My condolences go out to the family and friends of Patrolman Thor Soderberg. God Bless you and your family. I pray that the Lord keeps a watchful eye on your servants who protect the peace.
An article by John Kass. Chicago Tribune
A star rises, a fallen officer is remembered
All stars shine; some get more attention than others
John Kass
July 9, 2010
As Chicago waited almost desperately Thursday for a star to become the city's basketball savior, another star rose on the South Side, at 61st Street and Racine Avenue.
It was a simple star of gold on a field of purple and black, the flag of mourning for Chicago police officers.
That gold star belongs, at least for a time, to police Officer Thor Soderberg, 43, shot to death the day before, not 100 yards from where that flag was raised.
Soderberg had finished his shift and was in the parking lot outside the police facility when a 24-year-old man from the Englewood neighborhood allegedly grabbed the officer's gun in a fight.
Then that other man allegedly pulled the trigger and the bullet entered Soderberg's head and everything he knew or was or wanted was taken from him.
It was raining when I got to the corner at the flagpole on Thursday morning, just outside the building where Soderberg had been stationed.
It was a flag raising, but there was no gold braid and bagpipes. And no flowery speeches from politicians about public service.
There were only two people at that flagpole, and they weren't the speechmaking type.
One was a city engineer, a middle-age white guy in work clothes, carrying a stepladder. He said his name was Bernie. The other was a police officer, a blue shirt standing next to him, a young black woman with 12 years on the job and a face of pure stone.
"It's best that she be the one to pull it up anyway," said Bernie. "She's the police. It's only right they do it for their own."
Bernie held two flags, the gold star flag and the American flag, both in the same hand. He cradled them like babies against his elbow in the rain.
He used his other hand to clip the flags and rig the pulleys through, and when it was ready, he nodded and she began to pull. There was no wind, so both flags lay flat against the pole.
Similar flags of mourning were put up at police facilities across the city. Her duty done, the police officer walked silently back inside. Bernie carried the stepladder.
"It's just sad," he said. "I just did this a few weeks ago. It's just sad."
A few weeks ago, the gold star belonged to Thomas Wortham IV, shot to death May 19 outside his home.
And Sgt. Alan J. Haymaker, who died in an auto accident Feb. 22. And bullets took Alejandro "Alex" Valadez on June 1, 2009.
The year before there were four, all by gunfire: Detective Joseph M. Airhart Jr., who died years after he'd been shot; as well as Nathaniel Taylor; Michael Robbins, who'd been shot in 1994; and Richard Francis.
The flag of mourning comes from Gold Star Families, a group of family members of Chicago police officers killed or injured in the line of duty. They provide emotional and financial help to other such families.
The group was founded in 1983 by the Rev. Thomas Nangle, the Chicago police chaplain, and currently has about 300 active families.
Donna Marquez, sister of Officer Donald Marquez, who was shot to death in 2002 while serving a warrant, is president of Gold Star Families.
"We'll be there for Officer Soderberg's family," she said. "For the next year, it will be very emotional for them, very painful. With every memorial, it all comes back. It never truly goes away. These families never get closure.
"Every time another officer is killed," she said, "it reopens the wound and you go through it all over again. It's terrible."
You could fill whole pages with the names of the dead police and the barbarians who killed them, year after year after year in Chicago.
They weren't entertainment stars. They weren't professional athletic saviors. They were the police.
LeBron James has nothing to do with any of this. He's a great athlete, one of the best in the world, a fantastically talented entertainer. And there's nothing wrong with putting smiles on people's faces, and giving them a bit of wonder. I'm not begrudging his excellence.
I'm just questioning our civic perspective, or perhaps just my own. That's why I drove out there Thursday morning to see that other star rising, the gold one against the black and purple field, hanging flat against that pole in the rain.
•••
Another star fell this week. He played a little basketball in his day, too.
His name was Fred "Fritz" Ploegman, 86. He made the free throw in 1941 that gave Morton High School the Illinois state basketball title. But World War II didn't give him long to celebrate. Soon, this White Sox fan was in Anzio, and southern France and then crossing the Rhine River. He received two Purple Hearts.
But Mr. Ploegman, who died this week, was also a hero for his nearly 40 years of work running excellent park systems in Berwyn and La Grange. He dedicated his career to making sure generations of children had great, safe places to run and play.
