PALM SPRINGS – All seems lost as thousands of hearts break and tears cascade Tuesday for two fallen police officers as the Tenors sing “Hallelujah.”
But then you look around the Convention Center and realize that the men and women in uniform gathered here to honor the lives of Officer Jose “Gil” Vega and Officer Lesley Zerebny aren’t cowed.
Instead, these cops are proud to simply be associated with people who are willing to give their all to keep the peace, to help those in need, to step forward when many of us step back.
These peace officers who have buried dozens of their brothers and sisters this year across our nation find strength in their solidarity, their acceptance of the dangers they face, their love for one another.
But far more significant on this day is that our men and women in blue are reminded at this double memorial service that it isn’t just fellow officers who support the good fight. Hundreds of civilians are here to say thank you.
Still, nothing is simple in an era in which internet babble does its best to spread fear.
DIVERSITY IN UNIFORMITY
Just when you think you can tell most everything about someone by their uniform, people like Orange County sheriff’s Deputies Michelle Rodriguez and Brandon Mundy and Andrew Vega, nephew of Officer Vega, blow up your perceptions.
Rodriguez is said to be a cop’s cop. Fourteen years on the force, she’s worked patrol and now works the detail at John Wayne Airport. For a time as a single mother, she raised her first child, now a 19-year-old Fullerton College student. Today, she and her husband share raising their 5-year-old daughter.
She doesn’t suffer fools gladly or otherwise, believes in consequences rather than being a helicopter parent, and is careful with her money. Yet like so many officers I know, she has a heart soft enough to pay for her dog’s cancer treatment.
As the Tenors’ voices soar, Rodriguez sneaks a finger below her eye to wipe away a tear, then another.
Mundy, a rookie who works the Orange County Jail, stands ramrod straight as the honor guard lines the way at the Convention Center for Vega’s and Zerebny’s families.
As a cadre of bagpipers blow a soulful dirge, Mundy joins thousands of fellow officers who offer stiff salutes to the parents, nieces, nephews, spouses and children of those slain.
Not for a second would you guess how deeply Mundy understands the pain of violence. Six years ago, his 24-year-old sister was raped and strangled.
In a quiet side moment, Mundy shares that his sister’s death is what brought him to police work. “I don’t want to let that happen to anybody else.”
Andrew Vega steps in front of dozens of white carnations and faces the vast auditorium. He confesses he’s been in a police car twice. Once was the day before when he was greeted by Palm Springs police at the local airport.
The other time was when he was sitting in the back of a police car getting chewed out by his uncle – Gil Vega. “Not even my parents know about that,” he smiles, “until today.”
Back then, the officer told his nephew, “People will make assumptions about you. Prove them wrong.”
A grandson of farmworkers, Andrew Vega did just that. Today, he is a school principal in Boston.
“My uncle created a counter-narrative,” the principal says, “for Latinos to look up to. He was proud to be a Mexican and he was equally proud to be a police officer.”
Making a pointed reference to the Black Lives Matter movement, Andrew Vega concludes the life of his uncle “mattered.”
His point isn’t that blue is more important than black. His point is the need for movements to be inclusive, for this nation to come together.
‘ENOUGH IS ENOUGH’
Palm Springs Police Chief Bryan Reyes takes the stage with purpose.
“The threat to law enforcement in our country is very real,” Reyes declares. He calls for friends and family of troubled individuals to step up and report problems. “Enough is enough.”
The suspect accused of gunning down Zerebny and Vega reportedly told others he was going to kill cops, that he was armed. Yet when police responded to a domestic call, no one offered that information.
“People need to start taking responsibility of their own households,” Reyes says. “They need to pay attention to red flags.”
The chief offers a litany of police who were killed by suspects who, essentially, waved rad flags. Dallas, Baton Rouge, the list goes on. “These,” Reyes says, “were ticking time bombs.
“Keeping our community safe is a shared responsibility.”
Time and again, the chief’s speech is punctuated with waves of applause. Time and again, Reyes hammers home his theme that the country must unify in ending the killings.
“May you be blessed,” Reyes says to his troops, “for you are trying to keep the peace in the most difficult time in the nation’s history.”
A LEGACY OF SERVICE
Vega, 63, a 35-year police veteran, left behind a wife, eight children including an 8-year-old daughter, 11 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren.
Zerebny was a 27-year-old mother to a 4-month-old daughter, Cora.
Toward the end of the memorial, the Tenors return to sing “Angels Calling.” Zerebny loved the group and they made a surprise visit to honor her.
It is just one of many moments during a ceremony that reminds us that heroes are just regular people who are willing to do dangerous, difficult jobs under extraordinary circumstances.
Still, some moments make you bite your quivering lip – like when family members walk up the aisle toward the stage and when they return. The loss on their faces crushes.
But police officers persevere by seeking out and recognizing the very best in humanity, even in death.
After the service, Rodriguez points out that Zerebny at least lived long enough to become a mother, to care for her child.
For what, four months? The officer explains that those four months were more than some get. Rodriguez also knows something many civilians don’t.
A cop like Zerebny passes along things to a daughter – things like adventure, hope, service.
Contact the writer: dwhiting@scng.com
