THE BLUE MAGAZINE
SEVENTEEN YEARS INSIDE THE PROFESSION
By Daniel Del Valle
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
For seventeen years, The Blue Magazine told the stories of law enforcement. For our final issue, we decided there was one story left that only we could tell: our own. Rather than close with a traditional farewell, this final issue tells the story of The Blue Magazine from beginning to end. It explains how the publication started, who helped build it, how relationships created access and what Blue learned by reporting from inside the profession.
Some of these stories have been told before. The story behind them has not. There is one question I have been asked more than any other: Why did you start The Blue Magazine?
The answer begins before there was a Blue Magazine. When I launched what was then called NJ Corrections Now, the purpose was clear. Law enforcement and public safety needed a place where officers, departments and organizations could communicate, share knowledge and tell their own stories. Important issues affecting the profession deserved serious attention, and officers doing meaningful work deserved recognition that rarely came from outside law enforcement. Bringing those voices together through journalism could strengthen the profession without politics or sensational headlines controlling the story.
The publication grew because people throughout law enforcement recognized the value of that mission. Officers contributed articles, departments became involved, organizations offered their support and advertisers provided the financial backing required to publish an independent magazine. Many of those connections lasted far beyond a single article, interview or issue. They became friendships, and some became family. The people who believed in Blue, opened doors and helped carry it forward are the real story of this magazine.
SHERIFF EDWIN ENGLEHARDT
Long before I became a publisher, Sheriff Edwin Englehardt changed the direction of my life. I was young and reporting for jury duty in Passaic County. The room was filled with people waiting to be called. Most were seated and talking among themselves, but I stood near the doorway reading a newspaper. As I read, I occasionally looked around the room and stopped whenever someone began speaking, Sheriff Englehardt noticed me. Years later, he told me he had watched me standing there and wondered whether I was observing someone or monitoring something. Eventually, he walked over and started talking to me.
“Do you want to be a cop?” he asked. I told him yes.
“Do you have a criminal record?”
I told him no.
“Okay. Come to my office next week.”
That unexpected conversation helped lead me to the Passaic County Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Englehardt saw something in me and provided an opportunity that changed my life.
[CHRIS: PLACE AN EARLY PHOTOGRAPH OF SHERIFF EDWIN ENGLEHARDT HERE. IF AVAILABLE, INCLUDE AN EARLY PHOTOGRAPH OF DANNY WITH HIM.]
Over the years, Sheriff Englehardt became one of the most important mentors in my life. What I respected most was his willingness to lead. He understood that leadership was not about making everyone happy. A sheriff, chief or supervisor sometimes has to determine what is right, stand behind the people entrusted to that leader and accept responsibility for the decision. He did not require everyone to agree with him before he acted, and he did not retreat simply because a decision was unpopular. Sheriff Englehardt retired in 2001. More than a decade later, as the publisher of The Blue Magazine, I was looking for a sheriff with a spine, and I knew exactly where to find one.
Law enforcement was under increasing public and political scrutiny. In our conversations with officers, we repeatedly heard a concern from inside the profession: some believed their own leaders had become reluctant to publicly support them during controversial incidents because of the political consequences that could follow. Accountability mattered, officers who did something wrong had to answer for it. But officers also wanted to know that when they acted properly, their leaders would stand behind them. I wanted Blue to examine that issue through someone who had actually commanded a law enforcement agency. Sheriff Englehardt understood politics and knew how to work with elected officials, but he did not believe politicians should control his department. He was willing to stand his ground when he believed the interests of his officers or the integrity of the agency required it. That was why I wanted him on the cover.
The interview was not intended to recite his résumé. It examined how he led, worked with political officials, secured resources for his officers, commanded respect and applied lessons from his generation to a changing profession. We placed him on the cover beneath the words, “Old Values. New Times. The Blueprint.” His answers reflected the man I had known for years and his belief that leaders were expected to lead. Sheriff Englehardt’s influence extended far beyond that interview. His knowledge of law enforcement and government exposed me to agencies, institutions and public officials I might not otherwise have encountered. He taught me that access means nothing without trust, and that trust must be earned, protected and respected. That principle became essential as Blue later entered more influential rooms and interviewed increasingly powerful people.
His influence was also personal. He knew my wife, my children knew him and our family was welcomed into his home. We never called him Ed or even Sheriff Englehardt. To us, he was simply “the Boss.” The name reflected both respect and the affection that came from knowing him for so many years. The man who first approached me in a jury duty room had become part of our family’s life.
[CHRIS: PLACE PHOTOGRAPHS OF SHERIFF ENGLEHARDT WITH THE DEL VALLE FAMILY AND CHILDREN HERE.]
When the cover issue was complete, I gave the Boss a copy. He became emotional and told me it was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received. That moment meant more to me than he probably realized. Years earlier, he had helped provide me with a path into law enforcement. More than a decade after his retirement, I returned as the publisher of a law enforcement magazine because I believed a new generation needed to hear what he had learned about leadership. Blue now had the opportunity to preserve that knowledge. Sheriff Edwin Englehardt passed away on April 13, 2023, at the age of 93. He served as Passaic County Sheriff from 1974 until his retirement in 2001 and remained a mentor to members of law enforcement long after leaving office. For my family, he will always be the Boss, the man whose decision to give a young man an opportunity changed the direction of my life.
Sheriff Edwin Englehardt
September 29, 1929 to April 13, 2023
[CHRIS: END THIS SECTION WITH THE “OLD VALUES. NEW TIMES. THE BLUEPRINT.” COVER.]
TONY WILLIAMS
When NJ Corrections Now began, one of the first people I knew I needed to meet was Tony Williams, the State Delegate for New Jersey State PBA Local 105. Local 105 represented state correctional officers, whose voices, experiences and knowledge were an important part of the publication’s earliest foundation. Earning the union’s support would give a new magazine credibility, but that support was not automatic. I attended a union meeting where approximately 400 law enforcement officers were gathered. I was young, the magazine was new and most of the people in that room had no reason to know who I was or believe the publication would succeed. At the microphone, I explained what I was trying to build and why law enforcement needed a place to contribute its knowledge, examine the issues affecting the profession and tell its own stories.
Tony stood before the membership and asked them to support me and the magazine. His endorsement gave NJ Corrections Now important early credibility within the law enforcement community. Local 105 became one of the first major law enforcement organizations to stand behind the publication. Officers began contributing articles, and the union supported the magazine through advertising. Tony’s confidence also gave others a reason to examine what we were building. Supporting an established publication is different from placing your credibility behind one that is new and unproven. Tony did the latter. His support, along with the involvement of Local 105 and the New Jersey State PBA, became an important part of the magazine’s professional foundation.
[CHRIS: PLACE A PHOTOGRAPH OF TONY WILLIAMS AND LOCAL 105 HERE. IF AVAILABLE, INCLUDE AN EARLY NJ CORRECTIONS NOW COVER OR OTHER MATERIAL FROM THAT PERIOD.]
STEVE OLIMPIO
Someone told me that if I was serious about expanding NJ Corrections Now and involving more of the law enforcement community, I needed to meet Steve Olimpio. At the time, Steve was president of Paterson PBA Local 1, the first PBA local established in New Jersey. I did not have an appointment. I walked into the PBA office, introduced myself and explained what I was trying to build. Steve was direct, down to earth and willing to listen. He recognized that I was serious about the magazine and began helping Paterson officers become involved with the publication through articles, advertising and professional contacts. Steve’s greatest early impact came when he brought me to the New Jersey State PBA Convention in Atlantic City. As we moved through the convention, he introduced me to PBA leaders from across the state. These were not casual introductions.
Steve would tell them, “This is my friend Danny. He started a magazine. I want your department involved. If he calls you, treat it like I’m calling you.” They gave me their time because they trusted Steve. His name created the introduction, but Blue still had to earn their confidence through its own work. Many of those initial contacts continued for years and led to articles, interviews, events and further expansion.
[CHRIS: PLACE AN EARLY PHOTOGRAPH OF STEVE OLIMPIO WITH BLUE OR AT A PBA EVENT HERE.]
In 2010, Steve ran for Morris County Sheriff, challenging longtime Sheriff Edward Rochford in the Republican primary. Blue followed the campaign and placed Steve on the cover. For a young publication, the coverage represented another important step. We were documenting a law enforcement officer and union leader campaigning for sheriff while the magazine circulated throughout Morris County. Steve did not win the election, but his influence on Blue continued well beyond the campaign. He became one of my closest friends and most important mentors and remained involved with the magazine for years. Several of the most consequential relationships in Blue’s history began because Steve recognized that two people needed to meet.
[CHRIS: PLACE THE STEVE OLIMPIO SHERIFF CAMPAIGN COVER HERE.]
TOMMY PANZARINO AND THE HONOR LEGION
When I first met Tommy Panzarino, he was serving with the Passaic County Sheriff’s Department and had extensive experience in gang investigations. His knowledge of that work immediately stood out, and he took an interest in what Blue was building. Tommy introduced me to Jim Durkin, who was closely connected to the New Jersey Police Honor Legion and would later serve as its president. That introduction brought Blue into another respected part of New Jersey’s law enforcement community. Years later, Tommy also became president of the New Jersey Police Honor Legion. After his law enforcement career ended, he continued supporting the profession through the Honor Legion, Moment of Silence, Santa Comes to Paterson and other charitable projects involving children and families.
Tommy’s place in Blue began with a professional judgment. He saw potential in a young magazine and connected it with someone he believed it needed to know. Over time, that professional connection became a lasting friendship. Tommy became a brother to me, and his continued service became part of both Blue and Moment of Silence.
[CHRIS: PLACE A PHOTOGRAPH OF TOMMY PANZARINO AND MATERIAL CONNECTED TO THE NEW JERSEY POLICE HONOR LEGION HERE.]
JIM DURKIN
I remember sitting in a diner with Jim Durkin when he took out his phone and began calling people he knew in New York, Connecticut and other parts of the law enforcement community. Jim was a Paterson police officer who served as president of the New Jersey Police Honor Legion, and he believed enough in what we were doing to place his own credibility behind us. He told the people he called that he was sitting with his friend Danny, that I had started a magazine and that he wanted them to help us. Steve Olimpio had introduced me to law enforcement leaders throughout New Jersey. Jim was now helping the publication reach beyond the state.
During that period, Jim suggested adding the word “Blue” to the magazine’s name. The idea was simple: the word gave the publication a broader law enforcement identity and helped position it for continued growth. A few issues later, NJ Corrections Now became NJ Blue Now. The new name represented the broader law enforcement community while giving the publication an identity that could grow with it. NJ Blue Now became The Independent Voice of Law Enforcement. Not long afterward, Jim appeared on the cover in recognition of his work with the New Jersey Police Honor Legion.
[CHRIS: PLACE THE JIM DURKIN AND NEW JERSEY POLICE HONOR LEGION BLUE COVER HERE.]
As the magazine’s reporting and readership continued expanding beyond New Jersey, the name evolved again. NJ Blue Now became The Blue Magazine. Blue had become a national publication, but its purpose remained consistent. It provided a place where members of law enforcement could contribute their knowledge, express their views and identify stories they believed deserved attention. The publication’s early development established an important standard. Personal introductions could provide access, but Blue’s work determined whether that access became lasting professional trust.
JOHN “JOHNNY” WELSH
During the magazine’s early years, there were nights when I drove past the office at two or three in the morning and saw the lights still on. John “Johnny” Welsh would be inside, working at a computer, researching businesses and identifying people Blue could approach. I had met Johnny while he was serving with the Passaic County Sheriff’s Department. We had different personalities. I was more introverted. Johnny was outgoing, sharp and comfortable entering a room and introducing himself. He was also ambitious and willing to work. At that stage, I was trying to handle almost every part of the operation. Blue needed articles, interviews and departments willing to participate. It also needed businesses prepared to advertise and sponsor the magazine. Without that financial support, there could be no publication, regardless of the strength of its editorial purpose.
I asked Johnny to help, he did far more than that. He brought advertisers and sponsors into Blue, developed lasting professional contacts and helped create the financial support that allowed the magazine to continue publishing. Readers did not always see that work, but it was essential to the publication’s survival. Looking back, I can say honestly that I do not know whether The Blue Magazine would have survived without Johnny Welsh. He remains one of my closest friends. I consider him family and a brother, and his contribution belongs permanently in the history of this magazine.
[CHRIS: PLACE PHOTOGRAPHS OF JOHNNY WELSH HERE, INCLUDING NIGHT TO UNITE, BLUE APPAREL AND AN EARLY OFFICE OR TEAM PHOTOGRAPH.]
Tom Brock
Through the New Jersey Police Honor Legion, I was introduced to Tom Brock, whose law enforcement career had been permanently changed after he was struck by a vehicle in the line of duty. His injuries forced him into early retirement and continued to affect his health, but Tom remained committed to supporting law enforcement. He became an advisor and a close friend, traveling from Arizona to New York and New Jersey to support Blue despite his physical limitations.
[Chris, Tom Brock photo.]
Tom and I walked together in the Father Mychal Judge 9/11 Walk of Remembrance, and through that world I would come to know Detective Steven McDonald. Tom could have spent the rest of his life angry about what happened to him, but he did not. His faith remained strong, along with his commitment to law enforcement.
SHERIFF LEO P. McGUIRE (RET.)
Senior Advisor, Blue Magazine
After Leo P. McGuire completed his second term as Bergen County Sheriff, I met him at a local diner for an interview. The publication was still called NJ Blue Now. McGuire remained active in law enforcement and education, and his reputation reached me before he did. People whose judgment I trusted described him as someone worth knowing. I wanted to hear how a former sheriff assessed the profession once he was outside elected office. His résumé explained part of that reputation. McGuire served in the United States Army Military Police, spent approximately 20 years with the Ridgefield Park Police Department and received more than 80 letters recognizing meritorious service. After serving on the Oakland Borough Council, he was elected Bergen County Sheriff in 2004 and reelected in 2007, overseeing an agency with more than 500 members.
The conversation revealed more than experience. McGuire could examine law enforcement from the perspective of an officer, administrator, elected official and educator. He understood how decisions made by government and agency leaders reached the people working the street. After meeting thousands of people through the magazine, I still consider him one of the sharpest and most informed people I have encountered in the profession. The interview developed into a friendship, and McGuire became a senior advisor to Blue Magazine. When developments at the state level required context, he helped us understand what was happening, whom it affected and why it mattered. Much of his contribution occurred behind the scenes, long before an article appeared or a decision became public. One example came when Phil Murphy was running for governor. Leo recommended that we interview him and facilitated the introduction. Murphy came to our headquarters, where we conducted the interview, and the professional relationship continued after his election. The purpose was straightforward: to allow our readers to hear directly from a candidate seeking the state’s highest office. It was one of many occasions when Leo recognized a relevant story and helped the magazine reach the person at its center.
Another conversation demonstrated the value of his judgment. Someone had asked me for help resolving an unusually difficult problem. The solution required access and relationships that few people possessed, so I brought the request to him. “Danny, I can move this mountain,” Leo told me. “But I cannot move many mountains like this for you. Is this a mountain you want me to move? Does this person deserve it?”
His questions forced me to examine the person rather than the problem. Was he a good man? Had he helped others? Was this important enough to ask Leo to use a favor of that magnitude on someone else’s behalf? Leo did not make the decision for me. He made me responsible for understanding its cost. I learned that influence should not be exercised simply because it exists. Judgment determines when it should be used.
