East Providence Police Department

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub:
Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1

A friend, a person I worked with at the East Providence Police Department for many years, died by his own hand the other day.

It had been several years since I spoke with him with any regularity, but on the occasions when I ran into him, he seemed much like he had been when we were on the job.

That’s the difference between most people who have jobs and cops—at least the good ones. Cops don’t have jobs, they become the job. They don’t work for the Police Department, they are “on the job.”

It is a calling even more than a career. My friend was one of those truly dedicated cops called to the job, and he made a great deal of difference while he was there.

When the time came to retire, knowing how much he’d miss the job, he struggled with the decision but ultimately moved on to a new career. It seemed, to all of us, his life was as good as any other in this world. Not perfect—no life is—but nevertheless worth living.

Whether it was the demons he carried from those years on the job—demons every officer encounters but the good ones just take so strongly to heart—or something else that haunted him, we may never know. Yet since the moment I heard of his passing, the question of why has roiled my imagination.

Why do people commit suicide when, at least to most, it would seem they have no reason to end their life?

Why do those who commit suicide seem oblivious to the trauma and sadness their passing will bring to those who live on?

Why are they unable to picture the wake, the funeral, the sadness their passing will set in motion?

Having been to the scene of many suicides when I was “on the job” the thoughts of what drove people to such permanent extremes always troubled me. Even for those who faced what seemed like hopeless situations, there was always another option.

Just not one they recognized.

Police Officers have the third highest rates of suicide among professionals (behind Medical Doctors and Dentists) but the rate declines after retirement. Why my friend, long separated from the department, took his own life contradicts the research. But research is not life, and something drove him to his decision.

Almost everyone, on hearing the first few notes of the theme from the TV show MASH, would recognize the song, but most have likely never heard or read the lyrics or know the original title, Suicide is Painless. Lyrics by J. Mandel

Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see

That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

…The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn’t hurt when it begins
But as it works its way on in
The pain grows stronger watch it grin, but

That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

A brave man once requested me
To answer questions that are key
Is it to be or not to be
And I replied ‘Oh, why ask me?’

That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

‘Cause suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

And you can do the same thing if you please

Suicide for those of us left behind is never painless. And even though those who may consider suicide see it as a way to solve the pain of their own demons, and have no intention of inflicting pain on others, it is never without pain.

If the thought occurs to you, contact someone. While suicide may seem the answer, it is only because you may not be asking the right question.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Hours: Available 24 hours. Languages: English, Spanish.
Learn more
800-273-8255

Forty-three years ago tomorrow, February 6, 1978, I was scheduled for my first interview with the Rhode Island State Police. It was a career choice not always on the top of my list, at least not consciously, but through circumstances or perhaps inevitability it had moved to the top.

My father had been a trooper, I would follow in the footsteps.

Then, serendipity struck. A snowstorm turned from just another winter event into the storm of a lifetime. It snowed for thirty-three hours straight, sometimes coming down at four inches an hour.

Early on the morning of the 6^th, I received a call from State Police Headquarters; they were postponing the interview.

I was disappointed but, at the moment, thought it would be just a week or two before they rescheduled.

Since I was a member of the RI National Guard at the time, I dove into doing my part with digging the state out of the deluge. Woonsocket, RI set the state record with fifty-four inches of snow.

It was a big storm.

Several days after it stopped snowing, equipment and personnel from outside the state arrived to help. I recall a crusty old highway employee from Buffalo, New York, if I remember correctly, stepping off a plane, looking around, and saying,

“Blizzard, this ain’t no freakin’ blizzard. This is Saturday night in Buffalo.”

I guess perspective matters.

Once things returned to normal, I awaited the call for a new interview. It never came. The state imposed a hiring freeze, cancelling the scheduled class of new troopers.

Now what?

One of my best friends, Ralph Ezovski, had joined the ranks of the East Providence Police Department. They were hiring. He told me to apply. I didn’t even know, in typical Rhode Island fashion, where East Providence was let alone city hall or the police department.

I declined. The State Police would call, eventually.

Undaunted, Ralph arrived with a copy of the application and convinced me to fill it out. He may have plied me with alcohol, if so it was effortless. I filled out the application, but either intentionally or subconsciously didn’t send it in.

No worries, Ralph took it and stuck it under the door of the Personnel Office the day the applications closed. I forgot about it and resumed my wait for the state police.

Several weeks later, I received a notice for the written exam for EPPD. “What the heck,” I thought, “can’t hurt.”

Cutting to the gist of the story, I passed the test, passed the agility, and passed (imagine!) the psychological test. All that remained was an interview with then Police Chief George Rocha.

“What the heck, it will be good practice,” I thought.

After the usual preliminaries, Chief Rocha said something that changed everything. Looking me in the eye, a bit of a suspicious grin on his face, he asked, “So, are you gonna run out the door as soon as the State Police hire again?”

Everyone, including myself, thought I would go to the state police. This consensus started a long time ago even if I wasn’t part of it. Somewhere I have a copy of my yearbook from Ashton School (The Scotty!) in Cumberland, RI. In it, my second grade teacher wrote, “Best of Luck to a future Rhode Island State Police Detective.” It would seem destiny had a plan for me. Not because of any talent or ability or calling, but because my father had been a trooper.

It was at that moment it all changed.

“No sir,” I said. “I applied to be an East Providence Police Officer and, if I get hired, that is what I will be.” The rest is history.

In 1979, I received a new appointment for an interview with the State Police. I turned it down. East Providence PD was, and remains to this day, one of the finest police departments in the country, and I am proud to have spent twenty years as a member of that agency.

I’m not sure if Chief Rocha believed me at the moment he asked that question about leaving. Later, when I was in a unit that reported directly to him, he asked me why I hadn’t gone to the State Police.

I smiled and said, “Because that’s what everybody expected me to do and I wanted to blaze my own trails.”

“You should have done it, kid,” the Chief said, “they make better money.”

Perhaps, but I bet I never would never have done the things I did with EPPD, worked alongside outstanding EPPD officers, or created the memories I cherish, and I do not regret one moment. While I have the utmost respect for the RI State Police and had the opportunity to work many cases with some outstanding troopers and detectives, I’m glad things turned out the way they did.

I like to think there was something inside of me directing my choices, even if I have uncertainties about such things. I like to think I somehow heard those messages sending me down an unexpected path. I don’t know if I will ever know why I chose one path over the other when I came to “two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” Yet, I will be forever grateful to a changing weather pattern that put a blizzard in the path of one road, sending me down the other, less traveled.

It may not have been much of a blizzard to that guy from Buffalo, but it was a life altering experience for me. I’m not a big believer in mystical messages, kismet, karma, or any other such things. I tend toward the more rational. It’s likely I would have ignored any subtle intuitive notions. Because of this, it took a blizzard to get my attention.

************************************************************************

JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services.

Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.

Signup here for our mailing list for information on all upcoming releases, book signings, and media appearances.