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National Law Enforcement Officer Memorial 10/15/91 [OA 8330][ [1]
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1
LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION \ JUDICIARY SQUARE
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1991 \ 2:45 P.M.
THANK YOU, SEN. D'AMATO AND CRAIG FLOYD. I WANT TO
RECOGNIZE SEN. PELL AND SEN. THURMOND AND THE OTHER
MEMBERS OF CONGRESS HERE TODAY. I ALSO WANT TO SALUTE
ACTING ATTORNEY GENERAL BILL BARR AND FORMER ATTORNEY
GENERAL ED MEESE. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
11
THIS NATION HAS ERECTED MANY MONUMENTS TO GENERALS
AND ADMIRALS, TO PRIVATES AND SEAMEN, WHO DEFENDED OUR
NATION'S FREEDOM AGAINST TYRANNY AND OPPRESSION.
- 2 -
WE GATHER HERE TODAY TO DEDICATE THIS MEMORIAL TO
UNIFORMED HEROES OF ANOTHER SORT: THOSE WHO ENFORCE
THE LAW AND KEEP US SECURE HERE AT HOME.
FOR TOO LONG, AMERICA'S LAWMEN AND WOMEN HAVE BEEN
THE FORGOTTEN HEROES -- FORGOTTEN UNTIL THERE'S
TROUBLE, UNTIL WE'RE STRANDED ON THE ROAD, OR
FRANTICALLY DIALING NINE-ONE-ONE AT HOME.
- 3 -
TODAY WE REMEMBER THESE HEROES AND HEROINES. "Now
THE REAL HEALING CAN START," SAYS VIVIAN ENEY [EE-NEE],
WHO so MANY OF YOU KNOW. "WHEN THE GRAVE DOESN'T LOOK
NEW ANYMORE, WHEN THE GRASS HAS GROWN OVER IT," SHE
SAYS, "THIS WILL BE THE PLACE TO COME, TO SEE THE NAMES
-- TO TOUCH THE NAMES."
VISITORS WILL COME HERE. SOME WILL BE CHILDREN,
PERHAPS LOOKING FOR A FATHER OR MOTHER THEY NEVER
REALLY KNEW.
- 4 -
WHO WERE THESE PEOPLE? THEY WILL ASK. \ THEY WERE
POLICEMEN AND POLICEWOMEN, MARSHALS AND SHERIFFS, STATE
TROOPERS AND SPECIAL AGENTS. THEY GAVE THEIR LIVES IN
THE LINE OF DUTY. THEY WERE YOUNG AND OLD, RANGING
FROM 19 TO 81. THEY HAD NAMES AS DIVERSE AS AMERICA
ITSELF: DONALD KOWALSKI, PATRICK O'MALLEY, FREDDIE LEE
JACKSON, TOMMY DELAROSA, JOSÉ GONZALES, DONNA MILLER.
THEY HAD WIVES AND HUSBANDS, MOTHERS AND FATHERS,
AND so MANY YOUNG CHILDREN.
- 5 -
MOST OF ALL THEY HAD LOVE -- LOVE FOR THEIR PROFESSION;
LOVE FOR THEIR COMMUNITIES; LOVE FOR THEIR FAMILIES;
LOVE THAT CAN STILL BE FELT 11 IN THIS SPECIAL PLACE 11
RIGHT HERE TODAY.
11 THEY DEVOTED THEMSELVES TO THE TIMELESS VALUES
THAT SOCIETY SHARES. THEY VALUED THE LAW. THEY VALUED
PEACE -- THE PEACE OF A CIVILIZED COMMUNITY THAT
PROTECTS CHILDREN AT PLAY, FAMILIES AT HOME, AND
STOREKEEPERS AT WORK.
DE
- 6 -
THEY VALUED HUMAN LIFE -- so MUCH THAT THEY WERE
PREPARED TO GIVE THEIR LIVES TO PROTECT IT.
THEY GAVE MUCH, AND ASKED LITTLE. THEY DESERVE OUR
REMEMBRANCE. HERE IN AMERICA'S CAPITAL, FOR AS LONG AS
THESE WALLS STAND, THEY WILL BE REMEMBERED. NOT FOR
THE WAY THEY DIED, BUT FOR HOW THEY LIVED.
THEY DIDN'T ASK FOR HONORS, THOUGH HONOR THEM WE
WILL. WE HONOR THEM WITH THESE WALLS -- WITH THESE
TREES AND GRASS AND QUIET POOL OF WATER.
- 7 -
BUT WE CAN HONOR THEM IN A MORE PROFOUND WAY -- A MORE
LASTING WAY -- BY STRENGTHENING THE LAWS THEY SWORE TO
UPHOLD.
SINCE 1989, ON A RAINY SPRING DAY I KNOW MANY OF
YOU REMEMBER, I HAVE TRIED TO PERSUADE CONGRESS THAT
OUR POLICE NEED HELP. Too MANY TIMES, IN TOO MANY
CASES, TOO MANY CRIMINALS GO FREE BECAUSE THE SCALES OF
JUSTICE ARE UNFAIRLY TIPPED AGAINST DEDICATED LAWMEN
AND WOMEN LIKE YOU. WITH YOUR HELP, THAT WILL CHANGE.
- 8 -
WE NEED A CRIME BILL THAT WILL STOP THE ENDLESS,
FRIVOLOUS HABEUS CORPUS APPEALS THAT WASTE TIME
PROSECUTORS COULD BE SPENDING ON NEW CASES. WE NEED A
CRIME BILL THAT SAYS TO POLICE, IF YOU ACT IN GOOD
FAITH, EVIDENCE WILL NOT BE SUPPRESSED IN COURT BASED
ON NEEDLESS TECHNICALITIES. WE NEED A CRIME BILL WITH
TOUGH PENALTIES -- SUCH AS A 10-YEAR MINIMUM SENTENCE
To ANYONE USING A SEMI-AUTOMATIC WEAPON IN A VIOLENT OR
DRUG-RELATED CRIME -- WITH NO PLEA BARGAINS AND NO
PAROLE.
- 9 -
AND WE NEED A CRIME BILL THAT WARNS WOULD-BE KILLERS
OUT THERE: BE PREPARED TO PAY WITH YOUR OWN LIFE. I
ASKED CONGRESS TO PASS THESE PROPOSALS MORE THAN TWO
YEARS AGO. I'VE GOTTEN ONLY A PIECEMEAL RESPONSE.
THIS WEEK, THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES IS VOTING ON A
CRIME BILL. BUT FOR THAT BILL TO BE WORTH ANYTHING, IT
MUST CONTAIN THE CRUCIAL ELEMENTS I'VE CITED --
ELEMENTS THE HOUSE JUDICIARY COMMITTEE REFUSED TO
INCLUDE IN THE BILL.
- 10 -
CONGRESS IS ONLY A FEW BLOCKS AWAY. THEY'VE HEARD FROM
ME; THEY NEED TO HEAR FROM YOU.
THERE'S A WAR GOING ON OUT THERE -- A WAR BETWEEN
CRIMINALS AND A GOOD SOCIETY. WE KNOW THAT WAR WILL
NOT END, AS LONG AS EVIL DWELLS IN MEN'S SOULS. BUT WE
CAN WORK TO LOCK UP THOSE WHO ARE TOO VIOLENT TO LIVE
IN CIVILIZED SOCIETY. WE CAN SUPPORT THE LAW
ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS WHO ARE ON THE FRONT LINES DAY
AFTER DAY.
- 11 -
AND WE CAN PUT NEW LAWS ON THE BOOKS TO KEEP NEW NAMES
OFF THESE WALLS.
PRESIDENT COOLIDGE TOLD US, "THE NATION WHICH
FORGETS ITS DEFENDERS WILL ITSELF BE FORGOTTEN." \ WE
WILL NOT FORGET. AMERICA \ WILL NOT FORGET. WE WILL
NOT FORGET THOSE WHO HAVE DIED. AND WE WILL NOT FORGET
THOSE WHO PROTECT AND SERVE EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. III
IN THE OVAL OFFICE, MANY IMPORTANT PAPERS AND
DOCUMENTS CROSS MY DESK EACH DAY.
- 12 -
MOST OF THEM STAY THERE BUT A DAY OR TWO. BUT INSIDE
THE DRAWER, ONE THING STAYS: A NEW YORK CITY
PATROLMAN'S BADGE -- NUMBER 14072. IT BELONGED TO
EDDIE BYRNE, A ROOKIE COP WHO WAS GUARDING A WITNESS
WHEN HE WAS GUNNED DOWN ON THE ORDERS OF A DRUG DEALER
IN JAIL. EDDIE'S FATHER ASKED ME TO KEEP THAT BADGE AS
A "REMINDER OF ALL THE BRAVE POLICE OFFICERS WHO PUT
THEIR LIVES ON THE LINE FOR US EVERY SINGLE DAY." 11
WELL, I'VE KEPT IT.
- 13 -
I HAVE IT WITH ME HERE TODAY, AND I WILL ALWAYS KEEP
IT. 11
WHEN SOCIETY ASKS SOMEONE TO PUT ON A BADGE AND
PLACE IT OVER THEIR HEART, WE MAKE A SACRED COVENANT
-- A COVENANT THAT SAYS: "WE AS A SOCIETY STAND BEHIND
THOSE WHO ENFORCE THE LAW AGAINST THOSE WHO BREAK THE
LAW." THAT'S WHAT EDDIE BYRNE'S BADGE MEANS TO ME.
- 14 -
THIS MEMORIAL GIVES MEANING TO THAT COVENANT, GIVES
MEANING TO THESE LIVES, GIVES MEANING TO THE LAW AND
WHAT IT STANDS FOR. No NUMBER OF WORDS OR WREATHS, NO
AMOUNT OF MUSIC OR MEMORIALIZING, WILL DO JUSTICE HERE
TODAY, BUT WE HAVE BEGUN THE REMEMBRANCE, AND BEGUN THE
HEALING.
THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME TO SHARE THIS MOMENT WITH
YOU. AND MAY GOD BLESS AMERICA'S LAW ENFORCEMENT
OFFICERS.
#
#
#
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON
October 10, 1991
MEMORANDUM FOR THE PRESIDENT
THROUGH:
DAVID DEMAREST
TONY SNOW TS
FROM:
ROBERT SIMON
RS
SUBJECT:
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION
I. SUMMARY
On Tuesday, October 15, at 2:00 p.m., you will dedicate
the National Law Enforcement Memorial at Judiciary Square.
An audience of 9,000 police officers and survivors is
expected.
II. DISCUSSION
The memorial contains the names of all 12,500 officers
killed in the line of duty since the U.S. was founded. You
broke ground at the site on October 30, 1989. A quotation
from that speech is now on the memorial.
The remarks (8 minutes, on cards) pay tribute to these
fallen officers and calls on Congress to pass the crime
bill.
Simon
Oct. 10, 1991
Draft 4 / POLICE
PRESIDENTIAL REMARKS: LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION
JUDICIARY SQUARE
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1991
2:00 p.m.
Thank you, Craig [Floyd]. Members of Congress. Ladies and
Gentlemen. [other acknowledgements]
This city has erected many monuments to generals and
admirals, to privates and seamen, who defended our nation's
freedom against tyranny and oppression. We gather here today to
dedicate this memorial to uniformed heroes of another sort:
those who enforce the law and keep us secure here at home.
For too long, America's lawmen and women have been the
forgotten heroes -- forgotten until there's trouble, until we're
stranded on the road, or frantically dialing nine-one-one at
home.
Today we remember these heroes and heroines. "Now the real
wash.
healing can start," says Vivian Eney [EE-nee], who so many of you
Post
know. "When the grave doesn't look new anymore, when the grass
3-27-91
p.A20
has grown over it," she says, "This will be the place to come, to
see the names -- to touch the names."
Visitors will come here. Some will be children, perhaps
looking for a father or mother they never really knew.
Who were these people? they will ask. \ They were
policemen and policewomen, marshals and sheriffs, state troopers
and special agents. They gave their lives in the line of duty.
NLEOM
Fact They were young and old, ranging from 19 to 81. They had names
sheet
2
Robyn as diverse as America itself: Donald Kowalski, Patrick O'Malley,
porter
Freddie Lee Jackson, Tommy DeLaRosa, Jose Gonzales, Donna Miller.
NLEOMF
They had wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and so
many young children. Most of all they had love -- love for their
profession; love for their communities; love for their families;
love that can still be felt in this special place 11 right
here today.
11 They devoted themselves to the timeless values that
society shares. They valued the law. They valued peace -- the
peace of a civilized community that protects children at play,
families at home, and storekeepers at work. They valued human
life -- so much that they were prepared to give their lives to
protect it.
They gave much, and asked little. They deserve our
remembrance. Here in America's capital, for as long as these
walls stand, they will be remembered. Not for the way they died,
but for how they lived.
They didn't ask for honors, though honor them we will. We
honor them with these walls -- with these trees and grass and
quiet pool of water. But we can honor them in a more profound
way -- a more lasting way -- by strengthening the laws they swore
to uphold.
May 15,89
Since 1989, on a rainy spring day I know many of you
speach
remember, I have tried to persuade Congress that our police need
help. Too many times, in too many cases, too many criminals go
free because the scales of justice are unfairly tipped against
3
dedicated lawmen and women like you. With your help, that will
change.
We need a crime bill that will stop the endless, frivolous
Mariame
habeus corpus appeals that waste time prosecutors could be
McCothgin
x
2449
spending on new cases. We need a crime bill with tough penalties
-- such as a 10-year minimum sentence to anyone using a semi-
Paul
Me
Nulty
automatic weapon in a violent or drug-related crime -- with no
DUJ plea bargains and no parole. We need a crime bill that says to
police, if you act in good faith, evidence will not be suppressed
in court based on needless technicalities. And we need a crime
bill that warns would-be killers out there: be prepared to pay
with your own life. \\\\
I asked Congress to pass these proposals more than two years
Jack
ago. I've gotten only a piecemeal response. [This week,] the
Howard
House of Representatives is voting on a crime bill. But for that
10/ 11 bill to be worth anything, it must contain the crucial elements
on
4:30
I've cited -- elements the House Judiciary Committee refused to
include in the bill. Congress is only a few blocks away.
They've heard from me; they need to hear from you.
There's a war going on out there -- a war between criminals
and a good society. We know that war will not end, as long as
evil dwells in men's souls. But we can work to lock up those who
are too violent to live in civilized society. We can support the
law enforcement officers who are on the front lines day after
day. And we can put new laws on the books to keep new names off
these walls.
nomination
4
speech
President Coolidge told us, "The nation which forgets its
7-27-20 defenders will itself be forgotten." \ We will not forget.
America \ will not forget. We will not forget those who have
died. And we will not forget those who protect and serve every
day of the year. III
In the Oval Office, many important papers and documents
S-15-89 cross my desk each day. Most of them stay there but a day or
speech two. But inside the drawer, one thing stays: a New York City
patrolman's badge -- Number 14072. It belonged to Eddie Byrne, a
rookie cop who was guarding a witness when he was gunned down on
the orders of a drug dealer in jail. Eddie's father asked me to
keep that badge as a "reminder of all the brave police officers
who put their lives on the line for us every single day.' "
Well, I've kept it. I have it with me here today, and I will
always keep it.
When society asks someone to put on a badge and place it
over their heart, we make a sacred covenant -- a covenant that
says: "We as a society stand behind those who enforce the law
against those who break the law. " That's what Eddie Byrne's
badge means to me.
This memorial gives meaning to that covenant, gives meaning
to these lives, gives meaning to the law and what it stands for.
No number of words or wreaths, no amount of music or
memorializing, will do justice here today, but we have begun the
remembrance, and begun the healing.
5
Thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.
And may God bless America's law enforcement officers.
# # #
Simon
Oct. 8, 1991
Draft 3
POLICE
PRESIDENTIAL'REMARKS: LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION
JUDICIARY SQUARE
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1991
2:00 p.m.
Thank you, Craig [Floyd]. Members of Congress. Ladies and
Gentlemen. [other acknowledgements]
This city has erected many monuments to generals and
admirals, to privates and seamen, who defended our freedom
against tyranny and oppression. We gather here today to dedicate
this memorial to uniformed heroes of another sort: those who
enforce the law and keep us secure here at home.
For too long, America's lawmen and women have been the
forgotten heroes -- forgotten until there's trouble, until we're
stranded on the road, or frantically dialing 911 at home. Today
we remember these heroes and heroines.
"Now the real healing can start," says Vivian Eney, who so
many of you know. "When the grave doesn't look new anymore, when
the grass has grown over it," she says, "This will be the place
to come, to see the names -- to touch the names."
Visitors will come here. Some will be children, perhaps
looking for a father or mother they never really knew.
Who were these people? they will ask. \ They were
policemen and policewomen, marshals and sheriffs, state troopers
and special agents. They gave their lives in the line of duty.
They were young and old, ranging from 19 to 81. They had names
2
as diverse as America itself: Donald Kowalski, Patrick O'Malley,
Freddie Lee Jackson, Tommy DeLaRosa, Jose Gonzales, Donna Miller.
They had wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and so
many young children. Most of all they had love -- love for their
profession; love for their communities; love for their families;
love that can still be felt in this special place right
here today.
They devoted themselves to the timeless values that
society shares. They valued the law. They valued peace -- the
peace of a civilized community that protects children at play,
families at home, and storekeepers at work. They valued human
life -- so much that they were prepared to give their lives to
protect it.
They gave much, and asked little. They deserve our
remembrance. Here in America's capital, for as long as these
walls stand, they will be remembered. Not for the way they died,
but for how they lived.
They didn't ask for honors, though honor them we will. We
honor them with these walls -- with these trees and grass and
quiet pool of water. But we can honor them in a more profound
way -- a more lasting way -- by strengthening the laws they swore
to uphold.
Since 1989, on a rainy spring day I know many of you
remember, I have tried to persuade Congress that our police need
help. Too many times, in too many cases, too many criminals go
free because the scales of justice are unfairly loaded against
3
dedicated lawmen and women like you. With your help, that will
change.
We need a crime bill that will the stop endless, frivolous
appeals that waste time prosecutors could be spending on new
cases. We need a crime bill with tough penalties -- such as a
10-year minimum sentence to anyone using a semi-automatic weapon
in a violent or drug-related crime -- with no plea bargains and
no parole. And we need a crime bill that warns would-be killers
out there: be prepared to pay with your own life.
I asked Congress to pass these proposals more than two years
ago. I've gotten only a piecemeal response. [This week,] the
House of Representatives is voting on my crime bill. But for
that bill to be worth anything, it must contain the crucial
elements I've cited -- elements the House Judiciary Committee has
tried to strip from the bill. Congress is only a few blocks
away. They've heard from me; they need to hear from you.
There's a war going on out there -- a war against crime. We
know that war will not end, as long as evil dwells in men's
souls. But we can work to lock up those who are too violent to
live in civilized society. We can support the law enforcement
officers who are on the front lines day after day. And we can
put new laws on the books to keep new names off these walls.
President Coolidge told us, "The nation which forgets its
defenders will itself be forgotten." We will not forget.
America will not forget. We will not forget those who have died.
4
And we will not forget those who protect and serve year
year out.
In the Oval Office, many important papers and documents
cross my desk each day. Most of them stay there but a day or
two. But inside the drawer, one thing stays: a New York City
patrolman's badge -- Number 14072. It belonged to Eddie Byrne, a
rookie cop who was guarding a witness when he was gunned down on
the orders of a drug dealer in jail. Eddie's father asked me to
keep that badge as a "reminder of all the brave police officers
who put their lives on the line for us every single day."
Well, I've kept it. I have it with me here today, and I will
always keep it.
When society asks someone to put on a badge and place it
over their heart, we make a sacred covenant a covenant that
says: "We as a society stand behind those who enforce the law
against those who break the law." That's what Eddie Byrne's
badge means to me. III
This memorial gives meaning to that covenant, gives meaning
to these lives, gives meaning to the law and what it stands for.
No number of words or wreaths, no amount of music or
memorializing, will do justice here today, but we have begun the
remembrance, and begun the healing.
Thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.
And may God bless America's law enforcement officers.
# # #
show edits
Simon
Oct. 7, 1991
Draft 2
POLICE
PRESIDENTIAL REMARKS: LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION
JUDICIARY SQUARE
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1991
2:00 p.m.
Thank you, Craig [Floyd]. Members of Congress. Ladies and
Gentlemen.
insted
This city has many monuments to generals and admirals, to
privates and seamen, who defended our freedom against tyranny and
oppression. We gather here today to dedicate this memorial to
uniformed heroes of another sort: to those who enforce the law
and keep us secure here at home.
For too long, America's lawmen and women have been the
forgotten heroes -- forgotten until there's trouble, until we're
stranded on the road, or frantically dialing 911 at home. Today
temamber these 0 heroes and heroines
we begin an act of remembrance
"Now the real healing can start," says Vivian Eney, who so
many of you know. "When the grave doesn't look new anymore, when
the grass has grown over it," she says, "This will be the place
to come, to see the names -- to touch the names."
Visitors will come here. Some will be children, perhaps
looking for a father or mother they never really knew.
Who were these people? they will ask. \ They were
policemen and policewomen, marshals and sheriffs, state troopers
and special agents. They gave their lives in the line of duty.
They were young and old, ranging from 19 to 81. They had names
2
as diverse as America itself: Donald Kowalski, Patrick O'Malley,
Freddie Lee Jackson, Tommy DeLaRosa, Jose Gonzales, Donna Miller.
They had wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and so
many young children. Most of all they had love -- love for their
profession; love for their communities; love for their families;
love that can still be felt in this special place right
here today.
devoted themselves to The
They held strong beliefs timeless values that society
shares. They valued the law. They valued peace -- the peace of
a civilized community that protects children at play, families at
home, and storekeepers at work. They valued human life -- so
much that they were prepared to give their lives to protect it.
They gave só much, and asked SO little. Now that they are
They deserve our remembrance
gone, they ask to be remembered. Here in America's capital,
along the Pathway of Remembrance, they will be remembered. Not
for the way they died, but for how they lived.
They didn't ask for honors, though we will honor them. We
honor them with these walls -- with these trees and grass and
quiet pool of water. But we can honor them in a more profound
way -- a more lasting way -- by strengthening the laws they swore
to uphold.
Since 1989, on a rainy spring day I know many of you
Commiss persuade
remember, I have tried to convince Congress that our police need
help. Too many times, in too many cases, too many criminals go
free because the scales of justice are unfairly loaded against
3
dedicated lawmen and women like you. With your help, that will
change.
We need a crime bill that will the stop endless, frivolous
appeals that waste time prosecutors could be spending on new
cases. We need a crime bill with tough penalties -- such as a
10-year minimum sentence to anyone using a semi-automatic weapon
in a violent or drug-related crime -- with no plea bargains and
no parole. And we need a crime bill that warns would-be killers
out there: be prepared to pay with your own life.
I asked Congress to pass these proposals more than two years
ago. I've gotten only a piecemeal response. [This week, ] the
House of Representatives is voting on my crime bill. But for
it must contain
that bill to be worth anything, the crucial elements I've
cited elements the HOUSE has fired the HOUSE Judiciary Committee has tried to strip from the 6.7/0
indicated must be put back in. Congress is only a féw blocks
away. They've heard from me; they need to hear from you.
There's a war going on out there -- a war against crime. We
know that war will not end, as long as evil dwells in men's
souls. But we can work to lock up those who are too violent to
live in civilized society. We can support the law enforcement
officers who are on the front lines day after day. And we can
put new laws on the books to keep new names off these walls.
President Coolidge told us, "The nation which forgets its
defenders will itself be forgotten." \ We will not forget.
America will not forget. We will not forget those who have died.
And we will not forget those who protect and serve year in and
year out.
4
In the Oval Office, many important papers and documents
each
cross that my big desk every day. Most of them stay there but a day
or two. But inside the drawer, one thing stays: a New York City
patrolman's badge -- Number 14072. It belonged to Eddie Byrne, a
rookie cop who was guarding a witness when he was gunned down on
the orders of a drug dealer in jail. Eddie's father asked me to
keep that badge as a "reminder of all the brave police officers
who put their lives on the line for us every single day."
Well, I've kept it. I have it with me here today, and I will
always keep it.
When society asks someone to put on a badge and place it
over their heart, we make a sacred covenant -- a covenant that
says: "We as a society stand behind those who enforce the law
against those who break the law." That's what Eddie Byrne's
badge means to me. III
This memorial gives meaning to that covenant, gives meaning
to these lives, gives meaning to the law and what it stands for.
No number of words or wreaths, no amount of music or
memorializing, will do justice here today, but we have begun the
remembrance, and begun the healing.
Thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.
And may God bless America's law enforcement officers.
# # #
Simon
Oct. 7, 1991
Draft 2
POLICE
PRESIDENTIAL REMARKS: LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION
JUDICIARY SQUARE
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1991
2:00 p.m.
Thank you, Craig [Floyd]. Members of Congress. Ladies and
Gentlemen.
This city has many monuments to generals and admirals, to
privates and seamen, who defended our freedom against tyranny and
oppression. We gather here today, however, to dedicate this
memorial to uniformed heroes of another sort: to those who
enforce the law and keep us secure here at home.
