Slain Baton Rouge police officer remembered as ‘giant of a man’
BATON ROUGE, La. — Baton Rouge police officer Montrell Jackson’s pleas for the city to unite and “don’t let hate infect your heart” echoed Monday throughout the funeral service that grieved a man who only four months earlier had been celebrating the birth of his son.
Jackson wrote those words days before he was shot to death, in a Facebook post that described the difficulties of being both a black man and a police officer. His younger brother, Kedrick Pitts, repeated the words at Jackson’s funeral.
“All I wanted to do was be like you,” Pitts said, speaking to his brother. “Now I can brag about you being an angel.”
Then he told the overflowing church: “God bless you all. Don’t let hate infect your heart.”
A 10-year veteran of the police force, Jackson and two other law enforcement officers were killed July 17 by a masked gunman who officials say appeared to be targeting police. Jackson was the last of the three to be buried.
Thousands packed the church in north Baton Rouge for a 2½-hour service celebrating the 32-year-old corporal in joyful singing and dancing mixed with tearful memories.
His flag-draped black casket, striped with a police officer’s blue, bore the Superman logo, a nod to his wife’s calling Jackson “her Superman.”
Mourners described Jackson as a loyal friend, an officer who loved his city and a proud father of his 4-month-old son, Mason.
Pitts joked of Jackson’s extensive shoe collection. Friend Gelrod Armstrong remembered his love of comics and a patrol car so spotless it even made a handcuffed man sitting in the back stop struggling and take notice. Baton Rouge Police Chief Carl Dabadie called Jackson “a giant of a man, with a heart to match it.”
Nearly everyone who spoke mentioned the Facebook post, in which Jackson described himself — in the midst of recent protests over the shooting death of a black man by white police officers — as “tired physically and emotionally.”
“I swear to God I love this city but I wonder if this city loves me. In uniform I get nasty hateful looks and out of uniform some consider me a threat,” Jackson wrote.
That emotional posting was printed on a bookmark and in the program given to funeral attendees. But rather than focus on Jackson’s sadness, friends and family stressed the message’s hopeful end.
“This city MUST and WILL get better,” he wrote. And he ended with: “If you see me and need a hug or want to say a prayer. I got you.”