McGuire brought the same seriousness to Moment of Silence. He participated in projects and events addressing law enforcement suicide, helped spread the organization’s message and remained involved as the mission expanded. He understood that suicide prevention could not be reduced to a slogan or a single event. It required continued attention, honest conversations and people willing to remain engaged after public interest moved elsewhere. Retirement never separated McGuire from the profession. He continued working in education, risk management, homeland security, leadership and veterans’ advocacy. In 2023, Felician University named its Veterans Success Center in his honor, recognizing his work on behalf of veterans and veteran students. Alongside that work, he has built a fulfilling life with his wife, Wendy.
McGuire is also part of Santa Comes to Paterson, standing alongside us and distributing toys to children and families. At those events, he works beside everyone else, without ceremony or concern for titles. Over the years, Leo McGuire became more than an advisor. He became a true friend and part of the Blue Magazine family. This is Leo McGuire. Let me know where I can insert this.
George Beck
Before George Beck became deeply involved with Blue, our journalism had not yet reached the level it would under his editorial leadership. When George came to the magazine, he was a law enforcement officer in Palisades Park and was also a writer, educator and student of criminal justice and history. He would earn his Ph.D., become an author and eventually rise to Chief of Police. But when he came to Blue, none of that gave him a free pass. He worked. George raised our editorial standard, and he was not afraid to tell me when something was not good enough. That included my own ideas. As publisher, I did not always agree with my Editor in Chief. We argued about stories, covers, questions and the direction of the magazine, but that was healthy. I did not need an Editor in Chief who agreed with me. I needed one who made the magazine better.
[Chris, early George Beck and Blue photos.]
George also worked with law enforcement officers who had something to say but were not professional writers. He helped them write, and some became regular contributors. As the access of Blue grew, that editorial foundation became critical. When we eventually sat across from governors, mayors, sheriffs, commissioners and a President of the United States, we had an editorial operation capable of handling those interviews seriously. George grew at the same time. I watched him rise through the Palisades Park Police Department until he became Chief. He also became one of my closest friends and a brother, and faith became part of that relationship. Before major Blue events, George and I prayed. Hundreds of people could be arriving, something could be going wrong behind the scenes and everyone could be looking for us, but we still took the time to pray.
[Chris, if we have an actual photo of us praying before an event, use it.]
JOEL E. GORDON, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Joel E. “Joe” Gordon came to Blue Magazine through George Beck, who recognized that Joe’s law-enforcement experience and ability as a writer could strengthen the publication. Joe had begun his police career with the Baltimore City Police Department in 1980, served as a field-training officer and later became Chief of Police in Kingwood, West Virginia. He understood the profession from patrol through command, but he also knew how to examine it critically. Joe began at Blue Magazine as a contributing writer and advanced through the editorial ranks. He became an associate editor, was appointed managing editor in 2021 and was promoted to Editor-in-Chief in 2025. When George prepared to assume the role of Executive Editor and Editor-in-Chief Emeritus, he told me that Joe was ready to lead the magazine. George’s recommendation carried considerable weight. He had established Blue’s editorial standard and understood what the position required. Promoting Joe proved to be one of our best editorial decisions.
Joe did more than review manuscripts. He identified knowledgeable writers from across the country, helped them organize their experience into publishable work and protected the credibility of the magazine. He demanded research, challenged unsupported claims and understood that supporting law enforcement did not mean abandoning honest examination. His work helped guide major editions and coverage involving President Donald J. Trump, United States Border Czar Tom Homan and Blue Magazine’s entry into the White House. In 2025, serious medical complications resulted in the amputation of Joe’s left leg. A few days after the procedure, I called the hospital and spoke with Joe and his wife. I expected the conversation to be about his recovery. Instead, Joe was already asking about the magazine and the work that remained. I told him to take his time. The publication could not be more important than his health.
“No,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
From his hospital bed, Joe continued editing stories, advising writers and helping move the issue toward publication. The moment was striking, but it was not out of character. The same commitment had defined him as a law-enforcement officer, police chief, writer and editor. He regarded journalism as another form of service, and leading Blue Magazine had become an important part of his life. Today, Joe is doing better, but the standard he established remains unchanged. He approached every issue with a determination to find the truth, improve the work and give the law-enforcement community reporting worthy of its experience. George Beck set the standard. Joe Gordon carried it forward.
Joe’s place in Blue Magazine’s history is not defined by his title or his amputation. It rests in the work he produced, the writers he developed and the integrity he protected. Our team loves him, respects him and remains deeply grateful that he led the magazine through its final chapter.
DARI IZHAKY BULRISS
Dari Izhaky Bulriss has been part of Blue since its beginning. As Chief Design Editor, she handled the magazine’s layout and graphic design, created advertisements and produced the ad books for Blue’s events. The work often required late nights, last minute changes and long hours to meet deadlines. Dari remained available when something needed to be created, corrected or completed. Her work shaped the presentation of Blue in print and at its events, making her an essential part of the magazine from the beginning.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF DARI WORKING ON BLUE AND EXAMPLES OF HER GRAPHIC DESIGN, MAGAZINE LAYOUTS, ADVERTISEMENTS AND EVENT BOOKS.]
DAN LARCO
Dan Larco helped define the appearance of Blue. As Creative Design Director, he was behind many of the covers that became part of the magazine’s identity. Dan understood that a cover had only seconds to make someone stop and look. Typography, photography, placement and branding all mattered to him. He paid close attention to those details, and it showed in his work. When people remember some of Blue’s strongest covers, they are looking at Dan’s work.
[CHRIS: CREATE A DAN LARCO COVER SPREAD USING THE ACTUAL COVERS. KEEP THE WRITTEN COPY LIMITED SO HIS WORK REMAINS THE FOCUS.]
BARRY MORGENSTEIN
Barry Morgenstein came to Blue with an established reputation as an award winning photographer. His work included portraits and headshots of nationally recognized entertainers, politicians, news personalities and other public figures. He brought that experience and professional standard to the magazine. Barry photographed Blue covers, assignments, events and individual portraits. He also photographed the Blue Calendar, while Dan Larco handled its creative direction and design. The full calendar project will be addressed separately, but Barry’s photography was central to its quality and identity.
His involvement extended beyond scheduled photo shoots. Barry attended Blue and Moment of Silence events, photographed Santa Comes to Paterson and documented people and moments that otherwise might not have been preserved. He provided those photographs to Blue, shared them publicly and helped the work reach a wider audience. Barry also introduced Blue to people who became part of the magazine’s reporting and broader network, including Chris “Tonto” Paronto. Those introductions created opportunities for new stories and relationships.
Over the years, Barry became a consistent supporter of Blue and Moment of Silence. When he was invited to participate, he showed up with his camera and contributed his work. That reliability, combined with his reputation and ability, made him an important part of Blue’s visual history. The professional relationship also became a close friendship with Danny and the Blue team.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF BARRY WORKING AT BLUE ASSIGNMENTS, EVENTS AND SANTA COMES TO PATERSON. INCLUDE EXAMPLES OF HIS BLUE COVERS AND PORTRAITS, BUT SAVE THE MAIN CALENDAR IMAGES FOR THE BLUE CALENDAR SECTION.]
PAT CISER
Retired Clifton law enforcement officer Pat Ciser brought firsthand experience to Blue, including knowledge gained through narcotics investigations. He wrote directly about law enforcement, patriotism and the country, and he was willing to express what he believed even when the subject was controversial. Some readers agreed with Pat and others did not. Blue did not require every contributor to hold the same position. Publishing an independent magazine meant allowing experienced members of law enforcement to present informed views, while giving readers the freedom to reach their own conclusions.
Pat’s columns reflected that principle.
[CHRIS: USE A PHOTOGRAPH OF PAT CISER AND EXAMPLES OF HIS BLUE COLUMNS.]
The Blue Calendar
The Blue law enforcement calendar brought our photography and creative work together in another way. We wanted to photograph law enforcement officers differently. We did not want the pictures to resemble departmental identification photographs. We wanted them to have the quality of a professional national publication, and Barry Morgenstein made that possible. Barry was already an accomplished professional photographer who had photographed nationally known entertainers, personalities and public figures. He brought that experience to Blue, while Dan Larco handled the creative direction and design. The calendar did not need a deeper explanation. It looked great, represented law enforcement professionally and became another important part of Blue.
[Chris, Blue calendar spread using the strongest original images. Credit Barry Morgenstein for photography and Dan Larco for creative work. Do not add too much writing.]
Joe Lemire
Joe Lemire has been part of Blue for many years and has handled much of the crucial work readers never see. He carries a tremendous amount of responsibility behind the scenes and takes care of countless details that allow people to find and interact with the magazine online. His knowledge of technology and business has made him an important part of keeping Blue running and moving forward. At one point, Blue faced a serious digital problem, and we believed that years of online material might be gone. For a publication that had spent years documenting law enforcement, losing that archive would have been devastating. Joe recovered the old website and its material, helping us save years of Blue history.
Joe is one of the most reliable people behind Blue. When something unexpected happens, he responds quickly, finds a solution and follows through with whatever is asked of him. His work has been crucial to the magazine, and Blue would not have been able to function the same way without him.
SHAI CARR
Shai Carr has been part of BLUE for more than a decade. A New Jersey law enforcement officer, she became much more than a contributor. She became part of the team. Shai conducted interviews, traveled on assignments and represented BLUE beyond New Jersey. She joined reporting trips to Washington, D.C., Virginia and Florida, including BLUE’s interview with Polk County Sheriff Grady Judd. Most recently, she joined us in Virginia, interviewing Deputy Chris Darlington during one of BLUE’s final reporting trips.
One project particularly demonstrated her leadership.
The BLUE Calendar 2021 was created during the COVID era, when law enforcement was navigating an unusually difficult period. Shai led the project, bringing together officers from different departments and states and coordinating a production involving more than 30 people. Award-winning photographer Barry Morgenstein photographed the calendar, while BLUE’s Dan Larco handled creative direction and design. Together with Shai and the participating officers, they created something deliberately different for the law-enforcement community.
Some photographs were lighthearted. Others carried considerable history.
Among the participants was Paramus Police Officer Rachel Morgan, who had survived a line-of-duty shooting in 2011. Morgan was critically wounded but fought through the encounter, survived her injuries and later returned to duty. Years later, having her stand in front of our camera as part of the BLUE Calendar was an honor. Other images recognized September 11, the Blue Mass tradition and different parts of law-enforcement life. The calendar became more than a collection of photographs. It brought officers together at a difficult time and allowed the people behind the badge to tell their stories differently.
But Shai’s most consequential work with us could not be photographed. Through Moment of Silence, Shai became someone we trusted when an officer was in crisis and needed another law enforcement officer to talk to. More importantly, officers trusted her that trust was earned through years of work, relationships and commitment to the profession. There were officers in serious crisis whom we connected with Shai because we believed she could reach them. We have seen those conversations make a profound difference. Shai brought standards to that compassion. She could listen without judgment while maintaining firm boundaries and zero tolerance for disrespect. Supporting someone did not mean telling them what they wanted to hear.
Her example shows how service to law enforcement can extend beyond a shift. Shai did it through journalism, through projects such as the BLUE Calendar and through Moment of Silence. Some of her most important contributions occurred privately, when there was no camera, byline or recognition attached. Shai remains with us today, and after more than a decade of shared work, challenges and service, she is more than part of the BLUE team.
To us, she is family.
Leadership earns trust and sometimes, that trust allows you to reach someone when they need it most.
Holly Finley
Holly Finley, a retired New York City police officer, became an important part of Blue during its later years. She brought her law enforcement experience, strong communication skills and a willingness to accept responsibility wherever she was needed. She worked on stories, interviews and the constant coordination taking place behind the scenes. When an event needed someone to step in at the last minute, Holly could be trusted to take the microphone, serve as Master of Ceremonies and make the program feel as though it had been planned that way from the beginning.
That ability says a great deal about Holly. She can be given an important responsibility with little notice and still handle it with confidence and grace. Her professionalism is matched by the kind of person she is. She carries a great deal on her plate but continues to give her best to everything asked of her. Her contribution reaches far beyond any single role, and she has become an important asset to Blue.
[Chris, use a photo of Holly working at a Blue assignment or event if we have one.]
When the Questions Got Harder
As Blue grew, so did the interviews. We interviewed Judge Jeanine Pirro at Fox News headquarters in New York, and the interview was going well. However, there was a controversial prosecution from her years as a district attorney that some members of law enforcement still had strong feelings about. The interview was nearly over, and the question had not been asked, so I asked it. She told me it was a stupid question and said it more than once. I explained why I had asked it. Law enforcement officers cared about the issue. If Blue was going to sit across from Jeanine Pirro and avoid something our readers wanted answered simply because it might make the interview uncomfortable, then what were we doing there?
She answered the question. Afterward, we spoke privately, the tension disappeared and we discussed the matter further. She apologized, and I respected that. The experience reinforced what Blue was supposed to be. Getting the interview was never enough if we were unwilling to ask what law enforcement wanted answered and give our readers honest information, even when the questions made the conversation uncomfortable. After all, we are the independent voice of law enforcement.
[Chris, Jeanine Pirro Blue cover and Fox interview photo.]
MICHAEL DOWD THE ROAD TO REDEMPTION
Some covers were easier to explain than others. Michael Dowd was one of the difficult ones. Someone on the BLUE team recommended that we watch The Seven Five, Tiller Russell’s documentary about corruption inside Brooklyn’s 75th Precinct. We did, and it raised a difficult question: Could law enforcement learn something from one of the NYPD’s most notorious corrupt officers? Dowd had not simply made a bad decision while wearing a badge. He took bribes from drug traffickers, provided confidential police information and protection to criminals, warned dealers about raids and became involved in narcotics distribution. He eventually pleaded guilty to racketeering and narcotics conspiracy. He had gone from enforcing the law to participating in the criminal world he was supposed to police.
There was no defending what he had done. But there might have been something to learn from how an officer crosses that line, what happens after he does and how far the consequences extend. So BLUE pursued the story. We met with Dowd and talked at length. He did not ask us to pretend he had been a good cop. He acknowledged what he had done and the consequences that followed. He had lost his badge, his freedom and his reputation, while his family lived with consequences they did not create. What interested us was his willingness to explain how he had gotten there.
[CHRIS: PLACE THE MICHAEL DOWD “ROAD TO REDEMPTION” BLUE COVER HERE.]
In 2019, we put Michael Dowd on the cover of The Blue Magazine, and the reaction was immediate. Some law enforcement officers were furious. They could not understand how a magazine built for their profession could place a convicted former officer on its cover. Some told us they had lost respect for BLUE. Others believed giving Dowd a platform dishonored those who had spent their careers wearing the badge with integrity. Still others understood the distinction between celebrating corruption and examining its consequences.
I understood the anger. But placing someone on a cover is not an endorsement, and controversy cannot determine whom a journalist is willing to examine. Over the years, people tried to tell us whom we should interview, whom we should associate with and which relationships might cost us access. We listened to the criticism and made our own editorial decisions. Michael Dowd became one of the clearest tests of that independence. With Dowd, the lesson was where corruption can lead. An officer crosses one line. The next becomes easier to cross. Eventually, there may be little resemblance between the oath he took and the life he is living. Dowd had lived that progression and knew where it ended.
That was what we wanted officers to understand: not how to be Michael Dowd, but how not to become Michael Dowd. His crimes and their consequences were only part of the story we set out to examine. Dowd had served his sentence. Prison could punish him, but it could not rewrite what had happened. His badge was gone, and his past would follow him. The question was what he would do with the rest of his life. We called the cover “The Road to Redemption.” The wording was deliberate. Redemption was not a verdict we had the authority to deliver. The word road mattered. We were examining what Dowd chose to do after prison and where those choices might lead. The interview ended, but our relationship with Michael did not. Over time, he became involved with BLUE, and eventually that relationship extended to Moment of Silence.
