The Murder of Officer Diller Hits Close To Home

When anyone loses their life to violence, it’s a tragedy. The murder of NYPD PO Jonathan Diller is no different. KFC wrote a blog spreading awareness for the situation, and the shirts we have on sale to help the family are raising money that will ensure some stability for Diller's now widow, and their 1 year old child. The money cannot bring Diller back, and it wont heal the wounds that his family will carry for the rest of their lives, but it will make a profound difference.

The news of this story hit particularly close to home because I, like Diller's baby boy, am the son of a slain member of the NYPD. Believe it or not, my real name is not Wayne Jetski. It’s Kevin Rafferty. My father Patrick Rafferty was a homicide detective in the 67th Precinct in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. On September 10th, 2004, he and his partner Bobby Parker were murdered in a shooting that eerily mirrors the death of Jonathan Diller.

They were responding to a call Bobby got directly from a woman in the neighborhood. She told Bobby and my father that her son (who I will not name) was attempting to steal her car. Carjacking was just another line on this prick’s very long rap sheet that included sexual assault convictions, among others. My dad and Bobby arrived on the scene to find the man in fact was trying to boost his mothers car. After boxing in the vehicle they attempted to detain him, when he somehow managed to wrestle away Bobby's Glock 19, and fire four shots into both Parker and my father. From what I’ve been told one bullet managed to sever the femoral artery in my dads thigh, and he bled out and passed fairly quickly, but not before managing to fire back at the coward, hitting him twice in the leg and ankle.

(Although it’s morbid, the fact that my father was able to return fire before dying weirdly gives me some peace. He loved John Wayne and the idea of him going out like a cowboy is very fitting for a man who used to wear a Stetson into the precinct and try to convince all the black guys in the squad to sing Johnny Cash with him.)

Bobby Parker was a much bigger man than my father, standing at 6’4 and close to 300 lbs. He was a gentle giant who had a brief career as a professional wrestler. Bobby hung on a few minutes longer than my dad, and he was able to call dispatch and let the guys know what happened, who shot them, and even told them where they could find a picture of the perp in his car.

The scumbag was ultimately found lying bleeding on a fire escape, and is now serving 2 life sentences. He will die without ever walking another day as a free man, and that’s what he deserves.

I’ve never told this story in its entirety publicly, my generation likes to blast out any misfortune they receive to the masses for clout, and I think that’s lame. But I do think I have a responsibility to utilize whatever platform I have for good, and Officer Diller’s death is a situation I am unfortunately very familiar with.

Stephanie Dillers life has been upended. It’s never going to be the same. She will again never get to kiss her husband when he walks in the door after a double shift, and her son will never know firsthand how great a man his father is.

I spoke briefly on Healthy Debate today about how I feel like I crowdsource my memories of my father from actual moments I can remember, and stories I’m told by family and friends. It’s a fucked up mental shrine of a superhero like figure, with reality and fiction interweaving endlessly. Unfortunately it’s all I have. Even worse, Diller's son’s memories of his father will likely be all provided to him by other people. 

Growing up without a father is strange. My mother (who is an absolute Saint and the strongest person I have ever known) did an amazing job with my sisters and I, but I was a very angry, misguided kid at times. Still am today if I’m being honest. How can you learn to be a man without having a man there to teach you? It’s a question I've tortured myself with everyday since I was the little boy in the picture below.

Although I had something very tragic happen to me as a child, and it still affects me to this day, my life as a whole has not been tragic. I think it's important to say that, and not get lost in self pity. Thankfully I had support and an infrastructure put in place by the NYPD to help guide my way. Donated funds, much like the ones we are securing for the Dillers through our t-shirts, allowed my mother the financial security to pay off her mortgage, be a full time mom (with the help of a wooden spoon here and there), and send my sisters and I to college debt free. Without this help, my path would have been much different and I doubt I’d be working here or writing this blog. 

This was hard to write, but I hope that sharing my story will shed light on just how powerful it is when people rally behind a good cause and I know Stoolies are the best in the biz when it comes to this. Jonathan Diller made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the safety of a city full of strangers. He walked a noble line that is too often disrespected, and his family deserves to be taken care of in his honor. If you can spare the money to buy a shirt please do. It will not ease the excruciating pain Officer Diller’s family will have to feel for the rest of their lives, but it can at the very least help ensure his wife and child can focus on healing, growing, and finding happiness again.