I read with humor all of the
“May the Fourth” Star Wars puns. Along with Pi day (March 14th) and
others like it keeps us amused. However, May 4th has a much
different significance for me. Even after fifty years since it occurred, a life
event keeps May 4th a sobering time for my family.
On May 4, 1969, my dad, a
Birmingham police officer, gave the ultimate sacrifice. He died from a gunshot
wound while attempting to stop a burglary. Every time I think of that day I
wish he had just let the men take the $50 lawn mowers they were trying to
steal. It is pointless to lose a life over a hundred bucks worth of
merchandise. But that was not the oath he took when he swore to uphold the law
and protect the citizens of Birmingham.
I was only nine years old at
the time. I have very few vivid memories of my dad. The ones I do have are of
him helping others … always! He was the handyman for several widows that lived
near us. He was a deacon at his church. He sang in the choir at church. He was
the Cub Master for the local Cub Scout Pack. He was Assistant Scout Master at
the local Boy Scout Troop. He volunteered at the local ballpark as an umpire
for baseball games. His closet had more uniforms than street clothes.
He was also father to five
kids, husband to his only wife, and cared for his elderly mother who lived 50
miles away. He was only forty-two years old. That seemed ancient at the time,
but now that I’m about to turn sixty, I realize how much life he still had
ahead of him. But, that all changed that Sunday morning. His focus that day was
not on preserving his life, or insuring the happiness of his family, but
instead carrying out the duty he had sworn to protect and serve.
He was not the only officer
killed that year in Birmingham. When he died my mother became a member of a
kind of sorority to which she did not willingly join. The widows of fallen
officers would meet from time to time. They became linked by common tragedy.
Even though we were
financially better off because of all of the support from the community, the
City, State, and even federal support, it was no substitute for having a
father, a husband, a son, and a friend in the man, Azell Leroy Harris.
That name is now
memorialized at the City of Birmingham Police Memorial and also in Washington,
D.C., at the National Police Memorial, and on several websites that honor
fallen officers. I’m grateful for that. But I regret that my children, and
their children will never know the man that name represents. He still lives, however, in the hearts of those that knew him.
