most Wanted, among others.

Fallen DC Area Officers Honored in Special Ceremony

Each May, for nearly three decades now, the Fraternal Order of Police Auxiliary, Jerrard F. Young Lodge D.C. #1, has sponsored a ceremony to honor law enforcement officers from the region who have died in the line of duty. That tradition continued Friday, as five officers who died over last year were remembered by law enforcement colleagues, family members and friends.

A steady rain forced the ceremony inside, to the former DC Council Chambers in One Judiciary Square, from its traditional location at the Washington Area Law Enforcement Memorial Fountain outside Metropolitan Police Headquarters in Northwest, DC. But the strong feelings of love and admiration for the fallen officers could not be doused.

Terrica Gibson, sister of MPD Master Patrol Officer Brian Gibson, was the guest speaker. MPO Gibson was shot and killed on February 5, 1997, as he sat in his police cruiser in Northwest DC. The assailant had been thrown out of a nearby nightclub and, by his own admission, just wanted to kill a cop. Speaking eloquently of the family of law enforcement survivors who are “connected by fate,” Terrica said “I have received so much from this extended family” and assured the recent survivors that she and others will continue to give back to those “embarking on this journey that wasn’t of our own choosing.”

Each of the five officers who died in the past year was then remembered with special tributes by officials in their departments. The five officers are Officer Ernest Ricks III, MPD, EOW: May 17, 1989; Officer Wayne Pitt, MPD, EOW: April 10, 2007; Officer Luke Hoffman, Montgomery County PD, EOW: April 25, 2007; Corporal Scott Wheeler, Howard County PD, EOW: June 18, 2007; Corporal Courtney Brooks, Maryland Transportation Authority PD, EOW: January 1, 2008.

In addition, 92 other local, state and federal officers from the region who died in the line of duty in previous years were remembered during the Roll Call of Heroes. Their names were read aloud and carnations placed in a vase in honor of their service. With the rain still falling, members of the FOP Auxiliary later placed the flowers at the Memorial Fountain.

This was the 29th Annual Memorial Service for Law Enforcement Officers sponsored by the Lodge #1 Auxiliary.

14th Annual Blue Mass

Hundreds of law enforcement officers and supporters gathered in St. Patrick Church in downtown Washington, DC, today to remember and pray for officers killed in the line of duty during 2007.

Now in its 14th year, the Annual Blue Mass provides an uplifting prelude to National Police Week 2008, which officially begins May 11.

In his homily, Archbishop of Washington Donald W. Wuerl described law enforcement officers as truly being children of God. Remarking on how officers put themselves in harm’s way to bring peace, the Archbishop said that only a person who has “courage, integrity and love can do this.”

David Aguilar, Chief of the U.S. Border Patrol; James DiGregory, First Vice President of the DC Fire Fighters Burn Foundation; and Carolyn Pandolfo, FBI Supervisory Special Agent, delivered scripture readings. Later, Sterling Spangler, President of the Washington, DC, Chapter of Concerns of Police Survivors (DC-COPS), read the names of the 24 fallen officers from DC, Maryland, Virginia and federal agencies who died in the line of duty last year.

Before the mass, honor and color guards from 20 federal, state and local law enforcement agencies processed outside the church under bright blue skies and a large American flag, hung across G Street, NW, by the DC Fire and Emergency Medical Services Department. The Emerald Society Pipes and Drums, Firefighters of Washington, DC, provided musical backdrop as the units entered the church.

The Blue Mass continues a tradition that flourished at St. Patrick Church, in a slightly different form, from 1934 to 1975. During those years, police officers would congregate annually to pray for their comrades who had fallen in the line of duty and to ask God’s continued blessing for their own safety. The name of the Mass comes from the blue color of police officers’ uniforms.

Reflections From”Ground Zero”

1n the Line of Duty

By Craig W. Floyd, President and CEO, October 1, 2001

The phone call came on a Thursday afternoon — two days after terrorists crashed four U.S. airliners into the World Trade Center in New York City, the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and in a field near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Thousands had been killed, including as many as 70 law enforcement officers. Now, I was being invited to New York City for a visit to “ground zero.”

The invitation came from Scott Williamson, a longtime friend and supporter of the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund (NLEOMF). Scott is a Bronx trustee for the New York City Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association (PBA), a group that raised more than $500,000 to build the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial. I worried that I would simply be in the way if I went, taking time away from Scott and others who had a job to do in the rescue and recovery effort. But Scott convinced me that an important purpose could be served if I went as the official representative of law enforcement’s national memorial. And so I made the trip, and I was deeply honored to be asked.

I went on the following Tuesday, September 18, exactly one week after the terrorist attacks. Planes were starting to fly again, but I took an early morning train. By 10 a.m. I was standing on “ground zero.”

