News flash: police officers actually DO NOT have an especially dangerous job. (I am more likely to die on the job than a cop is!) They are basically gangbangers, with the badge standing in for facial tattoos. It's like politicians, lawyers, and used-car salesmen: the 90% that are crooked and/or evil spoil it for the good ones.
Back in 1953, a friend's father, an ironworker named Vinnie Ricci, was crushed to death while working to repair a support column on the Manhattan Bridge.
When we arrived at Greenwood Cemetery for the burial there were about a dozen police cars parked on the street outside. Inside there were about fifty uniformed cops, including a bagpiper, along with dozens of civilians attending the burial of a cop who was killed when his patrol car crashed while chasing a speeder on the FDR Drive.
It was an impressive ceremony, including the first time I'd ever heard
Amazing Grace played on pipes as the formation of cops saluted and marched away. While I was less conscious of it at the time that rather elaborate ritual made the quiet, simple and uneventful burial of Vinnie Ricci, the ironworker, seem rather irrelevant.
More recently it has occurred to me that while his
uniform was ordinary work clothes and he wore no badge, Vinnie Ricci was killed in the line of duty, which involved serving the interest of the public in a very difficult and extremely dangerous job. Having since given considerable support to the matter it occurs to me that the absence of elaborate, uniformed and piped ceremony on the occasion of an ironworker's death is, more than anything else, a manifestation of the authoritarian, militaristic nature of the American public.
In the bright light of pure objectivity what was observed on that cold morning in a Brooklyn cemetery was the questionable difference between a cop killed in an attempt to issue a speeding ticket and an ironworker killed while attempting to make an important bridge safe for the public to cross.