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Authors: Thomas O'Callaghan
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Young was killed.
As Thomlinson was lying on a rescue vehicleâs stretcher, he caught the look of astonishment on the face of the sergeant who had helped him climb in. He was staring at Thomlinsonâs gun. A gun that was still in its holster.
In the official report it was indicated that Thomlinson was situated behind Detective Young and could not fire without the risk of hitting his partner. But Cedric Thomlinson knew his drinking was a major factor that helped deliver the officer to an early grave. That reality would follow him for life.
The NYPD is like a small town where news travels at lightning speed. Thomlinson soon became known as the cop who didnât pull his gun in a shootout. Not a good handle to be saddled with. The resultant ostracism brought on more guilt, which led to heavier drinking. The heavier drinking spawned depression and with it, thoughts of suicide.
A compassionate borough commander, Todd Emerson, now retired, had a sense of what was going on. He arranged for Thomlinson to be transferred from Narcotics to Homicide. New surroundings would do him good, Emerson reasoned. There, Thomlinson would report to Lieutenant John Driscoll, a man with a reputation for fairness. But Driscoll was a keen observer as well. It wasnât long before the Lieutenant recognized Thomlinson for what he was. A drunk. He tried reasoning with Thomlinson but couldnât promote change in a man unwilling to own up to his addiction. Driscoll was faced with a dilemma: What to do with this newly assigned detective, a liability to both the job and to himself? Thomlinson was heading for a serious breakdown, the consequences of which could directly affect not only the new homicide detective but the Homicide squad itself.
Driscoll was forced to make a move that might have ruined Thomlinsonâs career but that may have saved his life. He placed a call to the representative at the Detectives Union and had the detective âfarmed.â Thomlinson was stripped of his gun and shield and spent the next six weeks in a recovery program at a retreat house in the secluded woods of Delaware CountyââThe Farm.â Thomlinson had little choice. If he refused to complete the program conducted by a group of certified alcohol and substance abuse counselors, heâd be fired.
Thomlinson acquiesced and was eventually returned to active duty.
Yet, here he was, back in the program. Again.
Father OâConnor took a seat next to Thomlinson. âYou stayinâ out of trouble?â he asked.
Thomlinson nodded.
âHowâs she doing?â
The priest was asking about a teenager, the reason the detective was back.
âSheâs a fighter,â said Thomlinson.
âYouâre a fighter, too,â said the priest. âIt takes stamina to keep the sleeping tiger at bay.â
In the course of a prior investigation, the detective had been ordered to drive to the young ladyâs house, pick her up, and bring her to Driscollâs office, where she was to provide a helpful statement. It was a routine assignment. On his way, though, he stopped to buy a Lotto ticket. While he was standing in line, waiting to purchase what he hoped would be a ticket back to the islands, the young girl was abducted. In an attempt to silence the voices of condemnation that riddled his brain, Thomlinson turned, again, to alcohol.
In this manâs police department, very few get a second chance. He had Driscoll to thank for that, and he silently voiced his appreciation during the communal Lordâs Prayer that ended the meeting. After that, Thomlinson walked out into the brisk night air, made his way to his cruiser, slipped in behind the steering wheel, and repeated the prayer. This was, after all, his second go-round.
Chapter 19
Another hot and steamy Sunday morning in July greeted the first visitors to the Intrepid Sea, Air, and Space Museum. Among them was a wiry-haired man with his six-year-old
As Thomlinson was lying on a rescue vehicleâs stretcher, he caught the look of astonishment on the face of the sergeant who had helped him climb in. He was staring at Thomlinsonâs gun. A gun that was still in its holster.
In the official report it was indicated that Thomlinson was situated behind Detective Young and could not fire without the risk of hitting his partner. But Cedric Thomlinson knew his drinking was a major factor that helped deliver the officer to an early grave. That reality would follow him for life.
The NYPD is like a small town where news travels at lightning speed. Thomlinson soon became known as the cop who didnât pull his gun in a shootout. Not a good handle to be saddled with. The resultant ostracism brought on more guilt, which led to heavier drinking. The heavier drinking spawned depression and with it, thoughts of suicide.
A compassionate borough commander, Todd Emerson, now retired, had a sense of what was going on. He arranged for Thomlinson to be transferred from Narcotics to Homicide. New surroundings would do him good, Emerson reasoned. There, Thomlinson would report to Lieutenant John Driscoll, a man with a reputation for fairness. But Driscoll was a keen observer as well. It wasnât long before the Lieutenant recognized Thomlinson for what he was. A drunk. He tried reasoning with Thomlinson but couldnât promote change in a man unwilling to own up to his addiction. Driscoll was faced with a dilemma: What to do with this newly assigned detective, a liability to both the job and to himself? Thomlinson was heading for a serious breakdown, the consequences of which could directly affect not only the new homicide detective but the Homicide squad itself.
Driscoll was forced to make a move that might have ruined Thomlinsonâs career but that may have saved his life. He placed a call to the representative at the Detectives Union and had the detective âfarmed.â Thomlinson was stripped of his gun and shield and spent the next six weeks in a recovery program at a retreat house in the secluded woods of Delaware CountyââThe Farm.â Thomlinson had little choice. If he refused to complete the program conducted by a group of certified alcohol and substance abuse counselors, heâd be fired.
Thomlinson acquiesced and was eventually returned to active duty.
Yet, here he was, back in the program. Again.
Father OâConnor took a seat next to Thomlinson. âYou stayinâ out of trouble?â he asked.
Thomlinson nodded.
âHowâs she doing?â
The priest was asking about a teenager, the reason the detective was back.
âSheâs a fighter,â said Thomlinson.
âYouâre a fighter, too,â said the priest. âIt takes stamina to keep the sleeping tiger at bay.â
In the course of a prior investigation, the detective had been ordered to drive to the young ladyâs house, pick her up, and bring her to Driscollâs office, where she was to provide a helpful statement. It was a routine assignment. On his way, though, he stopped to buy a Lotto ticket. While he was standing in line, waiting to purchase what he hoped would be a ticket back to the islands, the young girl was abducted. In an attempt to silence the voices of condemnation that riddled his brain, Thomlinson turned, again, to alcohol.
In this manâs police department, very few get a second chance. He had Driscoll to thank for that, and he silently voiced his appreciation during the communal Lordâs Prayer that ended the meeting. After that, Thomlinson walked out into the brisk night air, made his way to his cruiser, slipped in behind the steering wheel, and repeated the prayer. This was, after all, his second go-round.
Chapter 19
Another hot and steamy Sunday morning in July greeted the first visitors to the Intrepid Sea, Air, and Space Museum. Among them was a wiry-haired man with his six-year-old
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