From today's Washington Post:
Driving through his neighborhood on his day off, D.C. police Sgt. Gerard W. Burke Jr. spotted something suspicious about a tan Honda Civic traveling down Kenyon Street in Northwest Washington.Burke, who was on his way to catch a plane to New York for a funeral, did not hesitate Thursday night.
He picked up his cellphone and called a dispatcher, saying he thought the car was stolen and being driven by someone who looked 14 years old. He asked for help because he couldn't pull the car over in his personal Ford Explorer.
"He doesn't know I'm behind him yet," Burke, 39, said as he told the dispatcher his location on 11th Street NW about 5:15 p.m., according to an audiotape of the 911 call released yesterday by police.
A few seconds later, Burke can be heard gasping. Static fills the line.
With that, Officer Burke, who friends from his days at Catholic University knew as "Roddy," slumped against the wheel as his SUV crashed into some parked cars. He was later pronounced dead at Washington Hospital Center. He was 39.
I'm having a very hard time putting my thoughts into words right now, other than I'm filled with grief for Roddy's family and friends. I've spent the afternoon talking with some of them, and it's been awfully tough. He loved being a cop, and reading the article about his death, it's clear his neighbors appreciated his efforts:
Burke was named sergeant of the year in the 3rd Police District in 2005 and lived in the police service area where he was assigned.Cmdr. Larry McCoy and other officers praised Burke's instincts in noticing the car, which wasn't reported stolen to police until three hours after the crash, they said.
The Civic was recovered about 1:20 a.m. yesterday in the 1300 block of Spring Road NW, police said.
McCoy said that several years ago he needed help squelching problems in another area of town. He tapped Burke to supervise officers in those neighborhoods. Burke took the assignment without complaint, but community leaders and residents in the area he left grumbled about the move.
"I got a flood of calls from people asking me why I was taking Sergeant Burke away from them," McCoy said.
It's a question I'm asking too. Why take him away from us now?
UPDATE: Andrew Sullivan takes note of Roddy's passing.
ANOTHER UPDATE: It's been a few hours, and a lot of the good memories are beginning to flood back, and in spades. During my Junior year at CUA, I lived next door to Roddy, who was the Resident Assistant for the first floor of Ryan Hall.
As such, he was responsible for organizing social activities for a floor full of college kids. It was a challenge Roddy embraced with vigor. Sure, we had our share of normal college activities, but it was only Roddy Burke who could march 30 kids down to the main dining hall for a "Viking Feast". It looked like a normal night at the cafeteria, until that is, we started eating without forks, knives or napkins.
It caused quite a scene. Trust me on this.
As RA, Roddy also served as a surrogate big brother for those who slipped into difficulty. I watched once as he talked a student off a figurative ledge after the poor kid had become convinced he'd gotten his girlfriend pregnant.
There was another time when a sophomore had scammed a couple of freshman kids out of some cash with a cheap card trick. Roddy came to me, let me in on the mechanics of the scheme, and then induced the perpetrator to try it on me.
I still remember Roddy stifling a smile as the kid's trick went horribly wrong, and I won back all the money he'd taken from everyone else.
"You can't scam a scammer," he stammered in a Louisiana drawl.
"Actually we just did," said Roddy, as he rolled on a bunk bed before collapsing into convulsive laughter.
There are other moments that seem all the more precious now. Slinging the bull while a bunch of guys played Fortress America; helping Roddy put a Marilyn Monroe poster into a new frame; and rushing to RFK Stadium 10 minutes into the first quarter of a strike game between the Redskins and the Cardinals.
On the way out of the stadium, I had snatched a stack of free scorecards, thinking that one day they might make interesting souveniers. On the subway ride home, a father asked us if he could have one for his kid. Before I even had a chance to open my mouth, Roddy had grabbed one of the cards from my stash and handed it over to the kid.
What could I say, it was the right thing to do.
Even then, you could see Roddy developing the habits of a good cop. We took more trips to the 7-11 than I could ever count, and I seem to recall buying Roddy more polish sausages covered with chili and cheese than I could ever count either.
But while all the other kids just paid for their stuff and left, Roddy never missed an opportunity to talk up the owner, Mr. Godette. Roddy would always ask him how things were in the neighborhood, and how Mr. Godette's daughter was doing at Penn State -- just the sort of questions a good beat cop would ask as part of the job.
Sad story. Best wishes to you and all who remember him.
-Eric