but today she feels an extraordinary closeness to the love of her
life. It’s all good, a pride that Bonnie shows on the shirt she is
wearing dedicated to Art.
“It’s hard to explain. It’s like he’s here,” Bonnie says. “You
know he’s always looking out for us. He’s up there looking out
for everybody.”
= = = = =
The magic of the C.O.P.S. bus trip can be felt when survivors
are introduced to an officer they never knew. Delaware River
Port Authority Police Pascal Grassi was lost when he was hit by
a train working a detail on the Ben Franklin Bridge in 1973.
His grandchildren Dominick, Kyersten and Theresa have
come to the memorial for three consecutive years. They are sit-
ting across from grandpa like they are listening to him tell them
a story.
“I just feel the connection because he is our grandfather, and
we’re a part of him,” Dominick says.
The visit has additional impact on Dominick.
“I want to be a police officer also,” he reports. “I’m glad I got
to come here and see everyone who served their community
and put their life on the line for us.”
= = = = =
Linda Thames, left, sister of fallen officer Joyce Carnegie of Orange Local
89, and her mother, Ernestine Carnegie, made their first trip to the memo-
rial since 2000.
Ernestine Carnegie has wanted to come to the memorial
many times since she visited in 2000, a year after her daughter,
Orange Inspector Joyce Carnegie, a member of Local 89, was
shot and killed by a robbery suspect she had stopped to ques-
tion on April 8, 1999. Ernestine received a letter from Garden
State C.O.P.S. Past President Lisa Preslar about the bus trip and
found some new family with whom to make a visit she had been
trying to schedule for years.
Joyce’s sister, Linda Thames, just moved back to New Jersey,
and she came with Ernestine to reconnect after all these years.
Linda’s take on being at the memorial might have best summed
up what survivors ultimately get from this visit.
“It just feels really good,” Thames exclaims.
Ernestine also feels the healing power that this visit accen-
tuates.
“This past Sunday was the anniversary of Joyce’s death, but
it’s not all sadness anymore,” Ernestine describes. “It’s more to
honor and remember, and this is just a continuation of that re-
membrance.”
= = = = =
Ken Hiles points to the name of his father, fallen State Corrections Officer
Donald Hiles.
After a couple of hours of bonding with their officers, the
aura rising from the memorial easily could be characterized as
a collective endorphin rush. There’s no mistaking that the visit
provides therapy for survivors, especially Ken Hiles, whose 10th
trip with C.O.P.S. has come on the 50th anniversary of his fa-
ther, State Corrections Officer Donald Hiles, who was beaten to
death by inmates at Leesburg Prison Farm on March 8, 1968.
“When my father was killed, this organization didn’t exist,”
Ken Hiles says. “It’s just good to know that you’re with people
who know what you’re going through.”
Hiles adds that sometimes it feels like 50 years since his fa-
ther was lost. And sometimes it feels like just yesterday. His only
lament is that Donald never got to meet his grandchildren. He’s
in a good place now, and that’s a tribute to the therapy that the
C.O.P.S. bus trip has provided.
“It’s a great time to reflect not just on my father’s life, but all
these lives here and the families behind them,” Ken continues.
“And we’re thankful for the support we have received.”
= = = = =
Though they never met their grandfath