I know what you're thinking. "What's so special about 08/04/13?"
Pro football Hall of Famer and World War II Marine veteran Art Donovan died on that date. Oh, and Barack Hussein Obama (formerly known as Barry Soetoro) turned fifty-two back then.
"That's it?"
Yeah...and I retired as a copper. I first put on a badge in September of 1979; a series of injuries and surgeries plagued my career, which spanned five decades. One of those surgeries, involving metal rods, screws and my lower spine, forced me out of the job from 1999 to 2002, when I went back to work as a police officer against the wishes of Dr. Timperman, my surgeon. I'd later have a knee replaced in 2005, after a mishap at the Lexington PD pistol range (no, I didn't shoot myself) pretty much destroyed an already fragile joint. I went back to work after that one, too, defying the strong advice of ortho surgeon Dr. Jay Guth, who'd suggested I think about retiring. Problem was, I wasn't ready to call it quits.
I talked him into letting me go back to the job I loved.
I worked right up until February 14th of 2013, which was the last time I took off my uniform; I'd started having issues with the artificial joint and, according to Dr. Jay and a few medical tests, I'd worn out a part of the joint which had to be replaced.
"That's it", the affable doc and personal friend had told me after surgery, "you're done. I'm not signing off on the knee again." Jay and I had known each other outside of the medical realm, having coached travel-league baseball against each other.
Grudgingly, I put in papers for disability retirement; it was granted a few weeks before I officially retired on August 4th of 2013. I chose that date because, in 1984, that was the day I'd been sworn in at Mansfield PD, alongside Chuck Norris, Dave Nirode and Chris Brunk. Since then I've always felt a part of that particular brotherhood, and still do to this day.
Since retirement, seven years ago today, life has continued onward in ways I never could have envisioned, leaving me with some great and not-so-great experiences...and yet another scar on this body that already resembles a road map.
In 2014 I went to a place I'd always dreamed of: Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Having a keen love of WW II history, I was able to go to the place where it all started for the United States; I got goose bumps standing on the deck of the USS Arizona memorial, above the sacred resting place of over 1,100 sailors and Marines still entombed in the sunken hulk of the ship.
That trip was courtesy of my oldest stepson, Cory Prater, who was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base while serving in the Air Force. Stacy and I had gone to see him and got the grand Oahu tour during the whirlwind two weeks we were there.
Less than two weeks after we returned I lost my 88-year-old Dad.
Seven months later I was diagnosed with kidney cancer, which had been discovered through a fluke chest x-ray, which had caught the upper part of my left kidney. June 30th, 2015, I lost half of that organ, but it had been discovered so early that I didn't require chemotherapy or radiation treatments. I get checked once a year...so far, so good.
I've gained two daughters-in-law and two grandbabies, who are my pride and joy. We love our children, but I'm here to tell you that grandchildren kicks that love up another notch.
There's nothing like it. Nothing.
Stacy and I sold our house, which I'd called 'Ram Field Ranch' because of its close proximity to Madison's football field, and bought our current place, 'Black Gold Homestead.' There's no oil in the ground here, but Tim Horton's black gold coffee flows through the coffee maker every morning.
My wife had heart valve repair surgery, a procedure in which they had to separate her sternum and stop her heart while it was being fixed. There was a lot of hard praying being done by yours truly. For weeks after she returned home, friends and family brought us an almost endless supply of pre-cooked meals; it got to the point where we had to ask that some meal deliveries be delayed because we couldn't fit anything else into our refrigerator. Stacy and I are richly blessed with the friends we have and will forever be in their debt.
On June 6th of this year I lost my wonderful mother-in-law, Retta Mellick, who I referred to as my 'Ohio mom', as my mother lives in South Carolina. Miss Retta, one of the strongest Christians I've ever known, was a loving, caring soul who never met a stranger. I miss her dearly and think of her quick wit and sense of humor often.
Sadly, I've lost some of the fine men I'd worked with through the years, veteran coppers who took the time to impart some of their law enforcement wisdom. Men like Tim McClaran, who I wrote about a few weeks ago; Dan Brant, who'd been a captain at MPD and my first watch commander there; Denny Reid, second in command at Ontario PD back in the early 1980s; Sgt. Bob Poth, 'Pappy' to so many who knew him and my training officer during my first few weeks at Mansfield. Keith Miller, with whom I'd worked at Ontario, as well as Cal Miller, OPD; Sam Wade, who'd been a part-time officer at Lexington and taught classes at North Central State College in their criminal justice program; and Harold Scott, who I loved like a brother. There's so many more that have left us and I'm sure I'm not recalling some, but they're people I'll never forget. Ever.
It's been quite the journey, these last seven years in retirement, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
brothers. (L-R) Dean Blamer, Keith Coleman, myself
Jan Wendling, Gary Foster, Phil Messer and Mike Bammann
