Thoughts on a dying cop
Oklahoma City police Sgt. Robert Douglas is dying.
He’s going to be a big loss.
Douglas, 44, hasn’t been himself for more than five years. A burly, laughing officer who loved his job, his family, good food and better friends, Douglas served as a “motor jock” in the police motorcycle unit.
In 2003, an on-duty motor vehicle accident left him in a coma. He’s been there ever since.
I knew Robert. We weren’t best buddies or anything, but I always enjoyed talking to him and joking around with him. Robert and I shared a fondness for fedoras, among other things, and often discussed hats. He was known for wearing his fedora when working as an on-call police spokesman, and I wore one regularly when I covered Oklahoma City police full-time.
In general, cops and crime writers have fairly bleak sensibilities, the result of seeing and thinking about the unpleasant things they encounter on the job. The grizzled, burned-out cop who’s seen too much is a stereotype in crime dramas for a reason.
But Robert seemed largely untouched by that sort of thing. He was always happy, and I always left a conversation with him feeling a little better about the world.
Last week, another cop called to tell me that Robert is on his last legs. His body is failing, and life is fading. He’s survived for five long years, but by all accounts, he doesn’t have much time left.
Robert’s one of the good guys. We’re losing him too soon.
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