I became a cop 13 years ago on a department with about 2,800 officers. There were some guys that were just legendary, but one guy stood out above all others. The bad guys called him Pac-Man, after the character in the movie Colors. I would run into gangsters as a rookie, and they spoke of Pac-Man with reverence, even though I worked an area over 20 miles away from his.
Pac-Man was a bad ass. Anyone on the street would say so. When I finally met him in 1997, I was amazed to see he was a very average looking guy. He was senior to me by about 5 years, always had time to share experiences with a rookie, and as notorious as he was amongst the thugs, he was equally crazy. We became fast friends.
Pac-Man was a very proud Marine, and he would give you the shirt off his back. He spoke his mind, but always had something nice to say about anyone who had an ounce of decency about them. He was an average sized guy, but he had the fight of ten men in him.
A couple years ago he was injured in an on duty grappling incident during training. He battled surgeries, addiction to pain meds, and the blow to his pride when he could no longer work the streets. I watched him go through bad times, but he finally perservered, kicked the prescription meds, and found himself a new job driving some of the departments specialty vehicles.
Pac-Man was as bad ass they came. I spoke with him every morning, and he had the never quit attitude of a true Marine. He was a good friend. He was a loving father of 4 precious daughters. Sometimes you think your heroes are invincible. He killed himself today. Cherish your friends, because sometimes you never see it coming.