End of Watch
We watched the cop movie End of Watch yesterday. Great movie. I was moved by it. It follows two young and enthusiastic uniformed street cops on their daily watch in L.A.'s South Central. They encountered a whole lot of horrible shit from day to day. We got brief glimpses of their home and family lives, which helped us to have empathy for the guys.
My dad was a cop who (spoiler alert) was killed in the line of duty like one of the movie's characters. The funeral was a poignant reminder for me of my father's funeral in 1982. The dress uniforms, the rows and rows of police officers at the church, miles of patrol cars with flashing lights. My father's funeral was televised and there were so many people there that they spilled out the door and down the steep stairs to the street. The brotherhood of cops. I was much impressed by the officers saluting the processional at every intersection on the way to the cemetery.
The brotherhood of police officers and how they supposedly support each other is ironic in that these same brother officers are the ones who set up my father to be murdered. Murdered by kids whose family my Dad would help out financially and in other ways. My Dad was a whistle-blower in a corrupt police department in a small, black, impoverished area of St. Louis County. It was all swept under the rug. However, there was some small measure of justice.
My step brothers, police officers, too, let the family know that the kids who murdered my father, where in jail bragging about what they did. Shortly thereafter, they were killed. I don't know any other details, I never even knew their names. Doesn't bring back my dad, but I'm glad they got their just desserts.
For years after his death, I would sob at the site of a police funeral. Thirty-one years later, I can watch a police processional in a movie without breaking down. I miss my Dad. I'm glad that he knew that I loved him.
My dad was a cop who (spoiler alert) was killed in the line of duty like one of the movie's characters. The funeral was a poignant reminder for me of my father's funeral in 1982. The dress uniforms, the rows and rows of police officers at the church, miles of patrol cars with flashing lights. My father's funeral was televised and there were so many people there that they spilled out the door and down the steep stairs to the street. The brotherhood of cops. I was much impressed by the officers saluting the processional at every intersection on the way to the cemetery.
The brotherhood of police officers and how they supposedly support each other is ironic in that these same brother officers are the ones who set up my father to be murdered. Murdered by kids whose family my Dad would help out financially and in other ways. My Dad was a whistle-blower in a corrupt police department in a small, black, impoverished area of St. Louis County. It was all swept under the rug. However, there was some small measure of justice.
For years after his death, I would sob at the site of a police funeral. Thirty-one years later, I can watch a police processional in a movie without breaking down. I miss my Dad. I'm glad that he knew that I loved him.
That was close to the bone, D. And I view End of Watch as the best cop movie I've ever seen.
ReplyDeleteThank you Tucker.
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