CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
All makes and models of city, county, and even state police cars were parked up and down the main boulevard, leading all the way to St. Joseph’s church. Chief Frances Hudson would be laid to rest this very afternoon.
Not only had the majority of the Saint Cloud residents turned out for his funeral; nearly sixty officers from all over the state arrived in their pressed and starched official uniforms, to pay homage and give their final salutes to a man they revered as a hero. Many were personal and professional acquaintances of Frances Hudson throughout the years.
Father Lonigan would deliver such a proud and thoughtful eulogy to his honored memory; nary a dry eye to be found among the near two-hundred souls who turned out to say their last goodbyes, to such an outstanding and forthright man.
The various police departments formed a twenty-one-gun salute for their fallen comrade. The Saint Cloud volunteer fire department only had one fire truck; but it would sound its siren with great pride in honor of the Chief-of-Police; for he had served as a volunteer fireman for nearly seventeen years.
Now, as his cedar-and-oak casket with gold-plated handles was lowered into the cool earth, a lone trumpeter played taps. A great sadness engulfed the large gathering; yet, for some mourners, sadness quickly turned to anger and thoughts of revenge.
Groups of unruly men would later prowl the streets in search of Beau Camp; that desperado who had taken the life of Chief-of-Police Frances Eugene Hudson.