Indiana State Police Troopers Amanda Parker and Jaylen Holt-Terry took their plates and sat off to the side Tuesday afternoon, awed by the history in the room.
Having just finished the Lowell post’s annual Fallen Officer service, the two, who’ve been on the job with the ISP since January and are now finally on the road by themselves a mere three weeks, understand the sacrifice that comes with being law enforcement. But being among the veteran officers, retirees and survivors of officers who died in the line of duty brought it home for them.
“We would read off the name of a fallen officer every morning (at the Police Academy), so there’s a special place in your heart for them,” Parker said.
The services, of which there are 14 across the state and one at ISP Headquarters in Indianapolis, are pretty much the same all around, with a post administrator reading the names of all the officers and, in some cases, staff members killed in the line of duty, ISP Superintendent Anthony Scott said. But each one does a little something different to make them special, which he enjoys.
The retired officers and staff who come each year wouldn’t miss it.
“They miss the people and the camaraderie,” Scott said. “What we do here, we become a family.”
The idea of paying tribute to those who came before probably sounds cliche, District One Commander Lt. Terrance Weems admitted. But when someone gives their life for their job, reflecting on how that affects what you do is the least they can offer.
“Our profession didn’t start with us; we are standing on the shoulders of people who gave their lives, and we owe them a debt of gratitude,” he said. “And the retirees, those are the folks who trained us.”
“It’s important for the surviving families to see us honor their loved ones,” Lowell Post spokesman Sgt. Glenn Fifield added. “When they walked out of their house that morning and then didn’t come home — well, it’s easy for us to take it for granted. These services remind you that it’s a dangerous job, but we understand the oath we took.”
Trooper Holt-Terry, who’s originally from Bolingbrook, Illinois, has what he would call a “healthy” anxiety about his job. He thinks about the risks every day, and because of that, he and Parker are constantly checking in on each other, especially since they’re still learning the lay of Lake County.
“Fear means you’re alive,” he said.
Michelle L. Quinn is a freelance reporter for the Post-Tribune.