For too long, America's lawmen and women have been the
forgotten heroes -- forgotten until there's trouble, until we're
stranded on the road, or frantically dialing 911 at home. Today
we begin an act of remembrance and renewal
diche?
V
"Now the real healing can start," says Vivian Eney, who so
many of you know. "When the grave doesn't look new anymore, when
the grass has grown over it," she says, "This will be the place
to come, to see the names -- to touch the names."
Visitors will come here. Some will be children, perhaps
looking for a father or mother they never really knew.
Who were these people? they will ask. \ They were
policemen and policewomen, marshals and sheriffs, state troopers
and special agents. They gave their lives in the line of duty.
They were young and old, ranging from 19 to 81. They had names
as diverse as America itself: Donald Kowalski, Patrick O'Malley,
2
Freddie Lee Jackson, Tommy DeLaRosa, Jose Gonzales, Donna Miller.
They had wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and so
many young children. Most of all they had love -- love for their
profession; love for their communities; love for their families;
love that can still be felt in this special place right
here today.
What did they value? They valued the law. They valued
peace -- the kind of civilized community that protects children
at play, families at home, and storekeepers at work. They valued
Liss
human life & So much that they were prepared to give theirlown to
protect it.
And finally, what do they ask of us They ask to be
remembered. And here in America's capital, along the Pathway of
Remembrance, they will be remembered. Not for the way they died,
although they died courageously, but for how they lived.
They didn't ask for honors, though honor them we will
We
honor them with these walls -- with these trees and grass and
quiet pool of water. But we can honor them in a more profound
way -- a more lasting way -- by strengthening the laws they swore
to uphold.
Since 1989, on a rainy spring day I know many of you
remember, I have tried to convince Congress that our police need
help. Too many times, in too many cases, too many criminals go
free because the scales of justice are unfairly loaded against
dedicated lawmen and women like you. With your help, that
going to change.
3
We need a crime bill that will the stop endless, frivolous
appeals that waste time prosecutors could be spending on new
cases. We need a crime bill with tough penalties -- such as a
10-year minimum sentence to anyone using a semi-automatic weapon
in a violent or drug-related crime -- with no plea bargains and
no parole. And we need a crime bill that warns would-be killers
out there: be prepared to pay with your own life.
More than
I asked Congress to pass these proposals over two years ago.
I've gotten only a piecemeal response. [This week, ] the House of
Representatives is voting on a crime bill that must be amended to
put these crucial elements back in. Congress is only a few
blocks away. They've heard from me; they need to hear from you.
There's a war going on out there -- a war against crime. We
that
know it is a war that will not end, as long as evil lurks within
7
the human heart. But we can work to lock up those who are too
violent to live in civilized society. We can support the law
enforcement officers who are on the front lines day after day.
And we can put new laws on the books to keep new names off these
walls.
On May 15th, when the names of those who have fallen this
year are added to the wall, a blue laser will rise into the sky
-- a "thin blue line" of light that should forever shine as a
reminder of the officers who stand between society and those who
would do us harm.
President Coolidge told us, "The nation which forgets its
defenders will itself be forgotten."
We will not forget.
4
America will not forget. We will not forget those who have died.
And we will not forget those who protect and serve year in and
year out.
In the Oval Office, many important papers and documents
cross that big desk every day. Most of them stay there but a day
or two. But inside the drawer, there one thing that stays: a
New York City patrolman's badge -- Number 14072. It belonged to
Eddie Byrne, a rookie cop who was guarding a witness when he was
gunned down on the orders of a drug dealer in jail. Eddie's
father asked me to keep that badge as a "reminder of all the
brave police officers who put their lives on the line for us
every single day." Well, I've kept it. I have it with me
here today, and I will always keep it.
When society asks someone to put on a badge and place it
over their heart, we make a sacred covenant -- a covenant that
says: "We as a society stand behind those who enforce the law
against those who break the law. " That's what Eddie Byrne's
badge means to me.
This memorial gives meaning to that covenant, gives meaning
to these lives, gives meaning to the law and what it stands for.
No number of words or wreaths, no amount of music or
memorializing, will do justice here today, but we have begun the
remembrance, and begun the healing. We put away no final
memories, but instead ask for the peace which only God provides.
Thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.
And may God bless America's law enforcement officers.
Nov. 10 / Administration of George Bush, 1989
ticipate in WIC.
in increasing participation in the nation-
Vietnam? And
In joining to support this improvement in
wide WIC system.
black and whit
WIC, the Administration and the Congress
This is the kind of action we must
quarter of the
have created an opportunity to help the
pursue-obtaining better value for each
Hispanic-native
neediest segments of our population. We
dollar of Federal spending-if we are to
privileged and
will implement competitive bidding as
make progress on pressing national con-
they were Am
barrios of San
quickly and effectively as possible so that
cerns.
thousands of poor, nutritionally deficient
Houston, the
GEORGE BUSH
Americans wh
women, infants, and children may receive
The White House,
often frighten
the help they need. The Secretary of Agri-
And next, t
culture will make speedy implementation of
November 10, 1989.
what did they
this initiative a top priority. The results of
diers? And we
the many State competitive bidding experi-
Note: H.R. 24, approved November 10, was
freedom, they
ments will also be evaluated for their value
assigned Public Low No. 101-147.
they loved the
their fear, whic
tion of courag
every war, sh
Remarks at the Dedication Ceremony for the Vietnam Veterans
man, they stro
Memorial in Dallas, Texas
honor.
And then t}
November 11, 1989
these boys in
because to def
Thank you, Governor. Thank all of you,
the idea is democracy. And around the
always a valian
on this beautiful day. Governor Clements,
world, the 1990's will be the decade of de-
ders to the ]
thank you, sir. Mayor Strauss, Mayor Bolen,
mocracy.
whether scalin
Brad Wright, Mr. Russell, Judge Burkett,
Memorials like these are the very embod-
ing through
and Art Ruff and Chaplain Adickes, mem-
iment of our nation, expressing our deepest
Mekong.
bers of the foundation, but especially my
values and our character as a people, for we
And we will
fellow veterans and Texans and fellow
Americans navigate by such symbols. The
the boat peop
Americans, I am just delighted to be back
St. Louis Arch, pointing toward the West;
who fled the
here, and so is Barbara. It's a privilege to be
the Statue of Liberty, its silhouette a morn-
fighting, and C
with you and to officially dedicate a monu-
ing star of freedom; the Lincoln and Jeffer-
those Vietnam
ment that is proud and patriotic and thus
son Memorials, whose majesty proclaims the
nerable in an
quintessentially Texan: the Texas Vietnam
principles of self-government-each reflects
were spotted
Veterans Memorial.
what we are as a nation and as a people.
Midway. And
Four times in this century, the sons of
And so it is here today, for the Lone Star
many were C1
America have crossed the oceans to fight
heroes of America's longest war. For this
calling out, "H
for the freedom of others. Their blood has
memorial moves us and inspires us, and its
freedom man!'
consecrated ground in places well-known
lessons live as oral history, passed from one
why were we i
and obscure, from Argonne to Bougainville,
generation to another. This memorial is not
those boat peo]
from Omaha Beach to Inchon, from Con
merely stone and masonry, as striking as
still fleeing, an
Thien to the Mekong Delta. And because
they are; it's a tangible testament to Ameri-
erty that can €
they gave the last full measure of devotion,
ca's love for the living, and for the dead.
for society, plu
our nation is at peace. And because of
Last year nearly half of the visitors to
determination.
them, the peaceful ideals of America are
America's Vietnam memorials were boys
And finally,
now the ideals of the world.
and girls age 12 years and younger, and
how do we sal
Look to the very heart of Europe, to
these children don't necessarily remember
freedom? We
Berlin, and you will see a great truth shin-
the Southeast Asia conflict. And when they
ting that true
ing brighter with each passing day: The
wonder, what is this memorial all about?-
freedom-not
quest for freedom is stronger than steel,
we owe them an answer, an answer whose
but the triump
more permanent than concrete. Victor
honesty will be worthy of our veterans.
them through
Hugo said: "Nothing can stop an idea whose
And they will ask, first: Who were these
thanking the V
ble-Vietnam
time has come." Well, my fellow veterans,
men and women, these Lone Star heroes of
1502
Administration of George Bush, 1989 / Nov. 11
ion in the nation-
Vietnam? And we must tell them they were
munities, foundations, organizations, and
black and white, red and brown-almost a
other contributors. And we honor them by
f action we must
quarter of the names on this memorial are
giving all our vets the hope and opportuni-
Hispanic-native-born, foreign-born, the
ty that they have earned and by teaching
er value for each
privileged and the poor. But most of all,
our children what this memorial teaches us:
ding-if we are to
ssing national con-
they were Americans-Americans from the
about selflessness and sacrifice, qualities
barrios of San Antonio or the city streets of
which know no generation.
Houston, the vast expanse of west Texas;
Unlike other veterans, the brave boys
GEORGE BUSH
Americans who were young and probably
who went to Vietnam had to endure two
often frightened, so very far from home.
wars. The first was that one waged in the
And next, the kids will wonder: Well,
swamps and the jungles abroad, and the
what did they value, these brave young sol-
second was fought for respect and recogni-
diers? And we must tell them they valued
! November 10, was
tion at home. And with the passage of time,
freedom, they valued human dignity, and
101-147.
they have won the battle for the hearts of
they loved the U.S. And so, they overcame
their countrymen-and in my view, it's
their fear, which after all is the very defini-
about time. The children who come here
tion of courage. In a struggle which, like
today and will come tomorrow evidence
every war, showed man's inhumanity to
n Veterans
that victory. They must know about the
man, they strove to prove man's fidelity to
courageous people whose names illuminate
honor.
these tablets. The men who died would
And then the kids will say: Why were
want our kids to have a future they never
these boys in Vietnam? And we will say,
knew-a future without war, without fear.
because to defend democracy and liberty is
Their sacrifice helped make that possible.
And around the
always a valiant cause-in the fields of Flan-
Abraham Lincoln termed that sacrifice
e the decade of de-
ders to the rugged cliffs of Normandy,
"the last full measure of devotion." And we
whether scaling Korea's hillsides or trudg-
ing through those rice paddies of the
must never forget it. For if the Texans we
re the very embod-
honor today could speak, they might say,
ressing our deepest
Mekong.
as a people, for we
And we will tell them further the story of
"Praise us as you will, but above all, we
the boat people, gallant men and women
want to be remembered." And today we do
such symbols. The
remember the Lone Star heroes of Ameri-
; toward the West;
who fled the very brutality that we were
fighting, and of that memorable day when
ca's longest war, and through them, heroes
silhouette a morn-
Lincoln and Jeffer-
those Vietnamese refugees-alone and vul-
throughout our history-America's uni-
nerable in an overloaded, sinking boat-
formed sons and daughters who took up
ajesty proclaims the
nent-each reflects
were spotted by the aircraft carrier
arms and bore our burden for a cause larger
n and as a people.
Midway. And as the carrier approached,
than themselves.
for the Lone Star
many were crying and all were waving,
And today we remember the more than 3
calling out, "Hello, American sailor! Hello,
million Americans who served in Vietnam,
gest war. For this
freedom man!" So, when our children ask
among them, so many proud Texans. Men
inspires us, and its
why were we in Vietnam, we must point to
like Plano's Sam Johnson, a prisoner for 7
y, passed from one
his memorial is not
those boat people, regrettably some of them
years in what they called the Hanoi
nry, as striking as
still fleeing, and say, for them-for the lib-
Hilton-tortured, but never defeated-now
estament to Ameri-
erty that can ensure for individuals, choice;
a State legislator representing the people of
for society, pluralism; and for nations, self-
his district here in our great State.
and for the dead.
of the visitors to
determination.
And also this morning, we remember
And finally, our children will ask: Well,
America's wounded from the Vietnam con-
norials were boys
how do we salute the men who fought for
flict and the many brave Texans who paid a
and younger, and
essarily remember
freedom? We salute them by never forget-
heavy price. They were proud of the
ct. And when they
ting that true peace means the triumph of
United States; they make us proud today.
morial all about?-
freedom-not merely the absence of war,
And then there's another: there are our
an answer whose
but the triumph of freedom. And we salute
missing or unaccounted for, and we remem-
our veterans.
them through memorials like this and by
ber them, too. For while they may be miss-
t: Who were these
thanking the volunteers who made it possi-
ing-missing in action and from our lives—
one Star heroes of
ble-Vietnam vets, cities and towns, com-
they are not missing from our thoughts or
1503
Simon
Oct. 3, 1991
Draft 1
POLICE
PRESIDENTIAL REMARKS: LAW ENFORCEMENT MEMORIAL DEDICATION
JUDICIARY SQUARE
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1991
2:00 p.m.
Thank you, Craig [Floyd]. Members of Congress. Ladies and
Gentlemen.
Two centuries ago, in 1776, the people of this nation began
an experiment -- an experiment to see if the People themselves
could form a government based on individual liberty and the rule
of law. Many times that experiment was tested, and America sent
her sons to defend freedom against tyranny and oppression.
Today, around the world, we see that our experiment has
triumphed. Freedom and the rule of law have defeated the
dictators, and those last few hold-outs are seen as part of a
dying breed.
has many
This city is full of monuments to the generals and admirals,
the to privates and seamen, who secured de fended this our liberty freedom for us against and tyrang and
much of
oppension
now the world Today, however, we dedicate this memorial to
V
uniformed heroes of another sort: to those who enforce the law
and keep us secure here at home. Here we he cord forever the names
of The brave
For too long, America's lawmen and women have been the men and women
who save
forgotten heroes -- forgotten until there's trouble, until we're
their
stranded on the road, or frantically dialing 911 at home.
lives
Today
to preserve
we begin an act of remembrance and renewal.
law
who state
and order.
"Now the real healing can start," says Vivian Eney, who so
many of you know. "When the grave doesn't look new anymore, when
2
the grass has grown over it," she says, "This will be the place
to come, to see the names, to touch the names."
home
Visitors will come here. Many will be children, perhaps
looking for a father or mother they never really knew. And they
will have questions and we owe them answers.
Who were these people? they will ask. \ They were
policemen and policewomen, marshals and sheriffs, state troopers
They gave their lives in the line of duty.
and special agents. h They were young and old, ranging from 19 to
81. They had names as diverse as America itself: Donald
Kowalski, Patrick O'Malley, Freddie Lee Jackson, Tommy DeLaRosa,
Jose Gonzales, Donna Miller.
They had faces: faces that liked to laugh, that sometimes
cried -- though they hated for anyone to see. They had feelings
-- though they had to hide them just to get through each day.
They had wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and so many
young children. Most of all they had love -- love for what they
love for their profession communi ties; love for
did love for their families; love that can still be felt 11 in their
this special place right here today.
profession,
\\ What did they value? the children will ask. They valued
the law. Sworn to uphold it and pursue those who scorn it. They
the basic order of a civilized community, protects
at
valued peace -- the kind of peace that permits children to play,
families at home, shop keepers at business.
and homeowners to live without fear of attack or theft. They
valued human life. So much that they were prepared to give their
own to protect it.
And finally, what do they want from us? They want to be
remembered. And here in America's capital, along the Pathway of
3
Remembrance, they will be remembered. Not for the way they died,
although in every case they died courageously, but for how they
lived.
They didn't ask for honors, though honor them we will. We
honor them with these walls -- with these trees and grass and
quiet pool of water. But we can honor them in a more profound
sacrificed
way -- a more lasting way -- by strengthening the laws they swore
to uphold.
Since 1989, on a rainy spring day I know many of you
remember, I have tried to convince Congress that our police need
help. Too many times, in too many cases, too many criminals have
are still some free
gone free because the scales of justice are unfairly loaded
you and I know
against dedicated lawmen and women like you. With your help,
that going to change.
that such laxity desecrates the memory
LThat's why I an seeking to of The heroes we Zonon to day.
We need. a crime bill that will stop endless, frivolous
Knew
the
appeals that waste time prosecutors could be spending on new
tough, certain penalties: for instance,
cases. We need a crime bill that gives a 10-year minimum
sentence to anyone using a semi-automatic weapon in a violent or
drug-related crime -- with no plea bargains and no parole. We
to let
need a crime bill that allows juries to hear evidence gathered by
good cops in good faith, even if some lawyer or judge bungled a
laws
search warrant. And we need a crime bill that says to would-be
cur murderers
warn
kiplers killers out there: be prepared to pay with your own life.
I asked Congress to pass these proposals over two years ago.
I've gotten only a piecemeal response. This week, the House of
Representatives is voting on a crime bill that must be amended to
4
put these crucial elements back in. Congress is only a few
blocks away. They heard from me; they need to hear from you.
There's a war going on out there -- a war against crime.
our struggle against crime will never
And
sadly, We we know it is a war that will not end, as long as evil
forms a part of human nature.
lurks within the human heart. But we can work to lock up those
who are too violent to live in civilized society. We can support
the law enforcement officers who are on the front lines day after
day. And we can put new laws on the books to keep new names off
these walls.
On May 15th, when the names of those who have fallen this
beam from this monument
year are added to the wall, a blue laser will shoot heavenward to the shy
-- a "thin blue line" of light that should forever shine as a
reminder of the officers who stand between society and those who
would do us harm.
a real law an Forcement leader in the history
of the Presidency
President Coolidge told us, "The nation which forgets its
defenders will itself be forgotten."
We will not forget.
America will not forget. We will not forget those who have died.
And we will not forget those who protect and serve year in and
year out.
In the Oval Office, many important papers and documents
cross that big desk every day. Most of them stay there but a day
or two. But inside the drawer, there's one thing that stays: a
New York City patrolman's badge -- Number 14072. It belonged to
Eddie Byrne, a rookie cop who was guarding a witness when he was
gunned down on the orders of a drug dealer in jail. Eddie's
father asked me to keep that badge as a "reminder of all the
5
brave police officers who put their lives on the line for us
every single day." \\ Well, I've kept it. I have it with me
here today, and I will always keep it. 11
When society asks someone to put on a badge and place it
his
over their heart, we make a sacred covenant -- a covenant that
says: "We as a society stand behind those who enforce the law
against those who break the law." That's what Eddie Byrne's
badge means to me. III
This memorial gives meaning to that covenant, gives meaning
to these lives, gives meaning to the law and what it stands for.
No number of words or wreaths, no amount of music or
memorializing, will do justice here today, but we have begun the
remembrance, and begun the healing. We put away no final
memories, but instead ask for the peace which only God provides.
Thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.
And may God bless America's law enforcement officers.
# # #
A20 WEDNESDAY, MARCH 27, 1991
THE WASHINGTON POST
Officers'
Memorial
Takes Shape
1st Panels Installed
At Judiciary Square
By Linda Wheeler
Washington Post Staff Writer
Just before noon yesterday, a
crane gently lowered Lawrence
Inman into place in Judiciary
Square. With him went William Sat-
ters and Raymond M. Koerber and
Lucius J. Rice and 96 other names
of police officers, all inscribed in a
four-foot marble panel.
Theirs was the first of 128 such
panels that, when installation is
completed in October, will become
the National Law Enforcement Of-
ficers Memorial, the nation's trib-
ute to the 12,386 men and women
who have been slain in the last two
Watching Manuel Carrico guide slab are, from left, Chairman Craig Floyd, Vivian Eney, officer's widow, and Mel Radford.
centuries in the line of duty.
As she watched, Vivian Eney
memorial will line two crescent-
Floyd said later. No rank, depart-
Floyd said he and his staff spent
smiled, knowing she will see her
shaped walkways in the 400 block of
ment name or date of death will
two years searching through the
husband's name on one of the pan-
E Street NW.
appear with the names. Those
country's 15,432 police agencies to
els yet to come.
After those attending had posed
searching for a particular name will
collect the names for the memorial.
"Now the real healing process
for photographs in front of the first
use a guidebook that will identify
His group discovered that the first
can start to take place for the law
panel, which was suspended just
the panel and line where it appears.
line-of-duty death was that of U.S.
enforcement community," said
above the ground by a crane, me-
The memorial will have the
Marshal Robert Forsyth, who was
Eney, whose husband, U.S. Capitol
morial fund Chairman Craig Floyd
names of 102 officers from the Dis-
killed in Augusta. Ga., in 1794 while
Police Sgt. Chris M. Eney, was
signaled the work crew to lower it
trict, 199 from Maryland and 272
serving a warrant.
killed in a training exercise in 1984.
into place. Stone masons Manuel
from Virginia.
Included on the panels will be
"When the grave doesn't look new
Carrico and Manuel Moitalta
Floyd said the random computer
four of the youngest officers to die,
anymore, when the grass has grown
seemed to hug the cold stone as
selections were intended to avoid
all aged 19, and the oldest to die on
over it, this will be the place to
they guided it down.
problems encountered by the build-
the job, 81-year-old Dotson "Pop"
Floyd pointed to the first name
ers of the Vietnam Veterans Me-
come to see the names, to touch the
Sutton of Polaski County. Mo., who
on the $7 million memorial, which is
morial, which lists names by year of
was struck by a car in 1952.
names."
financed by private contributions.
death. That made it difficult to add
Floyd said he was particularly
Eney, president of the 4,000-
"Lawrence Inman of Tulsa, Okla-
new names of those who died re-
pleased that the httle-remembered
member Concerns of Police Sur-
homa." he said. "Officer Inman died
cently of their wartime injuries.
names of officers slam by famous
vivors, was among 20 police officers
in 1947 while pursuing a suspect at
Because all the names on the
criminals will be memorialized, in-
and supporters of the memorial who
high speed. HIS car crashed."
Law Enforcement Officers Memo-
cluding the five officer killed by
stood at the muddy construction site
Inman's name was selected by a
rial are arranged at random. either
Billy the Kid III the 18706 and the
and applauded the installation of the
computer programmed to organize
new or old names can be added
eight gunned down by Bonne and
first four panels. When finished, the
the memorial names at random,
without creating it problem, he sand.
Clyde in the 1930%
National
Law Enforcement Officers'
News
MEMORIAL FUND,Inc.
SUMMARY OF LAW ENFORCEMENT DEATHS
*
Our names research effort has documented 12,561 law enforcement officers who have
died in the line of duty from 3,303 departments. All of these names will be engraved on
the Memorial prior to dedication.
The two 304-foot long Memorial walls have the capacity to hold a total of 29,233 names.
If the current rate of deaths among law enforcement officers (153 a year) were to remain
constant, names of future officers killed could be added until the year 2100.
The first name engraved on the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial was
Lawrence Inman of the Tulsa, Oklahoma Police Department. Officer Inman was killed
in 1947 in an automobile accident while responding at high speed to an armed robbery.
The first line of duty death was Robert Forsyth, a U.S. Marshal shot and killed in 1794,
in Augusta, Georgia while serving an arrest warrant.
The states with the most deaths are: California with 1,094, New York with 943, Illinois
with 769, Texas 677, and Ohio with 573.
The states with the fewest deaths are: Vermont with 11, North Dakota with 19, Alaska
and New Hampshire both with 23 and Delaware with 25.
Of all the officers killed 59 were women. The first, Matron Mary T. Davis from the
Wilmington, Delaware Police Department, was beaten to death by an inmate on May 11,
1924.
A total of 711 Federal officers have been killed in the line of duty.
The oldest officer killed in the line of duty was Night Marshal Dotson "Pop" Sutton of
the Pulaski County, Missouri Sheriff's Department. He was 81 when he was struck by a
vehicle.
The three youngest officers killed in the line of duty were 19 years old.
Many of our nation's most notorious criminals built their legends on crime and violence.
For example, Billy the Kid was responsible for the death of six officers and Bonnie &
Clyde were responsible for the deaths of eight officers.
87% of all officers were married.
The most officers killed in any single incident occurred on November 24, 1917, when a
1360
Bev bomb exploded at the Milwaukee, Wisconsin Police Department. Nine officers were
Suite 305 killed.
McLean, VA 22101
703/827-0518 fax: 703/448-1236
STATE DEATH TOTALS
ALASKA
23
ALABAMA
319
ARKANSAS
141
ARIZONA
171
CALIFORNIA
1,094
COLORADO
175
CONNECTICUT
99
DELAWARE
25
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
101
FLORIDA
420
GEORGIA
336
HAWAII
37
IOWA
114
IDAHO
34
ILLINOIS
769
INDIANA
235
KANSAS
182
KENTUCKY
239
LOUISIANA
244
MASSACHUSETTS
212
MARYLAND
196
MAINE
65
MICHIGAN
412
MINNESOTA
171
MISSOURI
470
MISSISSIPPI
113
MONTANA
93
NORTH CAROLINA
246
NORTH DAKOTA
19
NEBRASKA
82
NEVADA
42
NEW HAMPSHIRE
23
NEW JERSEY
253
NEW MEXICO
91
NEW YORK
946
OHIO
573
OKLAHOMA
196
OREGON
132
PENNSYLVANIA
522
RHODE ISLAND
29
SOUTH CAROLINA
167
SOUTH DAKOTA
35
TENNESSEE
231
TEXAS
677
UTAH
72
VIRGINIA
270
VERMONT
11
WASHINGTON
216
WISCONSIN
161
WEST VIRGINIA
107
WYOMING
34
TERRITORIES
221
FEDERAL AGENCIES
711
TOTAL OFFICERS KILLED
12,561
MEMORANDUM
91 OCT 3 All : 50
TO:
Bob Simon, White House
FROM:
Jim Scutt and Robyn Porter, NLEOMF
RE:
Line of duty deaths
DATE:
October 3, 1991
Here is the list of deaths you requested per your discussion with
Jim:
William Martinez-Acevedo
Puerto Rico P.D.