Some years, Michael has joined us for Santa Comes to Paterson, spending the day as one of our elves, running with the team and helping deliver toys to children throughout the city. His involvement has also extended into the more difficult work we have done around law enforcement mental health. Through that work, I learned that not every officer in crisis wants to speak with someone who has the perfect résumé. Sometimes an officer wants someone who understands what it feels like to fall. Michael understands that in a way few people can. There have been times when I have called him and said, “Michael, I have an officer who needs someone to talk to.” He answers. When we have needed him to speak to officers or share his story with a department, he has made himself available. Some officers have been comfortable talking to him precisely because he was not approaching them from a position of perfection.
His past did not disappear. In those moments, it became part of the reason they listened.
[CHRIS: PLACE PHOTOGRAPHS HERE OF MICHAEL WITH MOMENT OF SILENCE, INCLUDING SANTA COMES TO PATERSON IF WE HAVE A STRONG ONE, OR SPEAKING WITH LAW ENFORCEMENT. DO NOT OVERLOAD THIS SECTION.]
Michael and I eventually became friends. That friendship did not change my judgment about what he did while wearing a badge. It allowed me to witness what he chose to do afterward. Today, when Moment of Silence encounters an officer in crisis and Michael is the person I believe that officer might listen to, I can still make that call. He still answers.
Maybe that is the meaning of the cover we published years ago. The road to redemption was never a declaration about where Michael Dowd had arrived. It was about the direction he had chosen—and whether he would continue moving toward it.
COMMISSIONER BERNARD KERIK
In 2014, Steve Olimpio told me I needed to meet Bernard Kerik. We were still NJ Blue Now at the time. Steve knew both of us and believed we should sit down together. I went to Commissioner Kerik’s home in Franklin Lakes expecting a meeting. Instead, we talked for nearly three hours in his office and then continued over lunch. The office told part of his story. Photographs and pieces of history surrounded us: Kerik with presidents and national leaders, images from his time overseas and reminders of September 11. Before he said much, you could see that his career had taken him far beyond the walls of any one police department.
Kerik walked me through his life: the Passaic County Sheriff’s Office, the New York City Department of Correction, the NYPD, his years as Police Commissioner and September 11. He also talked about the other side of his story: the investigations, charges, mistakes and federal prison. I wanted to hear all of it, not only the résumé. What stayed with me most was not what was hanging on the walls. It was his drive. Kerik had recently come out of federal prison and was trying to find his way back into the law enforcement world. He knew some of the doors that had once been open to him were now closed, but he believed he had served his time and could still contribute. You could hear it when he talked about law enforcement and national security. The knowledge and passion were still there, along with a determination to regain a voice in the profession that had defined much of his life. That determination impressed me.
[CHRIS: USE THE FIRST KERIK BLUE COVER.]
There were people in law enforcement who wanted nothing to do with him. Some saw a former New York City Police Commissioner. Others saw only his convictions and prison sentence. Putting him on the cover carried a risk, and some believed Blue Magazine should stay away from him. We made a different decision. His record did not need to be hidden or rewritten, but it did not erase everything he knew, everything he had experienced or everything he could still contribute. We were not asking readers to forgive him or forget what had happened. We were giving him the opportunity to speak and allowing readers to decide for themselves.
When we placed Bernard Kerik on the cover of BLUE, we could not have known what that decision would eventually mean to either of us. Years later, Commish told me the cover helped reintroduce him to the law enforcement world at a time when many doors were closed. When President Donald Trump granted him a full pardon in 2020, Commish told me that BLUE Magazine had been included in the material presented as part of his pardon effort. That was his account, and it showed me how deeply he remembered that BLUE had been willing to listen when others would not. The Bernard Kerik I knew at the end was not the Bernard Kerik I first met in Franklin Lakes. He became an advisor and eventually Chief Advisor to The Blue Magazine. To me, he became Commish.
[CHRIS: PLACE COMMISH’S APPROXIMATELY ONE-MINUTE AUDIO HERE USING HIS OWN WORDS ABOUT BLUE MAGAZINE BEING THE INDEPENDENT VOICE OF LAW ENFORCEMENT. USE AN AUDIO PLAYER OR QR CODE. THIS CANNOT BE FORGOTTEN.]
Chief Advisor was not an honorary title. Commish advised us on stories, covers and the direction of the magazine. His law enforcement and national security experience helped us understand events beyond the headlines and ask better questions. The exchange worked both ways. By then, Blue Magazine had built its own network of officers, union leaders, sheriffs, investigators and others who trusted us with information. At times, what came through that network was useful to Commish as well. We had become a team. There was one subject that never became history to him: September 11. Year after year, Commish pushed us to remember it. He helped shape covers commemorating the attacks, the lives lost and the law enforcement officers and first responders who answered that day. For him, remembrance was not ceremonial. He never wanted September 11 to become just another date on the calendar.
That responsibility became part of BLUE. Our September 11 covers were among the ways we honored a defining moment in law enforcement history. Commish made certain that we understood the weight of telling that story. Whatever else had happened in his life, nothing could change the fact that he had been New York City’s Police Commissioner on September 11, 2001, and had stood in the middle of one of the darkest days in the nation’s history. I was always proud of him for that.
[CHRIS: IF WE HAVE STRONG KERIK/9-11 BLUE COVERS, PLACE TWO OR THREE OF THE BEST HERE. DO NOT USE EVERY 9-11 COVER. LET THE IMAGES SHOW THE HISTORY.]
Commish’s role extended beyond the magazine. He served as Master of Ceremonies at major BLUE events, including Night to Unite in New Jersey and Blue Unity in Florida. He stood with us as we recognized law enforcement officers wounded in the line of duty, military veterans and others whose service deserved recognition. Those events showed how far BLUE had traveled. A magazine that once struggled to get through the front door was now bringing people from law enforcement, government and the military into the same room. Commish was often the man standing at the microphone, guiding the night.
[CHRIS: PLACE PHOTOGRAPHS HERE OF COMMISH AS MASTER OF CEREMONIES AND PRESENTING AWARDS. PRIORITIZE NIGHT TO UNITE AND BLUE UNITY. USE INDIVIDUAL PHOTOGRAPHS, NOT A COLLAGE.]
Then came one of the most important interviews in BLUE’s history. When I wanted to interview President Donald Trump, I called Commish. He called the President and his people, and in less than two hours, the interview was set. It had taken one call from me to Commish and one call from Commish to the President. The story of that interview comes later, but the man who made it possible was Bernard Kerik. What Commish meant to me could not be measured by access or contacts. I could call him, ask a question and receive his honest perspective, even when his answer was not what I wanted to hear. He did not tell me what was convenient. He told me what he believed I needed to know. That is what a mentor does.
[CHRIS: CONTINUE KERIK PHOTOGRAPHS THROUGHOUT THIS SECTION. DO NOT PUT ALL OF THEM INTO ONE COLLAGE.]
When Bernard Kerik passed away, Blue Magazine lost its Chief Advisor, and I lost Commish, my mentor and my friend. Major moments in BLUE’s history would never have happened without him, but when I think about Bernard Kerik now, those moments are not the first things I remember. I remember sitting in his office in Franklin Lakes in 2014, surrounded by pieces of an extraordinary career, when neither of us could have known where that first conversation would lead. More than the covers, the events or the doors he opened, I remember the man I could call.
BERNARD B. KERIK
September 4, 1955 – May 29, 2025
[CHRIS: END THIS SECTION WITH THE LAST PHOTOGRAPH OF COMMISH I TOLD YOU ABOUT.]
CHICAGO: THE ABANDONED CITY
In 2018, the Blue team traveled to Chicago while shootings and homicides were placing the city under intense national scrutiny. The resulting cover, “Welcome to Chicago: The Abandoned City,” reflected what residents told the team: they felt forgotten by the institutions responsible for the safety and stability of their neighborhoods. Blue reported from Chicago’s South and West sides, remaining in the streets for two nights and speaking directly with residents and law enforcement officers. The purpose was to understand the violence through the experiences of those living and working inside it.
Residents described gang rivalries, drug addiction, poverty, untreated mental illness, stolen firearms and the loss of community structures that had once provided children with greater supervision. Gang markings identified contested territory, while street memorials marked where lives had been lost. Frank Hopkins told Blue that his mother had recently been murdered inside her home during a robbery. He had also been robbed at gunpoint. Pastor Apostle Larry Tabron Jr. spoke with the team inside a funeral home where a person had been killed outside approximately one week earlier. Near a victim’s street memorial, Tanika Kirkpatrick described how adults had once shared responsibility for watching over neighborhood children. By 2018, she said, many families were afraid to let their children play outside.
After dark, the team observed young drivers speeding and maneuvering aggressively through neighborhood streets. During the overnight reporting, team members heard what appeared to be gunfire and encountered moments when their own safety felt uncertain. These were limited firsthand observations, not a judgment about everyone living in those communities, but they demonstrated how quickly conditions could become dangerous. The team also spoke privately with seven or eight Chicago police officers. Their concerns were consistent. They believed high-violence areas needed more officers, that existing personnel were being asked to cover too much territory and that rank-and-file officers needed stronger support from department leadership and city government.
The officers also believed the political narrative surrounding law enforcement often placed them under suspicion before the facts of an encounter were known. They accepted the need for accountability but said widespread distrust damaged morale, weakened relationships with residents and made an already dangerous assignment more difficult. In neighborhoods confronting persistent gun violence and retaliation, insufficient staffing increased the risks to officers and the people they were responsible for protecting. Blue found residents who wanted violent offenders and gang leaders held accountable, and officers who wanted the personnel and institutional support necessary to protect those neighborhoods. The reporting also showed why enforcement alone could not resolve a crisis shaped by addiction, poverty, mental illness and weakened family and community structures. “The Abandoned City” documented Chicago beyond the national headlines by listening to the people confronting its violence every day.
[CHRIS: USE THE 2018 “WELCOME TO CHICAGO: THE ABANDONED CITY” COVER AND BLUE’S ORIGINAL SOUTH AND WEST SIDE FIELD PHOTOGRAPHY. INCLUDE FRANK HOPKINS, PASTOR APOSTLE LARRY TABRON JR., TANIKA KIRKPATRICK, THE STREET MEMORIAL AND IMAGES OF CHICAGO OFFICERS WORKING IN THE COMMUNITY. USE OVERNIGHT MATERIAL IF IT ACCURATELY DOCUMENTS THE CONDITIONS DESCRIBED. CONFIRM BEFORE PUBLICATION THAT THE SUBSTANCE OF PRIVATE POLICE CONVERSATIONS MAY BE REPORTED WITHOUT ATTRIBUTION. DO NOT IDENTIFY ANY OFFICER WHO SPOKE OFF THE RECORD.]
DETECTIVE STEVEN McDONALD
Detective Steven McDonald was already one of law enforcement’s most respected figures when I began publishing Blue. I first met him in Manhattan during the annual Father Mychal Judge 9/11 Walk of Remembrance. I was walking with my longtime friend Tom Brock when he introduced us. Steven was in his wheelchair, and meeting a man whose story was known throughout the profession was an honor. On July 12, 1986, Steven was shot three times while serving as an NYPD officer in Central Park. The attack left him paralyzed and dependent on a wheelchair and ventilator. He nevertheless remained an active member of the NYPD and spent the next three decades speaking about faith, peace and forgiveness. His decision to forgive the young man who shot him became central to his influence within law enforcement and beyond it.
Years after our first meeting, Blue and Moment of Silence became involved with Brothers Before Others. On November 10, 2016, we participated in a New York tribute dinner recognizing Steven. It gave our organizations an opportunity to recognize a man whose service had continued long after the shooting ended the career he had expected. Steven died two months later, on January 10, 2017, from complications related to his wounds. He was 59. NY Blue Now devoted its first issue of 2017 to his life, placing him on the cover so that younger officers and readers unfamiliar with his story—would understand why his name mattered. The issue examined not only the shooting, but what Steven did with the life that followed it. At Night to Unite in 2019, the Steven McDonald Lifetime Achievement Award was presented in the presence of his widow, Patti Ann, and his son, Conor. By carrying his name into another gathering of the law enforcement community, the award extended the purpose of the cover: ensuring that Steven’s example would reach officers who never had the opportunity to meet him.
Steven never gave me a private quotation or delivered a personal message that I could repeat here. He did not need to. The way he lived demonstrated that service can continue after a career is taken away and that forgiveness can be an enduring form of leadership.
[CHRIS: USE THE 2017 STEVEN McDONALD COVER, THE PHOTOGRAPH OF DANNY WITH STEVEN AT THE FATHER MYCHAL JUDGE 9/11 WALK OF REMEMBRANCE, AND PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE NOVEMBER 10, 2016, BROTHERS BEFORE OTHERS TRIBUTE DINNER. SAVE THE FULL 2019 AWARD PRESENTATION FOR THE NIGHT TO UNITE PORTION OF SECTION THREE.]
SEPTEMBER 11: NEVER FORGET
On September 11, 2001, I was in the early years of my career with the Passaic County Sheriff’s Department, assigned to courthouse security. Sheriff Edwin Englehardt led the department. Reports began arriving that airplanes had struck the World Trade Center, but the scale of what was happening was still unclear. Members of our department prepared to respond as I tried to reach loved ones. Telephone systems were overwhelmed, calls would not go through and confusion spread as we realized the country was under attack. I watched friends and colleagues leave to assist at Ground Zero. In the days that followed, we learned who had been killed and what the responders had encountered. The consequences continued long after the fires were extinguished. Some responders I knew later became seriously ill from their exposure. Some are no longer alive.
BLUE was founded eight years after the attacks, but September 11 became part of the magazine’s mission from the beginning. We commemorated the anniversary through covers, interviews, firsthand accounts and information intended to help responders and survivors. The people killed that morning deserved more than an annual slogan, and those who survived deserved continued recognition and support.
The most significant example came in 2021, when BLUE prepared an issue marking the twentieth anniversary. During one of our meetings, Commissioner Bernard Kerik proposed an interview with former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani. Commish believed that the two men who had led New York through the attack should place their memories on the record together. He would contribute his account and arrange for BLUE to interview the mayor. The interview took place inside Giuliani’s Manhattan apartment. George Beck led the questioning, with Johnny Welsh, Commissioner Kerik and me participating while the BLUE production team worked behind the scenes. The resulting cover story, “Hold No Punches: Exclusive Interview 20 Years Later,” became one of BLUE’s most important pieces.
Giuliani remembered learning about the first aircraft while at breakfast and immediately questioning whether it had been an accident. After reaching lower Manhattan, he and Kerik moved through a city confronting something for which no emergency plan was sufficient. Giuliani recalled that New York had prepared for numerous catastrophes, but not passenger aircraft being used as missiles against its buildings. Decisions had to be made through experience, judgment and prayer. Kerik described commanding approximately 55,000 members of the NYPD while assisting Giuliani in coordinating the broader response, rescue, recovery and investigation. He remembered reaching the towers and watching people jump from the upper floors, knowing there was no way to reach them.
