The News Herald (Willoughby, OH)
Fallen Mentor officer remembered
Mathew Mazany’s father always said that good cops are like priests in that they are called.
“My brother was no exception,” Mike Mazany said. “He naturally gravitated toward defending the defenseless and intervening when he saw injustice or inequality.”
Family, friends and police officers from both near and far gathered at the Mentor Fine Arts Center July 2 to pay their final respects to Mazany. The 41-year-old officer was struck and killed June 24, while providing backup to another officer during a traffic stop.
Being a police officer was in Mazany’s blood. His father was a Maple Heights police officer for more than 30 years and also served as a military police officer.
Retired Mentor police Sgt. Scott Tkach, who was Mazany’s training officer when he started 14 years ago, knew immediately that he was unique, describing him as an “old school cop.”
“One of the first days he rolled into the back lot with his big Lincoln, I knew he was going to be a little different than what we were used to here in Mentor,” Tkach recalled. “Quite frankly a lot of us didn’t know how to take him.
Here was this big, rough, tough guy with a tough exterior from Cleveland and he didn’t really care for the way we did police work here in Mentor. So we did a little work on him.”
Though he may have been a little old-school in his approach, Tkach said Mazany was a good officer.
“He knew what he was doing and he did it well,” Tkach said. “He just did it a little differently than most of us.”
Tkach spent his last six years on the force as a sergeant and was tasked with doing end-of-the-year evaluations for officers. He wanted to sit down with them and go over their reports, but in this way, Mazany was different too.
“Mat comes in, I have the evaluation set upon the desk, I say ‘have a seat,’” Tkach said. “He walks over to my desk and says ‘where do I sign?’ Like, ‘don’t you want to go over this thing I spent a lot of time on it. He goes ‘do I get to keep my job?’ Like, ‘yeah you get to keep your job.’ ‘OK, where do I sign?’”
Finally, in Tkach’s last year, he got Mazany to sit down with him and go over the evaluation.
“Mat comes in, sits down. I said Mat, what do you think? A pen? He says “no, I want to go over my evaluation’... so we did, and we went over every little bit of that evaluation. Then he said a couple things that shouldn’t have surprised me, but coming from Mat they did,” Tkach said choking back tears. “He basically said ‘I don’t want you leaving this place thinking that I don’t care.’ He said ‘I love this job. I love working with these people.’ He caught me by surprise.”
Looking over at Mazany’s casket Tkach said “Mat, dude, I never doubted you man, you know that.”
Last to speak was his exwife, Lisa, with whom he had remained close. Shortly after his death, she found a letter he had written to her when he was first hired by the Mentor Police Department:
She read: “When I start doing this, they’ll pin on me, they’ll give me a gun and the oath of office. I’ll receive the proverbial pat on the back for my accomplishments. I’ll have certification, trainings and the authority they provide.
“But what will you have? A husband who works shifts. They’ll never recognize you for being there for me. They’ll never say ‘thanks for not leaving when he couldn’t provide.’ Or, ‘thanks for not leaving when you and your child suffered for his beliefs.’ The only thing they’ll give you is the flag off my casket if I should be killed in the line of duty.
“What I’m trying to say is no matter what they pin on my uniform, nothing, nothing, will make me more proud or give me more honor than the undying love and devotion you demonstrate every day. For all that I am, in triumph and apathy, you are always there. And for that, I will always love you.”
Moments after reading the letter, she was given the flag.