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• 

  ghosthunter130

  almost 3 years ago

  40 Comments

  Brenda,
  What a sad story about the cop.

• 

  CHP

  almost 4 years ago

  5630 Comments

  Hey Brenda, how the heck are ya woman!!! Glad to see you on-line. Hope you are enjoying a safe holiday off duty!! Stay safe out there..

• 

  ALH

  almost 4 years ago

  1078 Comments

  
  Myspace Graphics, Fourth Of July Graphics at WishAFriend.com

• 

  cplbrendalhiggs

  over 4 years ago

  60 Comments

  COMMENTARY: A LIFETIME OF SERVICE ENDS IN DISPAIR ...
  Monday February 9th 2009 6:41 AM

  By Peter Hermann

  February 9, 2009

  Edward William Eldridge Jr. took his own life at the age of 62.

  He
  lived alone in a small semidetached, red-brick house on Daywalt Avenue
  in Northeast Baltimore. He had no wife, no known children, no brothers,
  no sisters, and his parents died years ago. He listed his only aunt as
  a beneficiary, but she, too, had passed away.

  He had no
  friends, at least none close enough or willing enough to stay with him
  at the hospital for a few hours so he could undergo the arthroscopic
  knee surgery he was scheduled to have on the day he died. He had nobody
  he could talk to or who could help him when he lost $100,000 of his
  retirement savings to the faltering stock market.

  Now
  Eldridge's body lies at Ruck Funeral Home in Towson - a viewing is
  scheduled for 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. tomorrow, memorial service at 11 a.m.
  Wednesday - his earthly remains saved from becoming a ward of the state
  and from a pauper's grave by the Baltimore homicide detective who got
  the case, went to the house and recognized the dead man as a colleague
  and an old acquaintance. He had "shot the breeze" with Eldridge years
  ago when the detective walked a foot post and the now-dead officer was
  the Police Department's Central District wagon man.

  His name,
  with rank attached, was Agent Edward William Eldridge Jr. He joined the
  Baltimore Police Department on Aug. 4, 1972, and retired Aug. 6, 1998.
  He had earned a degree in business and public administration from the
  University of Maryland, was drafted into the Army and sent to Okinawa
  to guard underground missile silos.

  "He served his country
  for two years and he served this city for 26 years," Detective Randy
  Wynn said after he claimed the body at the morgue. "At the very least
  he deserves a proper send-off."

  The detective is trying to
  get current and retired police officers to come to services for
  Eldridge, and he plans to display nearly two dozen certificates and
  commendations he found after spending days digging through boxes and
  bags at the house where Eldridge grew up and died.

  Wynn found
  a neighbor who told him Eldridge fixed bicycles for the kids - there
  were parts scattered in his basement - and gave them money for candy.
  There were 40 names in Eldridge's address book, and Wynn called them
  all. Every single number went to a business where people had dealt with
  Eldridge but didn't really know him. Only his retired accountant
  thought Eldridge's demeanor had soured - "that he didn't seem the way
  he used to be," Wynn said.

  He had lost contact with the cops he had worked with, most recently in the Northeast District.

  He was so alone that he worried nobody would find his body after he died - maybe they wouldn't care enough to even look.

  It
  was Jan. 29, a Thursday, at 9:09 in the morning, the day his surgery
  was scheduled, that he called 911 and told an operator, "Ma'am, I'm
  planning to shoot myself."

  His voice was as steady and
  cavalier as someone ordering a pizza. He was polite, not a trace of
  urgency or hesitation. "I don't want the body to stink up the
  neighbor's house," he said into the phone.

  The operator asked
  whether he had any weapons, and he said he had two. She asked where he
  was, and he told her he was in his upstairs back bedroom, and that he
  had left the front door unlocked so officers could get inside.

  He had a .40-caliber Glock and a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver.

  Eldridge
  chose the Glock - the kind of gun carried by city police - to end his
  life. The operator was still on the line when he pulled the trigger.

  It's
  hard to imagine being so alone, and the extent and reason for whatever
  emotions caused him to take his life may never be fully known or
  understood. For Detective Wynn, who gets paid to immerse himself in
  this city's overabundance of death and despair, this case is a stark
  reminder that people need to help each other and ask for help for
  themselves.

  Wynn could have shoved this file aside, written a
  perfunctory report and moved on. But he is driven to get others to care
  about a man who should not have been allowed to die as he lived -
  without family, without friends, without someone knowing even a little
  about him.

  For the detective, who has spent 40 years on the
  city force, it's a lesson to get friends outside the job. "When you're
  in uniform, everybody knows who you are," he said. "Then all of a
  sudden you retire, and nobody knows who you are. After being in his
  house and reading his stuff for 12 hours, I realized he didn't have a
  friend in the world."

