...to an old friend and mentor in my police career today.
Willard "Mac" MacGregor died last week. He was 80 or so, and had been an active member of the Retiree group to which I belong and meet with weekly.
Mac (you never called him Willard) was hired back in the 50's, when the Multnomah County Sheriff's Office was responsible for policing most of Portland from the Willamette River eastwards, and the southwestern reaches along the river as well as the northwestern reaches along the Tualatin Ridge. It was a large territory to police, with a lot of people in it.
Mac had been a Motor officer, riding bikes back when they were a means of getting patrol done, and not just for traffic enforcement as they are now. On those rare days when I worked Day shift early on in my career, I remember Mac getting dressed near my locker, in his jhodpur-style uniform pants, and the custom-made boots which cost the County more money than the rest of the uniform kit combined. I saw the bike guys as kings then, because they had the patrol-car Deputies as back-up. They could arrest a crud, and never had to take them to jail and book them, one of us did that. They rode those fast Harley Police Solos, which could out run any patrol car up to 120 or so, and few of the cars would make 120.
Mac was a careful guy, and I never remember him ever dumping his bike as other motor officers did, some more than once. He was also a patient investigator, and that rubbed off on me. He could see right through the alibis of felons, and was eventually promoted to Detective, but he always preferred the "Road".
And, Mac could spin a good yarn. He remembered all the bad guys of yesteryear in our area, some of whose grandkids are now pursuing crime. He raised his own kids right, stayed with the same wife all the way through, too, something that few cops manage. I didn't.
We all died a little ourselves when he got Alzheimer's last year, but, it took him quickly as the disease goes. One day earlier this year, he didn't show up for our retiree coffee, and we all knew the end was near.
So, now I go put on my Road Deputy Funeral suit, which is dress slacks and shirt, tie and my Retired Deputy "raid" jacket, and old uniform ball cap, and I will go sit in church and listen to the service, and then go stand in the rain up at Willamette National Cemetery while he is lowered into the ground, and the airmen fire their final salute. That final USAF salute awaits me at that hallowed ground, and I feel closer to it all the time, as I see those I worked with shuck off their mortal coils.
It's going to be a long day.