‘Always on our minds.’ Biloxi remembers officer Robert McKeithen 1 year after killing
They think of Robert McKeithen every day, the officers of the Biloxi Police Department.
They miss their fallen brother in ways large and small. The night-shift patrolman, quick with a joke or a helping hand, died a year ago May 5, gunned down beside his patrol SUV in the parking lot of the Biloxi public safety center, of all places.
Nobody has made sense of the whys or what ifs. The teenager charged with McKeithen’s capital murder, and others believed to be accomplices, were jailed after swift arrests and are awaiting trial.
Instead, the officers think of McKeithen.
He would be missing the Waffle House on Cedar Lake Road about now. It’s takeout only during the time of COVID-19 and he surely could have gotten his coffee. But just as important to the gregarious officer was the nightly gab with regulars and staff.
McKeithen could have requested a different shift after 24 years with the department. But he was, somehow, captivated by the nights. His fellow officers liked to rib him. He was, after all, 57 years old when he fell to the asphalt.
They called him “Mac,” “Pawpaw,” “Old Man” or “Robo Cop.”
McKeithen is always on Biloxi’s mind
Sgt. Joey Payne thinks of McKeithen every day. Payne transferred to Biloxi from the Gulfport Police Department, anxious about new protocols, new customs and new faces. McKeithen strolled right up, introduced himself and chatted with Payne, making the young officer feel right at home.
The last weekend they both worked, one that ended with McKeithen’s death, Biloxi had a big Thunderbirds air show. A family emergency called Payne from duty. When the family memory popped up on his Facebook page, it wasn’t the emergency Payne remembered. He thought about Mac instead.
“What popped in my head was that Mac’s anniversary is coming up,” Payne said.
“There’s something every day when we come to the police department that reminds us (of him),” Payne said. “It’s hard to explain. He’s always on our minds.”
For one, the mailbox bearing his name in the briefing room is still there.
As Tuesday’s anniversary approaches, his patrol SUV has been parked in front of the building. During those days of mourning, heartbroken officers and a community in shock draped flowers and tributes over the hood until the windshield disappeared..
The SUV is a memorial vehicle now, wrapped in somber colors accented by stars on the hood and “Police” stripped across the doors, a blue ribbon running behind the letters. A seal on the hood marks his End of Watch, May 5, 2019.
The SUV is, otherwise, in daily use, as McKeithen would have wanted.
May ‘the shine on his boots’ never dull
He never wasted a minute when someone was in distress. He was one of 13 officers awarded the Biloxi Police Department Medal of Valor after Hurricane Katrina, having helped rescue three families during what was then the worst natural disaster ever to hit America.
He knew how to talk down distraught suspects, even when they were armed, and comfort stunned victims. If his assailant had not approached from behind, without warning, McKeithen might be here still.
Less than a hour before his death, in his final act as an officer of the law, McKeithen helped a driver from a wrecked Ford Mustang after the man fell asleep on the Biloxi Bay Bridge.
McKeithen went to the hospital with the man and was about to respond to another accident when he had a flat tire. Instead, he drove just down the street to the public safety building and his fate.
McKeithen’s selfless acts will never be destroyed
He left behind a family who has appreciated the community’s support while guarding their privacy, a wife, daughter, two stepsons and a stepdaughter.
More than 1,000 mourners attended his funeral service in the First Baptist Church sanctuary on Popp’s Ferry Road, where the crowd filled the pews and lined the walls. An escort of more than 1,000 vehicles accompanied his hearse to the service.
Chief John Miller made reference to McKeithen’s spit-shined boots, a holdover from his service in the U.S. Air Force.
Miller remembered the people McKeithen helped, the lives he saved, the laughter he created, the broad smile almost always on his face.
“Those things can’t be murdered or destroyed or erased,” the chief said. “They have already happened. They have already been done and they will be part of this world forever.”
“I prefer to believe that Robert is doing the same job today that he was doing last week, only in a much, much better place with a nicer boss and a new squad, where he is referred to as the new guy and not the old man, a place where the shine on his boots never dulls and his uniform is always crisp.”
