Loss of hero is shared by all of us

Sunday morning at Lowe's in South Seattle, and one checkout line had come to a halt.

But nobody minded. The cashier and a customer were talking about the shooting death of Seattle police Officer Timothy Brenton the night before.

It was a conversation we are all in on.

Brenton and an officer-trainee, Britt Sweeney, were sitting in a patrol car not far from here Saturday night when a car pulled up and someone inside opened fire, killing Brenton and injuring Sweeney.

The department called Brenton's killing "coldblooded," an "assassination."

Whoever did it is still out there, the Lowe's cashier said.

I don't know what's wrong with people, the customer said, shaking his head.

The rest of us in line looked at each other, or at the floor.

The death of a police officer is a shared loss. It blows a hole in our sense of community, and we spend the days after trying to stitch that hole closed, drawing each other closer in the process.

And yet, many of the online comments to our stories about Brenton's death wondered whether 31 police officers would have been sent out to find the shooter of an alleged gang member, as they had for Brenton.

And would a line of patrol cars accompany a citizen's body to Harborview, as it did Brenton's?

The blowback was fast and formidable.

Police officers are the buffer "between us and them," one commenter responded.

"Their very presence stabilizes society," said another. "(Brenton) was a civil servant who pledged to protect and serve ALL of us."

That sentiment held strong Monday morning, when I joined the cluster of people standing around an ever-growing floral memorial at 29th and Yesler, where Brenton was killed.

Pastor Doc Rivers came up from the Bethel Christian Church nearby, and declared the shooting "a sad thing for everybody."

"When you call 911, what do they ask you? 'What is your emergency?' Right?" he asked.

"They don't ask you what color you are, where do you live, who's your Momma?"

Behind us, traffic crawled past as drivers slowed to take in the scene. Television news trucks readied for the noon broadcast. A woman in a King County sheriff's jacket arranged the flowers that just kept on coming.

"The person who did this ... Who would they call if they needed help?" Rivers asked. "The same person they killed."

Among the mourners Monday was Brenda Donner, a member of the Washington State Concerns of Police Survivors, which offers support to the families of fallen officers.

Police deaths are "very public," she said, but they also stir up the mixed feelings folks have with the police.

An officer is either writing you a ticket or coming to your rescue, Donner said. But when an officer is killed, only one relationship is remembered: the hero.

It was that way when King County sheriff's Deputy Steve Cox was killed nearly three years ago in White Center. The same thugs and prostitutes he moved along when he was alive mourned him when he died.

"It's that yin and yang," Donner said.

Idella Box, 81, has lived on 29th for 33 years. The neighborhood has gotten so bad, she and her husband don't like to answer their own front door.

But they did Saturday night, to a police officer, who told them about Brenton's death.

"These people risk their lives," Box said. "You just can't take it."

Nicole Brodeur's column appears Tuesday and Friday. Reach her at 206-464-2334 or nbrodeur@seattletimes.com.

The prayers will continue.