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Deaths of Children Weigh Heavily on Police Officers` Hearts

09/13/2015

Sept. 13--Retired Pittsburgh homicide detective Ron Freeman can recall the feel of the fresh soil in his hands and the six detectives who helped him scrape it out of the shallow grave. Even now, 22 years later, he remembers the looks on their faces and how they all began to cry.

Most officers have cases that stick with them, he said, and many involve children. For Freeman, it's the case of 1-year-old Jaray Hibbler, killed by his father in 1993 and buried in a shallow grave near the family's home in the city's North Side.

Jerry Hibbler told police that his son wandered away, sparking an extensive search, before he confessed and led police to the spot near his yard.

"One of the female homicide detectives ... opened up the blanket, so you could see the baby's face. It looked like a little angel lying there," Freeman said. "Every detective there -- they were all experienced homicide detectives, and they all had seen a lot -- not one wasn't crying."

Since the beginning of September, three children -- ages 22 months, 14 and 15 -- have died in shootings in Pittsburgh, and a 6-year-old was shot in the hand. The shootings happened as police intensify efforts to build better relationships with the people they serve.

When violence involves children, experts say, the grief extends beyond families and friends to the officers who often are first responders.

Laurence Miller, a clinical and forensic psychologist who works with police in West Palm Beach, Fla., said cases involving children can be especially hard because they are the most defenseless members of society and police see themselves as societal protectors.

"There is a natural sadness at the death of a child, but there is also a sense of failure, even though it may not be rational, that is going to contribute to that sense of grief," he said. "If a police officer believes he failed to prevent a child from being killed, that's going to have more impact."

The Justice Department in March picked Pittsburgh and five other cities as sites for a pilot program intended to test police-community relations strategies.

Pittsburgh police Chief Cameron McLay, who emphasizes community-oriented policing, said traumatic cases illustrate a different kind of sacrifice officers make daily.

"Most people are thinking in the context of officers being shot or killed or injured," he said. "They are all human beings, and they're all compassionate. It takes a human toll."

McLay said people oftentimes see police as gruff or distant, but they may just be trying to protect their psyche from the trauma they see.

"It reflects the humanity that's in every one of our officers," the chief said.

Many officers, McLay added, are reluctant to seek personal help, so the department is forming a peer support team of officers specially trained to recognize a colleague who might be in crisis and steer him or her toward support services.

Freeman, retired for 14 years, said cases involving children are among some of the most difficult.

"A lot (of officers) have their own children," he said.

Josiah Gift Taylor was two months shy of turning 2 when his mother's boyfriend, Harrison Marshman Jr., shot him in the chest in his Fineview apartment, police said. Marshman, charged with homicide, told police it was an accident.

Witnesses described Pittsburgh police Sgt. Louis Caporali rushing out of the apartment with the child in his arms and performing CPR before loading the boy into an ambulance. The toddler was pronounced dead about 20 minutes later.

"When I'm alone, that's when the emotions get to you a little bit," Caporali told the Tribune-Review in the hours after the Sept. 1 shooting. "I have children of my own. I've been on the job for 22 years, and I've seen a lot of things, but that's the first time anybody ever handed me a baby."

For those tasked with offering support to officers dealing with complicated emotions, the answer often can be simple.

"The simplest response is to be available," said the Rev. John Welch, chief chaplain for the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police. "One of the things that we try not to do is impose ourselves on any officers. We just let them know we're available to be of assistance."

Research shows that the culture of policing often lends itself to officers not seeking help -- even if they need it, Welch said.

"When the opportunity does present itself, we allow them to sort of air how they're feeling, allow them to express those emotions," he said. "Naturally, you want to allow them to let out how they're feeling, because the longer it's contained, at some point, there's a breaking point."

Swissvale police Chief Greg Geppert remembers the awful feeling on the evening of June 14 when a dog walker spotted the body of 3-year-old Adrionna Williams in a ravine.

"Your heart just drops to the floor at that point," said Geppert, who was one of the first on the scene, even though he was not on duty. "It's a sight you never forget, that's for sure, no matter how hard you try, I guess.

"Something like that, it's a little more difficult, a little harder to do," he said. "It's difficult, and everybody has their own way of dealing with it."

Adrionna would have turned 4 on July 12. Her mother, Adrienne Williams, 27, of Wilkinsburg, has been charged with homicide and other offenses related to the death.

Police said a note found in Williams' car appeared to indicate she struggled as a single parent, though family members said they often took care of Adrionna.

Miller, the Florida psychologist, said some officers deal with pain by immersing themselves in work.

"Sometimes it's whatever concrete steps police can take to increase awareness or safety," he said. "It's very important for them to separate emotion from the facts.

"You have to tell yourself that that's what comes with the job: Horrible things happen in your job. You have to just absorb some of that toxin and try to be a better professional for it."

It can be difficult for an officer to leave work behind when he goes home, especially with traumatic cases, he said.

For Freeman, those cases eventually became another aspect of the job.

"You just didn't want it to happen. You didn't want to be there; you didn't want that baby to be dead," he said. "But I learned early on that if you allow your emotions to overcome your ability to do your job, you're not going to be of any benefit to the victim or society or yourself. And so you just have to deal with it."

Megan Guza is a staff writer for Trib Total Media. She can be reached at 412-380-8519 or mguza@tribweb.com.

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