01/03/1989
Jose Gonzales
Metro-Dade (FL) P.D.
03/28/1989
Tommy DeLaRosa
Fullerton (CA) P.D.
06/02/1990
Anthony Vendetti
NYCPD
01/21/1986
James McAllister
FBI
04/19/1986
Charlie Hanlon
Philadelphia (PA) P.D. 11/15/1985
Freddie Lee Jackson
Detroit (MI) P.D.
10/06/1986
Keith L. Williams
NYCPD
11/13/1989
If you have any questions please feel free to contact the office.
Donald Kowalski Somersworth WH 9/4/79
8/30/38
Partrick O'Malley Chicago
Dohna Miller
348 UNIVERSITIES
VETO POWER 349
government we can unite upon a program which is wise and just, en-
Valor
lightened and constructive.
LYNDON B. JOHNSON
1. Valor is self-respecting. Valor is circumspect. Valor strikes only when
it is right to strike.
Address to Congress, Nov. 27, 1963; Chicago Daily News,
WOODROW WILSON
Nov. 27, 1963
Address at a gridiron dinner, Feb. 26, 1916; Life, VI, 118
See also America 15, 16, Flag (The) 4, Goals 3, Government 4, 103,
See also Bravery
Isolationism 10, Religion 15, War 65
Vanity
Universities
1. Vanity, I am sensible, is my cardinal vice and cardinal folly; and
1. That a national university in this country is a thing to be desired,
I am in continual danger, when in company, of being led an ignis fatuus
has always been my decided opinion.
chase by it.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
JOHN ADAMS
To John Adams, Nov. 22, 1794; Writings (Fitzpatrick), XI, 1
Diary, May 3, 1756; Works, II, 16
2. I congratulate you, and Madison and Monroe, on your noble employ-
2. They say I am vain. Thank God I am so. Vanity is the cordial drop
ment in founding a university [University of Virginia]. From such a
which makes the bitter cup of life go down.
What is not vanity is
noble triumvirate, the world will expect something very great and very
sure to be vexation.
new, but if it contains anything quite original, and very excellent, I fear
JOHN ADAMS
the prejudices are too deeply rooted to suffer it to last long, though it
1822; Figures, p. 68
may be accepted at first. It will not always have three such colossal repu-
3. Upon each recurrence of my birthday I am solemnly impressed with
tations to support it.
JOHN ADAMS
the vanity & emptiness of worldly honors and worldly enjoyments, and of
the wisdom of preparing for a future estate.
To Thomas Jefferson, May 26, 1817; Writings
(of Jefferson), XV, 123
JAMES K. POLK
Nov. 1, 1848; Diary (Quaife), IV, 177
3. I have always thought the chief object of education was to awaken
Veterans
the spirit, and that-inasmuch as a literature whenever it has touched its
1. The nation which forgets its defenders will be itself forgotten.
great and higher notes was an expression of the spirit of mankind-the
CALVIN COOLIDGE
best induction into education was to feel the pulses of humanity which
Acceptance of Nomination for Presidency, Cleveland, Ohio,
had beaten from age to age through the universities of men who had
July 27, 1920
penetrated to the secrets of the human spirit.
WOODROW WILSON
See also Gettysburg, Gratitude 1, Square Deal 1, War 47
Address in Paris, France, Dec. 21, 1918; Selections, p. 178
Veto Power
4. Everyone is familiar with the assertion of President Garfield that Mark
1. The power of the Executive veto was exercised by five of my prede-
Hopkins, sitting on one end of a log with a student on the other, would
cessors
in the administration of the Government, and it is believed in
constitute a university. He did not particularize about the student, but he
no instance prejudicially to the public interests.
was careful to provide that the head of the institution was to be Doctor
JAMES K. POLK
Hopkins. Only a trained and tried educator could fill the requirements for
Fourth Annual Message to Congress, Dec. 5, 1848;
the head of a seat of learning that was to be dignified by the name of a
Messages and Papers, p. 2519
university.
2. The veto power
was established
CALVIN COOLIDGE
THE WHITE HOUSE
Office of the Press Secretary
For Immediate Release
October 30, 1989
REMARKS BY THE PRESIDENT
AT NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS' MEMORIAL GROUNDBREAKING
Judiciary Square
Washington, DC
2:17 P.M. EST
THE PRESIDENT: Thank you all very much for that -- Sarah,
Jim -- for that very warm welcome, Jim, and the kind words and for the
hard work that you and Craig Floyd here and so many others have
contributed to making this spectacular day and reality. Craig leaned
over to me and said, "This beats May 15th." (Laughter.) And some of
you may remember the event that we had, drenched in front of the
Capitol up there. And the Lord is looking down on this one with a
little more favor, I think.
I want to salute our able Attorney General, Dick
Thornburgh, that rode over here with me, doing an outstanding job.
And I might say, I'm very pleased to see his predecessor, Ed Meese
with us. He stood strong and tall for law enforcement, and I think we
still all appreciate that very, very much. (Applause.) I'm delighted
to see Chief Fulwood here and of course my friend, Al D'Amato.
Senator Pell has been detained, but there are other -- several other
members of Congress, and I'd like to ask them to stand. I see Connie
and Ben Gilman, but there may be others there, and I want to salute
them. Because we're getting -- (Applause.) -- there's Senator
Domenici back there, also. (Applause.) And, of course, I'm delighted
to see my friend Dewey Stokes and Lee Greenwood with us. And so many
other -- Phil Caruso -- so many others that are supporting all of
this. It's a pleasure to be here.
All these leaders deserve our thanks. But I really also
want to say, "Thank you, America." More than 400,000 individuals have
stepped forward to donate the funds for this memorial -- a gift from a
caring people and a grateful nation. And the sacrifices that we honor
today began on a cold winter's day in January, 1794. Robert Forsythe,
a veteran of the Revolutionary War and one of George Washington's new
federal marshals enlisted two deputies and went to serve some routine
court papers on the Allen brothers of Augusta, Georgia. But then as
now, every cop knows there's no such thing as a routine assignment.
And when the marshal found the brothers, they fled upstairs and fired
a single shot right through the door and Robert Forsythe became the
first casualty in an undeclared war that continues to this day.
law enforcement. In 1988, Chicago police officer Irma Ruiz was a
Routine assignments continue to hold special danger for
mother of four and a beloved mother figure to dozens of elementary
students in the hallways she patrolled. But when a drug-crazed gunman
teachers. attacked the school, Irma died -- protecting nearly 200 children and
Two cops, two sacrifices, two centuries apart. But both
part of one tradition -- the thin blue line that protects our nation
from the evil within. The story to be carved on these walls is the
and decency and to protect a national treasure that we call the
story of America -- of a continuing quest to preserve both democracy
American Dream.
You know the numbers -- an estimated 30,000 officers have
died defending law and order in America. And added to this are the
wounded. A toll of disability and pain that rivals those of America's
overseas wars. And each loss represents a hometown hero; a city of
bands; the bagpipe strains of Amazing Grace rising in the wind.
flags at half-mast; a somber procession of white gloves and black arm
MORE
- 2 -
And with each casualty is told the tale of a family, so
often forgotten. The brave spouses and parents and children who pay a
terrible price in loneliness and loss. And many of you are here
today. And many of you have played a critical role in bringing this
memorial to life.
The Law Enforcement Memorial ensures that what is so real
to you today will never become a statistic. Each loss has a name.
And each name has a story to tell. The polished granite walls of
America's Police Memorial will bear witness to the sacrific of
frontier lawmen like Frank Dalton of Fort Smith, Arkansas -- one of
more than a hundred deputies gunned down by outlaws in the American
West. And prohibition detectives like Harry McGinnis, killed in 1933
in a shoot-out with Bonnie and Clyde. Federal agents like Secret
Serviceman Leslie Coffelt -- mortally wounded while preventing two
terrorists from assassinating President Harry Truman. And ordinary --
extraordinary policemen like Philadelphia's Albert Valentino, shot
down last week -- just last week investigating a burglary.
For all who have lost their lives protecting the public,
this memorial will stand as a tribute to their courage and their
sacrifice. They will always be remembered here in the Oval Border of
the Pathway of remembrance. And they will always be remembered down
the street in the Oval Office, where since the day I took office, I've
kept the badge of a rookie cop martyred last year in New York.
This memorial is also a tribute to the living -- to the
partners and the teammates of the fallen -- to their families and to
all of you who are foot soldiers in the battle against lawlessness.
In an age of indifference, you took a stand. You made a
choice. You made your lives count for something and your service
matters -- not only because it saves lives and families and
neighborhoods; it matters because it is the right thing to do.
And on May 13th, many of you -- I said 15th, maybe it was
the 13th -- you gathered here in this same square to hold a
candlelight vigil for your fellow officers. The night sky was pierced
by one of the most appropriate and imaginative memorials ever brought
to Washington -- a single crystal blue beam of light -- a laser --
representing the thin blue line.
I'm right -- two days later on the 15th, a dismal, drizzly
Washington afternoon, I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with many of you up
there on Capitol Hill, armed with new proposals to help protect the
pure blue light of law enforcement. And we invited Congress to join
us in a new partnership with America's cities and states -- a new
national strategy to take back the streets by taking crimals off the
streets. (Applause.)
The states need to do their part as well. We need
mandatory prison terms for those using firearms for crime and an end
to plea bargaining for violent firearms offenders. (Applause.)
And for cop killers, for those who commit the ultimate
crime, I feel strongly that they should pay the ultimate price.
(Applause.) Congress has had our crime package since May. It is time
to act, because these improvements are a vital part of our National
Drug Strategy. And because, before any more names are added to that
wall, the protection you deserve should be added to the books. And so
it is with that hope and with great personal pride in America's
police, and in all who have contributed to this historic effort, that
I will now join in the ground-breaking for the National Law
Enforcement Officers Memorial.
Thank you for coming. And thank you all, and God bless
you. And especially, God bless those we honor here today. Thank you
all very, very much. (Applause.)
END
2:28 P.M. EST
Administration of George Bush, 1989 / May 15
y to discuss
each of them.
throughout the year. These dedicated indi-
the relief of
I encourage all Americans to join me in
viduals who uphold the law and protect our
bachev. We
expressing our heartfelt respect and grati-
lives and property deserve our constant
è going to do
tude to the Nation's law enforcement offi-
support.
dent fashion,
cers, not only during Police Week and
world fore-
Police Officers' Memorial Day, but also
GEORGE BUSH
:d we are the
and we have
e're going to
Remarks at the National Peace Officers' Memorial Day Ceremony
But I would
nly about the
May 15, 1989
im optimistic
king place in
Thank you, Suzy. If it doesn't start clear-
We gather today to respond to those
do my level
ing up, we're issuing snorkels to everybody
voices and to honor the fallen by launching
Congressmen
out there. [Laughter] Thank you, Suzy
a national strategy, a partnership with
ator that is
Sawyer, and of course, to Dewey Stokes and
America's cities and States, to take back the
ites standing
Craig Floyd, my respects as well. You have
streets. It calls for a return to common
in the world
great leadership, and I salute them. I want
sense. And it begins with a clear-eyed vision
Id peace, that
to say how pleased I am that the Secretary
of the kind of problems we face, the kind of
the pursuit of
of the Treasury is with me, Nick Brady; our
people we are, the kind of values that we
Attorney General, the able Dick Thorn-
hold, and the kind of nation we intend to
Thank you
burgh; and our drug czar, Secretary Bill
bequeath to our children.
apport of this
Bennett. The fact that we four are here is
The problem is violent crime, and in par-
lighted to be
intentional. It sends the signal of our com-
ticular, the blood that's been shed by in-
God bless the
mitment and of our interest. And I know
creasingly sophisticated guns in the hands
unk you very,
Members of Congress are here as well. I
of a new class of criminals. Usually, but not
spotted my own Senator, Senator Phil
always, the deaths are tied to a cycle of
Gramm of Texas, and Senator Pete Wilson.
dollars and drugs and dependency. The
9:25 p.m. in
But I'm going to be in trouble because I
principles are simple. My generation well
nd Farm. Fol-
can't see over there-who else is there. But
remembers what some believe was FDR's
dent returned
I know many are sitting right over here,
finest speech: the "Four Freedoms," an ad-
and we salute them. I see Senator Ford and
dress to a joint session of the Congress. And
others, and we're just delighted that they
the last, often forgotten, but arguably the
are here today.
most fundamental of those freedoms was
Last fall a retired New York police lieu-
simply this: freedom from fear. Our sworn
ficers'
tenant gave me badge number 14072, and I
duty to "insure domestic Tranquility" is as
have it with me today-the badge his son
old as the Republic, placed in the Constitu-
wore the day he was gunned down by a
tion's preamble even before the common
gang of cocaine cowards. Matt Byrne asked
defense and the general welfare. And so,
me to keep Eddie's badge as a "reminder of
when we ask what kind of society the
ay poignantly
all the brave police officers who put their
American people deserve, our goal must be
ment officials
lives on the line for us every single day."
a nation in which law-abiding citizens are
of the year.
Matt, your son's badge, as I have told you, is
safe and feel safe.
accident on a
kept in my desk at the Oval Office. And
To achieve this goal, people must be held
vay, or arrest-
during the debate on gun-related violence
accountable for their actions, and that's
er-city, police
that has raged in this country the past sev-
common sense. Most Americans are law-
e risk of their
eral months, neither it nor what it repre-
abiding, and most believe that there is such
se who have
sents has ever been far from my mind. I've
a thing as right and wrong, good and evil.
ey have paid
heard the many voices, the courageous and
And whether it's the brutalization of a
or our safety,
the compassionate, the wounded and the
young runner in a park or terrorizing a
small repay-
widowed, and I salute the survivors that are
young man onto a crowded highway, these
ot we owe to
here today.
are acts that cannot be excused or ex-
panel
E
line
3
557
Mar. 9 / Administration of George Bush, 1989
most importantly, each of these cases in-
Mary Jane Hatcher spoke with eloquence
this figh
volved sophisticated, long-term investiga-
last week about the responsibility main-
must st
tions. And several were among the first
stream America and so-called casual cocaine
we're h
cases in the entire country to make use of
users must bear for the death of her hus-
from the
the new drug kingpin statutes. Nearly all
band. Well, $1.1 billion of our request will
gress to
involved task force cooperation and the pio-
go for prevention and education, to let the
stand wl
neering use of forfeiture laws, in some cases
casual users know the risk they take and the
on the S
to spectacular effect. The forfeitures from
price they may have to pay and to tell our
And
the Torres brothers, I'm told, may ultimate-
children that drugs are wrong.
Staten I
ly total $30 to $50 million.
While there may not be light at the end
dy whic
And just as the death penalty for cop kill-
of the tunnel, there does seem to be some
that you
ers helps even the odds, stripping the
light coming in under the door. At the
cowards
enemy of their ill-gotten gains turns the
Apollo Theatre in Harlem one Wednesday
should I
tables in a dramatic and highly effective
last month, the amateur night performances
there. ]
way. Perhaps you heard Woody Allen's wry
were interrupted by spontaneous antidrug
year-old
observation: "Organized crime in America
messages from the stage and then support-
takes in over $40 billion a year and spends
ive chants from the crowd. And things like
very little on office supplies." Philosopher,
this don't happen because of government
that he is.
programs: They happen because attitudes
Rema
Experts have estimated that today drugs
are beginning to change, and they are
alone count for $110 billion-an industry
New
changing because the American people are
right here in our own country. We're hurt-
behind your efforts all the way.
March
ing the drug kingpins where they live when
we take their money, and we're going to
Attitudes are beginning to change over-
seas as well. Your boss, the Attorney Gener-
Than
get even better at taking it. We've got to
be. Ladies and gentlemen, we do intend to
al [Richard L. Thornburgh], returns today
duction
prevail. The scourge will end. I will lead
from meetings with officials in Colombia,
with y
the fight. Bill Bennett, our nation's first
Bolivia, and Peru. And Bill and I will meet
celery,
drug czar-tenacious, unafraid-is going to
with him as soon as he gets back. I think
we've {
be right there at my side.
we're having lunch tomorrow at the White
[laught
And although we meet on a crucial bat-
House to be briefed on this trip. And I
our dog
tlefield of this war, you might say, it is a
know that some of you have also served or
I war
war that is being waged on many fronts.
will serve your own tours in South America,
tions to
Last month I spoke to Congress about four
a tribute to our increased cooperation
Paul Si
areas: rehabilitation, education, interdiction,
there.
And I
and enforcement. And in a time of budget
When I first became Vice President 8
gives S
constraints-and regrettably, we are living
years ago, several South American Presi-
Negro
in such a time-I asked for an increase of
dents told me: "It's your problem. You're
Chris I
$1 billion in budget outlays to fund these
the consumer. If it weren't for the rich
know,
new efforts. And for you in Federal law
gringos to the north, we wouldn't have the
simply,
enforcement, our proposal budgets a record
problem." But now they see that the nar-
see my
$4.1 billion, fully 70 percent of the total. By
cotics have affected their own kids, their
with us
1995, we also intend to reduce present
own society. Look at Colombia, where the
You
prison overcrowding by 50 percent.
Supreme Court Justices were mowed down
with t]
And beyond enforcement, other monies
like tenpins.
Univer
will go to expanded treatment for the inno-
Obviously, the race is far from won. But
to Nev
cent and the poor, like the over 5,000
there is power in us yet. And we in Wash-
idealist
babies born in New York last year already
ington will continue to understand, to
educat
addicted to drugs. Other new funds will go
learn-but certainly to support your work
today,
to cut the waiting time for the treatment
here. The Adamita trial, the Johnny Kon
Air Fc
programs, perhaps along the lines of the
and Brooks Davis cases, the new seizure
nostalg
innovative oral methadone program at New
program in which whole apartment build-
tomori
York's Beth Israel Hospital, designed to get
ings are wrested back from the crack lords
with tl
the addicts off the needles as well as heroin.
who control them-they're all important to
the lin
200
May 15 / Administration of George Bush, 1989
plained away. A commonsense approach to
out there. And the overwhelming majority
consideration, we
crime means that if we're going to affect
are legitimately owned, for legitimate pur-
imports that do
people's behavior we must have a criminal
poses. But in contrast to legitimate gun
standards.
justice system in which there is an expecta-
ownership is the chilling fact that some-
Recently the
tion that if you commit a crime you will be
thing like 80 percent of all firearms used by
guns summed u]
caught; and if caught, you will be prosecut-
felons are stolen or otherwise unlawfully ob-
difficulty in draf
ed; and if convicted, you will do time. For
tained. Throughout our nation's history, the
assault weapons
far too long, a privileged class of violent and
hard lesson we've learned is that criminals
automatics frequ
repeat offenders have calculated that crime
will get guns. And so, let me be very clear
hunting and spoi
really does pay, that our criminal justice
about our response: The right to own a gun
controversy ano
system is a crapshoot where the risks are
is not a license to harm others.
You're all well a
worth the rewards. Well, it's time we
And so, first I am calling on Congress
that we do knov
change the odds and up the stakes enor-
today to do for dangerous firearms what it
ons is that the
mously.
has wisely done for dangerous drugs: to
with unjustifiabl
And we will lead the way. We'll do our
double the mandatory minimum penalties
torious AKS-47,
part and then some. But no Federal effort
for the use of semiautomatic weapons in
magazine that F
can succeed without the full partnership of
crimes involving violence or drugs. And the
lets without rel
the cities and the States that you so nobly
math is simple. Anyone who uses a semi-
fifth-we stand
represent. Unfortunately, nowhere is your
automatic for crime, or so much as has one
the Capitol and
front-line role more evident than in the
on them during a crime, will do an auto-
tion prohibiting
honor roll that will be read today: of 161
matic 10 extra years in Federal prison-no
ture, sale, or tra
officers killed in the line of duty last year,
probation, no parole, no matter which
magazines of mc
152 were State or local cops. And you are
the first line of defense, and your respective
judge they get.
The current
when an unstabl
governments have an obligation to adopt
And secondly, we just can't plea-bargain
tough legislation and provide the re-
away the lives of your loved ones, the lives
fornia, purchas
counter and use
sources-in police, prosecutors, and pris-
of our cops and kids. And I'm directing the
mentary school
ons-to fully back you up.
Attorney General to advise America's pros-
At the trial of Eddie Byrne's executioners,
ecutors to end plea bargaining for violent
Purdy had no b
was arrested OI
there was testimony that the hit was or-
Federal firearms offenses. Those who use
before his 15th
dered from prison to send a message to the
guns will do time-hard time.
firearms arrest,
people behind the badge. And one witness
And third, when a criminal carries a gun
and with it chall
said that they hoped to see the attack on
and someone dies, they must pay with their
convictions. Alt]
the television news at Riker's Island. Well,
own lives. We are calling on Congress today
ons offenses, bc
today we have a message of our own: We're
to enact the steps necessary to implement
meanors. Purdy
going to take back the streets by taking
the death penalty and to newly designate
hole that bars 0
criminals off the streets. And it is an attack
the use of a firearm as an aggravating factor
and got that de
on all four fronts: new laws to punish them,
for determining whether the death sen-
geous.
new agents to arrest them, new prosecutors
tence should be imposed.
And therefor
to convict them, and new prisons to hold
And I call on America's Governors to
gress close this
them.
match this Federal initiative and propose
like it that allov
I am announcing today-and there is no
these same three standards at home: man-
deadly hands.
more fitting place than right here-a com-
datory time, no deals without cooperation,
common sense.
prehensive new offensive for combating
and the death penalty where appropriate.
weapons to fall
violent crime-for Eddie Byrne, for every
Your States owe it to those here today, and
But we need
officer we honor here today, and for Amer-
to the American people.
new laws. And
ica. The first front of this campaign, new
And fourth, 2 months ago, at my direc-
L.A. gang wars,
laws, starts with the semiautomatic and so-
tion, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and
ment to a cop
called assault weapons that criminals have
Firearms suspended the importation of cer-
get them off t
taken as their gun of choice. And again,
tain so-called assault weapons. ATF is con-
"Lady, we're tr
common sense has to play an important
tinuing its examination to determine which,
a four-word
part in this discussion. The fact of the
if any, of those weapons are not acceptable
help." And be
matter is, nearly half the households in this
under standards in existing law. And at the
police need mc
country have guns, and guns are already
conclusion of this study, and after careful
to tell you tha
558
Administration of George Bush, 1989 / May 15
-Iming majority
consideration, we will permanently ban any
rhetoric with resources and call on our
legitimate pur-
imports that don't measure up to these
cities and States to do the same.
legitimate gun
standards.
The second front, if you will, of our new
act that some-
Recently the U.S. News cover story on
offensive calls for increased manpower and
rearms used by
guns summed up a related challenge: "the
a new strategy on guns, a strategy based on
unlawfully ob-
difficulty in drafting laws that will separate
models of proven effectiveness. I have di-
n's history, the
assault weapons used in crime from semi-
rected the Attorney General and the Treas-
that criminals
automatics frequently used for legitimate
ury Secretary, working together with State
e be very clear
hunting and sport." And there is substantial
and local enforcement, to launch a compre-
it to own a gun
controversy and debate on this point.
hensive, coordinated offensive against our
'S.
You're all well aware of that. But one thing
nation's most violent criminals. And I am
g on Congress
that we do know about these assault weap-
requesting funding for hiring 825 new Fed-
irearms what it
ons is that they are invariably equipped
eral agents and staff-375 at ATF, 300 at
rous drugs: to
with unjustifiably large magazines. The no-
the FBI, and 150 Deputy U.S. Marshals.
mum penalties
torious AKS-47, for example, comes with a
Many of these hirings will permit experi-
ic weapons in
magazine that pumps off 30 explosive bul-
enced investigators from all three agencies
drugs. And the
lets without reloading. And that is why-
to promptly combat violent crime in the
0 uses a semi-
fifth-we stand on the steps here in front of
field.
uch as has one
the Capitol and ask its support for legisla-
ill do an auto-
tion prohibiting the importation, manufac-
Of course, arresting these thugs doesn't
eral prison-no
ture, sale, or transfer of these insidious gun
help if we don't have the muscle to pros-
ecute each criminal to the fullest extent of
matter which
magazines of more than 15 rounds.
