Write of way
How do you leave when you work in your hometown, the place where
you grew up, the schools you patrolled where you used to play stickball?
How do you leave the community you had always described as, “growing
up in a Norman Rockwell painting?” How do you leave the town where
your father spent 26 years working on the job as a detective in the youth
bureau and as a juvenile officer just as you are starting your career?
George Spath never pushed his son, Gary, to become a law enforcement officer. But the former Marine Drill Instructor did instill a sense of
duty, honor and discipline in his son through what Gary fondly describes
as “19 years of boot camp” growing up.
And so as part of his recovery, Spath confides some additional revelations about this ordeal and getting through it. First, and foremost, when
Nancy urged him to leave, he knew she was right for as he says, “No other
marriage could have survived this,” and that is due to her. Secondly, he
wants his brothers and sisters to never lose focus on the fact that your
response in the most harrowing situations comes down to following
what you are trained to do. You learn that in the Marine Corps. You learn
that in the Academy. And you practice it every day in the streets.
The response from PBA Local 215 also made it difficult to leave. Lavigne, who was expecting Spath for a Chicken Fricassee dinner his wife
had cooked as part of the nightly ritual to dine together, met Spath at the
hospital following the incident. Lavigne had been performing CPR on
Pannell in an ambulance, but said residents tried to overturn the vehicle.
“When Gary got to the hospital, we helped him undress and I just
hugged him,” Lavigne recalled. “I remember him saying, ‘I wish I wasn’t
married. I wish I didn’t have kids.’ We knew from the start that there was
going to be chaos and it stayed that way for months.”
Out of the chaos that night emerged one of the secret messages of
April 10, 1990. “Phil held me as I broke down,” Spath disclosed. “He went
home that night and wrote a poem called ‘Blink of an Eye’ that he dedicated to me. I have it on a plaque.”
Spath says he will always remember the brotherhood of that night and
the following months as perhaps the hardest part to leave behind. Local
215 member Bob McCabe came to Spath’s house that night when he was
so sick to his stomach over questioning whether he had done the right
thing. “Bob reminded me, ‘You came home to your wife and kids. As hard
as this is, you’re alive.’ It took a long time for that to sink in, but I always
remember it like it was yesterday.”
And when Spath finally went to trial, current Local 215 State Delegate
and NJ State PBA Second Vice-President Andy Haase sat right behind
him in the courtroom every day for six straight weeks. “If you know Andy
and you know how he is always on the move, you can imagine what it
was like for him to sit still. Andy is one of those guys every single department needs.”
Put it in writing
The motivation for Spath to speak out comes from multiple inputs.
He had some views from his side of the story to share that have only
become clear over time. He needed a cathartic release to continue moving past that day. And he is not ready to ride off into the sunset or, at least,
for long walks on the beach with Bear.
For 19 years, Spath has served Mattituck High School, where they love
him. Teachers call him into class when they need a cop to teach students
about right and wrong. In 2007, the school dedicated its yearbook to
Spath, and he gave the benediction at graduation, the first time he was
able to stand in front of a crowd since the incident. So if Mattituck was
the last hurrah of his career, he could call it an unequivocal success.
But there is some unfinished business. Spath would like his lasting
image to be something more than April 10, 1990. He hopes speaking to
the NJ State PBA membership at the Mini Convention will be the start of
taking care of business. To know how important this moment will be,
know that it has taken him 25 years to get here.
“We never talked about the shooting,” Lavigne confides. “But now that
it’s 25 years later, the floodgates have opened. I think it’s going to be good
for Gary to talk about it, and it will be good