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Saturday May 16th - US Capitol, Washington D.C.

Never judge a person by their collar. As a member of a family of twelve hard-working children whose lives span a myriad of careers, judging a person by their "collar" -- white, blue or otherwise -- always seemed inherently wrong and about as helpful an indicator of one's character as one's zodiac sign.

But last Saturday made me realize that, contrary to my beliefs, collars matter a great deal.

His shirt collar is a mess. That's the thought that went through my head as I watched President Bush reach over to kiss my niece Katelyn, as he told her how grateful he was for the sacrifice of men like her dad. With sweat pouring from his brow, he dove into the crowd to thank other citizens who had suffered losses like Katelyn's.

The President had just delivered the keynote address on the steps of the U.S. Capitol in commemoration of National Police Week. The Fraternal Order of Police Medal of Honor was awarded to honor my brother, Officer Richard V Lawn Jr. of the Lower Gwynedd Police Department, along with 150 other officers from around the nation who in 2003 gave their lives in the line of duty. Following his keynote address President Bush committed over an hour to shaking hands, hugging, kissing, celebrating, and mourning with those of us in attendance.

His collar just happened to catch my eye. It was warped with the inexhaustible supply of perspiration and grime delivered from the sweaty hands he enthusiastically reached out to grab and hold on this humid, blazing, 90 degree day. It was a blank canvas for the endless palette of facial make-up swiped onto him as he embraced grieving women who had lost a husband, or a dad, or a brother. While it started the day crisp and clean, the collar was quickly sacrificed to the job at hand, recognizing the sacrifice of the families present. It was full of pain and heartbreak; of courage; of compassion and concern. It contained the affection of families grateful that their sacrifice was recognized, grateful that President Bush told the nation of a hero's value, grateful that he told the nation of my brother Richard's value.

It was the collar of a leader.

But the President's wasn't the only dirty collar present.
The families were surrounded by thousands of law enforcement professionals, in full uniform, black and navy blue long sleeves and pants, wool jackets, black hats and white gloves, exposed to a relentless sun for hours. From police departments around the nation, men and women came to celebrate the lives of those killed in 2003, and to share with the families their unfortunate suffering. Always ready to protect and serve, they carried the weak and the elderly, assisted the children, and stood at full attention while the long list of the names of their fallen brothers and sisters were read aloud. Their collars too, were stained with the sweat of sacrifice and leadership.

I know there are those who benefit by dividing and promoting distrust among individuals in this country. They use code words like "working class" and "the privileged class" to label people based on occupations and incomes, to separate us on the basis of a "white" or "blue" collar. They look at people with a set of rules that doesn't include looking into their hearts. These people attempt to pull us apart rather than unify us.

Like the President and the Law Enforcement Officers of this nation, my brother Richard was a dirty collar leader, there to protect us and get a job done no matter what the cost. He always wore that collar, the only collar our parents handed down, the collar of leadership and responsibility, and the only true collar of an American.

Always judge a person by their collar.

Note:
COPS

The above mentioned event was the culmination of the "National Police Survivors Conference" designed to help heal families whose lives have been impacted by the line-of-duty death of a police officer. The event was hosted by a not-for-profit entitled COPS, or the "Concerns of Police Survivors", www.nationalcops.org http://www.nationalcops.org a group of volunteers who transformed their personal suffering into positive action.