My senses were immediately impacted by the eerie stillness and silence in what is normally one of the busiest and noisiest cities in the world. The area was completely closed off to the public so there were no cars and few people other than police officers, firemen and members of the National Guard — persons who are used to dealing with tragedy and disaster, but most of them looked as shocked and numb as I felt.

Few words were spoken by anyone. The masks everyone wore to protect us from the smoke-filled air discouraged conversation, but not as much as the overwhelming sense that you were walking through a graveyard. The smoke-filled air had a pungent smell to it, something more than just smoldering wood and metal. Someone said it was asbestos, but I wondered if it wasn’t just the smell of death.

Actually, the amount of smoke that rose up from the rubble was also a great surprise. After all, my visit took place one week after the buildings crumbled. There were no flames to be seen. But Scott explained that often, as large pieces of metal would be lifted from the heap, oxygen would rush in and reignite the fires. Amazingly, he pointed out that the core temperature of the rubble was still more than 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Cameras that would be fed into holes to check below the surface would be pulled out melted.

One of my first conversations on the site was with a police captain from the Bronx. It had been six days since any survivors had been found. Yet, he was convinced that more would be saved. He said there was evidence of people surviving without food or water for up to two weeks. He said they had uncovered offices and shops amidst the ruins fully intact. He was absolutely sure someone was just waiting to be rescued. As he walked away I, too, was convinced. To believe anything else at that place and time would have been sheer blasphemy.

Lynn Lyons-Wynne, the NLEOMF director of operations, joined me on this visit and brought along a Memorial flag with the “Shield and Rose” logo — the symbol of honor and remembrance for law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty. While I was talking to the police captain, Scott Williamson and another officer took the flag and tied it onto an elevated railing overlooking what was now the resting place of 70 brave officers. It was a fitting tribute to some real American heroes.

Thirty-seven of those fallen heroes served with the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey Police Department; 23 were New York City police officers; three worked for the New York Office of Court Administration; five were with the New York Office of Tax Enforcement; one was a FBI special agent; and one was a master special officer with the U.S. Secret Service. To put the magnitude of this loss in historical perspective it is worth noting that prior to September 11, the greatest loss of law enforcement life in a single incident occurred on November 24, 1917, when nine Milwaukee, Wisconsin police officers were killed in a bomb blast at their police stationhouse.

A short walk later, I was led into a shell of a building that used to be a popular store right across the street from the World Trade Center. Now, it served as an emergency room where the injured were to be treated. I met a doctor by the name of Joli K. Yuknek. This was to have been her vacation week from her regular job, but like so many others she came to “ground zero” to help save lives. The room was fully stocked with medical supplies and equipment. She said, “We have everything we could possibly want here, except survivors-we just don’t have any survivors.” She expressed a frustration felt by all of the rescuers.

The majority of her work over the past week, she said, was treating the infected eyes and blistered feet of the rescuers. Dr. Yuknek said, “I feel like I’m not doing enough.” There were no words left to be said, so I gave her a big hug of thanks for her spirit and her heart. Hugs among strangers in New York City might have been unusual before September 11, but no more.

One of the toughest moments occurred as we came to the intersection of Liberty and Greenwich. This was the former home of Fire Engine Company 10. They were literally right across the street from the twin towers. When the attack occurred they were first on the scene. I was told that none of the firefighters on duty that day made it out alive. I wrote my name and a short note of condolence in the guest book sitting on a tabletop outside of Fire Engine Company 10. Some school children had sent cards that now hung outside for visitors to see. One of the cards read:

“God Bless America . . . Thank you for helping out our country. I am very grateful.”

Love, Claire

Everywhere we looked, an unforgettable image presented itself. Some, like a multi-story garage full of cars, seemed rather normal at first glance. But, then, I noticed that the cars were covered in soot and ashes. Those cars had been parked there since September 11 and many of them were probably not going to be reclaimed because they belonged to the missing.

A pile of unopened dog food bags sat on one street corner — another example of the generosity that has fueled the rescue and recovery effort. Even the K-9s, which have performed such a vital role in the search for survivors and the recovery of bodies, are being well cared for-right down to the booties covering their paws so they don’t get cut or burned as they walk on the smoldering pile of metal and glass.

Packages of bottled water, nourishment of all kind, shovels and heavy-duty machinery dot the entire landscape around “ground zero.” For a few moments I became distracted by this outpouring of human compassion, and forgot the horrible tragedy that inspired it. But, then I turned the corner and saw the twisted pile of emergency vehicles that were destroyed in the rescue effort. A red fire truck was just barely recognizable. A man respectfully asked us to keep our distance because the group of people examining the wreckage was the family of one of the missing firefighters.

The incongruity of a “Burger King” restaurant sign hanging on a wall above a hand-painted arrow and lettering that spelled out “Morgue” was particularly disturbing.

