One of my favorites
Somebody Killed A Policeman Today
Somebody killed a policeman today, and A part of America died. A piece of our country he swore to protect
Will be buried with him at his side. The suspect who shot him will stand up in court, With counsel demanding his rights, While a young widowed mother must work for her kids And spend alone many long nights. The beat that he walked was a battlefield, too. Just as if he'd gone off to war. Though the flag of our nation won't fly at halfmast, To his name, they will add a gold star. Yes, somebody killed a policeman today. It happen in your town or mine. While we slept on comfort behind our locked doors, A cop put his life on the line. Now his ghost walks a beat on a dark city street, And he stands at each new rookie's side. He answered the call and gave us his all, And a part of America died.
The badge shines bright
On the shirt of blue.
It takes a strong soul to wear it
A heart that's proud and true.
He says good night to his family
before he walks out the door.
He must go watch the streets,
Yet he does so much more.
In his car, when the call comes,
The lights are flashing blue and red.
He would never hurt his children,
He can't believe what was just said.
With his partner awaiting,
He has to be there, he must answer the call!
The wife is frantic,
"Put the gun down," but the man won't withdraw.
Shots are fired, his partner is hit in the arm,
One more flash is seen, someone must fall.
His partner is there, and so is the man,
and on the ground He lies, giving his all.
He says goodbye to his family,
With the pain in his chest.
The lights are flashing, blue and red,
As he begins his final rest.
Leaving a wife and two children,
Is the hardest thing He would ever do,
How will they live,
What are they going to go through?
Will His children grow old,
will His wife move on?
Will they know how much He loved them,
Now that He is gone?
He was only doing His job,
Trying to help who He could.
It was never known how hard it was to be a Cop,
But now His family understood.
On three cheeks, three tears shine bright,
Like rain from a cloud,
It takes three strong souls to shed them,
Saying goodbye from hearts that will always be proud.
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I'm stereotyped, standardized, characterized, classified, grouped, and always typical. Unfortunately, the reverse is true..I can never figure you out.
From birth you teach your children that I'm the bogeyman, then you're shocked when they identify with my traditional enemy..the criminal!
You accuse me of coddling criminals......until I catch your kids doing wrong.
You may take an hour for lunch and several coffee breaks each day, but point me out as a loafer for having one cup.
You pride yourself on your manners, but think nothing of disrupting my meals with your troubles.
You raise hell with the guy who cuts you off in traffic, but let me catch you doing the same thing and I'm picking on you. You know all the traffic laws...but you've never gotten a single ticket you deserve.
You shout "foul" if you observe me driving fast to a call, but raise the roof if I take more than ten seconds to respond to your complaint.
You call it part of my job if someone strikes me, but call it police brutality if I strike back.
You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how to pull a tooth or your doctor how to take out an appendix, yet your always willing to give me pointers on the law.
You talk to me in a manner that would get you a bloody nose from anyone else, but expect me to take it without batting an eye.
You yell something's got to be done to fight crime, but you can't be bothered to get involved.
You have no use for me at all, but of course it's OK if I change a flat for your wife, deliver your child in the back of the patrol car, or perhaps save your son's life with mouth to mouth breathing, or work many hours overtime looking for your lost daughter.
So, Mr. Citizen, you can stand there on your soapbox and rant and rave about the way I do my work, calling me every name in the book, but never stop to think that your property, family, or maybe even your life depends on me or one of my buddies.
Yes, Mr. Citizen, it's me...the lousy cop!
1) There are approximately 675,000 sworn law enforcement officers now serving
in the United States. About 10 percent of them are female.
2) Each year there are approximately 33 million crimes committed in the United
States, an average of one crime every two seconds.
3) Crime fighting has taken its toll. Since the first recorded police death in 1794,
there have been more than 14,000 law enforcement officers killed in the line of
duty.
4) A total of 1,659 law enforcement officers died in the line of duty during the last
10 years, an average of one death every 52 hours or 166 per year. There were 161 police
deaths in 1995.
5) On average, more than 65,000 law enforcement officers are assaulted each year
and some 23,000 are injured annually.
6) The deadliest year in law enforcement history was 1974 when 268 officers were
killed. The deadliest decade was the 1970's when a total of 2,182 officers died, or 218
each year. That figure has dropped dramatically in the 1990's to 152 per year.
7) The deadliest day in law enforcement history was November 24, 1917, when
nine Milwaukee (WI) police officers were killed in a bomb blast at headquarters, and a
10th officer from the Columbus (OH) Police Department was shot and killed.
8) New York City has lost more officers in the line of duty than any other
department, with 526 deaths. California has lost 1,176 officers, more than any other state.
The state with the fewest deaths is Vermont, with 15.
9) There are 805 federal officers on the Memorial, 232 correctional officers and
18 military law enforcement officers.
10) There are 102 female officers listed on the Memorial, only seven of whom
were killed prior to 1970.
11) More officers have been killed in January (1,318) and December (1,309) than
during any other months of the year.
12) During the last 10 years, more officers were killed on Fridays than any other
day of the week. The fewest number of fatalities occurred on Sundays.
13) More officers were killed between 8:00 to 10:00 p.m. than during any other
two-hour period over the past decade.
The young cop sniffled, and from his eye wiped a tear,
"I've given you my best for almost one year.
But I make no difference, as we once thought I could,
There is far more evil out there than there is good."
The old chief stared up into the young rookie's eyes
And tried to recall something clever and wise.
"Tell me", he said, to the once eager young cop,
"How many DUI's in a year have you popped?"
"Forty-two," the rookie replied with great pride.
" and had you not, how many more might have died?
It's not how many are arrested, now, is it?
It's how many less accident scenes you must visit."
The kid hung his head, and flexed his strong hands,
"But, Sir," he said, softly, "You don't understand.
We're greatly outnumbered, the drugs are the worst,
The schools are like hell, and the streets, they are
cursed.
Dealers breed like damn roaches. On the kids, they all prey,
And even when arrested, they are out the next day."
The old chief set his jaw, and tapped his finger,
And on the young cop, his eyes sadly linger.
"If one little kid cannot get connected,
If one pregnant junkie finds the strength to reject it,
If one lousy addict decides he can beat it,
If one crack-head in a million says I just don't need it,
Then you have removed his greatest temptation,
If only for a night, it might be his salvation.
And wars are not won by those who say, "Screw it!"
They are won by the men who decide they can do it.
The rookie pulled up a old wooden chair
And running a hand through his stock of brown hair,
"But what about the children and the poor battered wives?
Why can't we stop it and fix all those lives?"
"Each time you set foot in that same, run-down house
Each time you go back to bust the same dirty louse,
For the children and wife the violence has ceased,
If for only a few hours, you offer them peace.
You cannot dictate their said chosen path,
You cannot stop his booze-laden wrath,
You can't pack their belongings and cart them away
But you can prevent murder for just one more day."
"But Sir," he said, his heart heavy like lead,
"I know there are dirtbags who wish I were dead,
But the public, the press, the politicians fling mud,
And who says 'thank you' when we shed some blood?"
The chief pursed his lips, his answer unknown
For he knew it was this pain that hurt to the bone,
"There are no easy answers for the ache that you feel,
But appreciation and praise just ain't part of the deal.
The respect, gratitude and admiration, too
Will not come from people who cannot do what we do.
You ask for a sense of honor and pride,
My advice, my son, is to look deep down inside."
The young cop stared down at the badge in his hand
And he knew he would not resign as he had planned,
For he saw the badge now as not just something he does,
It was not just a symbol....It's what he was.