It was a pretty day today in Cincinnati, a mix of sun and clouds, a bit on the cool side, with a slight breeze. It was also one of those rare days that I actually had time to myself at lunchtime, so I decided to head off to Macy's across the block in search of a couple more shirts for the office wardrobe. Passing along the north end of the Fountain Square, I could see that the common area was unusually brimming with people - mostly officers in uniform.

Just as I came up on the entryway to Rock Bottom restaurant and brewery, two good looking gents in uniforms bounded out, heading straight for me. I picked up my pace a bit to avoid a head-on collision, then dropped back enough to admire their kilts and regalia. I wondered for a second whether they saw mine, but then, disappointed, I remembered I'm wearing my office drag as usual (but got two compliments on the tie today ). How will they know how much I appreciated nearly running into them?, I wondered.

"Pardon me," I blurted out just before they got too far beyond me, "what tartan are you wearing?"

"Hamilton," the one closest to me said, "for Hamilton County." He smiled. I tried not to swoon.

It turns out they were part of the Pipe & Drum Corps of the Hamilton County Sheriff's Office and were there along with all the other men in blue to kick off Cincinnati's observance of National Police Memorial Week.


I heard someone say this weekend that we don't celebrate milestones with meatloaf, we celebrate with desserts. In a similar vein, we honor the fallen with pipers in kilts, not pedestrians in sportswear. In wearing the kilt, I don't think of myself as a walking memorial, but I do like to think that I'm stepping it up a notch from the average Joe, even when I'm dressing it down. How marvelous that when a special tribute is called for, you call for the men in kilts.

Regards,
Rex.