The current debate was first sparked
the law. And that's why the third front of
when an unstable gunman in Stockton, Cali-
this campaign calls for Congress to back up
it plea-bargain
ones, the lives
fornia, purchased an AKS-47 over the
these new troops with 1,600 new prosecu-
n directing the
counter and used it to lay waste to an ele-
tors and staff. And now, there probably isn't
America's pros-
mentary school playground. Patrick Edward
a police officer here who hasn't seen a case
ing for violent
Purdy had no business buying that gun. He
where a dangerous felon-properly arrest-
was arrested on his first weapons charge
ed, fully prosecuted, and sentenced to the
Those who use
before his 15th birthday. And by his fourth
maximum-walked out of jail early, some-
il carries a gun
firearms arrest, Purdy had finally turned 18,
times years early, because prisons are burst-
and with it chalked up the first of two adult
ing at the seams. That is not right.
pay with their
convictions. Although for violent and weap-
Part of our commonsense approach is a
Congress today
ons offenses, both convictions were misde-
simple recognition that it doesn't do any
to implement
meanors. Purdy crawled through the loop-
good to provide new Federal agents, new
ewly designate
hole that bars only felons from buying guns
assistant U.S. Attorneys, and new laws with
gravating factor
and got that deadly AKS-47. That is outra-
long-term penalties if we don't have the
he death sen-
geous.
prison cells to keep criminals where they
And therefore, we also propose that Con-
belong. A chain is only as strong as its weak-
Governors to
gress close this Purdy loophole and others
est link. And so, as the fourth front in this
and propose
like it that allow deadly weapons to fall into
comprehensive effort, I am calling on the
at home: man-
deadly hands. Again, that's just plain
Congress to authorize an additional $1 bil-
it cooperation,
common sense. We must not allow deadly
lion, over and above the $500 million al-
e appropriate.
weapons to fall into deadly hands.
ready slated for 1990, for Federal prison
ere today, and
But we need to do more than just enact
construction. These 24,000 new beds will
new laws. And in a recent movie about the
boost Federal prison capacity by nearly 80
at my direc-
L.A. gang wars, a woman shouts encourage-
percent.
Tobacco and
ment to a cop on patrol, telling him: "You
Not since Lincoln has a President stood in
ortation of cer-
get them off the street." And he answers:
front of the Capitol and been just a few
is. ATF is con-
"Lady, we're trying." And the woman offers
miles from the front lines of a. war. Never
termine which,
a four-word solution: "You need more
was the toll more visible than in the faces of
not acceptable
help." And believe me, we know it. Our
the brave men and women, the families,
aw. And at the
police need more help. And I'm here today
gathered here today. And when I first stood
d after careful
to tell you that we're prepared to match
here as President, over there, only mo-
559
NATIONAL LAW ENOREMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
1991
100
II
,
=
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON
December 7, 1989
Dear Mr. Floyd:
I was pleased to join you and your colleagues
for the groundbreaking ceremony of the National
Law Enforcement Officers Memorial. This is a
wonderful tribute from a caring and grateful
nation to the brave officers of the thin blue
line who make the supreme sacrifice defending
law and order. The groundbreaking shovel is
a fine memento of the event.
I was proud also to salute the contributions of
the dedicated men and women who continue to
make our country a safer place to live. Thank
you all very much.
With my best wishes,
Sincerely,
ay Bush
Mr. Craig Floyd
Chairman
National Law Enforcement
Officers Memorial Fund
Suite 305
Send contributions to, or request information from
1360 Beverly Road
NLEOMF, 1360 Beverly Road, Suite 305, McLean, VA 22101
McLean, Virginia 22101
SATIONAL '' ENFORE
MEMORIAL
"
IN
Washington, D.C. - October 30, 1989. President George Bush breaks ground on the National Law Enforcement Officers
Memorial. Joining the President were (from left to right): Memorial Chairman Craig W. Floyd, Police Officer of The Year
Gregory Jaglowski and U.S. Attorney General Dick Thornburgh.
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
JANUARY 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
New Year's Day
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
Martin Luther
15
16
King's Birthday
17
18
19
20
Martin Luther
21
22
23
King's Birthday
24
25
26
(Observed)
27
28
29
30
31
Hammond, Indiana Police Officer Donald
B. Cook was shot and killed on January 13,
1947, after serving only seven days on the
job. His partner, John J. Gerka, Jr., a 15-
month veteran of the department, was also
killed in the same incident.
MAR
...
11 HI
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
FEBRUARY 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
William H. Bonney, also known as "Billy the Kid," built his legend on crime and
1
Groundhog Day
2
violence. He was responsible for killing five law enforcement officers between
1878 and 1881. The names of those New Mexico lawmen-all of whom will be
listed on the Memorial -were Sheriff William Brady and Deputies James W. Bell,
James Carlysle, Robert Olinger and George Hindman.
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Lincoln's Birthday
12
Ash Wednesday
13
Valentine's Day
14
15
16
17
President's Day
18
19
20
21
Washington's
22
23
Birthday
Washington's
Birthday (Observed)
24
25
26
27
Purim
28
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
MARCH 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
New Salem, North Dakota Police Chief
1
2
Ed Mumby was shot and killed on July
11, 1953, by a man who refused to pay
a one-cent sales tax for a soda he
bought.
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
St. Patrick's Day 17
18
19
First Day of Spring 20
21
22
23
Palm Sunday 24/31
25
26
27
28
Good Friday
29
First Day of
30
Passover
Easter Sunday
BIG STEM
918
STEM
TEXTO
OF
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
APRIL 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
National Victim
21
22
23
24
Rights Week
25
26
27
28
29
30
San Francisco Police Officer George Campbell was shot
and killed during a bank robbery on April 9, 1925. After
being shot, Officer Campbell was still able to subdue the
suspect and handcuff his assailant to his own wrist
before he died. The assailant was convicted of murder
and sentenced to death.
use --- --- ини B.
THE
"III"
HAVE
HEERED
GRAND
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
MAY 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
Jacksonville, Florida Officer Ray Shinholser was killed on
1
2
3
4
December 14, 1988, when his police motorcycle collided
with a pickup truck while on patrol. Only one day earlier,
Officer Shinholser had recorded a song titled, "Momma,
When's Daddy Coming Home?" to help raise money for
the Memorial Fund.
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Mother's Day
12
13
14
Peace Officers'
15
16
17
Armed Forces Day
18
Memorial Day
National Police Week
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Memorial Day
27
28
29
30
31
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
JUNE 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
Seven New York State correctional officers died as a result of injuries sustained
1
at the Attica Correctional Facility riot on September 13, 1971. They were John
D'Archangelo, Jr., Richard J. Lewis, Sgt. Edward T. Cunningham, William E.
Zuinn, Carl W. Valone, Ronald Werner, and Harrison Whalen. These and
other correctional officers will be honored by the Memorial.
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
Flag Day
14
15
Father's Day
16
17
18
19
20
First Day of
21
22
Summer
²³/₃₀
24
25
26
27
28
29
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
JULY 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
1
2
3
Independence Day
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Two little girls, Laura and Heather Phillips, held a garage
sale of their old toys to raise money for the Memorial.
Their father, West Virginia Trooper William H. Phillips,
was killed in the line of duty on July 30, 1987.
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
AUGUST 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
U.S. Marshal Samuel Enoch Vaughn was shot
1
2
3
and killed by a prisoner he was transporting to
the federal penitentiary on August 8, 1953.
Marshal Vaughn was the father of 13 children.
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
SEPTEMBER 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
1
Labor Day
2
3
4
5
6
7
Grandparent's Day
8
Rosh Hashana
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Citizenship Day
17
Yom Kippur
18
19
20
21
22
First Day of
23
24
25
Autumn
26
27
28
29
30
Walter A. Schroeder was shot and killed during a bank
robbery on September 24, 1970. Three years later
Walter's brother, John D. Schroeder, was shot and killed
during another robbery attempt. Both were members of
the Boston Police Department.
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
OCTOBER 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
Columbus Day
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Halloween
31
Julie Y. Cross became the first female
Secret Service Agent casualty when
she was shot and killed during a
stakeout at Los Angeles International
Airport on October 4, 1979.
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
NOVEMBER 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
The first law enforcement officer to die in the line of duty in South Carolina
1
2
was Greenville County Sheriff Robert Maxwell, who was shot in an ambush
on November 12, 1794 as he crossed the Saluda River. Maxwell was a
general in the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War and is
believed to have been killed by British loyalists.
3
4
Election Day
5
6
7
8
9
10
Veterans Day
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Thanksgiving Day 28
29
30
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
DECEMBER 1991
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
1
First Day of Chanukah
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
First Day of Winter 21
22
23
24
Christmas Day
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Osceloa County, Michigan Sheriff Fay E. Wooster and
his wife, Undersheriff Sophia Wooster were killed in
an automobile accident on December 22, 1952, after
delivering prisoners to the state prison. They left behind
two children.
Site of the
National Law
Enforcement
Officers
Memorial
The National Law Enforcement Officers
Memorial will honor men and women in law
enforcement who die in the line of duty and
will recognize the service and sacrifice of those
who serve.
The three acre site of the Memorial will be a
special place of honor for all law enforcement
officers. It will be a setting where family and
friends can locate the name of a fallen loved
one - and know the nation cares. It will be a
place that will make law enforcement officers
feel proud to serve.
THE NATIONAL LAW
ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS
MEMORIAL
PATHWAY OF
REMEMBRANCE
Designed especially to invite reflection and
contemplation, the Memorial's Pathway of
Remembrance will form an oval-shaped
border for the Memorial space. Polished
granite walls bearing the names of slain law
enforcement officers will edge the tree-lined
Pathway, where visitors may seek out the
names of loved ones and quietly pay tribute to
America's heroic law enforcement officers.
In the belief that each loss of one law enforce-
ment officer is a tragedy equal to all others,
regardless of date, location, or circumstances,
Memorial Fund leaders have mandated that
the officers' names will not be grouped
chronologically, alphabetically, or geographi-
The Memorial walls will bear the names of all
As a Memorial Fund supporter, when you visit
cally. Rather, they will appear in a random
law enforcement officers who have died in the
the finished Memorial, you will experience a
order, with alphabetical directories nearby so
line of duty throughout America's history.
special pride in helping to create this long-
that visitors can easily locate the names of
Systematic Federal recordkeeping began in
overdue tribute to our nation's law enforce-
individual officers.
1961; for police deaths after that date, the
ment community. Spend a quiet moment
U.S. Department of Justice provides accurate
under shady trees, appreciating the sacrifices
This system of ordering the names will allow
information. But to find the facts on officer
of those who did not hesitate to give up their
new names to be added in the future without
deaths before 1961, the Memorial Fund has
lives for the rest of us.
disrupting the Memorial's design. But, most
launched a research effort to identify, verify,
importantly, it emphasizes the Fund's feeling
and compile the names of fallen officers,
From its dignified yet moving Pathway of
that a little-known officer's death 100 years
reaching out to law enforcement leaders
Remembrance to its proud, life-like statues,
ago is just as important to America as the
across America.
the Memorial will be a place for recognition,
highly publicized death of a narcotics agent
for healing, for reflection a place for saying
within the last few months.
"thank you". Thank you for helping to build
the National Law Enforcement Officers Me-
morial, a place of honor for all of America.
NATIONAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS MEMORIAL FUND
"Eagle Of The Law"
"Row On Row"
We return to the beat and hope it's all right
I'd stop drug abuse 'cause there's no excuse
But we know we'll be back for the very next
In their everyday of work
For the lives its shattered and maimed.
Only their names lie row on row
fight
They wear a uniform of blue.
There'd be no more kidnapped children
For they are scattered to and fro.
While guarding streets or airports
No parents crying in the rain.
A stop light runner and a simple chase
Protecting me and you.
Some lie under the tall pines of Maine,
But we never know what we may face
The strife of daily living
Lord help the children those abused
Others under the Texas plain.
Another bad drunk? A kid on a high?
And those involved in crime;
And misused.
Or something much worse to give us a try?
Cause these men and women
May they be protected I pray
Some lie under the Alaskan turf
We can't take it easy, we can't take a chance
To be watchful, helpful and kind.
And may all the tears and the pain and the
Others near the Florida surf.
Always a new tune, always a new dance
They act as an eagle of the law,
scars go away.
With strength and depth of eye,
Some lie near the Golden Gate Bridge
There's racial tensions and rights to uphold
Whose instant form of judgement
And Lord help the man who takes a gun in his
Others rest on a Smokey Mountain ridge.
We have to show patience but yet appear bold
May cause them to live or die.
hand,
It's easier to say that "all must be fair"
Happy people never call them
And thinks that the whole world should pay.
Some lie under the Kansas sod,
When you're not on the street, when you're not
Troubles only come their way.
Then call for a cop 'cause the law
All being the children of God.
the one there
We respect and thank them.
Has to stop him someway.
Those feelings of pressure we must put aside
To God for their safety, we pray.
And if after answering a call of strife,
With our actions up front and keeping our pride
I'd give my life to make everything right
one of us should lose our life,
By Ann Wagner Soehrmann, Crystal Lake, IL
In this world of sorrow and pain.
It's harder on family than it is on me
I'd stand in the fight for each battered wife
Go ahead and bury us to and fro
Their imagined worst fears are all that they see
"Lawman"
You can name.
Then add our names to the row on row.
I'm on the job and handling it well
But they're safe at home imagining hell
A Lawman has a way of Life,
I'd stop drug abuse 'cause there's no excuse
Lieutenant Frank L. Pendleton
When the telephone rings and it's late at night
Few people understand.
For the lives it's shattered and maimed.
Salem (VA) Police Department
They wake in a sweat with a terrible fright
They use him when there's trouble and strife,
There'd be no more kidnapped children
But their awful thoughts I must leave at the
Abuse him when they can.
No parents crying in the rain.
station
"I'm A Policeman"
'Cause they might dull my senses and force
He can't walk on water - though he's tried.
Yes I am a Lawman, but even my best
hesitation
Sometimes he plays the martyr for their
Just doesn't stop all the pain.
I'm a policeman, Oh why? you may ask
pride.
There's still all those people standing
It's not that the pay is well worth the task
So why do I do it? Where is the joy?
And holding back the tears he's never cried,
Over those graves in the rain.
It's something deep down, it's something inside
There's people who smile, a found little boy
His closest friend he carries at his side,
It's not just a job where you're there for the ride
There's laughter and friendship with people who
I might be a dreamer but someday I'm hoping
The dangers we face, we know they're for real
care
Sometimes I think about just what it takes
All will be happy and then
But it's not just a job, it's something you feel
There's knowing a difference just 'cause we're
In this world to be a good man.
There'll be no more need for a breed
there
And there's times when life gives and takes
They call the Lawman.
We're out on the beat, it's late at night
There's sunshine and sadness and having the
All the hate I can stand.
This is the time when families fight
nerve
I'd give my life to make everything right
Shouting and cursing, then comes a hit
To get up each morning and say that "I serve".
But I've asked myself so many times
In this world of sorrow and pain.
A loud screaming child, a mad raging fit
Over and over again.
I'd stand in the fight for each battered wife
We come on the scene there's not a set play
John T. Sutton, March 1988
What more can I give when I'm giving
You can name.
We have to assess with our fears pushed away
Dallas, Texas
The best that I can?
I'd stop drug abuse 'cause there's no excuse
There's darting eyes and another door
I'd give my life to make everything right
For the lives it's shattered and maimed.
Can we see all the people or are there more?
In the world of sorrow and pain.
There'd be no more kidnapped children,
A bang and a crash come from the back
I'd stand in the fight for each battered wife
No Parents crying in the rain.
Is someone else there to take a crack?
You can name.
We take control but it's never easy
By Officer John R. Ledkins, Layton City
The mess and the people can make you feel
(UT) P.D.
queazy
1991
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FEBRUARY
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1360 Beverly Road, Suite 305 - McLean, VA 22101
@ 1000 National I ow Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund Inc
IN THE LINE
OF DUTY
PATROLMAN
SH
POLICE
88
The Service and Sacrifice of
America's Finest
Constance Clark
IN THE LINE
OF DUTY:
The Service and Sacrifice
of America's Finest
by Constance Clark
with a Foreword by
Craig W. Floyd, Chairman
The National Law Enforcement Officers
Memorial Fund
POTOMAC PUBLISHING
1989
Cover photo courtesy of
Weinbrenner Shoe Company, Inc.
ЗИ THE
TUCKO
Copyright © 1989 by Constance Clark.
"Of Weeping Adults, Who Wear Badges"-Reprinted
by permission from Tribune Media Services
Reproduction of any part of this book in any form is
forbidden without the express written consent of the
National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to thank all the survivors who so generously
shared their stories for this book. Thanks to every one
of you for granting me the privilege of writing about
the loved ones you have lost and the lives you are
now leading.
I am grateful as well to Officer Dewey Stokes,
National President, Fraternal Order of Police, and to
James W. Scutt, Director, Legislative Affairs, National
Sheriffs' Association, who provided much valuable
insight into the life of a law enforcement officer. And,
for their extraordinary inspiration and assistance, I
thank Special Agent James Horn of the FBI Acad-
emy's Behavioral Science Services Unit, and Detective
Richard Pastorella, New York Police Department,
founder of the Police Self-Support Group.
Thanks are due as well to Kelley Lang of the National
Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund, Linda Alli-
son of Potomac Publishing, and Sharon Barnes for
their indispensable research and editorial assistance.
Last but far from least, this book could not have been
created without the vision and guidance of Craig W.
Floyd of the National Law Enforcement Officers Memo-
rial Fund and Robert Allen of Potomac Publishing.
-Constance Clark
September 1989
Alexandria, Virginia
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to all the officers who have
risked or lost their lives for the protection of others.
Because you care, we care.
FOREWORD
On May 15, 1989, a crowd gathered on the grounds
of the United States Capitol. They had been invited by
the Fraternal Order of Police Ladies Auxiliary
(FOPLA) for the 8th Annual Peace Officers Memorial
Day Service.
Bagpipers played and people spoke. President
George Bush came and gave a speech about drugs and
crime in America. As he left, a choir sang. A steady
spring rain drizzled down, soaking the thousands of
people who had come to pay tribute.
Then the ceremony really began.
One by one, the names were called out, by FOPLA
President Suzie Sawyer, names of law enforcement offi-
cers who died in the line of duty in 1988. And as each
name was read, a widow, or a mother, or a child, or a
whole family would step forward and place a flower in a
gigantic wreath.
Some were stoic, as if they had learned to manage
their pain, at least in public.
Some wept. Some needed assistance in returning to
their seats.
Around them, the colleagues of their loved one stood
proudly in uniform for two hours, impervious to the
soaking rain.
Mourners placed 161 flowers in the wreath, each
representing a death that had taken place the year
before-the loss of a man or woman who willingly
undertook risks most of us would never even consi-
der taking.
As members of "the thin blue line," they risked their
1
2
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
lives every day to protect their communities and their
nation from the terror and destruction of crime.
They were always there when we called, always
ready to help, whatever the personal cost to them
might have been.
Yet our nation seems to have simply forgotten their
service-their sacrifice.
Though an estimated 30,000 law enforcement offi-
cers have died in the line of duty since America's begin-
nings, we as a nation have created no monument to
honor their sacrifices. There's no stately building or
peaceful garden dedicated to their memory. There's not
even a plaque!
Of course, these fallen heroes are remembered by their
families and friends. But, as years pass, the newspaper
clippings yellow and crumble. The flowers so carefully
saved from the funeral spray turn to dust. The children
grow up and wonder, "Why did Dad give his life? And
why doesn't anybody else care that he's gone?"
As Chairman of the National Law Enforcement
Officers Memorial Fund, I believe that people do care -
but that many of us, busy with our own preoccupa-
tions, overlook the need to pay homage to those who
give their lives in our service.
I believe most Americans are not even aware that a
law enforcement officer dies in the line of duty every 57
hours in our country-an average of 153 each year.
It is my hope that once people learn about the sacri-
fices that are made on their behalf, they will want to
join together to say "thank you" to our law officers, the
veterans of America's war on crime, just as they have
honored our military heroes. That is why I hope to
FOREWORD
3
distribute this book to thousands of Americans who
simply aren't aware of the debt we owe to the men and
women of law enforcement.
The officers' sacrifices have been too long overlooked.
Surely, these men and women deserve nothing less than
our respect, our gratitude, our praise, expressed promi-
nently and permanently in our nation's capital!
After two hundred years of silence, the United States
of America has at last decided to say "thank you."
In 1984, Congress approved the concept for a
National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial. They
said we could build our Memorial in Judiciary Square,
in the heart of Washington, D.C.
But they also mandated that all the funds needed to
build and maintain the Memorial-an estimated $5 mil-
lion-would have to be raised from the public. Not one
cent of government money could be used. Congress also
mandated that the money be raised, and ground broken
for the Memorial's construction, within five years.
To date, the Memorial Fund has received thousands
of contributions, from law enforcement groups and
from Americans in all walks of life, Americans who
believe in law and order, who support the efforts of
our Federal, State, and local officers. But the need is
still great.
In creating the concept for this book, I wanted to
make sure I could hand it to a stranger and say, "Here.
Read this. Then you'll understand why we need to build
a National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial-now."
Here are stories of the officers who risked their lives and
lost them. Here, too, are the stories of those who were
permanently disabled in a line-of-duty incident.
4
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
And here are the stories of the families, the survi-
vors-those who so courageously face a future without
their husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, children, sis-
ters, or brothers.
Mrs. Connie Miller, whose daughter, Hillsborough
County (Florida) Sheriff's Deputy Donna Miller, died
in a line-of-duty accident, explained the need for the
Memorial simply and perfectly: "That Memorial is so
important, because when it's built, we can go up there.
We can talk about it, and we can cry. We'll know that
everybody's there for the same reason we are. And we'll
know that Donna has not been forgotten."
With the help of people like you, the Memorial will
be built. It will be a place for remembering, a place for
healing. It will honor the dead, comfort the survivors,
and tell the officers still on the streets that we as a
nation care about the dangerous and difficult work they
do to protect us, to preserve our very way of life.
As you read this book, please ask yourself one ques-
tion: Do these officers deserve a permanent, national
tribute? Is it our duty to make sure that they will never
be forgotten?
If your answer is "Yes," please do your part to help
build this long-overdue Memorial. Say your personal
"thank you" to the officers who make it possible for
you to walk down the street in safety.
Their families-and the entire law enforcement fam-
ily-will appreciate it.
-Craig W. Floyd, Chairman
National Law Enforcement
Officers Memorial Fund
New Jersey State Trooper Phil Lamonaco
It was just before Christmas-December 21.
New Jersey State Trooper Phil Lamonaco was on his
last late duty shift before Christmas. Patrolling a stretch
of highway, he pulled a car over for a routine traf-
fic stop.
As he walked in the snow from his cruiser to the car,
perhaps Phil was thinking about his wife and children
waiting for him at home, getting ready to celebrate a
wonderful Christmas. Maybe he thought to himself,
"Just a few more hours, and I'll get to go home, look in
on the kids, talk with Donna, put a few final touches on
the Christmas tree."
5
6
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Phil Lamonaco never made it home.
Unknowingly, he had pulled over a car carrying two
hardened criminals-two men named Manning and
Williams, part of a self-proclaimed revolutionary gang
called the United Freedom Front. These terrorists were
plotting to overthrow the United States government.
Phil saw that Manning had a gun. He asked him to
get out of the car. Phil took the gun and started to frisk
Manning.
To break Phil's concentration, Manning started wav-
ing his arms. As if on signal, Williams jumped out of
the passenger side of the car and started shooting.
Williams pumped nine bullets into Phil Lamonaco.
The fatal bullet pierced his heart.
It's some consolation to Donna to know that Phil
died instantly. But it doesn't help much when she thinks
of her husband lying face down in the snow, bleeding.
Manning and Williams were about to speed off into
the darkness when Manning decided to retrieve his gun
from Phil's body. For a parting shot of incredible
viciousness, he then shot Phil three more times in the
back of the head.
As her husband was being murdered, Donna
Lamonaco was making Christmas cookies with the
couple's three children, Laura, 5, Michael, 4, and 10-
month-old Sarah. Each of the children had made one
special cookie for Daddy to enjoy when he got home.
"We were cleaning up. I was washing flour and sugar
off of Sarah around five o'clock when the doorbell
rang. Laura had just finished her own bath. She yelled,
'Mommy, there are two men at the door, and I'm stark
naked!"
INTRODUCTION
7
Laughing, Donna told Laura to get dressed. With
little Sarah in her arms, she went to open the door.
There she saw two State Troopers, close friends of Phil's
and Donna's.
"I thought they had stopped by for a cup of coffee,"
Donna says. But one of the Troopers, who had a baby
close in age to Sarah, took her out of Donna's arms.
They told Donna to sit down. "Phil's been hit,"
they said.
"It didn't sink in at first," Donna says. "I thought,
'By a car or truck?"
"No, babe, Phil's been shot," one of the Troopers
told her. It was hard to believe that somebody like
Phil-so careful, so good at his job, Trooper of the Year
in 1979-could get into serious trouble. Donna recalls,
"I knew that he would be okay, though, since he had his
vest on." Phil and Donna had made a special pact that
he would always wear his bullet-resistant vest.
Donna found a babysitter and went with the Troop-
ers to the hospital. "I knew he'd be all right. But when I
got to the hospital, they told me: 'Donna, he's gone."
It took a while for Donna to comprehend that Phil
was actually dead. She wanted to see him for herself:
"If I could just see him, hold him in my arms, I could
prove they were wrong-that Phil was okay."
Donna ran down the hallway. "When I saw all the
police officers standing outside the door of one room, I
knew this was where he was. As I entered the room,
cold and still, I felt fear. I wanted to hold him, touch his
hand, but because of the many wounds, I couldn't."
Instead of reassuring herself as she had hoped to do,
8
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Donna now had to find a way to tell her children that
their Daddy was dead.
The family's pastor brought Donna home from the
hospital and tried to explain to the children what had
happened. He avoided certain stark words, certain
harsh realities. The children didn't understand. Finally,
Donna interrupted when Laura asked a question.
