Editor’s note: This article is reprinted with permission from the May 2025 issue of the FOP Journal, the official publication of the National Fraternal Order of Police.

If you’ve ever attended Police Week in Washington, D.C., chances are you’ve heard the phrase “It’s all about the white chairs.” You may have even seen a challenge coin or a T-shirt featuring the simple image of a white folding chair. But what does it mean? Why the white chairs?

The answer is as powerful as it is simple: those white chairs are the reason we gather.

Each year, thousands converge on the nation’s capital to honor the fallen heroes of law enforcement during the Fraternal Order of Police’s National Peace Officers’ Memorial Service on the west lawn of the U.S. Capitol. Front and center, under the shadow of the Capitol dome, sit two thousand stark white folding chairs — reserved for the surviving family members of officers who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Those white chairs represent our promise: that the fallen will never be forgotten, and their families will never stand alone.

Several years ago, during an especially sweltering Police Week, those chairs took on an even deeper meaning. As an army of volunteers, vendors and law enforcement professionals worked tirelessly in the heat to prepare the grounds, emotions ran high. The pressure was immense — logistical hurdles, demands from the White House, security protocols and weather conditions. But in the end, what emerged was something extraordinary: a flawless tribute to our fallen and an unwavering commitment to the families left behind.

On the flight home, moved by the dedication I had witnessed, I jotted down my thoughts. Those reflections became a story I now share each year as a reminder that everything we do during Police Week centers around the white chairs. The words are as true today as they were then. Those white chairs represent sacrifice. They represent loss. And most of all, they represent our promise: that the fallen will never be forgotten, and their families will never stand alone.

It’s all about the white chairs

In Lafayette, Louisiana, a young mother of five packs her suitcase for an early morning flight. It’s been just 10 months since her husband — a young officer with the Lafayette Police Department who had been on the job for 11 years — was shot and killed in the line of duty. She’s heading to the nation’s capital to attend a series of memorial services and workshops, each carefully designed to not only memorialize her loved one but also to help her cope with her loss and, hopefully, find closure in a seemingly endless nightmare that replays in her mind every time she closes her eyes at night.

She is not alone — the wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, friends and partners of police officers who died in the line of duty in 2024 prepare for this same journey.

Hundreds of miles away, a tractor trailer arrives on the west front of the U.S. Capitol. Two men hop out, walk to the back of the truck to open the trailer and begin unloading chairs — thousands of them: some white, some blue, some red. Each is placed in rows according to color, as sketched out on a diagram — a layout painstakingly developed by dedicated volunteers.

The next day, before she and her two kids leave for the airport, she breaks down. But as she cries in her bathroom, she hears her children coming down the stairs with their bags. She wipes the tears, turns off the light and heads out the door. A few hours later, as she and her children begin boarding their plane, work crews begin erecting stages, installing sound systems, railings and security parameters for the 44th annual National Peace Officers’ Memorial Service, which is only days away.

This family of six arrives in Washington, as do the hundreds of families whom she will share her grief, for their loved ones have fallen, too. It is their nightmare as well, and together, they will find ways to cope with their emptiness. As they begin this experience, they sit in a room with other surviving families and cry, laugh, talk and listen. They attend workshops put on by those who understand their pain firsthand.

She rounds up the five children and joins others as they head over to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial. This solemn, 3-acre park is a place where their loved ones’ names are forever engraved on granite walls. It is here where her husband will take his rightful place of honor among the names of nearly 25,000 fallen officers who also gave their last full measure in the service of others.

As dusk approaches, she and her new friends, forever bonded by their loss, board buses for a short ride to the National Mall, where a somber candlelight vigil begins. Little does she know that when she arrives, there are already tens of thousands of people in attendance. They have traveled from across the country to join her family and the other surviving families in honoring their loved ones. As the sunlight fades, tens of thousands of candles are lit and raised to honor the fallen loved ones. The names of each of their officers are read out loud. She is overwhelmed by the support of thousands of strangers who share in their remembrance, their healing and their sorrow.

Across town, the site begins to take shape. Several thousand white chairs are set up directly in front of a stage bearing the presidential seal. An even larger number of blue and red chairs flank them on each side. To the rear, some volunteers begin roping off a large standing area, while others set up tents at the entrances for security checkpoints.

A few blocks west, a handful of runners complete their journey from Philadelphia to the Memorial in honor of their fallen. Just north, bicyclists and motorcyclists turn onto Florida Avenue for the final stretch of their honor ride.

A small army of volunteers go down their checklists and become tired and frustrated with the last-minute changes and budget constraints. Yet, in the background, the sounds of “Taps” can faintly be heard from buglers practicing in the shade. The somber sound is occasionally drowned out by the bellowing of bagpipes practicing “Amazing Grace” by a group determined to ensure every note be perfect.

The sights and sounds of so many remind them why their work is so important. Police honor guard teams from hundreds of agencies, from the largest to the smallest, practice under the sometimes-brutal mid-spring sun to ensure that their every step and turn occurs with pinpoint precision.

On the morning of May 15, the surviving families begin to board buses headed for the Capitol. Escorted by what seems like miles of motorcycle officers, they cross the bridge over the Potomac River and enter the District. Driving alongside the National Mall, they pass one memorial after another — each one dedicated to American heroes. The buses enter the Capitol complex, and the families of the fallen begin to disembark. As they make their way to their seats, thousands of uniformed officers stand side by side, creating a cordon of honor leading to the white chairs.

Ask any volunteer why they give their all to this service. Ask any FOP member why they spend a large portion of their dues for this service. Ask any corporate sponsor why they contribute to this solemn service. Ask those who travel from near and far to attend this service. They may all articulate their reasons differently, but each of their messages will share one underlining theme — it’s all about the white chairs.

Each one of those white chairs represents a hero who has fallen, and equally as important, heroes who must carry on. Their lives have been forever changed, and through the efforts of so many, they know they are not alone, for we never forget our fallen and the contribution they and their families have made and will continue to make.

When the days grow long, the temperature rises and the site preparation work seems endless, remember … it’s all about the white chairs. When you are running or cycling to the Memorial in honor of our fallen, remember … it’s all about the white chairs. When you arrive at the service and can’t get the view of the stage you like, remember … it’s all about the white chairs. When there isn’t enough seating for last-minute VIP seating changes, remember … it’s all about the white chairs. When the services extend longer than expected because the president of the U.S. takes time to ask survivors to tell him about their loved one, remember … it’s all about the white chairs. When egos get bruised and tempers flare because the task seems overwhelming and thankless at times, remember … it’s all about the white chairs. When participating in the evening parties and gatherings to celebrate life, remember … it’s all about the white chairs.

As long as there is a need for white chairs to be set up on the lawn of our nation’s capital on May 15 to remember and honor our fallen, our work is not done. Never should we lose sight of the reason we do what we must all do — which is to remember. Take pride in your efforts, for the FOP’s National Peace Officers’ Memorial Service doesn’t just happen, it evolves out of our respect and admiration for those who have given far more than
we have.