Fare Well Natalie Couluris

Dear Readers,
The beautiful woman in the middle of the photo to the right is Natalie Ramratan. I stole this from her Facebook page, but I don't think she'd mind.  Natalie worked with me in the 28 Precinct when I worked for the NYPD, what seems like lifetimes ago.  When I first met her, I was totally scared of her.  We were brand new and bumping into everyone and saluting statues and running to calls on foot, and no one really liked us.  I came to find out later, that out of the two field training squads, I was placed in the Special Ed one.  But that's another story. 

Natalie could cut you down with a verbal tongue lashing or a look like no one's business.  I learned that when I made the mistake of wearing a Mount Gay rum t-shirt when we went out drinking one of the first nights.  This was a mistake.  You should understand that the subtle and intellectual humor of the NYPD does not shy from the hilarity of calling me gay.   

Later I realized why Nat was so hard on us, acting like we were idiots.  It's because we were idiots.  If I ever write this book that I haven't started and is only in my head, I will point out that while the Academy does teach you many things, it can't prepare you for working on the street or inside the precinct house.  And in reality, there was so much we didn't know and they would grudgingly teach us. 
After I proved myself, I got to be treated to the real Natalie.  Quick with a smile and a laugh, always ready to lend a hand when you really needed it and still quite able to dispense the word "dumbass" when it was appropriate. 

Then she met George. George was a quiet guy who was, and is one of the nicest, gentlest men I know.  He had this super dry humor, which combined with him not talking that much, made him hysterical.  Guys used to go to Tom's Diner for food at times.  This, for those who watch  TV, is the diner they used in Seinfeld for the exterior shots.  Anyway, it was run by Greeks, and when George was there waiting for his order, he heard the waitress say something about "these fucking cops" to the cooks.  George leaned over and said in Greek, "You should be careful what you say, because you never know who can hear it." She turned white, and the owner was apoplectic.  George never taught me more than a few curse words, which honestly is all a cop really needs. 

Natalie caught pneumonia and a kidney infection in early March and was transferred from a hospital near their home to Mt. Sinai in Manhattan.  I was just going to offer up my parent's place for him to shower or change.  (I didn't ask, but I'm sure my parents would have understood) Last night, Natalie passed away in the ICU, surrounded by her family, and then mourned by her larger family of officers.  While I am not a huge Facebook fan, it's been really special to see all of these people that I worked with, sharing their grief together. 

I haven't spoken to Natalie in over two years, since the last 28 Reunion night.  I think what makes this such a hard loss is that working with her on the 3rd Platoon (So called because it's the 3rd shift of the day, with the first being the midnights) was some of of my fondest memories on the job.  Working with my partner and some great officers and a terrific boss, it made it fun to come to work.  I miss that time.  I miss Natalie.  I am flying to LA for work this week, but I'm waiting to hear about the funeral.  I will try my hardest to go.  And if I can go, I'll be in a suit, hopefully in formation with my brothers and sisters from the 28. 

I'm not sure if there's a heaven.  And I'm not going to say that it was her time to go, because that's a lie.  But I will say that I'll never forget her.  And she is an important piece of one of the most amazing puzzles I've ever encountered in my whole life.  I love you Natalie.  I love you George and your three beautiful kids.  Many of the people in this photo would do anything for you, myself included.  Just say the word. Fare well Natalie. 

The Silent Epidemic

Most of you don't know who Matthew Schindler was.  He was a NYPD cop who worked highway safety in the 115 Precinct in Queens North.  He had 14 years on the job with 6 to go.  He had a wife and three kids.  And on Monday, February 13th, on his way home to Long Island from his day tour, he pulled his car over to the side of the LIE and shot himself in the head, dying instantly.  He is the fourth NYPD officer to kill himself in the last 30 days.  Let me restate that another way, last year 4 officers died in the line of duty, which equals the amount of officers dead in this past month.

Let me be clear, I didn't know Matt Schindler.  Nor did I know the other officers who committed suicide, but their stories are just as tragic:

• P.O. Terrence Dean, 28, who was having suicidal thoughts and had actually placed his service weapon in his mouth in front of his father, killed himself in January.  His girlfriend had called his precinct to ask a hypothetical question to the officer on the T/S (Telephone/Switchboard) about what would happen if she reported that her boyfriend was suicidal.  She hung up and then called Terrence and relayed the gist of the conversation and he immediately thought that she had told his superiors that he was a danger to himself.  He was on the scene of a car burglary and calmly removed his weapon from his holster in front of the the victim of the robbery and shot himself in the head.  
• P.O. Patrick Werner, 23, got into a vehicle accident and fled the scene.  A rookie, he was on the phone with his girlfriend when he got into the accident.  He drove home and killed himself.  Possibly for fear of losing his job while still on probation.  Who knows...
• P.O. Brian Saar, just 8 days before Schindler's death go into an argument with his wife on Super Bowl Sunday and killed himself, leaving 5-year old twin girls.  

Suicide is a silent killer.  The department doesn't like to talk about it.  The families and friends might feel shame and so they don't speak of it, and thus it flies under the radar.  You better believe if the NYPD had lost 4 officers to someone else's gunfire in one month, you would be hearing all about it.  The only place to gather for these friends and colleagues and family in the immediate aftermath is the funeral.  However, the New York City Police Department doesn't give these fallen officer's an Inspector's Funeral, which is what you think of when you think of police funerals (Motorcycles, helicopters, honor guard)

I worked in the 28 Precinct for 5 years and in that time we didn't lose a single officer in the line of duty, however we did have an officer take his own life.  His name was Will Joynes and his death was devastating. Like many of these guys, we was quite nice and helpful to us rookies and he also seemed to be the only person who knew what a book looked like in the 28.  I remember drinking on the night we found out, and knowing that alcohol wasn't the solution, but it was a treatment that felt pretty good surrounded by friends. 

