If you know me, you know I love striking up conversations with strangers—it’s a sport, really. And every so often, these chats lead to something truly unexpected. About a year ago, I met a guy who also worked in advertising. His agency was collaborating with the Chicago Police Memorial Foundation to raise funds for the families of fallen officers. They were looking for Chicago artists to paint horses that would be sponsored by local organizations, then displayed along Michigan Avenue in a public art show through November.

I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in years, but the chance to contribute to such a meaningful cause instantly resonated with me. Little did I know, I would soon be sponsored by the Chicago Cubs to create a tribute for Chicago’s first fallen officer, Constable Quinn. As I dug into his story, I discovered a fascinating connection—his son had played for the Chicago White Stockings in 1903, the team that would later become the Cubs. Had I known from the start that I’d be painting for such a high-profile organization, I might have questioned my abilities. But by the time I learned, the artists had already been paired with their horses, and there was no turning back.

That following Friday, a flatbed trailer rolled up to my apartment and these beauties were about 7 feet tall and 8 feet long. I naively thought one might fit in my elevator. Spoiler: it didn’t. Plan B? My building’s dimly lit garage. :(

The next weekend, my mom came up to the city to help get me started. We ordered Chinese takeout and camped out on the cement floor, painting and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Every time someone from the neighboring restaurant turned the corner and spotted a giant horse where my car was normally parked, the double takes were priceless. Throughout the following weeks, I painted after work, and the garage became an unexpected hub of encouragement. Neighbors stopped by to chat about the Cubs (this was the year they were chasing the World Series), and one neighbor even brought me a beer and hung out awhile.

For Constable Quinn, I painted his body in Cubs blue with white baseball stockings and added the Cubs logo on his left side. His mane turned into angelic feathers, intertwined with snippets of his story: the first officer to fall, a member of the 9th ward, and a shamrock for his Irish heritage. I learned Quinn was fatally beaten during an arrest in 1853 and passed away from his injuries the next morning. His killer? Sentenced to only five years for manslaughter.

The purpose of this painting was always for it to go to auction, but I was surprised by how bittersweet it felt to say goodbye. After pouring so much heart into the project, I realized I had formed a genuine connection with Quinn and his story. In need of a pick-me-up, I stopped by Starbucks on the way to work. And wouldn’t you know it? As I walked out with my coffee, there was Constable Quinn, being unloaded from a truck right across the street from my office at the Intercontinental Hotel!

From my 16th-floor office window, I had the perfect view of Quinn and the other beautiful horse sculptures lined up along Michigan Avenue. Thousands of people stopped to admire him and read his story while I watched from my desk above. It was surreal.

Since the heartbreaking loss of Constable Quinn, Chicago has mourned the sacrifice of over 600 police officers who gave their lives in the line of duty to protect our city. Their families are left to navigate an overwhelming void—grappling with emotional devastation while facing significant financial and psychological challenges. While the Department and other organizations provide support, the need is vast and ongoing. Working with the Chicago Police Memorial Foundation has been profoundly meaningful to me. Last I heard, Quinn’s sculpture found a new home in Arizona after being auctioned off to benefit the foundation. He will always be my connection to an unforgettable piece of Chicago history and a cause that remains close to my heart.

Thank you to Rick Barrett for all your incredible research and support throughout this project. I couldn’t have done it without you, and I’m grateful for the friendship we’ve built along the way.