Later that afternoon, Kerik met with the families of 23 missing NYPD members. Those officers were among the 23 members of the NYPD, 37 members of the Port Authority Police Department and 343 FDNY firefighters killed that day. Kerik said the responding agencies evacuated between 20,000 and 25,000 people from the World Trade Center and its immediate surroundings, followed by more than one million people from lower Manhattan. Twenty years later, Giuliani and Kerik remembered the people falling, the families waiting and the uncertainty of leading a city through a catastrophe whose scale could not yet be understood. Their testimony allowed BLUE’s readers to hear that history directly from the men responsible for leading New York’s response.
The twentieth-anniversary issue extended beyond Manhattan. Retired Pennsylvania State Trooper Dale Gabriel wrote about responding after Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville and the long hours troopers spent securing the scene, assisting the investigation and supporting recovery operations. Will Sheehan described watching debris from the towers reach Bayonne before later attending the United States Naval Academy and serving as a Navy intelligence officer. Joel Shults wrote about traveling to New York with his daughter to assist relief organizations overwhelmed by donations. These accounts documented how September 11 affected different agencies, communities and generations. They also demonstrated why firsthand testimony must be preserved while those who experienced the attacks can still tell their stories.
CHRIS MEGNA
The continuing consequences of September 11 were also embodied by someone who became part of the BLUE family. Chris Megna was 26 years old and serving with the Essex County Sheriff’s Department in Newark when the first aircraft struck the World Trade Center. His father, Michael, was a Port Authority police officer, and Chris did not know whether he was alive. Chris joined his brothers, Mark and Mike Jr., and headed toward New York to find him. Near the Holland Tunnel, their vehicle was struck by a car traveling in the wrong direction. The driver was a woman covered in dust who had escaped Manhattan and was trying to reach New Jersey. The brothers survived the collision and soon learned that their father was alive. After finding him, the family entered the city and joined the response. Chris later served with the Sussex County Sheriff’s Office. His law enforcement career ended after an on-duty incident led to his retirement. Separately, the effects of his Ground Zero exposure emerged over time, including serious respiratory problems that remain part of his life today.
I met Chris when he attended one of BLUE’s earliest events. Afterward, he introduced himself, told me how much he believed in what we were building and gave me his telephone number. That conversation began a friendship between two officers and eventually between two families. Chris became part of BLUE’s work. He traveled with us on assignments, developed relationships, introduced us to people whose voices belonged in the magazine and supported our events, calendars, funerals and charitable projects. When BLUE needed someone who understood the profession and could connect with its people, Chris was there. His most important contribution came through Moment of Silence. Chris has spoken publicly about his mental-health struggles because he refuses to treat anxiety, depression or suicidal thoughts as sources of shame. He understands that honest communication builds trust and that a relationship established during an ordinary conversation may become the connection that saves an officer during a crisis.
Through Moment of Silence, many officers have been referred to Chris because they feel comfortable speaking with him. He listens without judgment and helps connect them with support. His relationships have also helped provide officers with opportunities to step away from daily pressures and spend time in peaceful surroundings without cost. His wife, Connie, and their children have shared that commitment. Connie has consistently supported Chris, BLUE and Moment of Silence while contributing her own time and strength. Her role reflects a reality often overlooked in stories about law enforcement: service-related danger, illness and trauma affect the entire household. Spouses and partners carry those burdens while helping hold their families together.
The Megnas represent the people who made BLUE and Moment of Silence stronger. Chris responded on September 11, lived with its consequences and later used his experience to help officers facing their own struggles. Connie and their children stood beside him while extending that support to other law enforcement families. Twenty-five years after the attacks, a growing number of officers were either children on September 11 or had not yet been born. They entered a profession permanently shaped by a day they never experienced. The story did not end when the smoke cleared. It continued in the health, memories and families of those who answered the call. Preserving that truth was part of BLUE’s responsibility as the independent voice of law enforcement.
[CHRIS: OPEN WITH BLUE’S STRONGEST SEPTEMBER 11 COVER OR ORIGINAL REMEMBRANCE IMAGE. USE THE 2021 “HOLD NO PUNCHES” GIULIANI–KERIK COVER AND PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE MANHATTAN INTERVIEW. INCLUDE SELECTED IMAGES FROM BLUE’S FLIGHT 93 AND TWENTIETH-ANNIVERSARY COVERAGE. USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF CHRIS AND CONNIE MEGNA, THE MEGNA FAMILY, CHRIS WORKING WITH BLUE AND MOMENT OF SILENCE, AND CHRIS PARTICIPATING IN SANTA COMES TO PATERSON. DO NOT USE GENERIC STOCK PHOTOGRAPHY OR REPEAT IMAGES ALREADY USED IN THE COMPLETED KERIK AND McDONALD SECTIONS.]
From Magazine to Movement
In 2011, Blue extended its work beyond the pages of the magazine by organizing major law enforcement events in New Jersey. These gatherings recognized officers who had survived line of duty shootings, acts of courage, military veterans, law enforcement leaders, families and others whose service deserved to be honored. As the events grew, national figures including Chris “Tonto” Paronto, Brian Mast, Sheriff David Clarke, Sheriff Joe Arpaio, Bernard Kerik and Tom Homan participated during different years. Their presence brought important experiences and perspectives to the events, but the purpose was always larger than any individual name. Blue was creating a place where officers, families, supporters and organizations from across the law enforcement community could stand together.
The gatherings also allowed Blue to support charitable work and direct resources toward people and communities facing difficult circumstances. What began as a magazine was becoming a network capable of turning relationships into action. That progression led to Night to Unite in 2019, a collaboration among Blue, Moment of Silence and Brothers Before Others.
Night to Unite, 2019
Night to Unite was a collaboration among The Blue Magazine, Moment of Silence and Brothers Before Others and became one of the largest events we had ever organized. Steve Olimpio represented the mission of Moment of Silence, while Michael Burke, Joshua Oliveri and the Brothers Before Others team brought their organization, relationships and commitment to the law enforcement community. Blue brought the network we had spent years building. On November 21, 2019, more than 900 people gathered at The Venetian in Garfield, New Jersey. PBAs, FOPs, law enforcement officers, families, supporters and organizations that did not ordinarily share the same room came together that evening. For one night, titles, affiliations and organizational differences were put aside in support of a common purpose.
[Chris, create a Night to Unite photograph spread featuring Steve Olimpio, Michael Burke, Joshua Oliveri, Commish, Tom Homan, Sheriff David Clarke, Sheriff Joe Arpaio, the honorees, officers and the ballroom.]
Commissioner Bernard Kerik served as Master of Ceremonies. Tom Homan received the Man of the Year Award, Michelle Malkin was recognized as Woman of the Year, Genevieve “Ginger” Jones received the Brothers Before Others Member of the Year Award and Megan O’Grady, founder of Blue Line Bears, received the Humanitarian Award. NYPD PBA President Pat Lynch received the Steven McDonald Lifetime Achievement Award. The presence of Steven’s widow, Patti Ann McDonald, and his son, Conor McDonald, made that recognition especially meaningful. Sheriff David Clarke and Sheriff Joe Arpaio also attended, along with John Feal and Jon Stewart, whose work on behalf of September 11th first responders reflected the spirit of the evening.
Jonny Castro contributed portraits honoring American heroes and fallen law enforcement officers, reflecting another part of the Brothers Before Others mission. Artist Scott LoBaido also contributed his work, and officers who had demonstrated extraordinary courage received recognition throughout the program. Night to Unite also gave Moment of Silence a platform to confront an issue that law enforcement could no longer afford to ignore: Blue Suicide. Steve Olimpio spoke about the crisis, and Passaic County Sheriff’s Officer Erika Vicente shared her personal experience. Their words were not simply part of the program between awards. They reminded everyone in that ballroom why Moment of Silence existed and why this conversation had to continue.
[Chris, use the strongest Moment of Silence material from that evening with this portion of the article.]
Michael Burke, Joshua Oliveri and the entire Brothers Before Others team were essential to making Night to Unite possible. What we accomplished together that evening showed what could happen when the law enforcement community stopped operating as separate organizations and began standing together as one.
COVID
A few months after Night to Unite, the country shut down. Streets emptied, businesses closed and millions of Americans were told to remain inside their homes. Law enforcement officers did not have that option. They continued reporting for duty, entering homes, responding to medical calls, working emergency scenes and helping frightened families through a crisis no one fully understood. The danger did not end when their shifts were over. Officers returned home wondering whether they had been exposed and whether they might carry the virus through their own front doors. They worried about their spouses, their children and their parents, but they continued showing up for the communities they had sworn to protect.
Throughout that period, officers sent Blue photographs, videos and stories from the places they served. Those accounts documented a side of the pandemic that much of the public never saw. Officers experienced the same fear and uncertainty as everyone else, but their responsibilities required them to continue answering calls and assisting people who needed help.
Then came the vaccine mandates. Law enforcement officers and military personnel were forced to make decisions that placed their health, personal convictions and careers against one another. Some took the vaccine because they believed it was the right decision. Others took it because they feared losing the careers they had spent years building. Some refused and challenged the mandates, knowing that their decisions could cost them their livelihoods.
I knew officers whose careers were damaged or ended during those disputes. The consequences extended to families that experienced financial hardship and carried the emotional weight of watching a loved one’s career placed in jeopardy. Regardless of where anyone stood on the vaccine, these were real people facing decisions with lasting consequences. It was never Blue’s place to make another person’s medical decisions. Our responsibility was to defend people’s right to ask questions, consult qualified medical professionals, seek legal guidance when their employment rights were at risk and lawfully challenge government policies they believed were wrong.
That period also changed the way I viewed the media. I watched legitimate questions get dismissed because they challenged official policies or widely accepted conclusions. Independent journalism cannot ask questions only when they are convenient. It must be willing to question government, politicians, law enforcement, the media and even its own assumptions. That was one of the reasons an independent voice like Blue mattered. COVID also changed Blue. Advertising declined, events stopped and businesses that had supported the magazine struggled to survive. Publishing became more difficult, and the years following 2020 were unlike anything we had experienced before. Blue survived that period, but it did not come through unchanged. Neither did the country, the law enforcement profession or the families who carried the burden alongside them.
Rick Vanderclock
At that point in Blue’s history, I was managing many parts of the magazine and needed someone with a law enforcement background who understood the profession, could build genuine relationships and had the commitment to help carry the work forward. Johnny Welsh suggested that Rick Vanderclock and I meet. Rick had recently retired after a long career with the Wayne Police Department. From our first conversation, we shared ideas easily and recognized that we could accomplish something together. Rick brought decades of law enforcement experience and a natural ability to earn people’s trust. He conducted interviews, developed ideas and built relationships that expanded Blue’s reach. Blue gave Rick a place to use abilities he may not have fully recognized in himself, while his ideas, persistence and support allowed me to expand my own vision for what the magazine could accomplish.
We challenged each other to look beyond what we had already accomplished and pursue opportunities that might otherwise have remained only ideas. That exchange expanded what each of us believed Blue could become. Law enforcement was deeply rooted in Rick’s family. His father had served with the New Jersey State Police, and Rick experienced the loss of his father during the COVID period.
[Chris, use a photograph of Rick with his father or a memorial photograph. Verify his father’s full name, rank and service information before publication.]
Rick became one of my closest friends and strongest partners. Whether it involved interviews, assignments, relationships, New Jersey State Police coverage or the work of Moment of Silence, Rick was there whenever something needed to get done. More importantly, he became someone I knew I could depend on. Rick also asked me one question that would eventually lead to the biggest interview in Blue’s history. I told him that if Donald Trump became president again, I wanted the opportunity to interview him. Rick looked at me and asked, “Why don’t we interview him now?”
I called Commish, and that conversation began the process that would eventually lead us to Donald Trump. Before that interview took place, however, Rick took on another assignment that was deeply personal to him…
Colonel Patrick J. Callahan
Colonel Patrick J. Callahan led the New Jersey State Police through an extraordinary period that included COVID, civil unrest and a changing political environment. Despite the weight of that responsibility, the Colonel took a genuine interest in Blue and the work we were doing. He treated Blue and the people behind it with respect, and whenever we reached out, he did whatever he could to support Blue and Moment of Silence. When Blue had the opportunity to interview him, we wanted the conversation to go beyond his title and responsibilities, and Rick Vanderclock was the right person to conduct that interview. Rick’s father had worn the New Jersey State Police uniform, which made sitting across from the Colonel and speaking with him deeply personal.
[Chris, use the photograph of Rick Vanderclock interviewing Colonel Callahan. This photograph is important.]
Their conversation covered leadership, family, faith, mental health, peer support, the Colonel’s relationship with his father and what it was like growing up around the State Police. According to Blue’s metrics, a short clip from the interview reached more than 200,000 views. Its response showed that viewers were interested not only in the leader of the New Jersey State Police, but also in the person behind the rank.
[Chris, verify the final view count and include a QR code linking to the Callahan clip.]
The Colonel’s support also extended to the charitable work of Moment of Silence. Over multiple years, he helped arrange for a New Jersey State Police helicopter to fly Santa over Paterson and for members of the State Police to participate in Santa Comes to Paterson and help distribute gifts. It was one of many ways the Colonel supported our organizations and the communities we served.
[Chris, verify the exact years the New Jersey State Police helicopter participated in Santa Comes to Paterson.]
The interview gave Blue the opportunity to show a side of the Colonel that the public did not always see. For Rick, it also connected his father’s legacy with the work he was now doing for Blue, making it one of the most meaningful interviews he would conduct.
Blue Unity 2022
Three years after Night to Unite, Blue and Moment of Silence brought the law enforcement community together again. On September 30, 2022, nearly 400 people gathered at the Signature Grand in Davie, Florida, for Blue Unity Night. The event came after law enforcement had endured COVID, vaccine mandates, civil unrest, political division and another painful period involving Blue Suicide. The purpose of the evening was not simply to hold another awards ceremony. It was to restore a sense of connection within the law enforcement community while bringing greater attention to mental health, suicide prevention and the responsibility officers have to care for one another.
[Chris, use Blue Unity opening photographs showing the Signature Grand, the crowd and the stage.]
Commissioner Bernard Kerik served as Master of Ceremonies. The Police Pipe and Drum of Florida and the Davie Police Department Honor Guard opened the evening, and Alyssa Del Valle sang the National Anthem.
[Chris, use a photograph of Alyssa Del Valle singing the National Anthem.]
Valor Awards were presented to Claudia Apolinar and Emmanuel Perez Perez of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, Jacob Albarado of the United States Border Patrol, and Raffaello Cervera, Johnny Beautelus and Daniel Vilarchao of the Doral Police Department.
The evening also recognized Chief Gustavo Medina, Pastor Paul Beresford, Joseph Occhipinti, Frank Voce and Chief Joel Gordon. Blue columnist Kirk Lawless received the Senior Journalist Award. Florida Governor Ron DeSantis had been selected to receive a Lifetime Achievement Award but was unable to attend because Hurricane Ian required him to direct emergency operations across Florida. Tom Homan, Sheriff David Clarke and Sheriff Joe Arpaio also addressed those gathered that evening.
[Chris, use photographs of the Valor Award recipients and honorees. Avoid repeating biographies that appear elsewhere in the article.]
Marco Catania was instrumental in bringing Blue Unity to Florida. He helped build the relationships needed on the ground and played an important role in making the event possible. Steve Olimpio remained central to Moment of Silence and its mission, while the Blue team, our Florida relationships and the supporters of Moment of Silence worked together to bring the evening to life.
[Chris, use photographs of Marco Catania, Steve Olimpio and the people who helped organize the event.]
Blue Unity carried a message that had become increasingly urgent. Law enforcement could no longer wait until an officer was lost to Blue Suicide before beginning a conversation about mental health. Officers needed to know that asking for help was not a sign of weakness and that the people standing beside them were responsible for recognizing when someone was struggling.