As mentioned, the Job* didn't provide anything for the funeral.  So our Commanding Officer, DI Dolan, used his pull within the Emerald Society to get Aviation to send one helicopter and Highway to send a motorcycle or two.  One of our guys was in the Ceremonial Unit, so they asked guys in the unit on their own time to come and help . We even had a trumpet player from the 28, to play taps.  It was a small showing, but it was a family and quite personal.  

I sent a check for $50 to a cop in the 115 for Matt Schindler's family, as they will need the funds.  I found this article when I was researching this post, which is eerily familiar.  It was from 1994, when a staggering 12 NYPD officers killed themselves. Every officer has a means to end their lives at a moment's notice.  In some cases, like P.O. Dean's, perhaps the outcome was inevitable.  But for some of these, you wonder if they had a little more time or someone to talk to, if they would rush to pick up the gun.  Every cop lives in fear of NYPD's Bureau of Psych Services, because these are the people who take your guns.  And a cop without a gun is just a person.  A gun and a badge are really all that's needed to be a lawman.  Just watch a western.  

So the Job and the job exerts stresses both internally and externally on a person, which then scares them into   thinking that if they're open about their fears or thoughts, that they'll be branded a psych case and never return to active duty again. 

There has to be a middle ground.  One where the NYPD acknowledges that depression is fairly common in people.  That the shift work and brutal things one can see on patrol can wreak havoc on family life and one's liver.  To accept those facts instead of insisting that it's not their fault and offer posters of numbers to call.  Calls that might lead who knows where.  If the NYPD is supposed to be a family, then the parents (Brass) are supposed to take care of their kids.  Instead, what happens are absentee parents and the siblings looking after themselves, which is incredibly helpful, but not enough.  

As there is no memorial to these fallen officers, I'm happy to allow thoughts in the comments section.  Let's chase this out of the darkness.  Let's own it and the pain and heartbreak that comes with it.  Let's take care of each other.  The family of Matt Schindler and my brothers and sisters in the 115, you are in my thoughts and prayers today. 

* The Job is jargon for the department. Example: The Job screwed that guy and took all his vacation time because he lost his prisoner

Mortality and Meat Packing

I was told last week that my cousin Susan's husband died of a massive heart attack.  They lived in Appleton, Wisconsin and had three children.  He was 44 and a really terrific guy.  So I flew into Milwaukee, met my brother who lived there and drove up.  My other brother flew in from Columbus, Ohio.  People were grateful we came, but it didn't really occur to me not to go.  Maybe it was because he was so young, or that it was all so sudden, but I just felt I should be there. 

The service was done at the funeral home.  Paul was cremated and his ashes were placed in a box that his children helped make and decorate.  It had their three handprints on it and "We love you Daddy" written on it.  That was hard.  But not as hard as seeing the kids have to be taken out halfway through the service with tears in their eyes.

Wisconsin is a pretty Catholic state I realized.  The signs that all said "Friday Fish Fry" outside the bars were a good hint.  The memorial ceremony was a Catholic one, but without communion.  I have been to a bunch of Catholic funerals as a police officer, so I knew the drill.  I even took communion at them, so I didn't stick out.  It turns out I'm apparently going to burn in eternal hell for that. 

And as I sat and listened to the priest deliver the homily and sing the psalms, I had a thought.  I don't like Catholic ceremonies.  In fairness, I was baptised  Protestant (I think) and grew up going to Unitarian Sunday School, so I guess that's the religion that I identify with most.  The only time I usually go to church is around Christmas to the one near my parent's place because they have live animals in the pagent. 

But unsurprisingly I suppose, Catholic funerals are all about God.  God didn't make this happen, but don't worry because the deceased is with God now.  God is love and all you need to do is look to God to feel better and be made whole.  The grieving family is told that they should look to friends for comfort, but really the Holy Trinity are the ones who will bring you the most comfort. 

I call bullshit.  Sure, many may turn to God and say that it's his will.  Or that now they get to hang out with their parents or kids or whatever.  But I think that's all just a way of putting your happiness and thoughts in someone else's hands.  Very religious.  Don't worry about anything.  It's all God's plan.  So just relax and be a good person, and Heaven is going to be awesome.  Here's what I would have said at the front of that room:

"Paul left us far too soon.  And it hurts.  And it's not fair.  And there is no way to spin this so it makes sense or makes the pain go away.  But that pain isn't a bad thing.  It's Paul.  It's his memory.  It's our sadness at losing an amazing person.  So we mourn and we cry and we ache.  And we live with that for awhile.  And then time passes and the brain moves to other things, because it needs to protect us from hurting so much.  And yet, as it does that, we catch ourself feeling guilty that we're not thinking of the person or not feeling those "carpe diem" moments like we did right after their death.

So how do we reconcile our sadness and our inevitable moving on.  We honor that person.  I think everyone that has kids should teach them something that exemplifies Paul.  And let them know where it came from. Change your behavior or influence others so that the person lives on in you.  Then you don't have to worry about not thinking about them, because there's a piece of them in you at all times."

I had a friend from college, Erin Schlather, die at 26.  And one of the things I loved about Erin was how she could listen to you and make you feel like you were the only one in the room, no matter how loud it was or how many people were around.  She would lock eyes and just listen, not hear, but listen to you.  And I have tried to copy that as best I can when I listen to people.  I'll never lose Erin.  She's a part of me.

Goodbye Paul.  I'll carry you with me too.  Thanks for giving yourself to me.