I went to a funeral today. The man who passed was a local police officer and died while riding his motorcycle through the mountains of eastern Tennessee. By all accounts he was a good man, a loving father, and a decorated patrolman. He was known as the “Gentle Giant” to many of his fellow officers and, in a touching eulogy, his daughter spoke of his tender love for her and his dislike for her growing up. He received full honors at the church – a color guard, honor guards, and hundreds of uniformed officers including the sheriff himself. After the service his casket was placed in the hearse and then escorted to the cemetery by motorcycle officers and patrol cars all with lights flashing and sirens wailing. Traffic was stopped on the road to his final resting place in both directions and at every cross street by what seemed a full regiment of police from numerous surrounding cities and counties. There was bagpiper playing Danny Boy and Amazing Grace , a trumpeter playing Taps , a 21-gun...
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