The evening was called Blue Unity because unity could not exist only in photographs, speeches or crowded ballrooms. It had to mean noticing when an officer was in trouble, starting difficult conversations and standing beside one another before it was too late. That became the message Moment of Silence would continue carrying forward: Never give up. Stay in the fight.
[Chris, end Part Three with a strong Blue Unity or Moment of Silence photograph.]
THE NATIONAL STAGE
By its later years, The Blue Magazine had grown from a New Jersey publication into a national law-enforcement platform. The people across the table became more prominent and the settings more consequential, but the work remained the same: carry the concerns of officers into rooms they might never enter, ask direct questions and report the answers.
National access brought visibility. Its value depended on how BLUE used it.
PASTOR PAUL BERESFORD
BLUE’s expansion often began with relationships formed inside law enforcement. Ron Torres, a retired Lauderhill Police Department K-9 officer, helped strengthen the magazine’s connections in Florida by introducing BLUE to Tequesta Police Chief Gustavo Medina and Pastor Paul Beresford. Pastor Paul became pastor to The Blue Magazine and Moment of Silence, but his role was never ceremonial. He provided spiritual guidance and personal support to officers, their families and members of the BLUE team during difficult periods. At Blue Unity in Florida, BLUE honored Pastor Paul alongside Chief Medina for their service to the law-enforcement community.
[CHRIS: USE THE PHOTOGRAPH OF PASTOR PAUL BERESFORD WITH CHIEF GUSTAVO MEDINA AT BLUE UNITY.]
Pastor Paul understood that people who spend their careers helping others sometimes need someone willing to listen. A conversation or prayer could provide comfort without requiring every burden to be explained. His faith was expressed through service, and BLUE remains grateful for what he gave the magazine, Moment of Silence and the officers they served.
FORMER MILWAUKEE COUNTY SHERIFF DAVID CLARKE
In 2015, members of the BLUE team drove from New Jersey to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to interview Milwaukee County Sheriff David Clarke. The trip marked an important step in the magazine’s national growth and began a relationship that continued for years.
[CHRIS: CONFIRM THE DATE OF THE WISCONSIN TRIP AND WHETHER DANIEL DEL VALLE, GEORGE BECK AND JOHNNY WELSH MADE THE DRIVE BEFORE IDENTIFYING EVERYONE.]
Clarke had become a prominent national commentator on policing and public safety. His willingness to defend his positions during contentious television interviews drew support from officers who believed he was voicing concerns they could not express publicly.
[CHRIS: USE THE SHERIFF DAVID CLARKE BLUE COVER AND BLUE’S ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHY.]
The first meeting developed into more than a single interview. Clarke appeared on BLUE’s cover and traveled from Milwaukee to participate in several BLUE events. After retiring as sheriff in 2017, he joined the magazine as a contributing writer and became one of its leading national voices.
For nearly a decade, Clarke addressed issues many active officers could not discuss publicly. He did not retreat from difficult positions because they were unpopular, and BLUE was fortunate to have that experience and conviction in its pages. Even when there was no assignment or appearance involved, he remained in contact with the team. The professional relationship had become a friendship.
PRESIDENT DONALD J. TRUMP
BLUE’s public history with President Donald J. Trump began during the 2020 presidential campaign. The country was deeply divided, law-enforcement officers were facing intense political hostility and supporting Trump carried consequences for organizations that entered the debate. Commish believed Trump’s record on law enforcement deserved to be presented directly to readers. With his help, BLUE gathered statements and examined the administration’s record. The magazine then made an editorial decision: it endorsed Trump for reelection, named him its 2020 Man of the Year and placed him on a cover carrying the message “Trump for President 2020.” The image showed the President walking toward the White House.
The decision was not universally welcomed. BLUE heard from readers and others who believed a law-enforcement publication should remain outside presidential politics. But the magazine concluded that the conditions confronting officers had made silence a position of its own. BLUE believed Trump was the stronger candidate for law enforcement and public order, and it stated that judgment openly. On October 19, Trump acknowledged BLUE’s Man of the Year recognition at two campaign rallies in Arizona, one in Prescott and another in Tucson. He ultimately lost the election, and BLUE received criticism for having supported him. The magazine did not retreat from the decision after the result.
Years later, Commish made a direct interview with Trump possible, as detailed in the preceding section. The date was set approximately one month in advance, before Trump had been indicted.
By the time that date arrived April 4, 2023 Trump was scheduled to be arraigned in Manhattan, becoming the first former President of the United States to face criminal charges. The night before, we expected the interview to be canceled. No cancellation came. Trump kept the appointment that morning. George Beck led the interview, Commish participated and I closed it. For approximately one hour, we addressed law enforcement, crime, leadership, the political climate and Trump’s assessment of the country. That decision mattered to us. On a morning dominated by an unprecedented court appearance and worldwide scrutiny, Trump could have postponed an interview with a law-enforcement magazine. He did not. Whatever a reader’s politics, he kept his word to BLUE.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE BLUE TEAM IN THE OFFICE DURING THE INTERVIEW, ALONG WITH THE TWO DONALD TRUMP BLUE COVERS.]
Together, the 2020 cover and the 2023 interview became defining moments in BLUE’s history. The magazine had publicly supported Trump when doing so carried consequences, then questioned him directly three years later during one of the most closely watched days of his public life.
FORMER NEW YORK CITY MAYOR RUDY GIULIANI
As the 20th anniversary of September 11 approached in 2021, BLUE interviewed former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani and former New York City Police Commissioner Bernard Kerik at Giuliani’s residence. The setting allowed for a direct conversation about the attacks, the condition of New York City and the future of the NYPD.
[CHRIS: USE BLUE’S PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE INTERVIEW AT GIULIANI’S RESIDENCE.]
The interview occurred during the final year of Mayor Bill de Blasio’s administration, when City Hall’s relationship with law enforcement had become a source of intense debate. BLUE asked Giuliani why officers were experiencing declining support and what responsibility city leadership carried for those conditions. Giuliani argued that New York’s leaders were not giving officers the backing necessary to enforce the law effectively. He believed the NYPD had become a political scapegoat and warned that treating officers as adversaries would weaken public safety and place them at greater risk. In his view, mayors were responsible for establishing the conditions under which officers could perform their duties.
The conversation also returned to September 11. Giuliani feared that the attacks, the sacrifices of first responders and the lessons that followed were receding from public memory. He believed political division had displaced much of the unity that followed the attacks and that future generations might not fully understand what New York’s first responders endured. BLUE asked Giuliani to connect the history he had lived with the conditions officers confronted two decades later. His answers reflected strong political views. The magazine documented them and left readers to judge them.
WHITE HOUSE BORDER CZAR TOM HOMAN
Commissioner Bernard Kerik introduced me to Tom Homan, who would later serve as White House border czar. Commish described him as a true patriot, a leader and someone the country needed. From our first conversation, I understood what he meant. Tom spoke with the conviction of someone who had spent his career doing the work.
Tom began as a law enforcement officer in upstate New York before joining the United States Border Patrol. He later became a special agent and rose through federal immigration enforcement, eventually serving as executive associate director of ICE Enforcement and Removal Operations and acting director of ICE. He had worked the border, investigated smuggling and trafficking organizations and led the officers responsible for enforcing immigration law inside the United States.
In September 2019, The BLUE Magazine published its first major interview with Tom under the cover headline “Securing the Border Saves Lives.” George Beck, Joseph Uliano and I questioned him about border security, attacks against federal officers, criminal organizations, trafficking and the human consequences of border policy. The interview presented Homan’s law enforcement perspective amid a deeply polarized national debate over border policy. On November 21, 2019, BLUE, Moment of Silence and Brothers Before Others honored Tom as Man of the Year at Night to Unite. He arrived with a copy of his BLUE cover signed by President Donald Trump and presented it to Commissioner Kerik and me. Tom later wrote that when he learned he would receive the award, President Trump was the first person to call and congratulate him.
Tom was scheduled to appear on Fox News the next morning. Before he left, I asked him to mention Night to Unite and the organizations responsible for it. When we watched Fox & Friends the following day, he did exactly that. He acknowledged the award, the magazine and the charities. It demonstrated something I would continue to see in him: when Tom gave his word, he followed through. Tom also told President Trump about BLUE’s recognition of him. During the 2020 presidential campaign, the President publicly acknowledged BLUE during televised appearances. For an independent law enforcement publication, hearing the President of the United States recognize our work was an extraordinary moment, and Tom had helped place our name before him.
Tom returned for Blue Unity Night in Florida in 2022. After President Trump returned to office, Tom began serving as White House border czar. His responsibilities and national profile expanded, yet he continued to answer whenever BLUE reached out. When we approached him about a second interview, Tom asked where I wanted it conducted. I told him the White House, and he answered, “Consider it done.” In 2025, the BLUE team traveled to Washington. George Beck, Steve Olimpio and junior journalist Jordan Beck conducted the interview inside the White House, while Holly Finley and members of our production team supported the assignment.
I could not enter because I did not have the identification required for admission. It was disappointing, but I was proud of what the team had accomplished. BLUE was inside the White House, and the people who had helped build it were carrying the mission forward. During the interview, Holly called me from inside and put Tom on the phone. He invited me to meet him for lunch when the interview was finished. About an hour and a half later, Tom joined us at a Washington restaurant. Alyssa Del Valle, participating as a junior journalist, and Cynthia Hughes were with me, while members of his security detail remained nearby. We discussed national security, law enforcement and the interview, and laughed about the identification problem that had kept me outside.
Tom is often portrayed only through the controversy surrounding immigration policy. That is not the complete man I came to know. Whatever people think of those policies, I never saw evidence that he was motivated by race or hatred. I saw a career law enforcement officer who believed the country had lost control of its border, that dangerous criminals had exploited the system and that enforcing the law protected citizens, migrants and the officers sent to confront those dangers. The private lunch told me more about Tom than any title or television appearance could. He had no obligation to rearrange his day, but he made room at his table for a friend who had been left outside. That decision, made away from the cameras and ceremony, is why I value his friendship.
[CHRIS: USE BOTH TOM HOMAN BLUE COVERS—THE 2019 “SECURING THE BORDER SAVES LIVES” COVER AND THE 2025 WHITE HOUSE COVER. INCLUDE THE SIGNED COVER PRESENTATION FROM NIGHT TO UNITE, THE FOX & FRIENDS CLIP FROM THE MORNING AFTER NIGHT TO UNITE, BLUE UNITY PHOTOGRAPHS, THE WHITE HOUSE INTERVIEW AND THE WASHINGTON LUNCH. ALSO USE BLUE’S RECORDED 2020 CAMPAIGN FOOTAGE OF PRESIDENT TRUMP ACKNOWLEDGING THE BLUE MAGAZINE. DO NOT REPEAT THE COMPLETE NIGHT TO UNITE OR BLUE UNITY SUMMARIES HERE.]
NEW YORK CITY MAYOR ERIC ADAMS
BLUE interviewed New York City Mayor Eric Adams while NYPD officers were confronting declining morale, public hostility and repeated displays of disrespect during routine enforcement. Before entering elected government, Adams had served 22 years in the NYPD and retired as a captain. BLUE wanted to know whether that experience shaped his response to what officers were facing. Holly Finley led the interview. As a retired NYPD officer, she understood the profession from within. Junior journalist Alyssa Del Valle also participated. Eddie Yaghen and Chris Bonilla handled camera and production responsibilities.
[CHRIS: USE THE ERIC ADAMS COVER AND PHOTOGRAPHS OF HOLLY FINLEY AND ALYSSA DEL VALLE CONDUCTING THE INTERVIEW. CREDIT EDDIE YAGHEN AND CHRIS BONILLA FOR PRODUCTION.]
BLUE asked Adams why hostility toward officers had intensified, whether his administration understood its effect on morale and what City Hall was doing to protect officers performing their duties. The questions carried the concerns of officers who would never have the opportunity to question the mayor directly. Adams said he understood the frustration and maintained that his administration supported the NYPD. He said those who assaulted officers or otherwise violated the law against them would face arrest. He also addressed the cumulative pressures of the profession and the importance of officers seeking mental-health support.
BLUE did not agree with every decision Adams made. Agreement was not a condition of the interview. He answered professionally, and the magazine documented how a former NYPD captain leading City Hall responded to concerns from within the department.
NEW JERSEY GOVERNOR PHIL MURPHY
Former Bergen County Sheriff Leo McGuire introduced BLUE to Phil Murphy shortly before Murphy became governor of New Jersey. Murphy visited the BLUE office for an interview, beginning a relationship that continued throughout his administration. BLUE supported some of Murphy’s actions and challenged others, including policies that drew criticism within law enforcement. The disagreements did not prevent a professional relationship. As Murphy prepared to leave office after eight years, BLUE requested a final interview. The meeting took place in the governor’s office and was led by Catherine Angel, with Holly Finley also participating. Murphy knew the interview would be direct.
[CHRIS: USE MATERIAL FROM MURPHY’S FIRST INTERVIEW AT THE BLUE OFFICE AND HIS FINAL INTERVIEW WITH CATHERINE ANGEL AND HOLLY FINLEY.]
COVID-19 was central to the discussion. More than 35,000 New Jersey residents had died, families wanted answers and law-enforcement officers had experienced the pandemic from the front lines. Angel asked Murphy to address his administration’s decisions and their consequences. Murphy defended the circumstances under which the state had acted but acknowledged that mistakes were made. He argued that officials had confronted an unprecedented crisis without information that became available only later. The exchange did not settle the debate over his response, but it placed his explanation on the record.
The interview also addressed crime, public confidence, healthcare costs, law-enforcement suicide and the need for mental-health care that officers could seek without fearing damage to their careers. Murphy expressed a willingness to assist Moment of Silence and explore ways to strengthen those resources. BLUE respected Murphy’s willingness to face difficult questions. The interview did not attempt to deliver a final verdict on his administration. It documented his answers about decisions that affected officers, their families and the public.
CYNTHIA HUGHES, WEAPONIZATION WATCH AND THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE
Cynthia Hughes contacted BLUE after seeing material connected to one of the magazine’s New Jersey events with Sheriff David Clarke. Her advocacy began after her nephew, Tim, was prosecuted and imprisoned for offenses connected to January 6, 2021. Hughes founded the Patriot Freedom Project to assist January 6 defendants and their families. She believed some defendants had received disproportionate treatment and that prosecutors had extended government power beyond what their conduct warranted. BLUE interviewed Hughes to examine those claims, understand her nephew’s case and document the effects the prosecutions were having on families. Those consequences extended beyond defendants. Families lost income, children experienced the absence of parents and relatives faced legal expenses, public condemnation and prolonged uncertainty.
On January 20, 2025, President Trump commuted the sentences of 14 people convicted of January 6-related offenses, pardoned others who had been convicted and directed the dismissal of pending indictments. Hughes had been among the advocates publicly seeking relief for defendants and their families before those actions occurred. Her work later expanded through Weaponization Watch, which examines cases its members believe involve selective enforcement, government overreach or politically influenced legal action. Its scope extends beyond January 6 to other citizens who say public institutions have used their authority unfairly. Through Hughes’s work with Ed Martin, BLUE was invited to a panel at the Department of Justice in Washington, D.C., addressing the weaponization of government.
[CHRIS: USE THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, CYNTHIA HUGHES AND ED MARTIN PHOTOGRAPHY. CONFIRM THE PANEL DATE, THE BLUE REPRESENTATIVES PRESENT AND MARTIN’S EXACT TITLE ON THAT DATE.]
