Editorial introduction
In this post from John Cooley, a series of real incidents from the field raises a question that cuts to the heart of how agencies treat their own people in crisis. He shares moments where small procedural decisions sent an unintended message—one that grieving families and officers heard clearly. It is a sobering look at the gap between what departments mean to communicate and what they actually convey.
At my seminars, I am always told how things have been handled at different agencies when an officer has died. These stories reinforce my belief that we don't always treat our own officers or our surviving families in the best manner possible. Let me share some accounts from the field:
An officer was killed in the line of duty. His parents lived too far away for his agency to make the notification directly. They asked the agency where the parents lived to make the notification instead. A couple of officers arrived at the parents' home, handed them a note saying to call their son's agency, and left. What's the message?
Breaking television news reports that an officer has been shot and killed in a local community. The officer is not named. The wife of the involved officer calls the watch commander and asks if the officer on the news is her husband. She is put on hold. What's the message?
Parents of a deceased officer come to the station to pick up his personal property and are handed a trash bag. What's the message?
An officer is killed in the line of duty. The watch commander notifies all station employees by making an announcement over the public address system, using the code for End of Watch. What's the message?
An officer is killed in the line of duty, and the announcement to all agency personnel is made via internal email. What's the message?
Note: The last two examples may have been the most expedient means of notifying personnel, but the missing piece is that there was no personal follow-up. All death notifications to our own personnel need to be made in person, in time, and with compassion. A PA broadcast or an email is not acceptable and does not fulfill our obligations to our people.
An officer is killed in the line of duty. His wife is also an officer at the same agency. At one of the first planning team meetings, some members begin to criticize the surviving wife for not keeping her emotions under control and for being unable to make some initial decisions. After all, she's a police officer. What's the message?
The surviving wife makes the funeral arrangements and overlooks the wishes and concerns of the deceased officer's parents. They are relegated to being spectators with assigned seating. What's the message?
This is why I advocate that when a family liaison officer is assigned to the surviving spouse, another should be assigned to the deceased officer's parents. The parents have a vested interest in the funeral arrangements, and we should try to identify and meet their needs as well.
An officer is murdered by an ex-boyfriend. It is not work-related. She is provided with a full line-of-duty funeral and ceremonies, including the helicopter flyover traditionally reserved for officers killed in the line of duty. The reasoning: she was a stellar officer and one of the most popular members of the agency. What's the message?
I hope these incidents have given you something to consider. It is often not what we do, but how we do it. It is often about overlooking the needs of others because no one told us those needs exist. Traditions are not absolute, but they are important—and should not be set aside through emotional decision-making when reason and objectivity are called for. Pre-planning is essential. Training on how to plan, manage, and coordinate police funerals is essential.
We always seem to do things right. But not always best. There is no room for mediocrity. Our goal is to do it not just right, but best. We need to do better.
So what's the message?
By John Cooley | Policefunerals.com