At one point, we walked past a small cemetery surrounded by an iron fence. It was a striking sight, just a couple of blocks from where the twin towers had once stood. The entire area inside the fence had obviously remained untouched since September 11, unlike the streets and sidewalks, which had been cleared of all but a film of ash. The cemetery was covered by several inches of soot, paper and other debris that exploded into the air as the twin towers collapsed. The bottoms of the headstones were covered. Some of the pieces of paper strewn about were still legible. One item near the fence caught my attention. It appeared to be a certificate that had probably been hanging on an office wall when the planes struck. It was charred around the edges, but read:

“Certificate of Appointment

Deborah Wallach
Has been appointed
Associate Vice President-Investments
Dean Witter Reynolds
On this first day of January 1993”

Thankfully, when I searched for Ms. Wallach on an Internet listing of the missing, I did not find her name.

After spending several hours at “ground zero” we retreated to the New York City PBA office just a few blocks away. While there, Scott Williamson shared some personal reflections about some of the officers who were missing. He noted that even though the Bronx was the furthest borough from the World Trade Center site, more New York City police officers from the Bronx units (6) died than from any other borough. Scott explained that no matter how far away these officers might have been when the call for help went out, they were determined to be there. “It’s what they lived for,” he said.

Those brave officers included: Sgt. John Coughlin; Officer Stephen Driscoll; Officer Vincent Danz; Officer Jerome Dominguez; Officer John Perry; and Officer Walter “Wally” Weaver. Scott mentioned that he was a close friend with several of the missing officers. In fact, Scott said he was planning to go on a fly-fishing trip with Wally Weaver in October. He commented that Steve Driscoll “was always the first one through the door” on dangerous calls, and that he always attended the Widows and Orphans Christmas Party to help make sure the families of the fallen were cared for. Lieutenant John Perry’s story should make every officer a little prouder to wear the badge. Scott told me that this veteran officer was putting in his retirement papers a few blocks away at Police Headquarters when he heard about the attack. He ran over to the World Trade Center to help save lives. He was never seen again.

As we were walking out of the PBA office, heading for the elevator, we passed three of New York City’s Finest sitting on the reception area couch, sound asleep. The scene was one of the most poignant of any during my visit to the City that day. It epitomized the emotional and physical exhaustion that every police officer and public safety official in New York City, and so many other Americans, felt at that particular time.

We left the PBA office for a short ride over to One Police Plaza, headquarters of the New York City Police Department. The auditorium there had been turned into a temporary home for the families of the 23 missing NYPD officers. An abundance of food and drink was present, along with cots that had been brought in for the families to sleep on. It was quiet when we entered, with a combination of officers and family members scattered about the room.

Right away my eyes focused on the man wearing a Scottish kilt. Scott Williamson had told me about him. He was Wally Weaver’s dad, and from all indications he was the life of the party under normal circumstances. Even now he wore a cheerful smile and had a firm handshake. His warm spirit was making these awkward and painful moments a little easier for everyone present. But this charismatic man also had a very strong resolve and sense of purpose. According to Scott, Mr. Weaver had made it quite clear that he had not lost hope and that his kilt was not coming off until his son was found. As long as Mr. Weaver continued to smile and laugh-and wear the kilt-you almost believed it might be so.

With a small crowd gathered around, Mr. Weaver was explaining that the large circular emblem hanging in front of his kilt was made of seal fur. It had a name, but too many other thoughts from that day have made it hard to remember. All of a sudden, the crowd around us grew considerably and the mood in the room seemed to change. Something had happened-something good. The New York Giants football team had arrived, not the entire team, but enough to excite this crowd of true blue New Yorkers. This apparently was becoming a regular occurrence. I was told that members of the New York Rangers hockey team had been there the day before.

The visit with the Giants started rather clumsily. Most of them were just a couple of years out of college and, understandably, were not quite sure what to say or do at a time like this. Who did? Condolences were not quite appropriate because these families were still clinging to hope that their loved one would be rescued. They were “missing,” not dead. Signing autographs-something these athletes were far more familiar with-didn’t seem quite right either, at least not initially. One of the football players, Jason Garrett, introduced himself to me and handed me a Giants T-shirt. It was obvious that he assumed I was one of the survivors of the missing. I felt guilty taking a gift intended for a family member, so I quickly handed it off to the brother of Officer Vinnie Danz.

After awhile, everyone seemed to ease into their more normal roles of adoring fans and star athletes. Autographs were signed. Team hats were distributed. Photographs were taken. For a few brief moments, the tragedy seemed to fade away, but then the Giants all left.

A makeshift shrine to the missing — a table full of photos and personal mementos-had been set up by the families in the back of the room. All day, I had been carrying my Memorial baseball cap, along with a red rose and a note of remembrance attached, with the intention of leaving it somewhere appropriate as a show of support for the missing officers. This was the perfect place.