BLUE attended to examine the issue from a law-enforcement perspective. High-profile police incidents can generate immediate public pressure, fixed media narratives and demands for prosecution before every fact has been established. Officers may face administrative action, criminal investigation and public judgment at the same time. Law-enforcement authority must remain subject to review, and misconduct must carry consequences. Accountability, however, also requires evidence, due process and decisions free from improper political influence. The DOJ panel allowed BLUE to study how those principles were being debated and how the issue could affect officers.
Hughes also invited BLUE representatives to events attended by President Trump, giving the magazine access to additional national political settings. Those occasions were separate from BLUE’s formal interview with Trump, which Commish arranged. Whether readers agreed with every conclusion reached by the Patriot Freedom Project or Weaponization Watch, the underlying questions were legitimate subjects for journalism: how government exercises its authority, how that authority is reviewed and what recourse exists when citizens believe it has been abused.
ACCESS AND INDEPENDENCE
Over 17 years, BLUE interviewed people at nearly every level of law enforcement and government: officers, union leaders, chiefs, sheriffs, commissioners, mayors, governors, federal officials and a President of the United States. That access never guaranteed agreement or favorable coverage. Judge Jeanine Pirro had reinforced the standard years earlier: ask the question, allow the person to answer and trust the reader to decide. Relationships opened doors. Independence determined what BLUE did after entering. The obligation was to raise the concerns of officers, ask substantive questions and report the answers. That was the responsibility behind the access—and what it meant to be the independent voice of law enforcement.
[CHRIS: CLOSE SECTION FOUR WITH A RESTRAINED PHOTOGRAPHIC SEQUENCE FEATURING PRESIDENT DONALD J. TRUMP, FORMER MILWAUKEE COUNTY SHERIFF DAVID CLARKE, FORMER NEW YORK CITY MAYOR RUDY GIULIANI, U.S. BORDER CZAR TOM HOMAN AT THE WHITE HOUSE, NEW YORK CITY MAYOR ERIC ADAMS, NEW JERSEY GOVERNOR PHIL MURPHY, CYNTHIA HUGHES AND THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE. DO NOT CREATE A POLITICAL COLLAGE. THE IMAGES SHOULD DOCUMENT THE RANGE OF ACCESS BLUE EARNED.]
BEYOND THE PAGES
Over time, BLUE became useful for more than publishing stories. The magazine had built relationships with officers, union leaders, departments, physicians, attorneys, businesses and community organizations. Those relationships created an opportunity to do more than document a problem. They could be used to bring people together and respond. Moment of Silence became the clearest expression of that work. BLUE could expose an issue and give officers a platform to discuss it. Moment of Silence could carry that discussion into training rooms, community events and direct outreach.
MOMENT OF SILENCE
Moment of Silence grew out of losses within the law-enforcement community. Officers were dying by suicide, others were carrying serious mental-health struggles in silence and families often did not know how to reach someone trained to hide pain. The fear was not limited to admitting vulnerability. Officers worried that asking for help could damage the careers they had spent years building. When I assumed responsibility for Moment of Silence, I wanted the organization to concentrate on two areas: law-enforcement suicide prevention and community outreach. Both needs were already visible through BLUE. We had attended officers’ wakes, heard what families endured afterward and spoken privately with people who had reached a crisis without knowing where to turn.
The organization produced suicide-prevention videos and educational material that were shared with law-enforcement agencies and police academies. It also organized meetings and events where officers spoke openly about depression, trauma, substance misuse, suicidal thoughts and recovery. At some gatherings, officers stood before approximately one hundred colleagues and described experiences that once would have remained hidden. Moment of Silence also became a private point of contact for officers who did not feel able to approach their departments, unions or usual support systems. Over the years, hundreds of officers reached out for assistance. The response depended on the circumstances: connecting an officer with qualified counseling or inpatient treatment, arranging a no-cost stay at a New Jersey retreat for the officer alone or with family, or serving as a liaison with a department when the officer needed someone to help communicate on their behalf. The organization guarded those conversations carefully and remained involved while the officer moved through the available options.
Moment of Silence was not a substitute for clinical care. Its role was to help an officer reach the appropriate support, coordinate the people and resources involved and make sure that someone asking for help did not have to navigate the process alone. One officer came to the BLUE office while contemplating suicide. After speaking with the team, the officer agreed to seek immediate professional help and entered an inpatient treatment program for more than thirty days. That individual later returned as an advocate, spoke publicly about recovery and received recognition at Blue Unity. Other interventions succeeded; some did not end as everyone had hoped. Both outcomes reinforced the seriousness of the work and the importance of responding when an officer decides to reach out.
Those conversations mattered because they came from people who understood the culture of the profession. They did not present recovery as simple or pretend that one speech could resolve years of trauma. They showed that an officer could acknowledge a crisis, accept help and continue living with purpose. Moment of Silence could not promise that every person in danger would be reached. It could create more opportunities for an officer or family to hear the right message before a crisis became irreversible. Despite greater attention to law-enforcement mental health, officers continue to die by suicide. That reality keeps the work urgent and the mission direct: Never give up. Stay in the fight.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF MOMENT OF SILENCE MEETINGS, OFFICERS SPEAKING ABOUT MENTAL HEALTH AND THE ORGANIZATION’S EDUCATIONAL WORK. KEEP THE PRESENTATION DOCUMENTARY IN TONE; DO NOT MAKE IT LOOK LIKE A FUNDRAISING BROCHURE.]
MY PARENTS: THE FIRST MENTORS
Long before I received guidance from attorneys, sheriffs, commissioners and other law enforcement leaders, my first mentors were my parents. I came to the United States from Ecuador when I was two years old. Our family lived in the South Bronx before my parents purchased their first home in Paterson, New Jersey. Both communities exposed us to the realities of low-income neighborhoods. Inside our home, however, my parents maintained structure, discipline, stability and faith. My mother demonstrated empathy through action. She helped relatives, immigrants and others trying to establish themselves in this country, offering her time and whatever resources she could provide. My father worked full time and showed us the importance of consistency, responsibility and remaining committed to a family through difficult periods.
Their example established the foundation for the mentorship I later received from leaders in law enforcement and other professions. It also influenced how Blue Magazine approached its work. Blue covered policing, leadership, mental health and public safety, but its purpose extended beyond publishing stories. We supported officers in crisis, provided a platform for people whose experiences deserved attention and remained involved in communities frequently discussed only in connection with crime or poverty. That approach came from lessons learned at home: take responsibility, remain present and help where you can.
The clearest example is Paterson. It is the city where my parents raised me and where I learned what it meant to grow up in a struggling community. Years later, it became the focus of one of Moment of Silence’s most important programs. Through Santa Comes to Paterson, we return each year with quality toys, bicycles, basketballs and a full Christmas experience for children and families. The program does not treat the community as an abstraction or a charitable photo opportunity. I know those streets. I understand the effort required to raise a family there while trying to create stability inside the home.
My parents made that effort for us.
Their inclusion in this history is not ceremonial. The values they practiced became part of the way Blue Magazine and Moment of Silence served others. They created the foundation; later mentors strengthened it; and the magazine provided a way to apply it. I have many imperfections, but the qualities that allowed me to build Blue Magazine began with my parents. The work we returned to Paterson is part of what they gave me, carried back into the community where they raised our family.
SANTA COMES TO PATERSON
Community outreach became the other half of Moment of Silence’s mission. Its largest undertaking began inside Paterson schools. Each year, one school was selected and transformed for Christmas. Santa visited, met the students and posed for photographs, and every child from kindergarten through fifth grade received an individually wrapped present. For some students, it was the only gift they received that year.
When COVID closed the schools in 2020, the tradition could not continue in its original form. Moment of Silence decided to bring Christmas directly into the neighborhoods instead. Signs were placed along the route announcing that Santa was coming, and what had been a celebration inside one school became a convoy moving through Paterson. The new format reached entire families. Parents and children emerged from houses, apartment buildings and housing complexes as Christmas music approached. Santa traveled through the city on fire apparatus, accompanied by law-enforcement vehicles, volunteers and Christmas characters. Earlier in the day, a New Jersey State Police helicopter carried Santa over Paterson, giving children their first indication that the celebration had begun.
The operation now distributes more than 9,000 wrapped toys. Preparing them takes weeks. Officers, relatives and volunteers sort and wrap each gift before returning for a distribution day that generally runs from approximately 9 a.m. until 6 p.m. About eighty participants may join the convoy, including officers volunteering on their days off and people traveling from other departments and states. The vehicles move, but much of the work is done on foot. Volunteers repeatedly carry gifts from trucks to sidewalks, homes and waiting children. Some walk more than eight miles before the route is finished. The convoy has continued through rain and single-digit temperatures, arriving with trucks filled with toys and returning with them empty. The gifts matter because they are personal. Every toy is wrapped and placed directly into a child’s hands. Parents have cried while explaining that they could not afford a tree or presents. Children have come outside in the cold as soon as they heard the music because they knew what it meant: Santa Comes to Paterson had reached their street.
The day also affects the officers. Some participants have survived suicidal crises or endured private struggles of their own. They have told us that returning to wrap gifts and walk the route gives them purpose and something meaningful to anticipate. A child receives a present; an officer is reminded that the uniform can carry joy into a neighborhood as well as protection. The street convoy continued after the schools reopened because it reached more people and allowed entire neighborhoods to participate. It was not designed as a publicity event. Its focus remained on the children and on the officers, volunteers and families meeting one another directly.
DON NICOLETTI: THE SANTA BEHIND SANTA
Santa Comes to Paterson depends on many donors, sponsors, agencies and volunteers, but one source of support has become especially important. Retired Closter Police Sergeant Don Nicoletti founded the PBA toy drive known as Santa’s Response Team with the support of the Closter PBA. What began as a small local effort grew into a statewide network involving dozens of law-enforcement agencies and thousands of toys.
Santa’s Response Team supplies hospitals, shelters, military families, charities and community organizations across New Jersey. Year after year, Don has also made toys available to Moment of Silence. His contribution does not represent every gift distributed in Paterson, but it provides a critical share of what the organization carries into the city. Don understands the scale of the need because he has spent more than three decades connecting donated toys with children. For Moment of Silence, he is the Santa behind Santa. Santa Comes to Paterson would be considerably more difficult without his annual support, which has earned a permanent place in the program’s history.
[CHRIS: USE A STRONG ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPH OF DON NICOLETTI SPEAKING AT THE PBA TOY DRIVE OR STANDING WITH SANTA’S RESPONSE TEAM. REQUEST THE ORIGINAL DIGITAL IMAGE RATHER THAN REPRODUCING A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE PRINTED PAGE.]
CAPTAIN JAY DAVIS AND STEPH LOVE
Since 2019, Captain Jay Davis of the Orange County Sheriff’s Office in New York has returned each December to serve as Santa for Santa Comes to Paterson. Davis commands the agency’s Special Operations Group/SWAT team, but his contribution to this program is measured by the time and consistency he gives it. On the morning of the event, Davis flies over Paterson aboard a New Jersey State Police helicopter. He later joins the convoy, meets children throughout the city and remains involved through the day. His return each year gives the program continuity and provides children with the person they have been waiting to see.
Steph Love has also become a familiar member of the program’s Christmas team, appearing alongside Davis and working directly with children and families throughout the route. A law-enforcement officer herself, she returns to perform work that requires patience, energy and sustained contact with the public. Her participation helps make the large operation personal for the families it serves. BLUE named Davis its 2025 Man of the Year in recognition of his continued service to the program. The magazine also recognizes the Orange County Sheriff’s Office for supporting his participation in an effort conducted far beyond its jurisdiction.
[CHRIS: USE ONE PHOTOGRAPH OF CAPTAIN JAY DAVIS IN UNIFORM AND STRONG IMAGES OF HIM AS SANTA IN THE NEW JERSEY STATE POLICE HELICOPTER, WITH CHILDREN AND ALONG THE CONVOY ROUTE. INCLUDE STEPH LOVE WORKING WITH DAVIS AND THE CHILDREN. KEEP THE PRESENTATION CLEAN; DO NOT CREATE A COLLAGE.]
The Paterson Police Department, New Jersey State Police and participating officers and agencies make the operation possible each year, together with the sponsors, families and volunteers who remain until the final toy has been delivered. Their combined work creates a direct encounter between law enforcement and children who deserve to know that their community has not forgotten them.
[CHRIS: MAKE THIS THE MAJOR SANTA COMES TO PATERSON PHOTOGRAPHIC SPREAD. SHOW THE ORIGINAL SCHOOL CELEBRATIONS, THE NEW JERSEY STATE POLICE HELICOPTER, THE CONVOY, WRAPPING OPERATION, OFFICERS WALKING THE ROUTE AND CHILDREN RECEIVING GIFTS. KEEP THE CHILDREN AND THEIR NATURAL INTERACTIONS WITH OFFICERS AT THE CENTER.]
BEHIND THE WORK
None of BLUE’s reporting or Moment of Silence’s outreach happened through ideas alone. Magazines had to be delivered, cameras transported, events assembled, interviews recorded and supplies moved across state lines. Much of that labor belonged to people whose names rarely appeared on a cover.
CHARLIE SALCEDO AND ALBERTO “GARY” PALACIOS
Charlie Salcedo and Alberto “Gary” Palacios were part of BLUE from its earliest years. Our friendship began when we were approximately eight years old, but their place in the magazine was built through the work they performed as adults. They helped distribute issues to hundreds of law-enforcement departments across New Jersey, New York and Connecticut. That required loading vehicles, driving through the night, entering one department after another and then returning to the office to prepare for the next issue. They packaged and mailed magazines, moved equipment, supported events and handled administrative responsibilities that allowed the publication to keep operating.
When BLUE traveled, Charlie and Gary often traveled with it. They carried cameras and microphones, loaded materials and worked behind the scenes during assignments in Dallas, Ferguson, Georgia, Florida, Chicago and other locations. They attended officers’ wakes and funerals, supported line-of-duty-death coverage and helped deliver water and supplies across state lines following hurricanes. The work required trust. They were present for private conversations, unpublished information and difficult moments involving officers and their families. Neither man wore a law-enforcement uniform, but both demonstrated their respect for the profession through decades of service to the people inside it.
Charlie and Gary remain involved with BLUE and Moment of Silence. Their contribution cannot be separated into neat job descriptions because both did whatever the circumstances required. They were friends before the magazine existed, became part of the operation that sustained it and remain brothers after its final issue.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF CHARLIE SALCEDO AND ALBERTO “GARY” PALACIOS WORKING—DELIVERING MAGAZINES, TRAVELING, MOVING EQUIPMENT OR SUPPORTING EVENTS. AVOID FORMAL PORTRAITS UNLESS NO WORKING IMAGES EXIST.]
CATHERINE “CATHY” ANGEL
Steve Olimpio introduced Catherine “Cathy” Angel to BLUE when she was preparing for a career in law enforcement. She had recently taken a New Jersey Civil Service police examination, but her phone rang during the test and she was disqualified. Because the examination was offered on a two-year cycle, she had to wait for another opportunity.
What initially felt like a damaging setback became an unexpected period of preparation. Cathy joined BLUE approximately two years before entering the profession. Steve mentored her, as did officers throughout the magazine’s network. She listened to their experiences, attended events and learned how officers spoke about the work when they were outside official settings.
