I knew slain Chicago officer; he was a wonderful man

I knew Paul Bauer as Grace’s dad.

Grace is 13, a year older than my daughter. They became pals when they were 4 and 5. Her parents and I had mutual friends and we kept winding up at the same birthday parties. Soon enough we were planning playdates, and eventually, happily, the girls ended up in the same elementary school.

They’re on the debate team together. Grace walks away with awards at every tournament. She’s bright and kind and wonderful.

So was Paul. Paul was every bit the good guy he’s being made out to be. He was better, actually. You can’t capture his goodness, not really, in stories that are also about his killing.

I’m going to try.

I spent Wednesday morning at his house, hugging Erin, his widow, who was surrounded by her three sisters, watching the news. Paul’s face would appear on TV and the room would go quiet.

Their wedding photo sat on the kitchen table where we talked. Friday will be their 16th anniversary. Instead of a celebration, Erin is planning his wake.

They met in 1999 at a fundraiser for Chicago police Officer John C. Knight, who was also killed in the line of duty.

“I worked for the city at the time,” Erin told me. “I just went because my boss was selling tickets. I saw Paul across the room. I actually said something to him first.”

They didn’t start dating right away.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to date anybody,” she said. “We got in touch a few months later and it all worked out.”

In 2002, they got married. “I actually thought about John Knight yesterday,” she said. “I thought, ‘Maybe he’s welcoming Paul into heaven.’ “

Paul planned the daddydances at our school. He never missed one. He served on the local school council for several years and recently switched to the school’s finance committee.

“He has a finance degree, so he was real good with numbers and money,” Erin said.

He was widely and fully beloved. He joked around with teachers. He showed up at fundraisers. He wasn’t a center-of-attention kind of guy, but he was solid. Smart and sweet and dedicated to all the right things.

Last Friday, when the city was covered in snow and schools were closed, Erin posted a photo of Paul pushing a snowblower. “Here is my husband, clearing the block of snow,” she wrote. “He’s a good man.”

“He was a good neighbor,” she said Wednesday. “He had everybody’s keys. Everybody trusted him. He did so many things for so many people. Some I don’t even know.”

Grace was his North Star. Everyone who met him knew that.

“I can’t believe he’s not even going to see her go to high school,” Erin said. “He’s not going to see her graduate or get married or have kids. It hurts. He was crazy about her. I don’t know what she’s going to do without him.

“I know if he’s listening this is breaking his heart,” she said. “I know he didn’t want us to feel this way. He was always in control. I was the emotional one. He was always so calm. He was my anchor. I was like a flag flying in the wind, and he was an anchor.”

They sometimes talked about leaving Chicago. I remember a conversation with both of them shortly after they returned from vacation in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

They joked about how the biggest news story while they were there was about someone’s flag getting stuck in a tree. In Chicago, a woman had been shot and killed walking out of a Starbucks near White Sox park that week.

This city is broken. I’m devastated that the violence here took Paul from Grace, Paul from Erin. Paul advocated for stiffer sentences for repeat offenders, and the suspect in his killing is a four-time felon. Maybe his death will prompt reform, maybe it won’t. Either way, he’s forever gone.

He was a gem. He leaves a gaping hole where a husband and father should be. The loss is tremendous—for Chicago, for the police force, for Erin, for Grace, none of whom will soon recover.