Jeff Hoffman

I met Jeff in college. We lived next door to each other in a slum of a student apartment complex we affectionately called Hell.

Jeff had a subtle personality.  He didn't show his cards all at once.  It could take some time to get to know him, but I was drawn to him quickly. He was many things I wasn't, and also many things I wanted to be--steady, thoughtful, humorous, practical. He was solid. At a time of life when so many of us were lost, or inventing ourselves, or just plain full of it, Jeff knew who he was. He was the real deal, even then.

The following year, in a strange coincidence, I lived next door to him again, in another apartment complex on the other side of campus. Later he invited me to live with him in a big house with several mutual friends.  I was older than Jeff, but I always looked up to him. He was the big brother in our friendship.

I am still ashamed that I tried to talk Jeff out of joining the New Haven police force. I suffered from a juvenile anti-authority reflex at the time. Now I know, cities need cops. More importantly, they need cops like Jeff. He had the perfect temperament. He was a serious man with a disarming sense of humor, a strong man with a mild manner, and a moral man who could forgive the weaknesses of others. He knew how to de-escalate situations when others were losing their heads. I am thankful that he didn't heed my advice

Jeff loved his city, New Haven, and taught me to love it too. He knew where to get the best burger (Louis' Lunch), the best pizza (Modern), and see the best band (often Cafe 9). He took me to East Rock Park and kayaking among the Thimble Islands. His many wonderful friends always treated me as a friend. It is mainly because of Jeff that I still have pangs for a state I couldn't wait to leave.

I also looked up to Jeff as a family man. I was so happy when he met Stephanie. They visited me in San Francisco shortly before they got engaged and I knew that she was the right person for him. They had a beautiful wedding. After that, whenever I went to New Haven I stayed at their home and felt like a member of the family. Seeing Jeff with his son Kyle gave me a positive vision of what it would be like to be a father.

Another thing about Jeff--he was fun. He knew how to cut loose and live it up. He was calm, cool, and collected much of the time, but when he set out to paint the town red, he did it with the best of them--whether it was dancing like Elvis (in his later bloated karate-style), doing donuts in a car, drinking and shouting at McSorley's in Manhattan, or just clowning around late night in someone's kitchen. He could make an event, even an adventure, out of any evening.

The last time I went to New Haven, I took Sophie on the train to celebrate Jeff becoming a captain. Typical of Jeff, he left his car for me at the station to drive to the ceremony. Afterward at his house there was a big party with a great blues band, fronted by one of Stephanie's brothers. Little Sophie was only 2 years old, but she danced like a maniac and I like to think that she absorbed some of the Hoffman spirit that night.

Finally, Jeff was a guy that everybody leaned on. He always seemed to have it together, and he saw things clearly. When our friend D-Knick was dying, it was Jeff who I looked to for solace and understanding. He was the one who called me and broke the news, that sad day after Christmas.

Now Jeff is gone too. When we got home from Virginia on my birthday, I listened to ominous messages from Stephanie on our voicemail. I couldn't get hold of her. After a while I looked on the internet and found out that he had died. Later I learned that he took his own life.

I am not a religious person, but I do try to find meaning in things. It has been more than two months, but I am still struggling with this. I think I will struggle for a long time. It seems impossible. It seems wrong. Part of the problem is, as our friend Pat put it, "Usually, if something like this happened, I would go to Jeff with it, but I can't do that now."

Another part of the problem is the time we are living in. The world seems to reward--even exalt--the greedy, the selfish, and the intemperate. Perhaps it always has, but the outer limits seem warped beyond anything before. Self-satisfied liars, louts, and sociopaths occupy seats of power, money, and influence everywhere.

Jeff was everything society should value. He was a good, strong, kind man. He was a successful man--a police captain with a lovely family. He spent his life serving others. Yet he died a death of despair.

Where is the meaning in this? What is the lesson? Someday I hope to be able to explain this and offer some kind of answer--some kind of hope--to Sophie Lee. At the moment she doesn't ask, and I have no answer. What kind of world have we brought her into?