COMMENTA RY
Charity Vogel: Making sure troopers are not forgotten
The reflective sunglasses, coupled with his straight-backed posture and close-cropped hair, tell you what you need to know about Kevin Kailbourne: that he is a retired New York State trooper, and proud of it.
When he steps out of his gold Ford Escort in a Southtowns cemetery one sunny afternoon just before the Fourth of July weekend, those sunglasses are firmly in place.
Then he pulls on a pair of green plastic gloves. Those are a little harder to explain.
To understand them, you need to know this: Kailbourne has come here for the dead.
Carrying a pail of cement, an iron rod, and a bundle of miniature New York state flags—“They cost about two dollars apiece, but they only last one season”— he has come to remember those who have gone before. The thin gray line, they call it.
The rest of the world spent last weekend bewailing Michael Jackson, the troubled pop star inexplicably transformed in death into a lost idol, cynosure of all eyes.
Kailbourne didn’t have time for that. The silver-haired ex-trooper spent his time hiking around cemeteries in far-flung spots —Orchard Park, Silver Creek—doing his small part to make sure that some less-talked-about people got a sliver of recognition.
You don’t know Kevin Kailbourne. (You do know his big brother Erkie, who ran the “Business Backs the Bills” effort that helped keep the football team in Buffalo a few years ago.) Kevin, 61, retired in 2004 from a 32-year police career. He is married and has two grown sons.
Those are the basics. But then there’s his idea.
Ten years ago, it struck him while he looked at cemeteries near his Wellsville home. He saw markers and flags placed on the graves of veterans; meantime, he knew that many of the close to 25,000 men and women who had served as troopers since the organization was founded in 1917 were unmarked in any special way.
A man found his mission. Sometimes, a good idea is as simple as that.
Kailbourne, together with other retired troopers, designed a simple steel marker: a circle with an image of a trooper in it, and the words “Proudly Served.” They began to place them on graves, one by one, sinking them into holes and packing them tight with cement. (The wet cement explains the plastic gloves.) Each marker, in the summer, holds a state flag.
“It was a dangerous, demanding profession. They should be honored for it,” Kailbourne said, looking down at the grave of Edmund Broughton, who died in 1965 and got his marker last week. “We remember our own.”
To families, this little marker means the world.
“It’s about honor,” said Susie Sheflin of Eden, whose grandfather Herman Gorenflo was an early trooper who died in 1928.
“They are not forgotten—that’s a big thing,” said Tom Constantine, whose father- in-law Robert Cryan founded a special unit on organized crime for the State Police.
So far, nearly 1,000 graves have been marked. Kailbourne has personally placed markers on 600 of them.
Last week, he adjusted the marker over Broughton’s grave, then turned away. There are always more graves to visit, more flags to unroll.
One man, a good idea, and the passion to make it happen. In a quiet, countercultural way, it’s enough to make Western New York better.
Kailbourne is looking for names and burial locations of former state troopers; contact him at retrooperkdk@yahoo.com or write to: 104 Howard St., Wellsville, NY 14895. e-mail: cvogel@buffnews.com
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