Speaking of Daniel Faulkner, the Philadelphia police office killed by a since-convicted cab driver 25 years ago today, -- and we were, just five days ago -- tonight after work I went to meet a friend, and while waiting, who of all people was in the same establishment but Danny Faulkner's widow, Maureen Faulkner.

Mrs. Faulkner is, I'm guessing, a handful of years older than I am, but she looks, in person, considerably younger than she is, and she is more attractive and full of life, considering what she was put through, when she's standing a few feet away than she appears in most photographs, not that those snapshots are awful or anything.

We spoke for just a minute or so, a conversation I would prefer to keep private; thankfully, I caught her but five minutes before she was headed out the door.

Most people who know me well will say that I am a very quick and reliable judge of character. And so let me offer this, after our brief exchange: Maureen Faulkner is gracious, warm, and charming, and most grateful for the support of those of us who are certain that the truth with respect to Officer Faulkner's murder, which is still holding the upper hand despite all the noise and nonsense, and she is thankful that we, the same people, promise to ensure this continues to be the case in perpetuity, as long as it takes.

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