"Laura, Daddy died."
In a voice Donna will never forget, her little daughter
said, "He died?"
Together, Donna and her children buried Phil on
Christmas Eve.
It was the worst Christmas of their lives. But, though
Phil died in 1981, Christmas is still hard for the
Lamonacos.
"Holidays are still the pits for us," she says. "Two
years ago, Christmas was really emotionally difficult
because the trial was going on, and all the horrifying
details that came out made the anger, fear, and loneli-
ness even stronger. And last year was really bad, too. I
couldn't figure out why-I didn't even try to. Then in
January it hit me. This past Christmas marked the
time when Phil had been gone longer than we had
been married."
A deeply caring man, Phil was a wonderful husband
and father. He and Donna were deeply in love. "Some
of the guys would go out for a drink after their shifts,
and they'd ask Phil to come along. He'd say no, and
they'd tease him about being tied to my apron strings.
But he'd say that wasn't it. 'I just love my wife,' he'd
say. And he'd come home."
Together, Phil and Donna were building a strong
INTRODUCTION
9
foundation for their family. They especially loved
Christmas, a time of sleigh rides in the snow, hot cinna-
mon-scented apple cider by the Christmas tree, a tradi-
tion of opening one gift each on Christmas Eve.
And every year as Christmas approached, Donna and
Phil set up a manger in the living room. They explained
to the kids that each time they did a little chore around
the house-like putting away their toys-they were enti-
tled to take one piece of straw and put it in the manger,
to make a soft bed. They'd start on December 1, and by
the time Christmas Day arrived, the manger was ready,
a birthday gift for Jesus.
"We had a Currier & Ives, Vermont-style Christmas.
There was so much warmth and love." Since Phil's
death, it's just routine. On December 21 each year,
Donna does something with the children in the morn-
ing, then she has her quiet time. "That's my day," she
says. "I have to have it." On Christmas Day, they go
through the motions, opening presents and joining the
family for a holiday dinner.
But Christmas will always be painful for them—
Christmas Eve an ever-recurring reminder of the day
they buried Phil.
Donna Lamonaco says it's been a real' struggle to
pick up the pieces and go forward. Her involvement
with other survivors and the National Law Enforce-
ment Officers Memorial Fund has been a big help.
"My children have grown in strength each day. I have
shared my involvement with COPS [Concerns of Police
Survivors], the Memorial, and law enforcement with
my children. They've been a part of this. They are
learning to focus their emotions and energies in a posi-
10
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
tive way." Proudly, Donna tells the story of how her kids
comforted other bereaved children.
"An officer was killed, and it happened that he and
his family lived next door to a close friend of mine. My
friend called me and told me what had happened. I
took the kids and we went over there.
"The widow was at my friend's house with her two
little ones. She hadn't told her kids yet. She went into
the next room to tell them. We heard them crying. It
was heart-breaking.
"The door opened, and the little boy looked at
Michael. He said, 'Can I talk to him?' My children
went in to the other children. Laura put the little girl on
her lap, and Sarah stroked her hair. I heard Michael
saying to the little boy, 'You know what, little guy?
You're gonna be okay. Look at me. My dad was a police
officer too. I was the same age you are now when he
died. And now I'm 11. You just stick by your Mom and
it will be okay."
Donna and Phil's youngest, Sarah, spoke words of
comfort, too.
"I didn't even know my Daddy, but I know he's
someone I'll never forget."
A few days later, Donna returned for the officer's
funeral, bearing gifts from her children to the officer's
son and daughter-a teddy bear wearing a badge for the
boy, and a special doll for the girl. The children just
seem to know you need something in your arms at a
time like this.
"I was so proud of my children!" Donna says. "It
was a reflection of all the work I've done, all the events
INTRODUCTION
11
they've been a part of, from memorial services to televi-
sion and radio appearances."
Like many police survivors, Donna has tried to
make the best of her life in the wake of incalculable
loss. "The trial is still going on, and that's hard," she
says. "Manning was convicted, but for some reason,
the jury came back hung on Williams, so there will be
a retrial next year." In the courtroom, Donna suffered
the difficulties faced by many survivors-the mandate
that she not show emotion, the pain of re-living her
husband's death in painful detail. But she also encoun-
tered some special indignities.
"Manning and Williams had their comrades in the
courtroom with them. None of them would rise when
the judge came in, because they didn't believe in the
justice system. But when Manning and Williams came
in the room, they stood up and raised their fists and
shouted a special chant that meant 'victory." Because
the defendants were well-known terrorists, convicted
previously of bombings and armed robberies, every-
one entering the courtroom had to be searched. One
day, a reporter complained to defense attorney
William Kunstler (a former member of the radical
Chicago Seven) that Donna was not being searched as
thoroughly as some others were. Kunstler insisted that
Donna be searched again.
"The justice system is just incredible," Donna said.
"The judge told the jury that they must ignore the fact
that these men were convicted bombers, thieves, and
terrorists determined to overthrow the United States!"
Donna sees little fairness in the system. "Take Man-
ning," she says. "He's in prison. He's lifting weights and
12
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
he pulls a muscle. They drive him to the hospital, they
examine him, they give him liniments and painkillers,
and they drive him back. And we're all paying for it."
By contrast, the Lamonacos' health insurance was
cancelled immediately after Phil's death. Donna had to
search for new insurance. There are many expenses her
policy doesn't pay for.
"I go to the doctor with a kidney problem and he
prescribes medication. I go to the drug store, and it
costs $89, right out of my pocket. It just doesn't make
sense that Manning gets his medical care free, courtesy
of people like me, when he helped kill my husband!"
Donna has found meaning in her life by helping
other survivors through the COPS organization and by
helping the Memorial Fund.
"I'm glad to tell my story, because it's a way of doing
something good. The more I get involved with lectures,
with law enforcement agency work, with widows, the
more good I'm doing. I could never give this work up.
It's way too important to me.
"Phil chose to be a Trooper," Donna continues. "I
choose to walk the path of law enforcement as well. I
hope to encourage the police officers who are working
our streets. I want to help them walk that path of pride,
integrity, loyalty, and honor."
For Phil's sake and for their children's sake, Donna
wants to see the National Law Enforcement Officers
Memorial built. "The Memorial means SO much to me
personally, professionally. My efforts, the hard holi-
days, the loneliness that doesn't go away-the Memo-
rial gives meaning to all of it. All the tears I've shed, all
INTRODUCTION
13
the smiles I show, all my tiredness-part of it all goes to
that Memorial.
"When it's finished, we'll be able to stand in front of
that Memorial and say 'It was all worth it.' The Memo-
rial will tell all our officers that we honor, respect, and
love every one of them. My kids will be able to be SO
proud of their father, because he chose to help society,
and now he'll never be forgotten.
"And on the days when our children wonder why
their Daddy ever got involved with law enforcement
work and gave his life up serving others, they can think
of that Memorial and know that the nation has said 'We
will never forget."
Detective Michael Raburn
King County (Washington) Police Department
IT'S ONE OF THE HARDEST JOBS
IN THE WORLD
WANTED: Strong, intelligent, caring, dedicated
men and women for public service position. Moti-
vated by a desire to help others. Willing to put
your life on line every day. Must tolerate moun-
tains of red tape and bureaucracy, yet be decisive,
courageous, and quick on your feet. Salary: Sub-
stantially less than what you might earn elsewhere.
Recognition: Little to none.
Studies rank being a police officer high among the
most stressful, dangerous jobs you can get. That's no
surprise to anyone who's ever tried it.
Unlike some hazardous jobs, it doesn't pay very well.
In a major city like New York, a senior officer with 20
years of distinguished service might earn $40,000-not
a lot when you consider the area's high cost of living.
But elsewhere in the United States, that salary would
seem like a fortune to police officers. In 1988, the
Fraternal Order of Police had legislation introduced in
the Alabama State Legislature requiring that rookie
police officers earn a minimum of $10,000-little more
than minimum wage.
The law hasn't passed yet.
Like many other jurisdictions, the Alabama legisla-
ture says the state doesn't have the funds to pay more.
Often, law enforcement officers across the nation must
work part-time jobs starting after their regular shifts,
usually as security personnel for stores and office build-
ings or special duty assignments.
15
16
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
"We shouldn't pay our law enforcement officers so
little that they have to go work a four- to six-hour
security detail to make ends meet," says Jim Scutt, a
former Alexandria, Virginia police officer now serving
as Director of Legislative Affairs for the National Sher-
iffs' Association. "That means the officer's getting six
hours of sleep at night. Citizens are getting short-
changed. And when officers get tired, they get careless,
and that means they get killed."
Compensation is not the only area where police are
getting less than a fair shake. Many don't even have the
equipment they need. Police departments have been
forced to hold bake sales and raffles to raise money to
buy bullet-resistant vests, life-saving equipment that
should be standard issue for all law enforcement offi-
cers. Some departments still don't have them.
The importance of having the right equipment
increases with the escalating violence of America's drug
wars. Forced to send officers out into the streets armed
with standard service revolvers, chiefs of police acknow-
ledge their men and women are out-gunned by drug
dealers carrying expensive semi-automatic weapons.
Soon after the stabbing death of her husband, Detec-
tive Michael Raburn of the King County, Washington
Police Department, Linda Raburn told a reporter from
The Seattle Times that Michael's death might have been
prevented, were it not for budget cuts.
Linda, a radio dispatcher for the King County
Police, remembers that in the early 70s she routinely
punched names into the Sea-King (Seattle-King
County) crime-computer system. Sometimes a name
would come up with the words "HAZARD, HAZ-
ONE OF THE HARDEST JOBS IN THE WORLD
17
ARD" flashing at the top of the screen. Dispatchers
could then warn officers that they were dealing with a
person who had a history of criminal behavior-par-
ticularly assaults upon police officers.
The system provided officers with a major advan-
tage: foreknowledge of a suspect's potential violence. In
spite of its enormous value, however, the Sea-King
crime computer was all but eliminated because of gov-
ernmental cutbacks, and Michael Raburn was not
alerted to the fact that the man he was to serve an
eviction notice on, Robert Baldwin, had threatened
police with a rifle the year before.
On March 27, 1984, as Detective Raburn tried to talk
to Baldwin through a crack in the apartment door,
Baldwin drove a three-foot-long gold, ceremonial sword
into the officer's chest. Raburn, a 12-year veteran of the
force, died an hour later.
"I keep thinking that if we still had Sea-King,
Michael would be alive. Where do you cut a budget
when somebody's life is at stake?" Linda Raburn asked.
"A simple eviction notice, a procedure Mike had
probably done hundreds of times-that eviction notice
and the events that followed would take our Michael
away from us forever, crushing all our dreams in the
seconds it took for Robert Baldwin's sword to find its
mark in Michael's heart," Linda wrote. His loss was
especially difficult to accept because of the possibility
that it might have been prevented-had the police
department had adequate financial support from the
community.
The value of other, seemingly less vital equipment
can also be underestimated. Most officers in America
18
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
drive non-air-conditioned cruisers, regardless of the cli-
mate. On a hot, humid day, the last thing an officer
wants to do is put on another piece of clothing-like a
bullet-resistant vest. To encourage all officers to wear
vests at all times, says Dewey Stokes, National President
of the Fraternal Order of Police, they must be provided
with lighter vests and air-conditioned cars.
Low pay and inadequate equipment are just part of
what our law enforcement officers deal with daily. The
danger and the stress of the job pose the greatest chal-
lenges. Every day, police officers come face to face with
human misery-a side of life the rest of us encounter
only rarely.
Detective Richard Pastorella, founder of the Police
Self-Support Group, has been there. In his 23 years on
the street with New York City Police Department, he
saw it all.
"I can't begin to tell you the effect it has when you
see a child that's been killed, an older person that's been
mugged," he says. "You see people's problems day in
and day out. You build up a wall, because you have to."
For police officers, each accident, each felony, each
apprehension is an injury to the human spirit, an injury
that rarely has a chance to heal before the next incident
demands their full attention.
The stress is compounded by the frustrations of our
judicial system and overcrowded jails, by the growing
efficiency of professional criminals, and by what many
officers perceive as a negative attitude toward them on
the part of the public.
Law enforcement officers hear few, if any, words
of thanks.
ONE OF THE HARDEST JOBS IN THE WORLD
19
"Very seldom does a citizen come up to a police
officer and say, "Thank you, you did a great job," says
Pastorella. "You get the tributes when you're dead-but
it's too late then. Who do the accolades go to? They go
to the family. What good does that do?"
Instead of gratitude, the public often responds with
hostility to police officers. One police widow says,
"Let's face it, everybody hates the guy who gave him
the speeding ticket." But few people realize that more
Americans are killed on our highways each year than
die from murder or drugs. Police patrolling the high-
ways are just trying to save lives.
Reports and rumors of police brutality-often exag-
gerated-have added to the problems officers face. In
response to community pressure, departments must
suspend officers involved in shootings and other, less
serious incidents, making them feel as if they are at
fault when, in fact, most of them were just doing
their jobs.
So what kind of a person wants this kind of job?
Given the low pay, lousy hours, physical danger, emo-
tional stress, and lack of appreciation, what kind of
man or woman actively seeks out a career in law
enforcement?
For the most part, it's people who care about peo-
ple-who feel a real need to serve others. The indivi-
duals profiled in this book are typical members of the
law enforcement community. They're people for whom
service to their fellow human beings outweighs the dan-
ger, stress, and other problems of police work-people
like Officer John Utlak of the Niles, Ohio Police
Department.
Officer John A. Utlak
Niles, Ohio Police Department
"I'M JOHN, YOUR FRIEND,
AND I'M A POLICE OFFICER."
"Did he call for me? Did he holler 'Mother, Father?
If he had been found sooner, could he have been
saved?"
Seven years after her son's death, Irene Sudano is a
grieving mother. Though doctors have told her that
nothing could have saved him once the bullets were
20
I'M JOHN, YOUR FRIEND
21
fired, her thoughts return again and again to her son,
sprawled in the snow, dying alone.
She wishes she could have done something-any-
thing-to keep Johnny alive, or at least to hold him in
her arms as he died. But the two young men who killed
Officer Utlak didn't give her that opportunity.
John Utlak always wanted to be a policeman. "Even
when he was a little thing, he would watch the police
shows, like 'Dragnet,' says his mother, Irene Sudano.
"He always knew who did it. And when he was a
teenager, he'd practice being a detective.
"He followed his dad around town for two days
once, and Joe never knew it!"
Motivated by his desire for a career in law enforce-
ment, Johnny was a honor student in high school. He
went on to major in criminal justice at Youngstown
State University, where he was a member of the Army
ROTC. As a sophomore, he was unanimously elected
Cadet of the Year. It was the first time this honor had
ever been awarded to an underclassman.
Irene Sudano remembers what Johnny's command-
ing officer asked her and Joe at the ROTC ceremony:
"Just what exactly did you do to raise a boy like
Johnny?"
Irene won't take the credit. "Johnny was so gifted,"
she says. "God gave him everything."
This handsome, athletic young man achieved his goal
of becoming a police officer, joining the Niles Police
Department in 1977. He served the force with a special
sense of dedication. As a judge told his mother, "There
are a lot of good men on the Niles force, but Johnny
was four cops in one."
22
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Johnny's desire to help other people went beyond the
duties of his police work. He loved children, and would
go out of his way to help them. Fellow officers tell
stories of Johnny using his own money to buy a winter
jacket for a teenage boy who had only a windbreaker to
wear on a bitterly cold day, and of the time he bought a
football helmet for a boy whose family couldn't afford
to purchase one for him.
"I'm John, your friend, and I'm a police officer,"
he'd say each year when he volunteered his time at Big
Wheel City, a Niles safety program for youngsters.
Johnny thought nothing of spending his money and
his free time to help the youngsters of his community.
But in the end, he gave much more. John Utlak gave
his life.
On December 8, 1982, Officer Utlak was working an
undercover narcotics assignment. Two teenage inform-
ants, Randy Fellows and Fred Joseph, Jr., called
Johnny and asked him to meet them that night, and to
bring money so they could make some big drug buys.
Officer Utlak agreed to meet them at 8:00 p.m. in a
deserted area near the Gibraltar Steel Company.
The afternoon before Johnny Utlak went to meet the
informants, his father implored him to request a trans-
fer out of the undercover narcotics work.
"Johnny, give it up," Joe Sudano said. "Can't you
see what it's doing to your mother? She's losing weight.
She can't sleep."
As usual, Johnny tried to reassure his worried par-
ents. "I can take care of myself, Dad. I'm a good cop."
"Johnny, we know that," his mother said, "but you
can't stop a bullet!"
I'M JOHN, YOUR FRIEND
23
"Oh, Mom," he said, kissing and hugging Irene, "I'll
be all right. I'll stop by around 9:30 tonight."
But by 9:30 that cold December night, Johnny Utlak
was dead, shot in the head twice by Fred Joseph, Jr.
Johnny hadn't even gotten out of his car before Joseph
shot him. His body fell on the snow after his killer
opened the car door-the better to rob the dying police
officer of the $200 he had brought at the informants'
request, his wallet, handcuffs, service revolver, shotgun,
and wristwatch.
The murderers even tried to pull the gold chain off of
Johnny's neck before they left him to die in the snow.
John Utlak's body wasn't found until the next morning,
after a passerby spotted a man lying in the snow and
called police.
"Murder brings on its own rage," Irene Sudano says.
"There's no way to accept any death. But if-God
forbid-he'd had a disease and we could have nursed
him, we could have given him our love. This way, there
was nothing we could do."
Johnny's parents and his younger sister Joanne made
it through those first terrible days somehow. Irene
remembers seeing her parish priest walk in the door. She
had a warning for him:
"Don't you dare tell me that this is God's will!"
The priest shook his head. "No, I did not come to
say that to you. Irene, it's the evil world. This is not
God's doing."
But Irene Sudano was angry at God, and, for a time
at Johnny, too, because her loss was so great. "We
were SO close. We'd sit and talk over a cup of tea about
books we'd read, movies we'd seen. And Johnny's
24
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
sister, Joanne-she lost so much. They were partners
in crime when they were growing up, and mentors, and
best friends."
Joanne Sudano, 16 at the time of her brother's death,
is now an auditor for the Department of Defense. She
plans to marry soon. But she and her mother worry
about how they'll get through the wedding ceremony
without crying for Johnny, who would have wanted so
much to be a part of this special day in his little sis-
ter's life.
"I took Joanne to try on her wedding dress, and I
asked God to give me strength not to spoil it for her.
But when they put the gown on Joanne, I cried my
heart out. At least I did it with dignity, if that's possible.
I just keep asking myself, 'How am I going to make it
through her wedding-there in the beautiful church
where Johnny's casket lay in the aisle?"
Like anyone who has lost a loved one, Irene Sudano
has asked "Why?" many times over. The answers to her
questions just don't add up. What motivated Johnny's
killers? They wanted to rob him. Why did they decide
to kill him? During the long, painful process of the trial,
a witness testified that one of the murderers had said
he'd like to kill all policemen. Why? No rational person
can possibly understand such a desire.
A loving son, Johnny had sent his parents a card on
November 2, a little over a month before he was killed.
There was no special occasion. The card was an expres-
sion of his gratitude to his parents—one of many affec-
tionate messages Johnny's family members received
from him.
"I feel the card was saying good-bye," Irene told a
I'M JOHN, YOUR FRIEND
25
reporter in the months following Johnny's death. But
it's hard to say good-bye to a man like Johnny, and
Irene Sudano says she never will.
"Your 'whys' will never be answered," she said. "You
just have to keep on living the best you can."
Irene and Joe have attended several of the annual
memorial services held in Washington, D.C. to honor
law enforcement officers who died in the line of duty the
previous year. At the first service, in May 1983, Irene
found a sense of belonging with other mourners: "We all
had the disease-like a leper colony." But there was-and
is-comfort in sharing the good memories and the pain-
ful times with other survivors of police officers.
Since Johnny's death, both his family and his com-
munity have rallied to carry on his tradition of caring.
The Niles Police Department established the John A.
Utlak Memorial Fund, which helps support Special
Olympics and other programs for children. Joe Sudano
and other family members formed a bowling team that
raises money for Johnny's Fund.
And Irene Sudano reaches out to help those who-
like her-have known the agonizing pain of losing son
or daughter, husband or wife, father or mother
through line-of-duty deaths. For years, she has
extended a supportive hand, an understanding voice
whenever she could.
"They'll tell me, 'You helped me so much," Irene
says, "But I was doing it for my son and for all his
fellow slain officers. And they helped me, too."
Irene also traveled to Washington to testify before
Congress on the need to increase death benefits for
police survivors. Her efforts, along with those of many
26
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
other survivors, succeeded in getting the death benefit
doubled. "This was a great, great accomplishment for
me," she says.
Shortly after Irene Sudano returned from her lobby-
ing trip to Washington, she was amazed to look out her
living room window one day and see an enormous
arrangement of wildflowers making its way up to her
front door.
"It was so big, I couldn't even see the person who
delivered it!" The card read, "Something to show our
thanks, appreciation, and love for all that you have
done for us. The guys at the station, Niles Police
Department."
Today, Irene is eager to see the Law Enforcement
Officers Memorial completed. "I am so happy that
finally the Memorial will be there. After the death, the
shock, grief, the most important thing is to never let
them be forgotten. This is the main thing-to respect
them for the supreme sacrifice they made."
Johnny Utlak had served five years and three days on
the Niles Police Department before he was killed-not
long enough. He will never be forgotten by his family or
by the many people he helped.
After Johnny's death, his mother received a note
from an elderly lady. "You don't know me," she wrote,
"but I knew your son, and I wanted to tell you that I am
going to miss him SO much. He would check on me all
the time. If I needed milk or bread, he would go to the
store for me."
I'M JOHN, YOUR FRIEND
27
Ordinary citizens benefit enormously from the small
and large sacrifices of men and women like Johnny. The
least we can do is say a final, permanent "thank you" to
those who have given their lives to serve us. And that's
exactly what the National Law Enforcement Officers
Memorial is designed to do.
Officer Richard Miller
Baltimore City Police Department
Baltimore, Maryland
DREAMS LOST, NIGHTMARES FOUND
"Who do you think it's worse for, me or you?" Karen
Adolfo asked Betty Miller.
Betty thought for a moment, then said carefully, "I'll
have to think about that before I can answer you." The
two women had become friends because of a tragic
bond they shared-the loss of their husbands, both
28
DREAMS LOST, NIGHTMARES FOUND
29
officers in the Baltimore City Police Department, at the
hands of vicious criminals.
But the similarity in their stories ended there. Karen
was just 21 at the time of Vince's death. Childhood
sweethearts, they had been married only two years.
They never had a chance to start the family they had
dreamed of. Betty and Dick Miller had been married 31
years. Their two children-daughter Pat, 29, and son,
Rick, 30-were out on their own.
A study by Concerns of Police Survivors, funded by
the National Institute of Justice, indicates that Karen
might have a harder time recovering than Betty: "Youn-
ger women, especially if married for 10 years or less,
were found to have a more severe reaction to the death
of a spouse than the older women married for a longer
period of time."
Betty agrees. When she finally answered Karen's
question, she said, "At least I had 31 years with Dick.
We raised our family together. I have the kids and the
grandkids. You have nothing. It's got to be a
lot harder."
To an outsider, Karen's question might sound self-
pitying or idle. But it was part of her attempt to make
sense of something completely senseless, the slaying of
her handsome young husband in a Baltimore alleyway
on November 18, 1985.
Early that evening, Officer Adolfo noticed a silver
Cadillac Coupe de Ville cruising a Baltimore neighbor-
hood. He radioed the dispatcher for information on the
car's license tags, and learned that the tags had been
stolen from another car earlier that month. Now
assisted by a second police cruiser, the young police
30
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
officer attempted to stop the car. The driver did his best
to get away, jumping out of the car to run up an alley,
and Officer Adolfo ran after him.
There were three other people in the Cadillac; the
second police officer had his hands full with them. So
Vince Adolfo was alone when he ran up Iron Alley,
where he met his death.
Flint Gregory Hunt shot Vince Adolfo in the chest.
Vince died in surgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital
shortly after the shooting.
From that moment, Karen's life became a nightmare
that has only begun to fade now, almost four years later.
Vince's things are where he left them in the home he
built for them. Every day, Karen walks past his bath-
robe, hanging on the bedroom door where he left it. His
clothes are still in the bureau, his uniform in the closet.
Still fiercely loyal to Vince, Karen won't hear of dating
anyone else.
"I don't know what they mean by letting go," she
told The Baltimore Sun. "He's so strongly a part of my
life. I'll never let go."
In a lengthy interview in the fall of 1988, Karen
described her days as tasks to be gotten through,
because she knows she's supposed to. Though she duti-
fully attends to them, her job, her hobbies, her friends
do nothing to alleviate the agony of Vince's absence.
Only babysitting for her nieces and nephews brings a
spark of happiness to this pretty young woman's heart.
For Karen, Betty Miller has been a lifeline, someone
who understands her deep, lasting grief, someone she
can talk to about Vince without fear of being told "It's
time to get over it."