How many stars is that worth?
jskass@tribune.com
Copyright © 2010, Chicago Tribune
An article by John Kass. Chicago Tribune
A star rises, a fallen officer is remembered
All stars shine; some get more attention than others
John Kass
July 9, 2010
As Chicago waited almost desperately Thursday for a star to become the city's basketball savior, another star rose on the South Side, at 61st Street and Racine Avenue.
It was a simple star of gold on a field of purple and black, the flag of mourning for Chicago police officers.
That gold star belongs, at least for a time, to police Officer Thor Soderberg, 43, shot to death the day before, not 100 yards from where that flag was raised.
Soderberg had finished his shift and was in the parking lot outside the police facility when a 24-year-old man from the Englewood neighborhood allegedly grabbed the officer's gun in a fight.
Then that other man allegedly pulled the trigger and the bullet entered Soderberg's head and everything he knew or was or wanted was taken from him.
It was raining when I got to the corner at the flagpole on Thursday morning, just outside the building where Soderberg had been stationed.
It was a flag raising, but there was no gold braid and bagpipes. And no flowery speeches from politicians about public service.
There were only two people at that flagpole, and they weren't the speechmaking type.
One was a city engineer, a middle-age white guy in work clothes, carrying a stepladder. He said his name was Bernie. The other was a police officer, a blue shirt standing next to him, a young black woman with 12 years on the job and a face of pure stone.
"It's best that she be the one to pull it up anyway," said Bernie. "She's the police. It's only right they do it for their own."
Bernie held two flags, the gold star flag and the American flag, both in the same hand. He cradled them like babies against his elbow in the rain.
He used his other hand to clip the flags and rig the pulleys through, and when it was ready, he nodded and she began to pull. There was no wind, so both flags lay flat against the pole.
Similar flags of mourning were put up at police facilities across the city. Her duty done, the police officer walked silently back inside. Bernie carried the stepladder.
"It's just sad," he said. "I just did this a few weeks ago. It's just sad."
A few weeks ago, the gold star belonged to Thomas Wortham IV, shot to death May 19 outside his home.
And Sgt. Alan J. Haymaker, who died in an auto accident Feb. 22. And bullets took Alejandro "Alex" Valadez on June 1, 2009.
The year before there were four, all by gunfire: Detective Joseph M. Airhart Jr., who died years after he'd been shot; as well as Nathaniel Taylor; Michael Robbins, who'd been shot in 1994; and Richard Francis.
The flag of mourning comes from Gold Star Families, a group of family members of Chicago police officers killed or injured in the line of duty. They provide emotional and financial help to other such families.
The group was founded in 1983 by the Rev. Thomas Nangle, the Chicago police chaplain, and currently has about 300 active families.
Donna Marquez, sister of Officer Donald Marquez, who was shot to death in 2002 while serving a warrant, is president of Gold Star Families.
"We'll be there for Officer Soderberg's family," she said. "For the next year, it will be very emotional for them, very painful. With every memorial, it all comes back. It never truly goes away. These families never get closure.
"Every time another officer is killed," she said, "it reopens the wound and you go through it all over again. It's terrible."
You could fill whole pages with the names of the dead police and the barbarians who killed them, year after year after year in Chicago.
They weren't entertainment stars. They weren't professional athletic saviors. They were the police.
LeBron James has nothing to do with any of this. He's a great athlete, one of the best in the world, a fantastically talented entertainer. And there's nothing wrong with putting smiles on people's faces, and giving them a bit of wonder. I'm not begrudging his excellence.
I'm just questioning our civic perspective, or perhaps just my own. That's why I drove out there Thursday morning to see that other star rising, the gold one against the black and purple field, hanging flat against that pole in the rain.
•••
Another star fell this week. He played a little basketball in his day, too.
His name was Fred "Fritz" Ploegman, 86. He made the free throw in 1941 that gave Morton High School the Illinois state basketball title. But World War II didn't give him long to celebrate. Soon, this White Sox fan was in Anzio, and southern France and then crossing the Rhine River. He received two Purple Hearts.
But Mr. Ploegman, who died this week, was also a hero for his nearly 40 years of work running excellent park systems in Berwyn and La Grange. He dedicated his career to making sure generations of children had great, safe places to run and play.
How many stars is that worth?
jskass@tribune.com
Copyright © 2010, Chicago Tribune
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