Coppinger: Requiem for a tough guy

LYNN – They said goodbye to the last of the tough guys Thursday. They said goodbye to Joe Coppinger.When he died Saturday after a brief illness, Joe Coppinger left behind a 37-year career as a police officer and a legacy as a husband, father, grandfather, son and good friend.He also left behind memories of hundreds of people who recalled Coppinger’s unsuccessful efforts to hide affection and caring behind the tough façade so characteristic of fellow members of the Greatest Generation.Joe Coppinger was a combat veteran. He enlisted in the Navy in his senior year at St. Mary’s Boys High School and headed to the war in the Pacific. He was 17. When he returned to Lynn, officials at the parochial school decided he was too battle-hardened to rejoin the classroom. Joe Coppinger shrugged it off, let bygones be bygones, and along with other war veterans received a diploma from English High.The late James Tansey, one of Joe Coppinger’s many lifelong friends, was never quite able to accept the school’s decision. In 1995, Tansey asked the Rev. Paul Garrity at St. Mary’s for a favor. It was granted. Despite fighting a losing battle with cancer, Tansey completed his handiwork. At an anniversary Mass celebrating the 50th reunion of the St. Mary’s Boys High Class of 1945, Joe Coppinger was awarded his diploma. By then, he had a master’s degree. Tansey didn’t get to witness it. He had died two days earlier.Those fortunate enough to know Joe Coppinger will undoubtedly find it easy to recall his smile. He smiled a lot. He liked to laugh, too, and though it may sound cliché, his eyes were sometimes filled with friendly mischief.Joe Coppinger loved being a cop. As fate would have it, he took part in the re-capture of Albert DeSalvo, the infamous Boston Strangler. A yellowed news clip shows him escorting the suspect amid an anxious crowd.As captain of detectives at the Lynn Police Department, Joe Coppinger had plenty of clout, but he seldom made a point of it. In the mid-1980s, at the top of his game, he took more than one fledgling Item reporter under his wing. Rather than keep the press at arm’s distance, he figured it was better they understood police work, especially since they would often have to write about it.Joe Coppinger was articulate, and he had no problem explaining the intricacies of arson, how to read the pattern of ghost flames left behind by fire. Like an Indian scout who can feel a doused campfire and announce that it was burning less than 10 hours earlier, Joe Coppinger could determine from the flame patterns the type of accelerate used. He showed young reporters how to lift a fingerprint with special tape and bring it to life with French powder. He talked candidly about crime and criminals, often inviting reporters to witness the grisly effects. He didn’t do it for show. He simply wanted to make sure the circumstances of the crime were clearly understood.Joe Coppinger often referred to people by nicknames. He dubbed one Item reporter Walter Winchell, and another The Rabbi, the latter because of his black beard and curly hair.At a late-night crime scene long ago, a victim lay beneath a yellow plastic tarp. As the reporter approached, Joe Coppinger said, “Uh-oh. The Rabbi’s here.” The other detectives chuckled. And then, with aplomb, he lifted the tarp and asked, “Would you like to say a few words?”It was film noir, and Joe Coppinger was among the last remaining characters of that genre. He was the hard-bitten homicide cop, man of the streets, somebody you didn’t want to cross. The cons and crooks and other criminals who got to know him by default feared him. They only saw the exterior. But beneath it, the real Joe Coppinger was fun loving, quick-witted, kind and sincere. He was old school, a family man, and he will be sorely missed.