In some ways, I’ve spent the past 25 years in denial. My sister Cathy Dodd was a cop for the Columbia Police Department. She wasn’t just a cop, she was a good cop. And by that I mean she never considered taking a desk job, preferring to be out on the streets with the murderers and rapists and drug dealers and burglars.
For these past 25 years I really didn’t want to know the details of my baby sister’s job. I knew she was hit across the bridge of the nose with a lead pipe, had knee surgery after getting a metal door slammed on her, messed up a finger some way or another and suffered a few other assorted injuries all in the line of duty. She’s had a couple pacemakers, too.
But nothing seemed to slow my sister down. On more than one holiday we pleaded with her to take a desk job, maybe apply for some soft duty that a veteran cop such as her would certainly be able to be in line for.
Nothing doing. Cathy knew her heart was on the streets, and she worked those streets like no other cop has in the history of the CPD.
I heard all that and more Friday and Saturday when Cathy was honored for 25 years of service protecting the citizens of Columbia. At a ceremony Friday the police chief and a couple other long-time officers spoke glowingly of Cathy, about how she took the time to not only work the streets, but know the people on those streets. Her knowledge of the neighborhoods you and I wouldn’t go into after dark was her turf. The people there were her people. They respected her, and she earned that respect by showing them respect.
I mentioned a few paragraphs ago that I was living in denial. For many of the past 25 years I simply tried not to think about my sister working the graveyard shift and chasing meth heads, gang members and shooters. I heard fellow cop after fellow cop talk Friday and Saturday about how fearless Cathy was. How she’d be the first to go in and the first to tackle the problem criminal.
Cathy is barely five feet tall in her cop boots, yet every man and woman in uniform talked about her grit and dedication to not only being a cop, but being the best cop.
She lived and breathed being a cop, but wasn’t always great at paperwork and closely following department policy. Hey, nobody’s perfect.
But in the world of being a cop in Columbia, Missouri, she was as close to perfect as she could be. Those aren’t just my words, those are the words I heard Friday and Saturday as her family and many friends gathered to celebrate a career. We learned a lot about Cathy, some of which I am glad I didn’t find out until she was out the door.
We are so lucky that my sister found a career she loves so much. Despite the dangers, she lived to tell some of the crazy cop stories she told over the weekend.
When she was handed her badge, a gun case and a folded American flag at the retirement ceremony, I breathed a really big sigh of relief. Chasing bad guys was not the career I would have chosen for my baby sister, and I was glad it was over.
But as I listened to members of the police force -- a fraternal group of good guys who deserve all the respect and gratitude in the world -- I knew my little sister had spent the past 25 years right where she wanted to be and needed to be.