DREAMS LOST, NIGHTMARES FOUND
31
Betty understands too well the pain Karen is going
through. On the afternoon of June 12, 1986, her hus-
band Dick, a 31-year veteran of the Baltimore City
Police Department, went to his regular detail at Balti-
more's Memorial Stadium. For years, Dick spent sum-
mer evenings directing traffic when the Orioles baseball
team played home games. He loved the team, and had
many friends among the players. Betty even found a
picture of Dick and Orioles star Brooks Robinson in his
wallet after his death. He loved his work so much, in
fact, that he passed up his scheduled retirement in Jan-
uary 1986.
"What about that retirement?" Betty Miller asked
her husband.
"I think I'll just work one more season with the
Orioles," her husband replied.
Betty Miller doesn't waste time thinking "If only
Dick had retired when he was supposed to." "It was
meant to be," she says matter-of-factly. "That's the only
way I can look at it. Otherwise, I'd go crazy."
Dick was directing traffic on 33rd Street around 6:00
p.m. that June evening when a call came over his radio
from the east side of the stadium.
"Stop the little white car," the officer said. The caller
apparently did not know that the little white car had
already tried to run over Officer Michael Parks on his
way down from the stadium's east lot.
Dick and fellow Officer Paul Aires went out into the
street to flag down the car. They spotted the car, then
saw it accelerate. In a horrified moment, Paul said to
Dick, "He's not stopping, let's bail out."
The two men ran to the opposite side of the street,
32
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
retreating behind a series of traffic cones. But the driver
deliberately turned the car to his left. He maneuvered
through the traffic cones to get to the officers. His car
brushed Paul Aires, but it hit Dick Miller full-force at
55 miles per hour, throwing him onto the hood of the
car. Then he hit two more cars, catapulting Dick onto
the street.
The driver, Leonard Cirincione, hit Dick with such
force that the officer's glasses were embedded in the
hood of the little white car.
As Dick lay bleeding in the street, and in the months
to come, Cirincione would claim that it was just a little
accident. His attitude so enraged Paul Aires that fellow
officers had to struggle to keep him away from
the suspect.
Under the care of the Chief Physician for the Balti-
more Police, Dick was taken to the city's Shock-Trauma
Unit. In the hours immediately following the incident,
doctors had to decide what to do with Dick's crushed
legs. The next morning, Betty signed a permission form
so doctors could amputate his right leg. "If they didn't
do it, he wouldn't live 48 hours. They thought they
might be able to save his left leg, but they didn't know."
Betty saw Dick in the Critical Care Unit that morn-
ing. He was heavily sedated. "He didn't look like him-
self," she remembers. "All the bones in his face were
broken. They had to do a trach to keep him breathing.
You couldn't really talk to him. We knew he had suf-
fered brain damage, but we never knew how much."
Valiantly, Betty did her best to encourage her hus-
band, who showed little response to stimulation.
"I would hold his eyes open with my fingers and talk
DREAMS LOST, NIGHTMARES FOUND
33
to him. If I told him to squeeze my hand, sometimes he
would do it. One day I took in a picture of our grand-
daughter and I held it in front of his face. 'I don't know
what you're doing in there, but you're sure not making
much effort,' I told him. 'If you know who this is,
squeeze my hand."
Dick stared at the picture for a long time. Tears rolled
down his face, and he squeezed his wife's hand.
"Things seemed to be on an upswing for a while, but
I didn't want to get my hopes up," Betty said. "On July
3, our daughter was married. She cancelled the wedding
she had planned and got married at the courthouse.
Later that very day, Dick's condition began to go slowly
downhill."
The massively injured police officer suffered kidney
and liver failure. Then he started to suffer seizures.
"The seizures still give me nightmares," Betty says.
"I've never seen anything like that. They would come
every minute. You would see his toes start to shake and
then it would get worse and worse-over his whole
body. They had to strap him down or he'd be on
the floor."
Sunday, July 13, the seizures came even more fre-
quently. At times they were just 40 seconds apart. The
doctors were stumped. The anti-seizure drug they were
giving Dick could not be prescribed in higher dosages
without danger of it killing him.
The ordeal dragged on. Betty and her children kept
up their vigil. One night, as they were leaving the hospi-
tal, Pat asked her mother, "Why can't he die?"
Betty said, "I can't answer that, but I don't think
we'll have to wait too long for an answer."
34
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
A practical person, Betty wanted to be prepared for
Dick's death. She wanted to buy a burial plot and start
making the many arrangements that would need to be
made. "If he didn't need it, fine. If he did, I'd be
ready." She called one of the doctors treating Dick.
"I need answers," she told him. "I'm not the kind of
person who can leave things hanging, and there are
things I need to do if Dick's going to die."
The doctor replied that he had no answers to give her.
"Don't tell me you don't have them!" Betty said.
"You deal with the worst injuries that can happen to
people. You must have an idea of what Dick's
chances are."
"I can't tell you," he said.
"I asked you a point-blank question," Betty said.
"There are things I have to deal with. How long?"
"If I had to guess," the doctor finally said, "I'd have
to say within a week."
"Okay, fine," Betty said. She hung up, called the
cemetery, and made an appointment for Monday
morning.
Dick died that Monday at 3:05 a.m., 39 days after
Leonard Cirincione ran him down. It was July 21, one
day before the 32nd anniversary of his joining the force.
Dick was given a hero's funeral, the kind of funeral
police are famous for. Thousands of officers attended.
Baseball players from the Orioles team paid their
respects. And though the pain was deep and lasting for
Betty Miller, it comforted her to know that, given the
existence of a Leonard Cirincione on that June evening
at Memorial Stadium, Dick would have wanted it this
way: "Dick would have wanted it to be him who was hit
DREAMS LOST, NIGHTMARES FOUND
35
instead of the people on their way to the ball game."
Dick has been remembered with love and apprecia-
tion by many. "He was an inspiration to a lot of us
younger fellows," Officer Andrew Giordano told the
Evening Sun just after Dick died. "Whenever the situa-
tion around the stadium started getting stressful and we
younger guys were losing our patience, we'd just look to
Dickie Miller who was cool and calm."
Several of Dick's many friends made sure he had his
favorite beer and Hershey Kisses right nearby: They put
a supply in his casket. Occasionally, Betty still finds a
can of beer behind the flowers on Dick's grave. He has
been awarded the highest honors the police department
and civic groups can bestow. But perhaps he would be
proudest of the plaque erected in his honor at Memorial
Stadium. It reads as follows:
In recognition of his faithful service
as a Member of the Police Department
of the City of Baltimore
this tablet is erected in memory of
Police Officer Richard Miller
Traffic Division
Born April 20, 1931
Appointed July 22, 1954
Killed in the execution of his duties
July 21, 1986
His service honored the department.
This plaque is donated by
the Baltimore Orioles Foundation
and the Traffic Division of
the Police Department.
36
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
The plaque hangs at the Stadium offices with only
two others-one in honor of Baltimore Colts football
star Johnny Unitas, the other in honor of Dick's good
friend, Brooks Robinson.
For Betty, going through the trial of Leonard Cirin-
cione was maddening. Cirincione, a 29-year-old part-
time construction worker, had a history of drug abuse.
At the trial, he testified that he had smoked seven or
eight joints of PCP, a hallucinogenic drug, the day he
killed Dick. The son of a former police officer, he
seemed to have a virulent hatred of police, having been
arrested twice previously for assaulting an officer. He
showed no regret for what he had done. Indeed, the
entire Cirincione family professed not to understand
what all the fuss was about. They made an obscene
gesture at the Miller family in the hall of the court-
house, and Leonard's father stated on a radio talk show
that "it was just an accident."
Furious, Betty Miller called the radio station the next
day. "Mr. Cirincione," she said on the air, "your son
killed my husband. He destroyed my life. I ask you to
look in the mirror and see me. I'm like you. You're
lonely, but I'm lonely too. At least you have the option
of going down to the Maryland State Penitentiary to
hug your son and make sure he's okay. My children and
I visit the cemetery."
Cirincione was convicted of first degree murder in the
death of Richard Miller, first degree attempted murder
of Officer Aires, and assault on Officer Papks. The
first two sentences are running consecutively. Cirincione
is now serving life plus 20 years at the Maryland State
Penitentiary.
DREAMS LOST, NIGHTMARES FOUND
37
There's some measure of satisfaction in knowing that
her husband's killer is behind bars, says Betty Miller,
but it will never ease her pain completely. "I live with
this every day. Nobody wants to hear it. People say, 'It's
been three years and you should be past it.' Friends we
had together aren't friends now. They can't handle it.
There's only a few that can look me in the eye. The rest
look past me."
"One day, that cemetery looked real good to me."
But Betty Miller has gotten on with her life. "It's a
struggle to do that. My grandchildren are my life now."
The little ones keep her going, as does her involvement
with other police survivors through COPS. "If you can
reach out and help somebody else, you will get on with
your life. You'll never get the answer to 'why' but you
can go on."
Betty Miller keeps Dick's mementoes in a beautiful
glass breakfront in her immaculate living room. There,
a visitor can see his hat, a baseball, a baseball glove
given to Dick by pitching great Jim Palmer, and a host
of honorary medals and plaques. Saddest, perhaps, is
Dick's badge, with the enamel scraped off in places by
the force of the impact of the little white car.
In spite of all her pain and loneliness, Betty is con-
vinced she has it better than Karen Adolfo, deprived so
early of so much love, so much potential, and a life the
two young people had planned together since they met
in their teens. "But she'll make it," Betty says. "Karen's
going to be all right."
In a spirit typical of law enforcement officers' survi-
vors, Karen and Betty are trying to help each other
make the best of what life has cruelly handed them.
"TALKING ABOUT IT IS PAINFUL.
SILENCE IS MORE PAINFUL."
-A participant at a COPS grief seminar.
"After Dan was killed," Pam Gleason said, "some
people said to me, 'Well, at least you expected it. You
knew what you were getting into when you mar-
ried him.'
"But Dan's death was not part of the deal!"
Law enforcement officers and their families tend to
put the possibility of line-of-duty death out of their
minds, simply in order to survive. "You can't think
about it," many widows have told me. "You can't let
yourself, or you'd go crazy."
But even if you could dwell on the ultimate dangers
of the job, there's no way to prepare yourself for the
sudden, violent death of a loved one.
"The days after Kevin's death were so hard. It's like
this big hole in your stomach that doesn't fill up," said
Judi Welsh, whose husband, Kevin, a Washington,
D.C. police officer, drowned while trying to save a
woman who had thrown herself into the Potomac River
in an attempted suicide.
Anyone who loses a spouse, child, parent, sibling, or
close friend will experience profound grief. But the
survivors of law enforcement officers who die in the line
of duty can undergo a host of troubling symptoms,
known collectively as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
(PTSD). Combat veterans, hostages, rape and assault
victims, and survivors of natural disasters often experi-
39
40
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
ence this syndrome, and so do at least 59%* of survi-
vors of police officers killed in the line of duty.
PTSD sufferers can re-live the traumatic incident for
years. Awake or asleep, they experience it repeatedly,
replaying their loved one's death in their minds like an
irresistible, yet horrifying, movie. Often, they become
numb, unable to feel any emotions to the degree they
did before their loss. Sometimes they stop sleeping.
Understandably, survivors with PTSD have an
increased startle reflex. A noise around the house can
make them jump, turning a routine episode into a
heart-pounding panic attack. Sometimes they experi-
ence flashbacks, hallucinations, and illusions that seem
very, very real.
"Six months after the death, you might start to smell
his aftershave around the house," says Vivian Eney,
who lost her husband Chris in a line-of-duty accidental
death. "You think you're going crazy. That's why it's SO
important to talk with other survivors, to know that
you're not the only one experiencing these things-to
know you're not alone."
Vivian experienced her first flashback a few years
after her husband's death. As often happens, her mem-
ories may have been triggered by the weather; her hus-
band was killed August 24, 1984. "I was driving on the
Beltway on a beautiful day in August when I felt the
blood leave my face. My heart started pounding, and I
was crying uncontrollably."
*Stillman, F.A., Researcher, Concerns of Police Survivors, Inc., Grant No. 85-
IJCX0012, National Institute of Justic, USDOJ.
TALKING ABOUT IT IS PAINFUL
41
"Mom, you're scaring me," Vivian's daughter said.
"I'm scaring me, too!" Vivian replied.
When a survivor with PTSD does not receive profes-
sional help or peer group support, the suffering can
escalate. Substance abuse, broken relationships, lost
careers can result. It's almost as if the violent, destruc-
tive force of the loved one's death never stops chipping
away at their lives.
"Survivors and law enforcement agencies don't usu-
ally think of themselves as secondary victims, but that's
what they are," says Jim Scutt of the National Sheriffs'
Association.
COPS' study of fallen law enforcement officers' sur-
vivors has shown that the way a widow, mother, or close
friend of the officer is notified of the death has much to
do with their ability to recover fully from their loss.
Survivors have many horror stories to tell about noti-
fication. Some wives learn of their husbands' deaths on
the radio or television before the department notifies
them. Some have been devastated by the seeming cold-
ness of the officers sent to deliver the bad news.
Jim Scutt speaks to law enforcement officers on the
difficult task of notification. "I tell them, 'It's the
hardest thing you'll ever have to do as a cop. But if
you're the chief or sheriff of a department, shame on
you if you don't go personally to make the notification,
and you'd better do it right. Take somebody with you to
support the family."
Founded by Suzanne Sawyer, wife of a police officer
and immediate past president of the Fraternal Order of
Police Ladies Auxiliary, COPS (Concerns of Police Sur-
vivors) is working with law enforcement agencies across
42
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
the nation to improve notification procedures. COPS
publishes a widely distributed booklet on line-of-duty
deaths that will help agencies prepare for the tragedies
they never want to think about. As for now, says one
widow, too many police departments know "exactly
how far you're supposed to stand from the casket, but
how to notify the widow-they don't have a clue."
This important booklet is just part of what COPS is
doing to help survivors. Survivors of line-of-duty death
interviewed for this book gratefully acknowledged the
tremendous work done by Suzie Sawyer-work that has
made it possible for them to put their lives back
together again. A key part of Ms. Sawyer's healing
efforts is the annual COPS grief seminar. Each year in
May, during National Police Week in Washington,
D.C., COPS coordinates this two-day event for offi-
cers' survivors. The seminar is held immediately prior to
the National Peace Officers Memorial Day service,
which is sponsored each year on May 15 by the Frater-
nal Order of Police Ladies Auxiliary. Started in 1982 by
then-FOPLA president Trudy Chapman and Ms. Saw-
yer, the memorial service honors officers killed during
the previous year.
What happens at a grief seminar? "You find out
you're not alone. You find out you're not crazy," parti-
cipants say. Every survivor interviewed for this book
stressed the importance of the COPS "family."
"I went the first year to get help for myself," says
Doris Beauregard, whose husband Alain and his part-
ner Michael Schiavina-members of the Springfield,
Massachusetts Police Department-were shot to death.
"The next year I came back to help the others."
TALKING ABOUT IT IS PAINFUL
43
At the COPS seminar, survivors talk, cry, yell, laugh,
and feel the strength their common bond brings. Special
sessions are held to accommodate the varying needs of
the survivors.
"First, we try to fill them with hope at the beginning
of the seminar," says Vivian Eney, currently National
President of COPS. "We try to tell them that the only
way to get out on the other side is to go through the
pain. If you try to hide from it, it will catch up with
you. And we tell them, 'I'm a survivor, and I'm going
to continue to be a survivor, and you can, too."
Then the participants can choose sessions suited to
their particular needs-sessions for husbands of female
officers who died in the line of duty; for survivors of
officers whose deaths were accidents; for survivors of
officers whose deaths were felonious; for parents, "the
forgotten grievers," whose pain may be overlooked
while the spouse's and children's needs seem to be
paramount in everyone's minds.
And there are special sessions for the children of
fallen law enforcement officers-100 of the 600 partici-
pants in the 1989 Grief Seminar. This year, an art
therapist had the kids draw pictures. Often, their
images reveal lingering anger, depression, and frustra-
tion. When she sees possible problems represented in a
child's drawings, the art therapist recommends that the
parent seek counselling for the child, to help him or her
deal with the enormous pain of losing Daddy
or Mommy.
The seminar also includes a session for co-workers of
the dead officers. "Man, this was my partner, and I'm
not dealing with it very well" is a typical comment in
44
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
this special gathering. Traditionally police departments
have had a "get tough" attitude about emotions, but
burying the grief may endanger the living officer as he
or she goes about daily law enforcement tasks.
"The officers are told, 'He's dead, it's over with, get
on with your job,' says Vivian Eney. "But it's not over.
Officers worry that their grief may surface any time, in
situations where it might do a lot of harm-apprehend-
ing a suspect, for example. Remembering the incident
can make you freeze in terror, or get more violent. Or
you might simply lose your concentration, which is key
to one's ability to do the job."
While fellow law enforcement officers might find it
hard to express their emotions when a colleague dies,
they almost always make a show of force at the hospital
when an officer is injured, and at wakes, funerals, and
memorial services.
"I don't know of any other profession like it," says
Jim Scutt. "At the Memorial Service this year, it
rained steadily the whole time. Even with an umbrella,
I was sopping wet by the end of it. But there were
thousands and thousands of officers there who didn't
even have umbrellas. And they weren't about to leave
until that last name had been read, that last sacrifice
acknowledged."
Vivian Eney says it's tough for police officers to let
down the walls they build up to defend themselves from
the stress of their jobs. "You go to a police funeral and
you see 5,000 pairs of sunglasses. God forbid anybody
should see these men cry!"
Special Agent Jim Horn of the FBI Academy's
Behavioral Science Services Division says people can be
TALKING ABOUT IT IS PAINFUL
45
taught to handle trauma and loss more effectively, not
by "toughing it out" but by learning to express their
feelings, to reach out to others, and to make a conscious
decision to be "better, not bitter:"
"Education got us into this: You grow up, you're big,
you don't cry. Education will get us out of it: When we
can ask for help, we're really on our way."
The first step is talking. "A Holocaust survivor said,
'Pain has everything to do with silence," Jim Horn
says. "Survivors need to know their feelings are
acknowledged, understood, and accepted. They need to
know their experience has been validated by others."
Compounding survivors' grief is the fact that our
nation has not made an effort to commemorate the
ultimate sacrifices made by their loved ones. "The
Memorial is so important because you must have a
monument of some kind for that healing to take place,"
as Agent Horn has learned from Dr. Bessel van der
Kolk of the Harvard Trauma Center. "If you don't have
a physical one, you might erect one mentally," Horn
says, creating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or other
problems in the process. "If you're dying serving other
people, that should be recognized. These people deserve
more than just a little plot of ground."
And so do their survivors, the men, women, and
children who in great numbers have gone on to make
the most of their lives, reaching out to fellow mourners
and doing what they can to improve the lot of heroes in
America's ongoing, undeclared war-the war on crime.
Officer Edward Byrne
New York City Police Department
OUTMANNED, OUTARMED,
OUTGUNNED-
THE DRUG WARS IN AMERICA
Something went wrong at the Hurricane Motel.
Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms Agents
Ariel Rios and Alexander d'Atri were the cream of the
crop, selected from among their peers to serve on the
Vice President's Task Force on Crime in South Florida,
46
OUTMANNED, OUTARMED, OUTGUNNED
47
an elite drug-fighting unit. Ariel Rios left his home base
of Connecticut and eagerly headed out to accept his
new assignment.
Agent Rios grew up in New York City, received a B.S.
degree from the John Jay College of Criminal Justice,
and was sworn in as a special agent for BATF on
December 4, 1978. Ariel Rios quickly earned a reputa-
tion for excellence in undercover narcotics work. "He
was one of the best," his superiors and his peers would
say after his death.
On December 2, 1982, Agents Rios and D'Atri were
working undercover in Miami, trying to negotiate a
cocaine buy from Cuban drug and weapons traffickers.
In a seedy room at Miami's Hurricane Motel, some-
thing went terribly wrong. One of the dealers apparently
saw other agents moving in outside the motel to make
an arrest. He drew a gun. Ariel Rios moved instantly to
disarm him. Special Agent Rios was shot in the face.
His partner was shot four times. Ariel Rios died almost
instantly. Special Agent D'Atri, though seriously
wounded, survived.
The investigation the two agents had been working
on brought good results for the Task Force, resulting in
the indictment of 17 individuals and the confiscation of
five kilograms of cocaine, $82,000, one automatic
weapon, five silencers, 20 silencer kits, and 20 other
firearms.
Ariel Rios, 28, left a wife, Esilda Morales, and two
children, Eileen and Francesco. He was laid to rest in
the mountains of Puerto Rico.
In Washington, D.C., the headquarters building of
the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms is now
48
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
the Ariel Rios Federal Building, in honor of this coura-
geous warrior in the crusade against drugs.
They call it an "execution-style" killing. It was fast. It
was sure. It was professional murder, motivated by the
greed of drug kingpins.
Officer Eddie Byrne was a rookie with the New York
City Police Department, proud of his job and eagerly
looking forward to following in his father's footsteps as
a law enforcement officer. On February 26, 1988, he
was assigned to protect a key prosecution witness in an
upcoming drug trial. Eddie was sitting in his patrol car
outside the witness's house when thugs working for a
drug lord walked up and shot him in the head
five times.
Officer Byrne's murder was interpreted by many law
enforcement officials as a clear and simple message
from the drug kingpins to America: "Don't get in
our way."
Eddie Byrne had just turned 22.
She died of her wounds eight years later. Officer Jane
Thompson Bowman of the Columbus, Ohio Police
Department died March 9, 1989. She was 36 years old,
the first female Columbus police officer to die from
injuries received in the line of duty-in a drug raid
shooting eight years before.
The young officer was one of four shot in the drug
raid while serving a search warrant. She had been shot
once when one of the fleeing perpetrators returned and
shot her again. The two bullet wounds to the abdomen
OUTMANNED, OUTARMED, OUTGUNNED
49
caused severe injuries to her pancreas, liver, kidneys,
and intestines. Amazingly, she survived the shooting,
though she never returned to active-duty police work.
Her husband told people Janie was angry about the
shooting mostly because it took her out of the
front lines.
Jane Thompson Bowman underwent over 30 opera-
tions. She was hospitalized 60 times in the last eight
years of her life. Finally, her beleaguered body could
endure no more, and her gallant fight for life ended
March 9, 1989.
Add Officer Bowman's name to the long list of vic-
tims of the ruthless drug dealers who want to take over
America.
Cadaver No. 1. Enrique "Kiki" Camarena, 37, was a
veteran employee of the U.S. Drug Enforcement
Agency, serving in Guadalajara, Mexico. Frustrated by
the corruption surrounding him, stymied by criminals
who simply laughed in his face, Kiki had requested and
been granted a transfer out. But three weeks before his
scheduled departure, on February 5, 1985, he went to
meet his wife for lunch. He never made it.
For a month, U.S. officials tried to rescue Kiki
Camerena, with precious little assistance from the Mexi-
can government. When they found him, he was dead.
Enrique Camarena had been tortured. The violations
of his body were unspeakably grotesque. A severe blow
to the head killed him. He had apparently been buried
in a shallow grave. Then the body was exhumed,
wrapped in a plastic bag, and thrown on a village
roadside with the body of Captain Alfredo Zavala Ave-
50
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
lar, a pilot for the Mexican Ministry of Agriculture who
worked for the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency on the
side. Zavala had also been tortured; then he was bur-
ied alive.
Red Cross doctors labelled the two decomposing
bodies Cadaver No. 1 and Cadaver No. 2. Enrique's
remains, telling the horror story of his final hours, were
all that was left for his wife, Mika, and their three sons,
Enrique, Daniel, and Erick.
From New York to Miami to Guadalajara. To Los
Angeles, where drug-selling gangs rule whole sections of
the city, and to Portland, Oregon, where L.A. gang
members have migrated, seeking an ever more lucrative,
untapped drug market. To the big cities and the small
towns of the Midwest, the South, New England-in
fact, in every part of this country today, drugs are
destroying our nation.
Drugs destroy drug abusers-or maybe it's more
accurate to say that drug abusers destroy themselves.
Drugs destroy youngsters, who at the ages of 9 and 10
years old can earn $500 a day for acting as a drug
"runner" or "holder." Drugs destroy innocent by-
standers, shot while sitting on their front porches or
sleeping in their beds, or robbed at gunpoint for drug
money, then killed as an afterthought by people for
whom human life holds no special value.
Ultimately, drugs have the power to unravel the fabric
of the United States of America.
And this is what our law enforcement agencies are up
against-the sinister force of illegal drugs, a force so
powerful that law enforcement professionals say it's the
top problem they face today.
OUTMANNED, OUTARMED, OUTGUNNED
51
"Drugs are the scariest thing going," says Jim Scutt
of the National Sheriffs' Association, "for two reasons.
One, officers are dealing largely with people who are
out of their minds on drugs. Two, the first shot fired
doesn't kill a drug abuser."
A drug-intoxicated suspect doesn't feel pain the way
a normal person does. Without a pain reaction, his
body keeps going beyond what would normally be pos-
sible. But some drugs do more than anesthetize. Sub-
stances like PCP and crack seem to make the users
paranoid and violent, and sometimes appear to give
them superhuman strength.