  Eldridge was born June 27, 1946, at
  Union Memorial Hospital and grew up on Daywalt Avenue. His parents were
  both from Philadelphia; his father worked as a clerk at Sparrows Point.
  He graduated from Polytechnic Institute in 1964 and headed off to the
  University of Maryland.

  Wynn made a list of Eldridge's varied
  and prodigious studies: introduction to business; introduction to
  philosophy; public speaking; introduction to world literature; general
  chemistry; Western civilization; social psychology; principles of
  government and politics; accounting; marketing principles and
  organization; auditing theory; income tax accounting; business
  statistics; and civil rights law.

  The Army drafted him the
  year he graduated, 1968, but he was spared Vietnam and sent to train
  for a year at Fort Bragg in North Carolina and the Redstone Arsenal in
  Alabama, where he earned a marksman's badge for the M-16 before heading
  off to Japan. While on duty there, he had a security clearance, studied
  the Japanese language, attended a law enforcement program and rose to
  the rank of sergeant.

  Wynn found Eldridge's honorable
  discharge papers, dated June 14, 1971, along with two letters of
  appreciation signed by President Richard M. Nixon and Army Gen. William
  C. Westmoreland.

  He returned to Baltimore, bought a house on Homestead Street in Better Waverly and joined the police force.

  Eight
  years ago, he moved back to Daywalt Avenue to take care of his sick
  mother. Neighbors said they rarely saw him and that he kept his windows
  covered. Wynn found piles of books, Western movies and boxes filled
  with documents that shed some light on Eldridge's personality, and how
  he kept meticulous records of the most mundane chores.

  There
  was a log of "every gallon of gas he ever bought," Wynn said.
  Curiously, it appears that Eldridge kept the records for records' sake
  and not to track mileage. He kept a similar list of visits for
  Halloween and how much money he spent on the small candy bars he handed
  out.

  In 2000, 52 kids came to his door; in 2001 it was 18, a
  year later 31 and a year after that 52. It topped 61 in 2005 and
  dropped to "only eight children" last year. He spent between $94 and
  $159 on candy each year.

  Why he compiled these lists might
  remain as mysterious as why he took his life. In a suicide note found
  at the foot of his bed, neatly written in cursive and taking up a full
  page of notebook paper, Eldridge went on at length about his surgery,
  scheduled for that day at 2 p.m. at Franklin Square Hospital Center. He
  had saved the doctor's instructions reminding him not to eat that day,
  and had written notes to himself about what time to call a taxi to take
  him to the hospital.

  He had later made arrangements with
  officers at the Northeastern District to give him a ride to and from
  Franklin Square, but he had nobody to stay with him during the
  procedure, a requirement. He wrote that he was afraid he would be sent
  home, and that doctors might learn his backup plan was suicide. He was
  afraid of being committed.

  Eldridge, fully clothed, lay on his back on his bed and called 911.

  The final sound on the tape is a gunshot followed by the operator's scream.

  Wynn
  said Eldridge actually shot himself twice, the first time through his
  right jaw, then in a split second he turned his head and shot himself
  above the left ear. His Glock was still in his right hand when police
  arrived.

  The detective has played the tape for his colleagues.

  "Everyone up here who has heard it has never heard anything like that," he said. "Ever."

  Copyright © 2009, The Baltimore Sun

• 

  cplbrendalhiggs

  over 4 years ago

  60 Comments

  Happy New Year to you too! B

• 

  ALH

  over 4 years ago

  1078 Comments

  
  
  
  Free Comments and Graphics
  

• 

  ALH

  over 4 years ago

  1078 Comments

• 

  ALH

  over 4 years ago

  1078 Comments

  
  
  
  Free Comments and Graphics
  

• 

  epdcopswife

  over 4 years ago

  596 Comments

  Thanks for the add!

• 

  epdcopswife

  over 4 years ago

  596 Comments

  Thanks for the add!

• 

  Beamer223

  over 4 years ago

  770 Comments

  Thanks for the add. Stay safe.

• 

  abradford2

  over 4 years ago

  8588 Comments

  Thanks for the add, stay safe and have a great week!

• 

  Anonymous

  over 4 years ago

  Hello Brenda…greetings from Knoxville, thank you, and may peace follow you and your loved ones always. Don’t be a stranger! Best wishes…Mark

• 

  ALH

  over 4 years ago

  1078 Comments

  Thanks for being my friend here and on Badges.

  A. L>

• 

  dwc0760

  over 4 years ago

  958 Comments

  Brenda, thanks for being my friend here on Police Link. BTW, you really should post a picture of yourself here as well. :) Dave