Cathy also became a journalist. She prepared for interviews, traveled with the team and learned how to ask difficult questions without losing the trust of the person answering them. One of her most sensitive assignments involved interviewing an officer with terminal cancer as he approached his final day of service. She allowed him to speak about the job, his illness and what leaving the profession meant to him without turning his condition into spectacle. Her later assignments included an interview with the NYPD Health and Wellness Section about suicide, trauma, peer support, sobriety and resilience. She also led BLUE’s final interview with New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy, questioning him about COVID, crime, healthcare and law-enforcement mental health. Her work extended from deeply personal conversations with officers to direct exchanges with senior government officials.
Cathy entered the police academy during COVID and joined the Paterson Police Department in 2020. By the time she arrived, she had already spent years around officers, stories and issues that recruits rarely encounter before entering the profession. That experience did not replace academy training or street work, but it gave her context for both. Becoming an officer did not end her responsibilities with BLUE. She continued conducting interviews, assisting Moment of Silence and helping coordinate major assignments. Her behind-the-scenes work also contributed to BLUE’s interview with U.S. Border Czar Tom Homan at the White House.
Cathy now serves on the executive board of Paterson Police PBA Local 1 and as a trustee of the New Jersey Police Honor Legion, which recognizes officers who have faced grave danger and sacrifice in the line of duty. Those responsibilities reflect the confidence others have placed in her beyond her daily assignment. Cathy became one of the people who held the BLUE office together. I would trust her in any room because she prepares carefully, listens closely and remains steady when the subject becomes difficult.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS OF CATHY WORKING IN THE BLUE OFFICE, CONDUCTING INTERVIEWS, ATTENDING THE POLICE ACADEMY AND SERVING WITH THE PATERSON POLICE DEPARTMENT. INCLUDE THE GOVERNOR MURPHY OR NYPD HEALTH AND WELLNESS INTERVIEW IF STRONG MATERIAL EXISTS. CONFIRM THE TERMINALLY ILL OFFICER’S IDENTITY AND PERMISSION BEFORE NAMING HIM.]
JACOB “BUBBA” HAMILTON
THE KID WHO NEVER LEFT
Jacob Hamilton was about 15 years old when retired law enforcement officer Steve Olimpio brought him to the Blue Magazine office. At the time, Steve held a leadership role overseeing school-security operations in Paterson. Through that work, he came to know Jacob at a high school that often served as a final opportunity for students who had experienced disciplinary or behavioral problems elsewhere in the district.
Jacob had endured a difficult upbringing. He experienced hardship growing up and faced the pressures of a challenging environment. He sometimes struggled to listen and remain focused, but he had always treated Steve with respect. Steve believed there was more to Jacob than the behavior others saw.
One day, he brought him to our office.
“Danny, I have this kid I’m trying to help,” Steve told me. “What can we do with him?”
We sat Jacob behind the microphones and interviewed him. It was less of an interview than a conversation about his life, his decisions and what his future could become. He felt comfortable with us, so we invited him back and continued inviting him back.
Jacob began spending time at the office every week. He watched, listened and learned. We gave him responsibilities and expected him to meet them. Before long, he was operating our podcast studio, engineering recordings and handling production work. He helped publish online articles, supported different areas of the magazine and traveled with Blue to Ferguson, Baton Rouge, Dallas and other assignments across the country.
His name remains attached to numerous stories in the magazine’s digital archives—not because he necessarily wrote each one, but because he helped manage and publish the work. As Jacob matured, so did his responsibilities. He assisted with our work involving former Mayor Rudy Giuliani and was entrusted to drive Giuliani, United States Border Czar Tom Homan and Sheriff David Clarke. Those assignments were not given to him because anyone felt sorry for him. He earned them.
People still joke with me: “Danny, Paterson is predominantly Black and Hispanic, and somehow you and Steve had to save the white kid.”
We laugh, but the truth behind that joke matters. We did not see a white kid, a troubled kid or someone else’s problem. We saw a young person whose circumstances did not have to determine the rest of his life. Today, Jacob is 30 years old. He studied mechanics and built a professional career as a mechanic with a major company. He also remains deeply involved with Blue Magazine and Moment of Silence, contributing to Santa Comes to Paterson, officer-suicide-prevention initiatives and programs serving young people and the community.
The young man who once benefited from mentorship now helps us mentor others.
Jacob eventually became family. To Steve and me, he is like another son. To the Blue Magazine family, he will always be Bubba a young man who was given an opportunity, accepted responsibility and became an important part of what we built. His story represents a side of Blue Magazine that never appeared on a cover. Law enforcement officers did more than attend events, give interviews and contribute articles. They invested their time, discipline and experience in a young man whose future could have taken a different direction. No single conversation changed Jacob Hamilton’s life. His direction changed because people stayed involved, held him accountable and believed in what he could become. Today, Jacob gives that same commitment to others.
CHRISTIAN BONILLA, “CHRIS THE INTERN”
Christian Bonilla joined BLUE as an intern. The nickname “Chris the Intern” remained long after it stopped describing the responsibility he carried.
Chris developed into BLUE’s principal behind-the-scenes video producer and an important part of its social-media operation. He transported and assembled equipment, recorded interviews, produced videos and documented events, travel, podcasts, community programs and the work of Moment of Silence. Readers saw the finished interview; Chris handled much of what had to happen before there was anything to watch. For more than five years, he accompanied the team on major assignments in New Jersey, New York, Washington, Chicago, Florida and elsewhere. He entered the White House with BLUE, documented interviews with national figures and remained behind the camera during moments the magazine would never be able to recreate.
Production work carries a particular kind of pressure. A microphone can fail, a camera can stop recording and equipment can create problems minutes before an interview begins. Chris learned to work through those moments while everyone around him waited for an answer. He was called so often because people trusted him to find one. His commitment extended beyond journalism. Chris helped with Santa Comes to Paterson, community outreach and disaster-relief work. He carried equipment and supplies, worked irregular hours and went where the assignment required. He was not a law-enforcement officer, but officers came to respect him because he respected their work and consistently showed up for it.
The humor surrounding “Chris the Intern” became part of office life, but his contribution was serious. A substantial part of BLUE’s video archive exists because he was behind the camera. Christian Bonilla did not merely record BLUE’s history. He became part of it.
[CHRIS: THIS IS YOUR SECTION. USE WORKING PHOTOGRAPHS OF YOURSELF WITH CAMERAS, AT EVENTS, DURING TRAVEL, AT THE WHITE HOUSE AND SUPPORTING MOMENT OF SILENCE. DO NOT LEAD WITH A FORMAL HEADSHOT. IF THE PHOTOGRAPH WITH PRESIDENT TRUMP IS AVAILABLE, USE IT AS A SMALL SECONDARY IMAGE.]
EDDIE YAGHEN THE WORK BEHIND THE STORY
High-profile interviews are remembered for the person in front of the camera. They also depend on people the audience never sees. For Blue Magazine, Eddie Yaghen worked on that unseen side of the assignment. During the production surrounding the White House interview with United States Border Czar Tom Homan, Eddie helped coordinate transportation, equipment and setup under strict time constraints. He performed similar work for Blue’s interview with Mayor Eric Adams, collaborating with Chris Bonilla and the production team to make certain the reporting could proceed as planned.
Blue also entrusted Eddie with transporting visiting guests, crew members and equipment during sensitive assignments. Those responsibilities required more than driving. They demanded preparation, discretion and the ability to adjust when schedules changed. As a private investigator, Eddie brought situational awareness to work in which timing and trust mattered. His connection with law enforcement extended beyond production. During departmental visits, officers responded to his interest in physical fitness and wellness, often speaking with him about strength, conditioning and the demands the profession places on the body. That perspective supported the broader wellness mission shared by Blue Magazine and Moment of Silence.
Production work is often invisible precisely when it is done well. The audience sees the interview, not the travel, coordination and decisions that made it possible. Access alone does not produce journalism; a team must convert that opportunity into finished work. During some of Blue Magazine’s busiest and most difficult final years, Eddie helped the magazine do exactly that. His contribution was measured in assignments completed, guests transported safely and opportunities that were not wasted. That work earned Eddie the trust of the team and his place within the Blue family.
ONE FINAL ASSIGNMENT
Near the end of BLUE’s run, an invitation arrived from Virginia. Chris Darlington was a full-time deputy with the Frederick County Sheriff’s Office and a school resource officer who was also pursuing a country-music career. His sheriff supported him, and a concert was scheduled that Friday evening. After seventeen years of loading vehicles for interviews and events, my first answer was no. The final issue was already consuming the team, and another out-of-state assignment seemed unnecessary. But the more we learned about Darlington, the clearer it became that the story involved more than a deputy singing on weekends. He was committed to both professions and had no intention of using one merely as a step toward leaving the other. BLUE agreed to make one more trip.
Shai Carr conducted the primary interview, junior journalist Alyssa Del Valle participated and Christian Bonilla handled cameras and production. The team rode with Darlington in his patrol vehicle and watched him interact with the community he served. The conversations covered law enforcement, family, music, faith and the practical difficulty of meeting the demands of two serious commitments.
[CHRIS: OPEN WITH THE STRONGEST CHRIS DARLINGTON LAW-ENFORCEMENT IMAGE, FOLLOWED BY NATURAL PHOTOGRAPHS OF SHAI CARR AND ALYSSA DEL VALLE PARTICIPATING IN THE INTERVIEW.]
SHERIFF LENNY MILLHOLLAND
Darlington’s story also led BLUE to Frederick County Sheriff Lenny Millholland. BLUE wanted to understand why a sheriff would publicly support a deputy pursuing a career outside the traditional expectations of law enforcement. Millholland did not treat Darlington’s ambition as a distraction from the job. His standard was whether the deputy continued to meet his obligations to the agency and community. Darlington’s respect for his sheriff was equally clear. He valued having a leader who could support his development without lowering the expectations attached to the badge. That approach revealed something important about leadership. Supporting an employee’s ability does not require overlooking professional standards. Millholland made room for Darlington to pursue music while holding him accountable as a deputy. His support became part of the conditions that allowed both commitments to coexist.
[CHRIS: USE PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE INTERVIEW WITH SHERIFF LENNY MILLHOLLAND AND IMAGES SHOWING HIM WITH CHRIS DARLINGTON.]
HOLD THAT LINE
That evening, the BLUE team watched Darlington perform at West Oaks Farm Market before a crowd the magazine estimated at approximately 1,200 people. The setting provided evidence an interview could not. Darlington had a commanding voice, a disciplined band and an audience that responded to him. His musical progress was already measurable. “Hold That Line” surpassed 50,000 streams within its first three weeks, and an earlier recording had reached No. 82 on Nashville’s MusicRow chart. Darlington wrote “Hold That Line” specifically for law-enforcement officers after the pressures of 2020, intending it as a message of support.
Faith was present throughout the trip without needing to be staged. At one point, Darlington looked at me and said, “Danny, I’ve been praying.” He explained that prayer was part of how he understood the opportunities developing around his music and the people entering his life. The combination of music, service and faith created a natural point of connection with Moment of Silence. A song cannot replace treatment or direct support, but it can reach an officer, first responder or veteran who may not respond to an organization or formal presentation. BLUE saw in Darlington’s work another way to begin that conversation without turning every song into a mental-health campaign.
The concert ended with Darlington still balancing the same two responsibilities BLUE had come to document. He remained a deputy accountable to his sheriff and community, and a musician working to earn a larger audience. The next morning, the team packed its cameras and returned to New Jersey with that story intact.
[CHRIS: MAKE THE CONCERT THE MAJOR VISUAL SEQUENCE FOR THIS PORTION. USE DARLINGTON ONSTAGE, THE BAND, CROWD AND LAW-ENFORCEMENT PRESENCE. END WITH ONE STRONG STAGE IMAGE RATHER THAN A COLLAGE.]
THE PEOPLE WE LOST
Throughout Blue Magazine’s journey, working relationships became friendships. Some of those who entered our lives were lost along the way. Their loss was felt across law enforcement, within Blue Magazine, and in our own lives. Their contributions remain part of the story, and their influence did not end with their passing.
BAD APPLES
Blue Magazine stood with law enforcement, but that support was never blind. Supporting the profession did not mean pretending that everyone within it acted honorably or that every person given authority deserved to keep it. There were bad officers, supervisors, chiefs, sheriffs and administrators. We called them Bad Apples, and when the wrong person gained power, the damage could reach far beyond one department.
I watched good law enforcement officers face harassment, retaliation, transfers, discipline and isolation, not because they had failed in their duties, but because they reported wrongdoing, refused to participate in something they believed was wrong or found themselves on the wrong side of someone with rank. The consequences could damage a career, place enormous pressure on a family and leave an officer struggling mentally and emotionally. The advice was always direct: document everything, preserve emails and text messages, understand department policies and know your rights. When necessary, contact your union and consult a qualified attorney. Too many officers wait until their careers and personal lives are already collapsing before asking for help.
Standing with law enforcement does not mean protecting bad leadership. It means defending the integrity of the profession and supporting good officers who pay a price for doing what is right.
THE OFFICERS WE LOST
Blue Magazine cannot close without confronting one of law enforcement’s most painful realities: Blue Suicide. Every officer who dies by suicide leaves devastation far beyond a department. Families, partners, friends and fellow officers are left carrying grief, unanswered questions and the painful belief that something might have been done before it was too late. Officers have spoken to us about struggling with their mental health in silence, afraid that asking for help would be viewed as weakness or cost them their careers. That fear has kept too many silent when they needed someone most. No officer should ever have to choose between protecting a career and protecting a life.
That silence gave Moment of Silence its purpose. Through this mission, we have helped officers and families find support and witnessed lives saved and changed. But there were people we could not reach in time. We carry them with us, and their absence gives greater urgency to the work that must continue. The future of Moment of Silence depends on reaching people sooner, recognizing warning signs, beginning difficult conversations and changing how mental health is addressed throughout law enforcement. The goal is clear: no officer or family should be left to face that darkness alone.
If you are struggling, say something. If the first person does not listen, tell somebody else. If someone trusts you enough to call, answer the damn phone. That conversation may save a life.
Never give up. Stay in the fight.
THE POLICE ACADEMY
We watched generations of recruits begin their careers in law enforcement. Blue Magazine’s reporting took us inside more than 50 law enforcement academies, from State Police training to county and municipal programs. We returned often enough to witness the transformation, from nervous recruits on their first day to a markedly different group standing at graduation months later. At many of the academies we observed, recruits were deliberately removed from their comfort zones and placed under sustained physical and mental pressure. Instructors demanded discipline, attention to detail, emotional control and the ability to follow directions while tired, uncomfortable or frustrated.
Part of that pressure served a practical purpose. Officers will eventually encounter people who are angry, intoxicated, frightened, emotionally distressed or determined to provoke a reaction. They may be cursed at, insulted, challenged or humiliated, but being provoked does not, by itself, give an officer legal authority to make an arrest or use force. The uniform does not provide permission to lose control. Academy instructors tested for that control long before recruits were entrusted with authority in the community. They were evaluating more than physical ability: Could a recruit accept correction? Think under pressure? Control emotion? Follow procedure while exhausted? Exercise restraint when provoked? Carry authority without abusing it?
At the same time, recruits had an extraordinary amount to learn. The academy was not simply running, push-ups and discipline. Recruits studied the criminal statutes governing their jurisdiction, constitutional law and procedure, investigations, defensive tactics, firearms, emergency response, communications and the rules governing when and how their authority could be exercised. They learned control techniques and how to communicate with people in crisis, recognize circumstances requiring de-escalation and interact with communities whose cultures and experiences might be different from their own. They were learning not only what officers could do, but when, why and under what legal authority they could do it.
