An accurate reflection of your value on this Earth is measured best when you leave this world.  Sgt. Ray Cooper lived his life as a giver, a protector, a gentle giant. The comments made about him reflect a man who mattered. From his days of working as a butcher, to his years as a police officer, to his role as a loving father and grandpa, to the way the kids in town respected him, to his devotion to the badge and to the city, he was valued. He was large in stature but larger in character. His standards were high, but simple: Be kind, be smart, be loyal, know the truth, treat people well, and appreciate life.

Ray was a folk hero in my lifetime. A few snapshots of Ray include his love of rock music, his work with leather, and his love of motorcycles. He would flash that sweet smile with a twinkle in his eye. He was good for a kind word and mannered greeting every time you saw him. Not sometimes, every time. It was a standard.

His stories were many. To hear a Ray-story meant you were in for a treat.  Consider yourself  lucky to have listened to his stories. You left feeling better about your slice of the world. When he asked you a question, he genuinely wanted to listen to your concerns.

He had a penchant for being “by the book”. It was a standard.

He held strong beliefs about protecting, using instincts and psychology to figure something out and never showing his hand.  He was a great cop. It was a standard.

When my parents would go grocery shopping, they’d take their miniature sidekick with them. Meghan was a little girl.  She was petite; he, larger than life. Ray would bend down to Meghan and tease her and she’d squeal in delight.  She’d want to get his attention and he’d want to sneak up on her. He’d flash that big ol’ smile and they both would beam.   Two decades later, Meghan worked along side him as a dispatcher at CPD.  She was part of his police family. Both child-like, yet both so far ahead of the game.

When I think of the Centralia Police Department, I think of the word “family”.  Ray was the department’s respected patriarch.  He couldn’t work for or be a part of something that didn’t have that feeling. He longed and he belonged. It was a standard.

He was the silent standard-bearer for the police department, maybe even for the city. Let’s not kid ourselves. Police departments change frequently, but there were invisible standards with Sgt. Ray Cooper around. Standards that respectfully and graciously said, “This is how Ray prefers them to be done” even when the department as a whole adheres to them anyway. It’s Sgt. Cooper’s indelible imprint that will always be there as a guide.

Sgt. Cooper will always have the last laugh. He knows that he left us too early. And now we are left to live up to his standards—-in our life….in our work…and in our friendships. We have to deal with that for the rest of our days—how to live up to his standards without him here to quietly point the way—and chuckle under his breath that he knew all along that we needed him more than he needed us.

On one hand, he was fiercely and independently self-contained, but on the other hand, he was someone who needed to belong.  And he belonged to Centralia.

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