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Angels Have Moustaches Too
There was a time when it was simply unsafe to drive on Interstate 85, especially if you were drunk! The danger that lurked ahead for these rolling killers was not due to road construction or excess traffic. It was not due to road rage or crazy people throwing things off overpasses. This danger came in a different form, and his name was Officer Chris
Magill. Chris was a little guy in stature and when his blue lights took over your rear view mirror, all you could see under his hat were eyes and a big moustache. However, what Chris lacked in physical size, he made up in heart, determination, and compassion for his job. It was a passion unlike anything I have ever seen before. He literally made it his life’s work to rid the roads, and the world in general, of drunken drivers.
Chris served as a police officer in Gwinnett County for many years. He had an uncanny sense of being able to identify drunk drivers from the mass of vehicles that passed him every night. If he told you that he had spotted an impaired driver, you could go ahead and call the tow truck. Somebody's fun was about to end with a smooth ride to the county jail. I always thought that Chris was indestructible. He once took a bullet in the mouth when answering a "burglary in progress" call. Incidents, such as this, have made many brave men decide that law enforcement was not for them. However, Chris could not wait to get back on the job and he did so more quickly than anyone thought he would.
In no time at all, he was back at it, doing what he did so well. One night Chris spotted a driver that had no idea that he was about to meet someone who could smell, (as we say in law enforcement) what appeared to be the odor of an alcoholic beverage from 100 yards away. The man had a nose like a bloodhound. While Chris was explaining the procedure to his unfortunate new friend, little did he know that he was making the last DUI arrest of his career. Another drunken driver that was hypnotized by the blue lights and the alcohol that had consumed his body was coming his way. The driver suddenly swerved toward Chris's patrol car hitting him in the back and pinning the cruiser between the other two vehicles. Chris was dead on the scene. What an uncanny and poetic way for a police officer to end his life. On the side of I-85, trying to prevent innocent people from being hurt or killed by drunken drivers, there was Chris. He had been killed by the very hands of the force, which he deemed the enemy.
Chris left a wife, two small children, a host of friends and family, and one former partner who now writes this article. We spent many hours, parked side by side, on the midnight shift in Snellville. We talked about everything, but not really much of anything, all in the confines of an eight-hour shift. I was out of town when Chris was killed and did not even know about it his death until he was already buried. I still feel sadness that I was not able to say goodbye to a good friend and a great police officer. Chris has been on my mind a lot recently. A few weeks ago we celebrated National Police Officers Memorial Week, a time where we remember those who have been killed in the line of duty.
People like Chris are killed each year at the hands of those who cause chaos to so many peoples lives. It seems so unfair that those who do good are taken from us and those who are inherently bad are left on this earth with us. But each of us has a destiny that is predetermined by a higher authority. We may not understand it but we accept it. Police Officers know the danger that faces them and they accept the challenge every day.
It is, however, important that we remember them after they are gone. Many brave men and women patrol our streets every day, but it is impossible to fill the shoes of those fallen heroes.
It is said that the streets of Heaven are paved in gold. I have no idea whether this is true or not. However, there is one thing that I have no doubt about. Whether the streets are made of gold, asphalt, gravel or dirt, I know there is a little guy with a big moustache sitting on the side of one of them.
Here is to you my friend, Chris Magill!
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