Not everyone made it through. Academies had a limited period in which to determine whether a recruit could meet the physical, academic and disciplinary requirements of the profession. Some could not. For those who remained, the changes could be striking. We watched recruits who arrived struggling with the physical demands lose significant weight, build strength and endurance, and eventually run distances that had challenged them months earlier. Their conditioning changed, as did their bearing and confidence.
The less visible changes mattered just as much. Recruits learned to process information under pressure, communicate deliberately and pay closer attention to behavior, body language and their surroundings. They also learned that possessing authority and knowing when not to use it were inseparable responsibilities. Then we watched them graduate. Graduation did not mean their training was complete. Field training, continuing education and years of experience would provide lessons no academy could replicate. Still, the person standing in formation was often noticeably different from the recruit who had arrived months earlier.
One academy gave BLUE an especially unusual view of that process.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, we followed one of our own, Catherine Angel, through her academy training. Masks and social distancing altered training routines. Shared facilities were restricted. Even ordinary parts of academy life, including showering after physical training, had to be reconsidered under pandemic rules.
Departments still needed new officers.
Those recruits were preparing to enter law enforcement during an extraordinary period. The pandemic had altered daily life while the murder of George Floyd and the national response that followed placed American policing under intense scrutiny. They were being trained to enter the profession while the profession itself was changing.
For BLUE, covering academies provided something more valuable than graduation photographs. We watched different generations enter. We watched instructors from across law enforcement pass along what they had learned. We watched recruits struggle, adapt and emerge with a foundation in the physical, legal and human demands of the profession. The public usually encounters a law enforcement officer after the training is over, the uniform is on and the badge has been pinned.
We had the opportunity to see many of them before it was.
PROJECT 201: SEAN KELLY
BLUE wanted Shawn Kelly and Project 201 included in this final issue because of the work he continues to do directly with young people. Project 201 is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization focused on youth mentorship, opportunity and development. It works closely with Moment of Silence, sharing a belief that community outreach requires consistent involvement. Kelly has made that commitment hands-on, mentoring young people, building relationships and providing structure week after week.
His perspective comes in part from working with children in the school system and later in corrections, where he saw how significantly a young person’s support system could influence the direction of a life. Project 201 has taken that work beyond traditional youth activities. Kelly has introduced young people to aviation, putting them in airplanes and exposing them to the possibility of becoming pilots and pursuing careers they may never have considered.
“The programs are the vehicles,” Kelly told us. “The relationships are the work.”
That philosophy aligns closely with Moment of Silence. Both organizations believe in reaching young people early, surrounding them with positive influences and exposing them to opportunities beyond what they may encounter in their everyday lives.
BLUE encourages our readers and the law-enforcement community to follow Project 201 and support its work. Shawn Kelly isn’t simply talking about community outreach. He continues to show up and do it.
THE INFORMATION NETWORK
Some of BLUE’s most important reporting began with information that never arrived through a press release.
As relationships developed across law enforcement, officers, investigators, union leaders, chiefs, sheriffs, government officials and families began calling us directly. Sometimes they had a story. Sometimes they had a question. Sometimes they wanted to know whether another department was seeing what they were seeing. That created an informal information network around the magazine. A department might alert us to an emerging drug problem. We could then speak with law enforcement elsewhere, compare what they were encountering and determine whether a local concern was becoming something larger. That happened as officers began talking to us about the spread of crystal methamphetamine. Those conversations eventually contributed to BLUE devoting significant coverage to the issue.
At other times, information moved in the opposite direction. BLUE maintained relationships with people who operated at high levels of law enforcement, government and national media. Bernard Kerik was an important part of that world for us. We exchanged information and observations with him regularly, and those conversations sometimes helped identify subjects that deserved broader attention.
The beginning of COVID-19 provided an unusual example.
As reports of the virus were emerging internationally, we were traveling and hearing concerns from law enforcement about what officers and others were encountering. Information was moving quickly and, in the early stages, often imperfectly. We shared what we were hearing with Kerik and others who had national media and government contacts while continuing to gather information ourselves. But access created another responsibility.
Not everything we learned was ours to publish.
Over the years, people approached BLUE with allegations involving departments, internal problems, misconduct and other sensitive matters. Some effectively came to us as whistleblowers. In certain circumstances, information was too sensitive to print responsibly. At times, information was instead provided to an appropriate agency or authority. There were also conversations that simply remained confidential.
That distinction became fundamental to the way we worked. Journalism creates pressure to publish what you know. Trust sometimes requires knowing when not to. Law enforcement had trained many of us to observe, question and pay attention to what did not immediately make sense. Journalism required us to apply those instincts differently. We were no longer only watching what happened.
We were listening to the people whose profession was to watch, investigate and understand it.
WHAT THEY CARRY
Certain conversations changed the way we understood the cost of the profession. We spent years talking with homicide detectives, investigators, prosecutors, agents and law enforcement officers about cases they had worked and incidents they had survived. We wanted to understand not only how an investigation unfolded or how a decision was made, but what remained after it was over. Two subjects repeatedly surfaced among the hardest: the death of a child and the sexual abuse of children.
Investigators described entering scenes involving children and working cases in which young victims had endured prolonged abuse. Their assignments could require them to examine photographs and video as evidence, interview children and absorb details that could not simply be forgotten when the workday ended. Some told us the work changed the way they raised their own children. Knowing what they knew made it difficult to trust people in the same way. They became more cautious about where their children went, who had access to them, what applications they used and what they were exposed to online. Some recognized that the vigilance could become overprotectiveness, but separating what they knew professionally from how they parented was not always easy.
Other memories remained for different reasons.
We interviewed officers who could describe traumatic calls from decades earlier with extraordinary precision. They remembered where they were standing, what they saw and what happened next. Time had moved forward. The memory had not necessarily faded with it. The same could be true after an officer used deadly force. We spoke with officers involved in shootings that were determined to be justified. The legal determination answered one question. It did not necessarily answer what happened afterward. One officer we knew struggled for years after taking a life in the line of duty. He remembered the person and the scene. He experienced serious anxiety, required treatment and medication and eventually retired earlier than he had expected.
The shooting had been justified living with it was a separate matter. That distinction is easy to miss from outside the profession. An officer can survive an armed confrontation, act within the law and still be affected by having taken another human life. There were no universal reactions. Some officers processed traumatic experiences and continued their careers without the same difficulties. Others carried particular incidents for years. Some sought professional help. Some spoke only with people they trusted. Some found less healthy ways to cope.
The case could close. The investigation could end. The officer could retire none of those things guaranteed that the memory went with them.
ALCOHOL, SUBSTANCE ABUSE AND THE BADGE
Some officers told BLUE that what began as a way to cope eventually became another problem to overcome. Alcohol was part of that story. For many officers we encountered, drinking remained social. For others, particularly those dealing with stress, anxiety, depression or experiences they were struggling to process, alcohol became a way to escape. Prescription medication presented a different and more complicated issue.
Medication can be an important and legitimate part of treatment. But certain drugs prescribed for anxiety or sleep, particularly benzodiazepines such as Xanax, Klonopin, Ativan and Valium, carry recognized risks of misuse, addiction and physical dependence. Taking prescribed medication is not substance abuse. Neither is having a drink. The problem begins when alcohol is increasingly relied upon to cope, or when medication is misused or dependence develops.
BLUE saw enough of the issue to address it directly. We developed a cover and photo project focused on alcohol and substance abuse in law enforcement. Officers from different departments participated, including some who understood the subject through their own experiences.
Retired law enforcement officer Erica Blue became a leading voice in the project. Erica had faced her own battle with substance abuse and overcome it. She understood firsthand how something used to cope could become something controlling a person’s life, and she wanted other officers to recognize that progression before reaching the same point. Other officers brought their own experiences to the project. They were not speaking about an abstract problem. They were members of law enforcement addressing an issue some of them had lived through themselves. The message was not that drinking was inherently a problem or that officers should avoid legitimate medical treatment. It was about recognizing when coping had crossed into dependence or abuse and being willing to address it.
For Erica and others involved in the project, that distinction was personal.
WHEN TRUST BREAKS DOWN
BLUE supported law enforcement, but that support was never unconditional. Defending the profession did not require us to excuse criminal conduct, unethical behavior or abuses of authority. It required us to distinguish between those who honored the badge and those whose actions damaged the officers and communities around them. Some of that damage was visible to the public. Officers who committed crimes, abused their authority or treated people without dignity gave critics justification to question the profession. Their actions also placed honorable officers in the position of answering for misconduct they did not commit. Supporting law enforcement never meant protecting someone simply because that person wore a uniform. Other damage occurred behind department walls. Throughout BLUE’s seventeen years, officers described retaliation, selective discipline, unwanted transfers and professional isolation. Some believed they were targeted after reporting wrongdoing, challenging a decision or refusing unofficial demands that had nothing to do with their duties. When personal loyalty becomes more valuable than competence or integrity, rank can be used to punish rather than lead.
One New Jersey officer came to our attention after seeking help for his mental health. He received treatment, improved and was cleared by his treating doctor to return to work. His department required a separate fitness-for-duty evaluation. During that process, he answered honestly about a suicidal crisis he had experienced years earlier. The evaluator did not clear him, and the officer was suspended before eventually regaining his position.
We cannot claim to know every discussion or motive behind that decision. We do know its effect. An officer sought help, recovered and attempted to return to duty, only to enter another struggle over his career. Cases like his can send a dangerous message to others: disclose a mental-health problem and the information may later be used against you. Fitness-for-duty evaluations are necessary when legitimate concerns exist. Departments have a responsibility to protect officers, colleagues and the public. But those evaluations must remain professional, impartial and connected to an officer’s present ability to perform the job. They cannot become instruments of personal retaliation or convenient ways to remove someone who has fallen out of favor.
BLUE repeatedly advised officers facing these circumstances to document what happened, preserve communications, understand department policies and seek assistance from their union or qualified legal counsel before the situation became unmanageable. When appropriate, we asked questions, brought attention to cases and connected officers with people who could help them understand their options. The breakdown of trust was not limited to formal discipline. Officers also spoke about the damage caused by colleagues who spread rumors, betrayed private conversations or presented themselves as supportive while working against someone behind the scenes. These actions may never appear in a disciplinary record, but their effect on morale and mental health can be severe. Law enforcement depends on trust. Officers rely on one another in situations where hesitation or uncertainty can carry serious consequences. When gossip becomes a weapon and vulnerability becomes material for ridicule, officers learn to protect themselves through silence. Someone struggling with anxiety, depression or suicidal thoughts may decide that speaking honestly presents a greater risk than continuing alone.
Wearing the same uniform does not require officers to agree about everything. It does require maturity, discretion and the ability to address conflict without attempting to destroy another person’s reputation or career. Departments cannot encourage officers to seek help while tolerating a culture that punishes vulnerability. Leadership carries the greater responsibility. Supervisors establish what behavior is rewarded, ignored or corrected. A leader who permits favoritism, retaliation or personal attacks teaches the entire department that trust is secondary to politics. A leader who applies standards fairly gives officers confidence that honesty will not become a liability.
BLUE’s position remained consistent: accountability must work in every direction. Officers must answer for misconduct, administrators must answer for abuses of authority and colleagues must understand the consequences of how they treat one another. Professionalism is measured not only by how law enforcement officers serve the public, but also by how they treat their own when no one else is watching.
MENTAL HEALTH AND SUICIDE
Throughout BLUE’s history, law enforcement officers contacted us almost every week. Some wanted to write, share information, suggest an investigation or introduce us to someone whose story deserved attention. Others simply needed someone outside their department whom they could trust. Those relationships exposed us to a crisis affecting law enforcement across the country. Officers were struggling with trauma, anxiety, depression, addiction and suicidal thoughts, often without knowing where they could speak freely. Some did not trust their departments, unions or colleagues. Others feared that admitting they were struggling could lead to an investigation, a fitness-for-duty evaluation, the loss of their firearm or the end of their career.
Law enforcement officers repeatedly encounter death, violence, abused children, serious accidents and families experiencing the worst moments of their lives. The effects accumulate. Yet the profession often expects officers to absorb everything, complete the report and answer the next call without acknowledging what the last one did to them. That contradiction can be dangerous. Officers are expected to remain mentally prepared to carry a weapon and make decisions affecting life and death. Some therefore believe that asking for help will cause others to question their fitness for duty. Instead of speaking, they isolate themselves or turn to alcohol and other destructive ways of escaping what they have seen.
BLUE became a place where some officers felt safe enough to talk. What we learned through those conversations helped define the purpose of Moment of Silence. When I was given the opportunity to lead the organization, I wanted it to become a trusted path to support outside the ordinary chain of command a place where officers could speak honestly, receive guidance and reach professional help without shame. That mission became personal after a lieutenant from my department died by suicide. He was someone we respected, and his death affected me deeply. It forced me to confront how much pain can remain hidden behind a uniform, a rank and a familiar face.
Another officer I had known through BLUE once came to my office and told me he was struggling. We spoke for a long time. I urged him to seek immediate help, but he said he was not ready. Concerned about him, I called someone I trusted and asked that person to keep an eye on him. Approximately one month later, the officer died by suicide.
For years, I replayed that conversation. I questioned whether I should have pushed harder, made another call or taken a different action. I eventually had to accept that I responded based on what I understood at the time, but the loss never stopped mattering. It taught me that concern must be followed by continued contact and that no one should try to manage a suicidal crisis alone. There were also lives we reached in time.
Several nights before Christmas, at approximately 11 p.m., an officer came to the BLUE office. She was still working and trying to conceal how serious her condition had become, but it was clear that she needed immediate help. We spoke at length, and I told her directly that treatment could not wait. She listened, two days later, she was on an airplane to Florida, where she remained in treatment for more than a month. Recovery took time, but she continued moving forward. Today, Erika Vicente, known to BLUE readers as Erica Blue, is retired and thriving. She has publicly shared her experience and become an advocate for Moment of Silence, showing other officers that acknowledging a crisis and accepting treatment do not have to end a career or a life.
Erika’s story does not erase the officers we lost, but it demonstrates why intervention matters. We will not recognize every warning sign or reach every person in time. That reality cannot become an excuse to stop trying. Moment of Silence does not claim to have every answer. Its work begins with something more basic: caring enough to notice, asking the difficult question, listening without judgment and remaining present long enough to connect someone with qualified help. No organization can save everyone, but every life reached matters.
We remember the men and women in law enforcement who died by suicide for the lives they lived and the service they gave not solely for the circumstances of their deaths. Their families deserve compassion, privacy and continued support long after the ceremonies and condolences have ended.
If someone trusts you enough to call, answer the damn phone. That is the promise behind Moment of Silence: Never give up. Stay in the fight.
[CHRIS: USE MOMENT OF SILENCE PHOTOGRAPHS THAT SHOW OFFICERS SUPPORTING ONE ANOTHER, INCLUDING ERIKA VICENTE SPEAKING PUBLICLY IF APPROVED. DO NOT USE GRAPHIC, STAGED OR GENERIC IMAGES ASSOCIATED WITH SUICIDE. INCLUDE A SEPARATE, CLEARLY VISIBLE RESOURCE BOX: CALL OR TEXT 988 FOR THE SUICIDE & CRISIS LIFELINE. CURRENT AND FORMER LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS AND THEIR FAMILIES MAY ALSO CALL COPLINE AT 1-800-267-5463 (tel:1-800-267-5463). IF SOMEONE IS IN IMMEDIATE PHYSICAL DANGER, CALL 911 (tel:911).]
