The funeral for a murdered police officer is meant to rally a community in honor of a public servant, to show respect and, most importantly, to console his family.
It’s also meant to send a message: Don’t mess with cops.
It’s that last part that comes through unmistakably.
On Friday, a phalanx of hundreds of police officers in dress blues standing at attention on East Colfax Avenue before the service for Detective Donnie Young sent the message. The motorcade of police cars that shut down the city for most of the day sent it. The helicopter surveillance sent it. And the collection of solemn dignitaries in the front rows of the soaring Gothic cathedral sent it.
In the midst of all the holy water, the candles, the hymns and the endless ancient rituals, the message was heavier than the incense in the air, louder than the reverberating chords of the giant pipe organ.
Killing a cop is an affront to the community. Nobody gets away with it.
An army in blue filled the pews and lined the walls of the church. They wept. They prayed. And they vowed to do whatever it takes to find the suspect.
Police Chief Gerry Whitman stood in the midst of the sacred service where even the exalted hierarchy of government was overshadowed by the resplendent array of Catholic clergy in the sanctuary.
They didn’t have the suspect yet, the police chief intoned. He asked for a prayer for the officers involved in the manhunt. The faithful bowed their heads.
He said Young was a detective “with a nose for dope … a high compliment.”
They smiled.
“Holy, holy, holy,” they sang.
“How great thou art.”
The music lifted everyone.
It was a more difficult task to comfort the grief-stricken mourners.
Police Chaplain Chris Misiura spoke of springtime and how the blossoms on the trees must die so that the fruit can be born. He said that Young died fulfilling his duty to serve and protect. He said Mother’s Day was a tragic day, and the men and women in blue wiped the tears streaking their faces with the backs of their hands. He said that Young was a great father to his two daughters.
He never mentioned Young’s 7-year-old son, straining to see the coffin of the father he had met only once.
The officer was a hero maybe, but not a perfect man. It didn’t matter. It never should. The little boy’s mother drew him close to her side.
The assembled joined in reciting the “Our Father.” “Forgive us our trespasses … deliver us from evil.”
Archbishop Charles Chaput asked the mourners to greet each other with an expression of peace. They smiled, embraced. U.S. Rep. Diana DeGette left her seat to kiss the cheeks of Mayor John Hickenlooper and Gov. Bill Owens.
Officer Jeff Baran spoke of his friend’s generosity, his warmth, his love for his daughters. “If you ever needed him, he was there,” he said, choking back a sob.
The little boy 10 rows back who looked just like the picture of the fallen cop sat in awkward, dry-eyed silence.
The priests washed their hands with holy water. The archbishop put his mitre on his head and took his crozier in his hand. The color guard snapped to attention. The sacred cloth and crucifixes were removed from the top of the casket and replaced with a flag.
Then the voices of hundreds of grieving cops, relatives and friends rose as one. “Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”
The mourners followed the casket out of the church. The governor and the mayor offered condolences to Young’s widow and daughters. They comforted his friend, Detective Jack Bishop. They consoled almost everyone.
The little boy slipped out the side door with his mother and peered through the fence. The pallbearers put the casket in the hearse. The motorcade of patrol cars assembled for the ride to the cemetery.
His father was a good guy, a hero. He always did his best, they all said.
He did the best he could. Amen.
Diane Carman’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. She can be reached at 303-820-1489 or dcarman@denverpost.com.