Scott made sure that he introduced me to all of the Bronx families who were there. I spent a lot of time with the father of Stephen Driscoll. He was a bit gruff, with a wonderfully dry sense of humor-a genuine New Yorker. He shared the fact that he and his wife had been planning to move from the City to a home they had purchased in Carmel, New York, so they could be closer to their son, Steve, and his family. Now, those plans had been put on hold.

Greg Danz, the brother of Officer Vinnie Danz, told me he worked in a building just a few blocks from the World Trade Center. He could see the towers crumble and he knew that his brother was probably on the scene. His worst fears were soon realized when he was told later in the day that Vinnie was missing.

On the way out, Lynn and I were given a very special assignment. While Vinnie Danz was inside one of the towers, helping move people to safety, he picked up an office phone and dialed his wife, Angela. He wanted her to know that he was okay and that he loved her — just in case. His wife wasn’t home, so he left a voice mail message on their answering machine. Unfortunately, later in the day, the message was accidentally taped over. Our job was to get the tape to an expert at the FBI who had offered to do whatever he could to retrieve the lost message. With Vinnie missing for a week, that taped message to his wife had grown immeasurably in importance. When we returned to Washington, the FBI technician’s wife came by to personally pick up the tape for her husband. She said that, like everyone else, they wanted to do something to help. Retrieving Vinnie’s message had become almost as important to them as it was to Angela.

There was one final stop on our way home to the train station. Scott wanted us to visit a command center that had been set up at an elementary school on the other side of the attack site. It took roughly 10 minutes to drive there; reinforcing in my mind just how large an area of the City had been destroyed when those planes struck their targets. The command center was filled with people from every imaginable office involved in the rescue and recovery effort, including all of the utility companies, as well as the police and fire departments. Small groups of people seemed to be meeting and mapping out strategy in every room we passed. This was truly a logistical nightmare.

As we left the building, Scott spotted a trailer nearby with a sign indicating that it housed officials from the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey Police Department. We walked over and introduced ourselves, offering whatever words of support and condolence we could muster. After all, this was a department reeling in shock and pain. Prior to September 11, the Port Authority Police Department had lost just seven officers in the line of duty during their entire history, with the most recent fatality occurring in 1983. In the terrorist attack and the subsequent rescue effort, 37 Port Authority officers were killed, including their Police Superintendent and Director of Public Safety, Fred V. Morrone.

Superintendent Morrone was at his Jersey City office when the attack occurred. He rushed to the World Trade Center to help with the rescue. The Port Authority was the second largest tenant of the World Trade Center, with 7,000 employees who worked there. Witnesses reported seeing Superintendent Morrone climbing the stairs at 1 World Trade Center, pausing only briefly to encourage the people who were rushing down to safety. He did not have to be there, but under the circumstances, this 30-year veteran of the New Jersey State Police did not want to be anywhere else. According to his son, Greg, “Before the second building fell, I knew and my mom knew he was gone.”

Among the other Port Authority officers killed were Inspector Anthony Infante, head of the JFK International Airport command; and Captain Kathy Mazza, head of the Port Authority’s Police Academy, and the department’s highest-ranking woman.

While we were visiting with officers outside of the Port Authority Police trailer, one of them said that there was another person we had to meet. He knocked on the trailer door and we were introduced to Police Inspector Joseph M. Morris, the Commanding Officer for LaGuardia Airport. He was sitting alone in his cramped trailer office. He invited us in and seemed genuinely glad to be distracted for a few moments from the grisly task at hand. He shared some stories of the past week and, at one point, pulled out a map of the area containing the names of all 37 Port Authority officers and their last known position. As he pointed to the names and explained their significance, I remember thinking that I had never seen such exhaustion and sadness etched upon any man’s face. A few weeks later, I had a smile on my face when I learned that Inspector Morris had been named to take Fred V. Morrone’s place as the head of the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey Police Department.

Scott, Lynn and I returned to our police cruiser for the drive out of “ground zero.” That’s when something quite remarkable happened. As we exited the restricted area with our police lights flashing, crowds of citizens gathered on the side of the road began cheering loudly and applauding. Some held signs saying, “We love our police and firefighters.” They were all smiling. It sent chills down my spine. I can only imagine how good those cheers must make our police officers and firefighters feel. In all of my years as a promoter of law enforcement, never have I encountered such unabashed public enthusiasm for our police officers. It was a moment I will never forget as long as I live.

Those citizens had just come to realize what I have long known — our law enforcement professionals are very special people. We owe them all a huge debt of gratitude for their service and sacrifice. It is a shame, though, that it took the deaths of 70 law officers to teach that important lesson.