Scutt recalls the recent death of his police academy
classmate, Corporal Charles Hill of the Alexandria,
Virginia Police Department. Cpl. Hill died at the hands
of a drug-crazed addict, a man who over the course of a
couple of hours had smoked a large amount of crack
cocaine. Cpl. Hill died trying to save the life of a
hostage, who was later discovered to be a drug dealer.
Brandishing a shotgun, the hostage-taker ordered
Cpl. Hill to drop his weapon or he would kill the
hostage. As the drama unfolded, a police sharpshooter
shot the gunman, a blow that should have been fatal to
a normal individual. But the gunman was so drug-
intoxicated that even after he was shot, he was able to
fire two rounds. One killed Charlie Hill instantly. The
second seriously wounded another officer. The suspect
was finally killed in a hail of police bullets.
"The rules of the street have changed," says Scutt.
"Life has little value."
Worse yet, says Dewey Stokes, President of the Fra-
ternal Order of Police, "Drug dealers and abusers have
52
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
gone from the defensive to the offensive because of the
availability of high-power, rapid-fire weapons-what
we call 'drug guns.' They have made stopping, search-
ing, and search warrant execution highly volatile and
dangerous tasks for officers throughout the country."
The Fraternal Order of Police supports President
Bush's permanent ban on the importation of assault, or
semi-automatic weapons, but the organization wants to
see a larger step taken-an outright ban on all assault
weapons, made abroad or in the U.S.
Dewey Stokes explains the FOP's position: "Some
assault weapons will penetrate bullet-resistant vests.
And since they release a spray of gunfire, they give the
drug criminals a much better chance of hitting their
targets. If they're not sporting or hunting weapons-
and they're not-why not ban them from general pur-
chase and let the officers be more secure?"
Drugs and drug guns have caused enormous changes
in police work in the last 15 years, Officer Stokes says.
"Then, armed robbery, burglary, marijuana smokers
were the big things. Now you have crack use, rape up all
over the country, homicide-especially brutal, sadistic
homicides, which are on the increase. I attribute that to
mind-altering drugs that produce more aggressive and
violent criminals."
During this period of ever-increasing drug-related
crime, many municipalities have cut back on their law
enforcement budgets. The result? Too many law
enforcement agencies are under-manned and out-
gunned by the drug dealers, who will stop at nothing to
protect their unbelievably valuable turf.
The escalating violence is creating a reign of terror,
OUTMANNED, OUTARMED, OUTGUNNED
53
against which courageous Federal, State, and local offi-
cers must battle every day of the year, risking every-
thing, giving their lives as did Agent Rios, Officer
Byrne, Officer Bowman, and Agent Camarena.
"When I go to testify before Congress in support of
our police officers, sometimes the legislators don't
understand why I feel the way I do," says Dewey Stokes.
"I tell them it's simple. I've been to many funerals. I've
held so many widows and babies and children, and I've
told them they would be all right. That's what keeps me
going. That's why I'm determined to do whatever I can
to help all law enforcement officers and their families."
"We have a society that doesn't support law enforce-
ment's sacrifices like it used to," says FBI Special Agent
James Horn. "It's a selfish, self-indulgent society, and
nowhere do you see that more clearly than in the level of
drug abuse."
It will take a lot to stop the drug plague. More men
and women will give their lives in the struggle. The least
we can do is let them know that their sacrifices are
appreciated, and that's why the National Law Enforce-
ment Officers Memorial is so important to the police
community. How can we ask our officers to go out
every day and risk their lives, when we don't even
commemorate the sacrifices of their slain colleagues?
Our fallen heroes in the drug wars should not fade
from memory, and they must not. As members of a
decent society, we cannot let them be forgotten.
Patrolman James Wier
Denver, Colorado Police Department
"MOMMY, WHAT WAS DADDY LIKE?"
Too many children of law enforcement officers will
never know their fathers. James Wier's sons are two
of them.
On June 3, 1987, Shawn Marie Wier was breast-
feeding her infant son, Dustin, at 10:00 p.m., and
watching the evening news on television, when her
world began to fall apart.
54
"MOMMY, WHAT WAS DADDY LIKE?"
55
A news reporter announced that two police officers
had been shot in Denver, 70 miles away. The broadcast
was then garbled by audio problems; Shawn couldn't
hear the officers' names, but somehow, intuitively, she
knew the incident had occurred in the sector where her
husband, James, was on duty.
The phone rang, and Shawn found herself in dream
time, where everything moves so slowly. "I walked out
into the kitchen and stared at the phone. I made myself
answer it, finally."
"Is this Mrs. Wier?" a voice asked.
"Yes," Shawn replied.
"Is this James Wier's mother?"
"No, it's his wife."
"Did-you hear about the shooting?"
"Oh my God, was Jim there?"
"He's in the Emergency Room."
"Tell him I love him and I'll be there as soon as I
can," Shawn said, hanging up the phone. But it would
take her over an hour to reach Denver. And it was
already too late for James Wier to hear his wife's words
of love.
Preparing to leave her home, Shawn went back into
the living room. There, on the screen, she saw her
husband on a stretcher, being removed from an ambu-
lance. She saw his legs fall limply off the end of the
stretcher, and thought to herself, "He's dead." But there
was still an oxygen mask on his face; there was
still hope.
The trip to the hospital was the longest ride in
Shawn's life. When she walked into the hospital, two
police officers pulled her aside, saying, "We'll tell you
56
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
what happened when we get inside." But all Shawn
needed was one look at Jim's brother's face. Before
Jim's mother could say, "Baby, he's gone," Shawn knew
she was a widow with two fatherless children.
Shawn wanted to see Jim. They took her into the
morgue. "All I wanted to do was hold his hands," she
remembers. "I walked into the room and they pulled
him out of a drawer. They had brown lunch bags over
his hands for prints and gunpowder. I couldn't touch
them."
Both Jim and his wife were just 25 years old that
June evening. They had been married less than a year.
Their son, Dustin, had been born just 5½ weeks be-
fore. Dirk was 3½ years old.
"You go on automatic pilot," Shawn Wier says. "You
have to."
James Wier was killed by a cop-hater, a deranged
elderly man named Charles Tarr who flew the Ameri-
can flag upside-down, put signs on his lawn saying
"DPD (Denver Police Department) = KGB," and har-
assed officers with numerous crank calls. That night, he
had called police once around 8:00 p.m. Then his wife,
Mary, called to tell police to ignore her husband, that he
was just drunk. But the dispatcher overheard a scuffle
between the husband and wife. To check on Mrs. Tarr's
safety, Patrolmen James Wier and Jimmy Gose were
dispatched to the house at 40 S. Pennsylvania Street.
When they got there, they could see a man behind the
screen door with a rifle or shotgun in his hands.
It might have helped if they had known what Mary
Tarr knew: That her husband was ready to die. "It's all-
"MOMMY, WHAT WAS DADDY LIKE?"
57
out war," he was reported to have said. "It's either them
or me."
The officers went for cover, Wier crouching behind a
three-foot stucco wall and Gose behind a car, just
before Tarr opened fire. James Wier rose up from
behind the retaining wall to return fire. As he attempted
his third shot, Tarr shot him, fatally, in the head.
"Officer down," Gose shouted over his radio. Back-
up units arrived within minutes. Before the mayhem
was over, Sergeants Ronald Samson and Peter Diaz
were also wounded, Samson seriously. Finally, Tarr
ended his "war" by turning his gun on himself.
That afternoon, before James Wier left for work, he
and his young family enjoyed a picnic together in their
back yard. It started to hail, Shawn remembers: "Jim
and I were laughing and kissing each other with this hail
falling all around."
Indoors, Jim was holding Dustin, described by
Shawn as a "clone" of his father. "He'll do okay for
himself," Jim Wier said. "Look at me, I haven't done
so badly. I've got a beautiful wife."
When they said goodbye to Jim for the last time,
Shawn and Dirk didn't expect him back that night
because he sometimes stayed over in Denver because of
the long drive. "Since you're not coming home tomor-
row, bring me a surprise," Shawn said.
"Bring me one, too, Daddy Jim," Dirk said.
Instead, Jim Wier's family had to learn to cope with
his brutal slaying.
"Before Jim died, I felt safe, secure, and happy, and I
want that back," Shawn says. It would be a long time
before her life would regain some sense of normalcy:
58
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
After Jim's death, she was hit with a seemingly endless
succession of problems. Her car was stolen. Dustin got
sick and required lengthy hospitalization. Driving a
rental car while her car was being repaired, Shawn was
in an accident caused by a drunk driver; fortunately,
both she and the boys emerged without serious injury
from the totalled car. Dirk's natural father sued for
custody of the child.
In the midst of all of this, Shawn Wier somehow
completed a Master's Degree in Communications. But
for now, her first priority is her family, and a new life
she will start on October 13, 1989, as the wife of another
police officer, Patrick O'Connor of the New York City
Police Department.
Shawn, active in COPS and many other police-
related organizations, met Patrick when both were
working for a project called Kops'n'Kids that raises
money for police orphans. "You do go on with your
life, and I was very lucky to find this wonderful man,
but the pain of Jim's death isn't over, and it never will
be," Shawn says.
Shawn is surprised to find herself marrying another
policeman. "I swore up and down I'd never even date
another cop!" she laughs, "But I've never been able to
blackball anyone on the basis of their profession. When
I met Pat, I told him it would have to be a very special
person for me to date another cop. He turned out to be
that very special person."
Undoubtedly, Patrick O'Connor has a special under-
standing of what Shawn's been through. His father, a
New York City police officer, was killed in the line of
duty in November 1973.
"MOMMY, WHAT WAS DADDY LIKE?"
59
"We're getting married on October 13. Patrick chose
the date because it's 10/13-and in police code, 10-13
means 'officer in distress.' I guess he wants his fellow
cops to come and save him from me!"
Shawn looks forward to a new life in New York.
Asked if she will worry about Patrick's safety, she
says no.
"Pat always says, 'If you worry, you're going to die.
If you don't worry, you're still going to die.' I try to
remember that."
Shawn Marie Wier, just 25 years old at the time of
her husband's death, is a survivor. She will tell Dirk and
Dustin about James Wier; she will make sure he lives on
in their memories.
Doris Beauregard is making that effort for her chil-
dren, too. There are pictures of their father, Alain, in
each of their bedrooms. He is never far from their
minds.
Her son, Eric, was 2½ when his father, a member of
the Springfield, Massachusetts police department, was
shot on November 12, 1985 and died on November 15.
Eric still remembers his dad a little bit. But his sister,
Chantal, will have to build up an image of her father
from pictures, mementoes, and stories.
Doris Beauregard found out she was pregnant with
Chantal one week after Alain's funeral.
"The press was reporting that I was pregnant before I
even knew I was!" Doris remembers. One of Alain's
fellow officers and friends told Doris that Alain had
said he thought his wife was pregnant.
When Doris learned she was expecting, she was
numb. "A couple of months before, I'd had repeated
60
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
dreams that Alain was shot and killed. I'd also had
dreams where I saw myself pregnant alongside my sis-
ter-but without my husband."
Alain Beauregard and his partner, Michael
Schiavina, were shot and killed by a man named Eddie
Ortez after they stopped Ortez's car. Ortez later killed
himself.
Doris remembers going to Michael's wake, but
watching scenes of his funeral on television. She was too
weak to attend: Alain, who had survived his wound for
a few days, had died the day before.
The community rallied around the families of the
slain officers. "But the whole experience was SO
strange," says Doris, "like being in a dream. On the way
to the funeral, I felt like Jackie Kennedy. I'm riding in a
limo and there are people lined up all along the street.
Something takes over and you're acting out a part.
People said I was strong. The reason I could be is that I
knew Alain was right by my side."
The City of Springfield erected a memorial to Offi-
cers Beauregard and Schiavina, and for all other fallen
officers. Every year there is a ceremony at the cemetery
for the two men. "It's great to know they're not forgot-
ten," Doris says. The memorial and the ceremony will
help her explain to her children who their father was,
and what he died for.
"Every year Eric gets more inquisitive about where
Daddy is. He asks about dying, and it's really hard to
explain to a child, 'Well, your spirit goes to heaven but
your body stays here." A Christmas T.V. program in
which a grandfather died helped Eric understand death
a little better.
"MOMMY, WHAT WAS DADDY LIKE?"
61
"I try to tell him heaven's a beautiful place-it's nice
and peaceful-and that Daddy's happy there. At the
same time, he's watching over you and he'll always be
with you."
Doris Beauregard has had her bleak days, her
moments of complete despair. "But I had to live on for
my two children, for those who made me feel happy,
and to smile again. The strength of my family, friends,
and all the others who supported me has helped me go
on with my life."
Like Shawn Wier, Doris has found love again-also
with a man who is the son of a police officer, John
Shecrallah, whom she recently married. "John has been
most supportive through the events that have taken
place since Alain's death. John has given Eric and
Chantal all the love and guidance he would give his own
children."
Doris says she will never forget Alain: "Alain is gone,
but thoughts of him and memories will always be with
me, as I have a very special place in my heart for him."
Doris's faith in God helped tremendously the healing
process. "Sometimes we ask, 'Why me?' But I just pray
that he's in peace and that we're going to make it. In
some ways, Alain's death made us stronger. We appreci-
ate more than we did before. We don't take things
for granted."
These two courageous young mothers have every
right to ask the rest of us not to take certain things for
granted, either-especially the supreme sacrifices their
husbands so willingly made to make America a little
better, a little safer for all of us.
Officer Alexander M. Cochran III
Virginia State Police
WE CALL IT THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM
The young mother is killed by a crack user in an
attempted robbery. Her murderer, arrested for assault
just a week before, had been released on $5,000 bail.
The elderly sisters, living together in a country ham-
let, are brutally stabbed to death. Their murderer is a
convicted killer, out of jail because he came up for
62
WE CALL IT THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM
63
parole just a few years after he committed his
last felony.
Surely everyone in America has heard horror stories
like these. They're far too common. Too many Ameri-
cans will be touched by violent crime at some point in
their lives, despite the best efforts of law enforcement
agencies to protect them.
The stories above are just two examples of what
many Americans see as the failure of our criminal
justice system. In its attempts to protect the rights of the
criminal, and in its efforts to cope with a burgeoning
prison population, it often overlooks two key concerns:
the safety of the public and the rights of crime victims.
For many survivors of law enforcement officers killed
in the line of duty, the trial of their loved one's killer is a
living nightmare. But the verdict and the sentencing are
sheer hell.
"The system makes the aftermath as traumatic or
more traumatic than the event itself," says FBI Special
Agent Jim Horn. "To go to court opens all the old
wounds, and this goes on for months and years
sometimes.
"When the perpetrator is not caught, there's never
closure," Agent Horn continues. "But even when the
perpetrator survives and is apprehended, survivors
experience second injury, a resurfacing of the traumatic
reactions all over again."
It's difficult if not impossible to accept that the per-
son who deprived you of your loved one will get a
punishment that seems to you like a mere slap on
the wrist.
Outrage is one reaction-a reaction that's familiar to
64
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Mr. and Mrs. Alexander M. Cochran of Heathsville,
Virginia. These bereaved parents are determined to
change the "injustice system," at least in Virginia, so
that killers of innocent people get the punishment they
truly deserve.
Their son's killer will be eligible for parole nine short
years after the murder occurred. For them, that's far
too soon, especially considering the enormity of
their loss.
Their son, Alexander M. Cochran III (known by the
family as "Sandy" and by his law enforcement and
military colleagues as "Al"), was a Virginia State
Trooper and a Member of the Second Air Lift Platoon
of the Virginia National Guard. At 27, Sandy was an
outstanding law enforcement officer, assigned to patrol-
ling the Virginia section of the Washington, D.C. met-
ropolitan area's Beltway superhighway. In the previous
year, he ranked third in his division for drunk-driving
arrests. In the six months before his death, he nabbed
42 intoxicated drivers. When the cases went to court, he
lost only one, "and that was my fault," he told his
father. Sandy was determined to improve his near-per-
fect record: "That will never happen again!"
As his twenty-eighth birthday on January 23, 1987
neared, Sandy was just about to reach some important
goals. The son of a former Air Force jet pilot, Sandy
wanted to fly a helicopter for the National Guard unit
he'd been with for eight years. His ultimate goal was to
fly Medivac for the Virginia State Police, having been
an Emergency Medical Technician and Lieutenant in
the Callao, Virginia Rescue Squad. He had been taking
helicopter lessons in Manassas, Virginia, and soon he
WE CALL IT THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM
65
would be undertaking his first solo flight.
"I just knew that one day soon I'd pick up the phone
and Sandy would be saying 'I did it! I soloed!" his
father Mickey told me. Sandy was also scheduled to
receive a promotion to the State Police TAC Team in
just four days.
But Sandy never got his promotion, and he never got
to fly solo. And his dad never got that proud telephone
call. Instead, Mickey Cochran says, "Here I was going
along fat, dumb, and happy, and the doorbell rings."
Mickey Cochran will never forget the night of Janu-
ary 15, 1987. At 12:15 a.m., his wife said, "Somebody's
at the door." They saw three state police cars in front of
the house.
Maybe it was her mother's instinct that told Kathar-
ine Cochran what had happened before another word
was spoken. "Sandy's been killed," she said.
Her husband's hope held out a few seconds longer.
"No, he's just been hurt or something."
Sandy's fellow Troopers confirmed the Cochrans'
worst fears.
That morning, Sandy had been assigned to a special
FBI anti-drug detail. His regular State Police shift
would have started at 3:00 p.m., but his sergeant
excused him from it. Sandy spent the afternoon running
errands and shopping. He was unloading groceries from
his car that evening when his sister Susanne called from
Colorado.
They chatted for a while, planning for Susanne's visit
on the upcoming weekend. The sister and brother had
always been close, sharing among other common inter-
ests the family passion for animals. (Sandy had a
66
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
menagerie in his townhouse-a 14-inch monitor lizard,
toads, an iguana; Susanne raises big birds, including
macaws.) They finished talking around 9:15 p.m., and
one of Sandy's neighbors dropped in for a chat.
The two men stood in Sandy's kitchen for a few
minutes, talking, when they heard a loud BAM!
BAM! BAM!
"Those aren't firecrackers," Sandy said. Technically,
Sandy was off-duty. But, as any law enforcement offi-
cer will tell you, there's really no such thing as off-duty.
When people need help, you react.
Sandy responded without a second's hesitation. He
started out the door, then ran back to get his service
revolver. Running out into the townhouse develop-
ment's shared parking lot and lawns, he saw a woman
crouched over a man who had been shot. She was
screaming, "Get an ambulance! Get an ambulance!"
Sandy headed to his parked cruiser, apparently to call
for help on his radio. The neighbor who had been
talking to Sandy reports that at this moment he saw
something out of the corner of his eye, a figure moving
behind a second-floor window. Maybe Sandy saw it,
too, because it seems he was just turning his head when
the shot rang out.
A single shotgun blast hit Sandy in the back and the
head as he was passing in front of his police car. He died
instantly at 9:24 p.m., only nine minutes after talking to
his sister.
Within three seconds, the shooter turned and fired
again, fatally wounding Army Sergeant Dennis R. Kief,
who lived in the townhouse complex. He also shot at an
off-duty Fairfax County police officer, who was not hit.
WE CALL IT THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM
67
By the time more police officers arrived on the scene,
the shooter had created a scene of complete devastation
in the usually peaceful neighborhood: Two men dead,
one man seriously wounded. They quickly apprehended
the suspect, a man named Larry Gill.
Mickey Cochran says the pain of his son's slaying is
compounded because there was absolutely no reason
for it, no motive any normal person could relate to.
Larry Gill was described by people who knew him as
quiet, straight, a man who didn't drink or curse, a
Bible-reading hunter who adored his wife. Unfortu-
nately for Sandy Cochran and Sergeant Kief, Larry
Gill's wife had decided to leave him that night. Her
brother, Gregory B. Jividen, had come to help her move
out. Larry Gill shot his brother-in-law first. Jividen lost
a kidney because of his shotgun wound.
Why did Larry Gill go on from there to kill two more
men and attempt to kill another? The Cochrans will
never understand it. But after the initial shock wore off,
they expected at least that they would see justice done-
capital murder charges, preferably the death penalty or
at least three life sentences imposed on Larry Gill.
Instead, Larry Gill got off easy.
Charged with only two counts of first-degree murder,
one attempted capital murder (for shooting at the off-
duty Fairfax County police officer), and one count of
malicious wounding, Gill was convicted on two counts
of second-degree murder, one count of malicious
wounding, and three counts of commission of a felony
with a firearm. The attempted capital murder charge
was thrown out.
Gill received combined sentences of 55 years. Under
68
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Virginia law, that means that, with good behavior, he
can be eligible for parole in 1996.
Mickey Cochran has puzzled over the jury's decisions
many times. "How the jury came up with Murder 2, I'll
never know," he says.
Out of their outrage and their anguish, the Cochrans
decided to do something about a system that ignores the
rights and interests of crime victims. They formed the
Sandy Cochran Committee, a group committed to judi-
cial change in Virginia.
"We want to change the parole system, to make it
follow the new Federal model established in November
1988-you get a 10-year sentence, you serve a 10-year
sentence. And we want to change the laws governing
truth in sentencing, so that juries are told exactly what
happens in the system once the case leaves the court.
Most jurors don't have any idea that a convicted crimi-
nal can get 10 years today, yet be considered for parole
in something under 30 months."
Mickey Cochran also thinks it's outrageous that
juries often have no knowledge of an offender's prior
criminal record. "After guilt or innocence has been
determined, juries should be given full information
about prior record, a victim impact statement, and a
clear explanation of parole eligibility date and good
time release date. Without this information, there's no
way a jury can impose a meaningful sentence!"
Another important initiative for the Sandy Cochran
Committee is its effort to establish life without parole as
a sentencing option. Life without parole would allow
juries that don't want to go for a death sentence to put
criminals behind bars with no fear of their release.
WE CALL IT THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM
69
The Sandy Cochran Committee has seen some suc-
cesses. "Now we've gotten the life sentence up to 25
years before parole eligibility, which amounts to about
18 years before they're actually up for parole."
The Cochrans want to see a balance that doesn't exist
right now in America: "The criminal has all kinds of
guaranteed rights and the victim has few." And, as co-
chairs of a five-county Mothers Against Drunk Driving
chapter, the Cochrans are also fighting to reform the
laws governing drunk driving. Mickey has spoken
before the Virginia State Crime Commission, the State
Legislature, and various other bodies.
Their efforts on behalf of crime victims have not
gone unrecognized. They've been the subject of many
newspaper articles, drawing much-needed attention to
their causes. And in October 1987, President Reagan
invited them to attend the unveiling of his Criminal
Justice Reform Act.
The Cochrans' work is very important to them, but
they wish they'd never had to get involved with the
criminal justice system-at least not because of the
murder of their son.
"We feel the system let us down, especially Sandy,"
Mickey says. That's particularly sad when you consider
how ardently Sandy believed in that system, how he
gave his life supporting it and protecting others.
When you read what others had to say about Sandy
after his death, you get an idea of the huge impact of his
loss on his parents, sister, friends, and fellow Troopers
and Guardsmen.
The 1987 Yearbook of the 76th Combat Aviation
Company of the Virginia National Guard is dedicated
70
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
to Sandy and another Guardsman who died in a skiing
accident. "Sgt. Cochran had been in the National
Guard unit for eight years, and he was not only a
topnotch crew chief, but you couldn't ask for a finer
friend." His friends in the Guard thought so highly of
Sandy that they flew to his parents' farm, landing six
helicopters in a field next to Sandy's grave in the family
plot. They brought the Cochrans a wonderful collage of
pictures of Sandy in the Guard.
Sgt. Ken Scott told the Cochrans and Sandy's fian-
cee, Clare McNeal, "Al shared so much with all of us,
and we wanted to give a little of that back to you." His
Trooper friends have not forgotten Sandy or
his parents.
"The Christmas afternoon after Sandy's death, a
State Police car pulled up. One of the local officers
came in and spent awhile with us. I thought that was
exceptionally nice," Mickey Cochran said.
But though his memory has been honored by hun-
dreds of friends and colleagues, Sandy's absence leaves
a hole in the Cochrans' lives that will never be filled.
"Sandy was a comic. He kept 'em all laughing. He
was a tremendous mimic, the sparkplug of his shift,"
Mickey Cochran remembers. But clearly, the serious
side was there, too, in his dedication to his fellow man,
his community, and his country.
Sandy Cochran's humanitarianism seems to have
been a part of his character from an early age. His
proud father tells a revealing, poignant story about his
eight-year-old son:
"One day my wife was out in the yard, and a neigh-
bor lady came over and said 'I wanted to thank you for
WE CALL IT THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM
71
telling Sandy to walk my son home from school every
day. You know, my boy is little, and he wears glasses,
and the other boys had been picking on him, but now
that Sandy's walking with him, they leave him alone."
But Sandy's mother had never told him to accom-
pany the boy. The gesture came spontaneously from
Sandy's heart, as if he were imbued with a natural
instinct for great and giving gestures, an instinct that
would lead him to heroic service and an untimely,
heroic death.
THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS
A ROUTINE TRAFFIC STOP
Despite the action-packed image of law enforcement
work most Americans glean from television and mov-
ies, there are many slow hours for most officers, hours
spent carrying out ordinary, seemingly hazard-free
duties - - duties you might consider routine.
