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In Memoriam
CPD’s f inest
Harold Bone, one of Chicago’s most decorated officers, passed away in March. His colleagues share the indelible mark he leaves on the thousands who knew him
n BY KAREN JENKINS
Harold Bone would call Wendy Weller every week during her drive home after completing her tour. As she made the trek from the 2nd District on the South Side to her home on the North Side, she’d anticipate her highly decorated colleague keeping her com- pany. He would sign off every call with a simple affirmation: “Love you, kiddo.”
“He was my biggest supporter,” shared Weller, who first met Bone in 2003 when he joined the gangs team and she was working in 016. “He was my biggest fan, but honestly, I think he made every- body feel that way. He was super proud of me. He would always tell me that I was a great policewoman.”
When Bone called Weller, her car filled with the voice of a man who could pack every one of the more than 40,000 seats in Wrigley Field with his friends. If someone had 10,000 contacts in their cell- phone, Bone would have them beat by double. Triple, even.
His impact on officers in the Department extended through ev- ery district and multiple generations with a ferocity of friendship and leadership that just can’t be taught.
“He could have a conversation with anybody, but he would draw you in with his humor,” affirmed Weller. “When he walked in the room, he was shaking everybody’s hand and talking, because he knew everybody. We’d walk into a restaurant,
and he would know half the people in the room.
He would engage everybody.”
On July 20, 2020, Bone traveled from Ten- nessee — where he and his wife Audrey, whom he met on the job — had moved after his re- tirement in 2013, to Chicago to take Weller out for her birthday lunch. That’s when he told her that he felt sick. He was going in for tests. Weller assumed that it was something treatable, like Lyme disease.
After that trip, Bone and Weller’s phone con- versations changed. Weller tried to remain pos- itive every time the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. And then suddenly, they found cancer.
The pair had their final weekly phone call at the end of January. Bone passed away less than two months later on March 17 after a coura- geous battle. He signed off on that final call like he had with every one prior: “Love you, kiddo.”
“It was just a shocker to find out that he was
sick, and then he just went so quickly. It’s just
not fair,” Weller confided. “He was larger than life, a really positive person and always upbeat. He just drew you in.”
Quick on his feet
Within the first 10 minutes of watching Bone on the job, Kenny Lunsford, his FTO in the 18th District, knew he was special. They
42 CHICAGO LODGE 7 ■ APRIL 2021
In an emotional swearing-in ceremony, Harold Bone pins his badge num- ber, 4776, onto his son, Brian Bone, in 2017.
had gotten in a pursuit with a stolen vehicle. Bone got on the radio, and they recovered the car.
“I said, ‘There’s just something about him,’” Lunsford recalled about that night in 1982. “He was so street smart about stuff. We made a lot of good arrests together. He hit the ground running the first night and didn’t stop.”
Ask anybody about Bone, and they have countless stories not only about what a good guy he was, but about how he was an all-around stellar copper. Frank Ortiz came on the job at the same time as Bone in 018 and served as his part- ner until 1994. Ortiz immediately recognized Bone’s ability to sniff out the bad guys.
“We’d be driving, and he’d see something. We’d pull them over for the taillight or something, and sure enough, then we’re giving chase,” he relayed. “I worked with some good people, but after Harold, I never worked with anybody that had his sense for the streets.”
Bone was working with Gangs North in 1993 when it was merged into the Special Operations Section. That’s where he met Mike Govea and Anthony Oliver.
Oliver remembered Bone telling him to follow his instincts. Bone had an almost supernatural ability to just look at someone’s eyes and know exactly where they were hiding the gun or what drugs they had in their possession.
“He was very quick on his feet,” Oliver ex- plained. “He would see something and you could totally miss it, and then when you look back you’re like, ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe
I missed that.’ But that’s how Harold was.”
And no Chicago Police Officer can forget the night that Bone
brought justice in the slayings of Officers Raymond Kilroy and Gregory Hauser in May 1990.
Harold Bone
Chicago Police Officer June 16, 1954–March 17, 2021