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Uncle Ernie idolized his older brother. He was proud when people remarked how much he looked like him. He walked like his brother with long, loping strides. And then, in the middle of his life, Uncle Ernie decided to become a cop just like his brother.
His brother Pete was my father. I remember vividly when Dad first found out Uncle Ernie was joining the force. His sense of pride was mixed with worry and apprehension. Dad’s police career was winding down. The disappointments were fresher in his mind than the triumphs. I guess that’s the way life works.
Dad didn’t want his brother to suffer the dangers and disappointments of a policeman’s life. He knew the emotional toll it can take on domestic tranquility. Yet, he couldn’t help but smile, despite himself, at the thought Uncle Ernie was going to join him on the force. In truth, Dad loved the department like a second wife.
Maybe in his heart of hearts, Dad felt a sibling rivalry. Maybe he wondered if his kid brother could cut it. Dad had 35 commendations to his credit. He didn’t want anything or anyone tainting his reputation, especially his brother. Uncle Ernie did not disappoint him. Some years later, when Dad was retired and Uncle Ernie was the veteran cop, my father admitted to me his kid brother had turned into a helluva cop. Uncle Ernie had the same sense of devotion and steely courage as Dad, and that had made both of them good at their jobs.
There were a lot of phone calls in the early days when Uncle Ernie was new on the force. He wasn’t reticent about asking Dad for advice. Even after he became a member of the Stakeout Squad, Uncle Ernie called Dad. Maybe he was just making Dad feel useful. Whatever the motive, it drew them closer. Each always had the other’s back.
Like my father, Uncle Ernie loved to talk about the force. When the two got together, they would spin stories and retreat into their own world where the rest of us were outsiders.
I often wondered whether Uncle Ernie’s wife grew jealous of his affection for the police force as my mother did. I wondered if she, like Mom, decided it was useless to fight it and finally accepted his life, the goofy shift work, and the possibility when you saw your husband off he might not be coming back.
As a kid, I was in awe of both of them. I couldn’t imagine loving a job the way they did, unless it was playing for the Dodgers. Try as I might, I never quite figured it out. The hours were lousy, the job was dangerous and too often politicians interfered. And nobody was getting rich on a police officer’s pay. Maybe it takes a certain sense of justice to fall in love with being a cop. Maybe my dad and Uncle Ernie were like avenging angels crusading against crime like comic book heroes. All I knew was, as a kid, you always felt safe around them. It was like having a superhero as your own personal bodyguard.
These were the thoughts that swirled through my head recently, as I stood before Uncle Ernie’s casket. I stared at the fading photographs in the shadowbox that was a testament to a life well-lived. Both Dad and Uncle Ernie had survived the dangers of the force to die the conventional deaths of old men. Both would have preferred to go out in a blaze of bullets, taking some bad guys with them.
One of the photos showed Uncle Ernie standing proudly in full uniform. At first I thought I was looking at a photo of Dad as a young cop. At that moment, I thought it was Dad lying in the casket and I experienced the death of my own father all over again. Then I saw another photo. This was of Dad in his uniform and he was holding an infant.
The infant was Uncle Ernie. Dad was smiling.
