I took part in something truly momentous today.
On December 29th, Constable Eric Czapnik, 51, of the Ottawa Police Force was killed outside the emergency entrance of the Otawa Hospital civic campus. As details emerged, we heard that the person who did it was in fact a suspended member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who had recently undergone surgery for brain cysts.
We haven't lost a cop in Ottawa in a couple of decades. The outpouring from the community has been truly astonishing. Two nights ago I got an email from my regiment asking me to get in touch with my troops, as we were sending a contingent. On short notice we got about 30 guys in dress uniform to take part in the procession and funeral.
I had no grasp over how massive this was going to be. I rushed home from class to eat and get into uniform, then back to campus, which was the staging ground for the procession. I found the other members of my unit in amongst literally a horde of police officers and other emergency services- the red serge of the RCMP was everywhere; they sent a thousand. Ottawa Police Service had 1500 members in the procession alone, in addition to all those lining the route for crowd control. Every force in Ontario sent people. Some sent thirty. Some sent a hundred. Ottawa Paramedic Service had a hundred and fifty. There were a platoon of military police. Corrections, the Quebec provincial police, about 50 American officers, and so on and so forth. A variety of police unfiorms I've never seen, nearly all in full dress, medals plainly visible. Reading the medals I saw police veterans of decades of service, both police and military. Officers who have served overseas in the world's worst spots, not content with merely helping people here at home. Orders and decorations for honourable service and bravery.
The procession is estimated as having been about five thousand people- at one point in time we literally stretched the mile from our origin to our destination. The march was cold, slow, and choppy, as any movement of five thousand people must be. We found ourselves somewhere in the middle, with the Ontario Provincial Police to our front and Corrections Canada behind us. There was no particular order of precedence that could be determined save for the Ottawa Police at the front, behind the hearse and honour guard.
We arrived at the Ottawa Civic Center- an eight thousand seat hockey arena, and we filed into the stands. In fairly short order the honour guard trooped in, and the additional escort of uniformed officers lined either side of the red carpet. The casket was brought in by eight of his fellow officers and placed reverently in front of the podium, and his priest led a language in both English and Polish. The premier of Ontario extolled his virtues as an officer, as a hero, and as a better Canadian by adoption than most of us who were born here.
Then, from colleagues, supervisors, and his son we learned about Constable Czapnik, and we learned about Eric. We learned how he immigrated from Poland to give his family a better life. He worked for sixteen years doing interior renovations. We learned how in 2003 he remarried, and then gave his three adult children a baby brother. Then in 2007, aged 48, he decided to become a police officer in Ottawa, following in the footsteps of his father, who for thirty years was a police officer in Poland.
We learned about his time as the oldest Ottawa Police Service recruit ever sent to the police college, where he amused and excelled, topping his class. We learned about his initiation to the Eastern Patrol Division, how when commanded as his first duty to sing a song in the patrol room, he sang an old Polish marching song remembered from his year of conscripted service, and that, had he sung in English, his accent would have made it incomprehensible anyway. We learned that he liked Vodka and Pickles to such an extent that 'Pickles' became not just a nickname, but even a radio callsign when dispatch could not get a response from Badge Nineteen-oh-seven.
We learned how he was Dad; how his eldest son, once upon a time aged only five, breathlessly told him all about how he had just missed Santa while he'd been in the bathroom, and how they went out to search for him with no avail.
We learned that weeks ago he told a fellow officer that he was in the happiest time of his life, that he loved his job, and that he wished he could stop time where it was.
On December 29th, time stopped for Constable Eric Czapnik, as cruelly as it must go on for those who have lost him and who will mourn him.
Thank you, Eric Czapnik - Constable Czapnik - for what you were to our community, and for the bar you set so very high for the rest of us. If ever there has been someone who truly deserved peace at the end of things, you were it.