Matt’s great and lasting gift
The morning of Nov. 22 dawned bright and clear. Our frontyard is
covered with leaves and the air is crisp. I can smell the wood smoke
from a neighbor’s fireplace. It’s a lovely fall day in Burbank.
Yesterday was cold and the skies were overcast, which seemed fitting.
It was the day we laid Officer Matthew Pavelka to rest.
It was 40 years ago today that another young man lost his life in
the service of his country. His name, of course, was John Fitzgerald
Kennedy. A newspaper man who attended Matt’s funeral wrote the sight
of the riderless horse reminded him of another gray and cold morning,
not so long ago, when a horse with no rider followed the funeral
cortege which bore the body of our young president through the
streets of Washington, D.C., as the nation looked on and wept.
Regardless of their politics, everyone who was old enough to
recall always remembers where they were when they heard the news that
John F. Kennedy had been shot. I was on the upper playground at the
volleyball court at John Muir Junior High School when our teacher
stopped the game and told us what had happened. I know I will always
remember where I was when I heard the news about Matt, as well. I was
lying in bed with my wife on that Sunday morning at 6:30 when the
phone rang. Lt. Welker told me she needed me to come in to work.
My first thought was that I had missed my payback day. “I’m not
assigned today, am I?” I asked. “Oh,” she said, “you haven’t heard
... Greg Campbell was shot last night and one of our young officers
was killed.” I do not know why, but the first person that came to
mind was Matthew. “I wonder if it was Pavelka?” I thought, for the
watch commander had not specified who we’d lost.
I had a clear picture of a bright-eyed young man with red hair,
“standing clear” as I met him on the stairs walking up from the
patrolman’s locker room. I told my wife what the lieutenant had said
as a quick, stabbing pain hit me in the chest. I found myself letting
out a sob, and my eyes filled with tears that such a thing had
happened to one of ours, not yet knowing who it was.
I have made it a point over the years to take a moment to stop,
introduce myself, and shake the hands of our new recruits. I remember
when I hired on and it was six months before anyone said “hello” to
me when I arrived at work. I remember thinking, “What’s wrong with
these people?” I later realized police officers tend to withhold
approval until someone has proved themselves to them. Misplaced
confidence in an unproven person can be costly in an emergency.
I was glad that I had a memory of Matthew Pavelka when I heard he
was the young fellow officer who had given his life in the line of
duty. A few months ago, I introduced myself to another one of our
many bright, new, eager, young faces. I told him I had been 26 years
old when I first started at Burbank P.D. and now, suddenly, it was 25
years later. “I’m 26, and today is my first day!” he replied. Like
the song says, “Who knows where the time goes?”
I would encourage all my fellow employees to take a moment when
they see one of our new officers and welcome them to our department.
Matt’s death is a shocking reminder of how quickly any one of us can
be taken. Any one of us who went to back Greg on that fateful night
might well have met Matt’s fate.
The feeling among us in the wake of Matt’s death is unlike
anything I’ve experienced in my quarter-century of service. The loss
of this young man has cut across all boundaries of rank, old
grievances, petty differences and ego. We are embracing each other,
and looking into each other’s eyes in a way we never have before. We
are asking each other, “Are you all right?” with real meaning. Matt’s
loss has shown us a depth of feeling within ourselves that some might
have doubted we possessed. This is Matt’s great and lasting gift. The
irony in receiving this gift to so many longtime employees from
someone who was here for such a short time is not lost on us. I am
reminded of the story in the Bible of the pauper who gave Jesus a
coin after many rich men had given large sums. Christ turned and said
to his disciples, “This is the greatest gift, for he has given all he
had.”
In death, Matt will remain forever young. His fiery hair will know
no gray. His grip is firm, his eyes bright, his laughter infectious.
This is the way he will live in our hearts.
In closing, I would like to share a poem that, I hope, fits the
occasion. A nurse at a hospital in the Philippines found these lines
by an unknown soldier near the end of World War II. They were
discovered in a box of memorabilia in 1994 at the 50th anniversary of
the end of that great conflict, and later set to music.
Sadly, Matthew Pavelka will be joined in his ultimate sacrifice
this year by other men and women in law enforcement, as well as those
who serve in our armed forces at home and abroad. This poem is an
entreaty to St. Peter, the guardian of the gates of heaven, and I
think it applies to all those who have given their lives in the cause
of freedom overseas and the keeping of the peace here at home. It is
titled, “Let Them In.”
“Let Them In”
Let them in, Peter, they are very tired
Give them couches where the
angels sleep
And light those fires
Let them wake whole again,
to brand new dawns
Fired by the sun, not wartime’s
bloody guns
May their peace be deep
Remember where the broken bodies lie
God knows how young they were,
to have to die
God knows how young they were,
to have to die
So give them things they like,
let them make some noise
Give dancehall bands,
not golden harps
To these, our boys
And let them love, Peter, for
they’ve had no time ...
They should have trees, and
bird songs, and hills to climb
The taste of summer, in ripened pear
And girls as sweet as meadow wind,
with flowing hair
Tell them how they are missed,
but say not to fear
It will be all right, with us down here
Let them in, Peter
Let them in, Peter
Let them in
Officer Reeve Rickard
Burbank