But when you're in law enforcement, there's no such
thing as a routine task, because any situation can esca-
late instantly into violence.
New York City Police Detective Richard Pastorella
says he gets annoyed when he hears the phrase "routine
traffic stop." "There's nothing routine in law enforce-
ment. Each call is different. You are always on the line."
Even far beyond America's drug-ridden inner cities,
danger awaits every officer on every shift. Take Robert
Banker, for example, a Conservation Officer with the
Department of Fish and Wildlife in Christian County,
Kentucky. Most people would never think of Bob Bank-
er's job as dangerous. But while their primary duties
involve enforcing fish and game laws, Kentucky Con-
servation Officers also have full police powers. They
often work alone and routinely come into contact with
citizens legally and openly carrying firearms, raising the
potential of violence in any encounter.
Bob Banker knew the risks involved in the work he
loved, but he probably wasn't thinking about them that
day in March 1987 as he checked the licenses of fisher-
men at Lake Lacy in southwestern Kentucky. Probably,
as he went about his duties, he was enjoying the open
air, the beauties of the natural environment he cherished
72
NO SUCH THING AS A ROUTINE TRAFFIC STOP
73
- that is, until he encountered Eric Burns.
Officer Banker quickly learned that Burns was fish-
ing without a license. Despite Burns' apparent attempt
to bribe him, Bob Banker wrote Burns a citation, fining
him $62.50. Officer Banker then started walking away.
He got no more than 20 to 25 feet from Burns when the
fisherman picked up a rifle and shot him in the back.
Dennis Hightower was checking his cattle in an
adjoining field when he witnessed the incident. He
screamed to try to distract the man with the rifle. He
succeeded, putting himself in danger. Eric Burns turned
the gun on Hightower.
Fortunately, Hightower was only slightly injured by
one bullet that grazed his right arm. For Bob Banker,
however, Eric Burns' shots were instantly fatal.
"I could have understood this happening during
deer-hunting season, but this just didn't make sense,"
says Officer Banker's widow, Pamela. Losing Bob has
been a devastating blow to the Banker family-not only
to Pam and the couple's children, Robert Edward and
Melissa, but to Bob's mother.
"My mother-in-law has mentioned more than once
that the emptiness just won't go away. As for me, well,
after the trial ended, I really felt good - like I could go
on. But I'm having trouble doing it," Pam Banker says.
After a lengthy but successful effort to prove Eric Burns
competent to stand trial, Officer Banker's killer was
convicted on several charges, and received sentences
that may permit his release in 22 years, at age 53.
"Now they're fixing to go through the appeal process
and I'm so scared: Is it never over?" Pam Banker is
struggling to create a normal life for herself and her
74
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
children once again. But she is finding it very difficult.
"Everything's on my shoulders-raising the kids by
myself-and the loneliness
Robbie helps out a lot
but there's only so much a 12-year-old can do, and I
don't want to put too much on his shoulders."
Conservation Officer Robert Banker was one of far
too many law enforcement officers who step into a
seemingly routine situation, only to meet their deaths.
Robert Elliott was another.
A Miami County, Ohio Sheriff's Deputy, Bobby
Elliott was universally liked. "People called him the
Pillsbury Doughboy," says his widow, Tammie. "He
was a very good-natured person and he laughed a lot.
My attorney even told me he thought Bobby was too
nice a guy to be a cop."
Tammie disagrees, though Bobby's kind-heartedness
might have contributed to his death. On February 25,
1987, Bobby was guarding a prisoner who had AIDS at
Stouder Memorial Hospital in Troy, Ohio. No one
really knows what happened, but it appears that the
prisoner may have asked Bobby to unshackle him so he
could take a shower, and that Bobby-compassionate
as ever-may have gone to get the prisoner a towel.
Whatever the sequence of the events, Bobby and the
prisoner struggled; the room was completely turned
upside-down after the incident. Somehow, the prisoner
wrestled Bobby's gun away and shot him.
The bullet severed two main arteries in Bobby's liver
and lodged in his right kidney. He died six hours later in
surgery at Miami Valley Hospital in Dayton, Ohio. He
was 36 years old.
Bobby's death even shook some of the inmates at the
NO SUCH THING AS A ROUTINE TRAFFIC STOP
75
jail where he worked. A group of them sent Tammie a
letter, telling her how much they admired Bobby for
treating prisoners like human beings. "They went out of
their way to tell me, 'We're not all like the jerk who
killed your husband."
Bobby is sorely missed by his wife and children,
Rhea, 13 months old at the time of her dad's death,
Nathan, who was 3½, and Gloria, Bobby's daughter
from a previous marriage, who was 11. He was a hard-
working, unassuming, kind man who worked side jobs
to give his family a few extras. A skilled carpenter, he
made and sold wooden swing sets. Together, he and
Tammie restored an old frame house he bought for $50.
Robert Banker and Robert Elliott were the kind of
law enforcement officers America is richly blessed with:
Dedicated family men who wanted nothing more than
to build a good life for their families and serve their
communities through law enforcement work. They
knew they were risking their dreams when they were
sworn in as officers of the law. They knew a quiet
afternoon they might even find a little boring could
erupt in bloodshed at any moment. But they were will-
ing to take the risks-risks most of us wouldn't dream
of accepting.
For their special commitment and their special sacri-
fice, we owe them a debt of gratitude-a debt we can
repay by building the National Law Enforcement Offi-
cers Memorial in permanent tribute to them.
this
Sheriff's Deputy Donna Marie Miller
Hillsborough County, Florida Sheriff's Department
NOBODY'S FAULT, EVERYBODY'S DUTY
Is an officer less of a hero when he or she dies in a
line-of-duty accident? Vivian Eney and hundreds of
other survivors say "no":
"Much of society will place the term 'hero' on an
officer who dies in a shootout or a drug bust. But those
who die accidentally don't get that honor. There are no
76
NOBODY'S FAULT, EVERYBODY'S DUTY
77
citations, no plaques. Their death is an embarrassment
to the police department."
Vivian Eney knows first-hand about the aftermath of
accidental line-of-duty deaths. Her husband, Sergeant
Chris Eney of the U.S. Capitol Police, was accidentally
killed by a fellow officer during SWAT training with an
anti-terrorist unit he helped form.
"It was nobody's fault," Vivian says. But she does
fault the police department's handling of the events that
followed. Chris's name was released to radio stations
before Vivian was notified. Most of the family found
out about his death from news broadcasts; fortunately,
Vivian did not.
When she arrived at the hospital, Vivian remembers,
there were no officials to help her. And in the months
following, she had to battle to get the benefits due her
and her daughters. It took almost a year to get worker's
compensation! Vivian's struggle was reported in an arti-
cle in The Washington Post, which officers pinned up at
police headquarters with a note:
"We put our lives on the line every day, and our
families are treated like this!"
It doesn't seem right, and yet the survivors of acci-
dental line-of-duty deaths often receive this kind of
treatment. They learn that the benefits immediately
given to the family of an officer who is killed feloni-
ously are not necessarily coming to them.
It's a lesson Deputy Sheriff Donna Miller's family
learned the hardest way possible.
Deputy Miller and her partner, Deputy Fred Clark,
were responding to a call. They were in a hurry: A
fellow officer had reported he was under fire at a shoot-
78
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
ing scene. Travelling at high speed, their car hit a patch
of sand on the highway that acted just like ice. The car
spun out of control and crashed. Deputy Sheriff Miller,
26, died the next day.
Donna Miller's dad has 30 years under his belt as a
Sheriff's deputy. But it wasn't until their daughter's
death that the Millers learned a frightening fact:
"Because of a clause in the department's insurance
policy, you're not covered if you die in an accident,"
says Donna's mother, Connie. "Donna was killed in the
line of duty but not killed by a bullet, knife, or fists. So
the family didn't get a penny. And that's how we
learned that if my husband had died in an accident at
any time in the last 33 years, he would have left me and
our five children penniless!"
Donna Miller's family isn't bitter. In fact, her brother
Tony became a Sheriff's Deputy in the year following
her death, and Donna's dad is in no hurry to retire.
"When you're a police officer, you hang in there until
you can't do anything more," says Connie Miller. But
their daughter's death has been a stunning blow to this
law enforcement family.
"I lost my best friend," Connie says. "We did every-
thing together. We played on a softball team. I coached
her in cheerleading. She was such a happy-go-lucky
person-she loved to fish, ride on the motorcycle with
her dad, water-ski."
Yet Donna had a serious side, too. "She always
wanted to be in law enforcement, ever since she was a
little girl. When she was in her teens, she worked at the
Sheriff's Department a couple of hours every day, and
NOBODY'S FAULT, EVERYBODY'S DUTY
79
received the highest law enforcement award you can get
as a high school student."
Donna, who had served as a deputy for eight years,
worked in undercover narcotics for two full years. She
had just transferred into the Department's Selective
Enforcement Unit when the accident occurred.
Accidental deaths like Donna Miller's and Chris
Eney's account for approximately half of all line-of-
duty deaths each year. Some accidents are unavoidable,
but FBI Agent Nancy O'Dowd warns her fellow law
enforcement officers not to fall into the trap of believ-
ing they are invulnerable. Her husband Jay, also an FBI
Agent, died in an automobile accident in September
1987. They were stationed in the New York City area at
the time.
"It was the only day in our entire marriage when we
hadn't touched base," she remembers. "Jay had gone to
Firearms in upstate New York. When he left that morn-
ing, he told the babysitter he would be home no later
than 11:00 that evening. But 11:00 came and went. He
wasn't home."
Jay had a 60-mile drive to make at the end of a long
day of firearms practice. Just three miles from home
on a rainy, foggy evening, he fell asleep at the wheel.
The car ran off the road and hit a telephone pole. Jay's
head hit the steering wheel, taking the full force of
the impact.
Nancy, who was two months pregnant with the
couple's second child, reached the hospital as the priest
was giving Jay last rites. "But because he was in such
good physical condition, he lived five days," Nancy
says. "Those were the worst five days of my life."
80
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Nancy says the Bureau was behind her 100%. But the
fact that she and Jay had never discussed the eventuality
of either's death left her uncertain at a time when many
decisions had to be made.
"I didn't know what he wanted in terms of a funeral.
We'd never thought about it. 'Death? Wills? Who,
us?" Remembering a discussion they'd had about the
baptism of their first child, Nancy decided Jay would
want a Catholic funeral service.
In the two days before the funeral, Nancy experi-
enced a strange, dislocated sensation. "A thousand peo-
ple filed in and out, and the last time I had seen many
of them was in the receiving line at our wedding. I kept
thinking, 'Why-is Jay up there in a casket instead of
here enjoying himself and greeting his guests?"
When Nancy looks back on her husband's death, she
finds many lessons for other law enforcement officers.
"In Agent's Training, you're given three things: a
badge, a gun, and a Bureau car. Sometimes these three
things make you think you're invincible. Jay may have
thought he was. He was proficient in firearms, very
good at what he did. I think he lost sight of the fact that
he was a mortal person."
Nancy urges law enforcement personnel to prepare
for tragic possibilities now.
"I can't emphasize enough how important it is to
discuss and think about these things. Life insurance-
Jay had very little, I had none. I had difficulty recover-
ing his because he was in the vesting period on his
policy. Because I was pregnant and had previously had a
Cesarean section, I couldn't get life insurance. I finally
got some, but not enough.
NOBODY'S FAULT, EVERYBODY'S DUTY
81
"Talk about how you'd like your funeral. Talk about
a will. Please take care of it. Your spouse will be left in
the lurch without this information, and if, God forbid,
something should happen, you will be better off know-
ing what your spouse wants."
Vivian Eney, Connie Miller, and Nancy O'Dowd all
support the building of the National Law Enforce-
ment Officers Memorial, and want to see their loved
ones commemorated there. Though Chris, Donna,
and Jay weren't killed by criminals, they were carrying
out their law enforcement duties when they died,
duties that put them in the vulnerable situations that
caused their death.
"It's not how they died that's important, it's how they
lived," says Vivian. "My husband was a hero. He
proved that by the hazards of the job he undertook. It's
their willingness to walk out of the Police Academy and
strap on that gun that makes them heroes."
Their deaths were nobody's fault. But recognition of
their sacrifices is everybody's duty.
VISION OF THE HEART
Detective Richard Pastorella is blind. He has lost
70% of his hearing. Only portions of fingers remain on
his right hand.
For Richard, it wasn't always this way. On December
31, 1982, as a member of the New York City Police
Department's Bomb Squad, he was trying to safeguard
a bomb planted by a Puerto Rican terrorist organiza-
tion. The bomb exploded in his face.
Detective Pastorella underwent 13 operations to
restore his face. "They did it very, very well. I wasn't
really permanently disfigured. This gave me the confi-
dence to stand before people and speak, to talk about
the plight of police officers."
Today, Richard spends a great deal of time doing
exactly that. He cautions his law enforcement brothers
and sisters to be careful, to protect themselves. And
when they are injured, he musters all the resources of
the Police Self-Support Group he founded in 1983, both
for the injured officer and for the family.
The Group helps law enforcement officers find a new
role for themselves after severe injury. "Most disabled
or injured officers were sitting at home with nothing to
do before the Police Self-Support Group was founded,"
says Pastorella. "They were an untapped resource. They
still had all this experience, training, and altruism we
couldn't put to use any more.
"I showed them they could help their brother and
sister officers by giving them moral support and teach-
ing them to take care of themselves. And I think we
challenge them. It's as if we're saying, 'If we can man-
82
VISION OF THE HEART
83
age in this condition, what about you as a whole hu-
man being?"
The Police Self-Support Group can often break
through the despondency that frequently follows disabl-
ing injury. "Since our organization was founded, three
people who attempted suicide are now alive. Without
the Group they'd be dead today. Six more who
wouldn't have otherwise returned to work have done
so. And four are returning to college, so they'll be
productive members of society again."
He spoke of a fellow New York Police Department
officer who was rendered a quadriplegic by a blast from
a teenager's gun. "Steve McDonald said on a CBS news
segment that if it wasn't for Richard Pastorella and his
organization, he wouldn't have had the will to live,"
Richard says. "Now Steve's not just living. He's helping
other police officers too."
Though Steve McDonald can only move his neck
and head, he and his wife Patti Ann are setting an
example for the world to see. By appearing on televi-
sion and radio shows, speaking at meetings and cere-
monies, and writing a book (The Steven McDonald
Story, co-authored with E.J. Kahn III and published by
Donald J. Fine, Inc.), they are sending a message that
even the most traumatic injury can be met with love,
hope, and faith.
Steve's forgiveness of his assailant seems almost
super-human to many people. In a, remarkable state-
ment to the press on March 1, 1987, Steven's compas-
sion and courage stunned his listeners. At that time,
Steven was not able to speak because of his tracheotomy
tube, so Patti Ann, fighting back tears, read Steve's
84
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
statement as the respirator keeping her husband alive
made its characteristic noise in the background:
"On some days when I am not feeling very well, I can
get angry. But I have realized that anger is a wasted
emotion, that I have to remember why I became a
police officer. I'm sometimes angry at the teenage boy
who shot me. But more often I feel sorry for him. I only
hope that he can turn his life to helping and not hurting
people. I forgive him and hope that he can find peace
and purpose in his life
"I ask you to remember this. I chose the life of a
police officer with all its risks. I believe that I am the
luckiest man on the face of this earth. I only ask you to
remember the less lucky, the less fortunate than I am
who struggle for the dignity of life, without the atten-
tion and without the helping hands that have given me
this life. God bless you all."
Steven's positive attitude in the face of his disabling
injury has inspired many. Dewey Stokes of the Fraternal
Order of Police believes that Steven and officers like
him deserve more of our grateful recognition in return.
"These guys are the forgotten heroes. Had they died,
they would have gotten a big funeral, a big check from
the Federal Government and maybe the state govern-
ment, and a lot of public attention. But since they
didn't die, they get nothing."
Officer Stokes says there will be more and more
officers serving a "life sentence" of severe disability.
"We lost 161 officers in 1988. If it weren't for bullet-
resistant vests, trauma units, and the good doctors and
nurses, we would have lost a lot more. But many of
VISION OF THE HEART
85
those who are saved are committed to a life within a
home, a bed, a wheelchair."
Richard Pastorella is determined to help those offi-
cers regain a meaningful role in police work. "My
name, Pastorella, means 'little shepherd,' and I believe I
ama shepherd. I have been asked to bring back these
police officers who strayed from the flock, those who
still say, 'How could God do this to me?"
Despite his unfailingly upbeat attitude, Detective Pas-
torella has also known despair. "After the explosion, I
was bitter, because I didn't understand how God could
do this to me. I led a good life, I helped my fellow man,
I worshipped every week. I did what I was supposed to
do. And look what happened to me. I was an avid
reader, and now I couldn't see. I loved music, and now I
couldn't hear. I enjoyed sculpting-and now I couldn't
hold a hammer in my right hand.
"Before, I guess I'd gotten jaded. You put up walls
because you have to. You see people's problems day in
and day out, and you build up a facade to protect
yourself. But in that explosion, my facade was literally
stripped away, and that changed my life totally."
Richard Pastorella has chosen to embrace his new life
whole-heartedly. "I like to think I'm a better person
than before, because I was able to take my handicaps
and use them to my advantage. I can't see with my eyes,
but I can see with my heart a lot better."
Now pursuing a graduate degree in psychology,
Detective Richard Pastorella is a happy man. "I'm now
doing what I should have been doing all along, only I
needed a nudge. I wouldn't trade my life today for my
life before. I feel good, I'm being productive, I'm help-
86
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
ing my fellow man-and that's what I was put here to
do. We are our brother's keeper!"
Detective Pastorella shares that guiding principle
with thousands of other brave men and women who
put their well-being at risk every day for the rest of
us-an idea of service demonstrated most honorably
by one of his "brothers in blue," a young man named
Kenneth Wrede.
Officer Kenneth Wrede
West Covina, California Police Depariment
"WAY TO GO, MOM AND DAD!"
Kenneth Scott Wrede, a West Covina, California
police officer, ran head-on into the diabolical power of
drugs in August 1983. While he was writing a traffic
ticket, a woman stopped to tell him of a man acting
suspiciously nearby.
Ever the dutiful policeman, Kenneth Wrede, 26, an
officer for three years, went to investigate.
87
88
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
There he found Michael Anthony Jackson, stagger-
ing down the street, walking into bushes. Obviously, all
was not right with this man.
Kenneth Wrede walked up to him and started asking
questions. The man ignored him, brushed him off. To
get Jackson's attention, Wrede tapped him lightly on
the back of the legs with his baton.
From that point, it seems, Jackson went into a rage,
displaying an anger bolstered by the notorious drug
called PCP. He ripped a support stake away from a tree
and started swinging it at Officer Wrede. He tore
Wrede's badge from his shirt. He kicked at him and hit
him. Ken Wrede retreated to his patrol car to call for
help from any law enforcement officer in the vicinity.
During the confrontation, Kenneth Wrede tried to
talk Jackson out of his fury. "Kenny was always the
peacemaker," his mother Marianne says. "Kenny used
restraint when he tried to apprehend Jackson, and that
restraint cost him his life."
As the altercation continued, Officer Wrede called
for help again. But help didn't arrive until after Jackson
had reached into the patrol car, ripped the officer's
shotgun from its mount - a feat requiring almost super-
human strength-and fired one fatal blast into Ken
Wrede's face, right under his eye.
It took several officers, one of them a close friend of
Ken Wrede's, and a police dog to subdue Ken's killer.
On the way to the police station, Jackson bragged
about killing a police officer, though in court he later
claimed he had been SO "wacked out" on PCP that he
didn't remember anything that had happened that day.
Jackson's defense was based on the idea that, because
WAY TO GO, MOM AND DAD
89
he was intoxicated with PCP, he didn't know what he
was doing, and was therefore innocent. Fortunately,
says Marianne Wrede, the jury saw right through it.
Jackson was convicted of Kenny's murder and sen-
tenced to die in the gas chamber.
Said Prosecutor John Ouderkirk: "The moral to the
story is that you can't get high on illegal and dangerous
drugs, run around and commit violent crimes and then
say 'It wasn't my fault."
Ken Wrede's parents, Kenneth and Marianne, find
some comfort in the fact that Jackson received the
death sentence. And, unlike many survivors, they found
court officials sensitive to their concerns and supportive
in the fight to bring Jackson to justice. But any other
comfort is hard to find.
"He was just a super kid," says Marianne of her son.
Many in the West Covina community echoed her opin-
ion. Marianne and Ken received a special letter after
Ken's death.
"This lady wanted to tell me how great Kenny had
been with her little girl," recounts Marianne. "Kenny
was just passing by right after the child's cat had been
run over and killed. He stopped to comfort the little
girl." Kenny was SO good with kids, in fact, that he was
assigned to the difficult and delicate task of interview-
ing sexually abused children.
To honor Kenny, a grateful community designated a
new street "Wrede Way." Spacious, handsome new
homes are being built there-"a fitting tribute to our
son," the Wredes say.
Kenny's colleagues on the West Covina Police
Department haven't forgotten him, either. Chief of
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Police Craig Meacham has done much to support the
Wrede family: "As far as I'm concerned," Marianne
Wrede says, "that man walks on water." Kenny's close
friends on the force carry something of Kenny's with
them all the time. One officer told Marianne that
remembering Kenny's fate may have saved his life:
"The officer was involved in an incident where the
suspect pointed a gun at him. Kenny's story flashed
through his mind, and the officer pulled the trigger. He
told me, 'I don't know if I would have done it if it
weren't for Kenny."
Like all fallen law enforcement officers, Ken Wrede's
death leaves a painful void in the lives of his co-workers
and many in the community he served. But his family
feels the most painful void of all.
Kenny left a wife, his parents, and three sisters. Since
his death, his wife, Denel, went through her own per-
sonal nightmare, and she says she will never forget
Kenny. She has re-married and had a child, re-building
her life in a way that's not possible for Kenny's parents.
Ken Wrede was close to both parents, not ashamed
of showing lavish affection to those he loved. His
father remembers Kenny taking him on ride-alongs in
his police cruiser; Kenny would kiss him on the cheek
when he brought him back to the station, saying "See
ya later, pop."
Marianne remembers that Kenny wouldn't take her
on the ride-alongs. "Mom, how does it look if I have
my mother with me? 'Hey guys, I'm bringing my
mommy with me in my squad car."
For Marianne, the strain of losing Kenny threatened
her health, severely aggravating a back problem which
WAY TO GO, MOM AND DAD
91
forced her to leave her job as an elementary school
librarian. Her husband took a year off of work. Kenny's
three sisters have suffered greatly, too, and all the family
members have sought help through psychological
counselling.
But perhaps the best antidote to despair for the
Wredes is their involvement in Concerns of Police Survi-
vors (COPS). Marianne was elected President of the
newly established California chapter.
"We're constantly writing letters and making phone
calls, trying to help other survivors we hear about," she
says. "And we're very involved in victims' rights
groups. We worked hard to keep California supreme
court justices who were anti-death penalty from being
confirmed."
Ken and Marianne Wrede could never have dreamed
they'd be so involved in so many causes. "We'll be
somewhere-at a reception or a meeting-and one of us
will look at the other and say, 'Here's another situation
your son has gotten us into!"
They wouldn't have chosen this work, but it has
helped them in the healing process. "It's a way of
turning something negative into something positive,"
Marianne Wrede says. And it helps to know that Kenny
would have wanted them to choose this path:
"I know if Kenny could, he'd tell us, 'Way to go,
Mom and Dad!"
OF WEEPING ADULTS,
WHO WEAR BADGES
What goes through the mind of a police officer's son
or daughter when Dad leaves the house for his shift? In
this column, reprinted with permission from Tribune
Media Services, columnist Bob Greene brings us close
to the heart of a Chicago officer's daughter. Her poem
echoes sentiments that are doubtless shared by thou-
sands of young people across the country.
Cops cry.
Years of watching movies and television shows featur-
ing actors portraying unemotional, hardened police
officers have managed to convince the public otherwise.
But cops cry.
Just last weekend, off-duty Chicago police officer
John Matthews was brutally beaten to death, allegedly
by five men who had been holding an outdoor "beer
party" that Matthews and other officers had earlier
broken up. He was attacked so savagely that it took
nearly seven hours to identify his body.
Police officers sometimes die in the line of duty; they
know that when they apply for the job. On September
22, 1986, Jay Brunkella, a tactical officer in Rogers
Park District, was killed during a drug arrest.
I was thinking about Officer Brunkella's death when
I heard about this latest killing of an officer-I was
thinking about it because I know what happened in the
aftermath of Officer Brunkella's death. It says a lot
about what goes on inside of all police officers, and
inside the members of their families.
Shortly after Officer Brunkella's death, one of his
92
OF WEEPING ADULTS, WHO WEAR BADGES
93
fellow members of the Rogers Park District tactical
unit-Officer Ken Knapcik-returned home after his
shift to find a note addressed to him on the dining
room table.
"Dad-
"This poem came directly from my heart.
"I love you SO much it scares and amazes me that you
go out every day and risk everything to provide us with
all that we have.
"I didn't write this poem to scare you or Mom, I just
wrote to express how lost I'd be without you!
"I love you Dad!" It was signed by his 15-year-old
daughter, Laura. Laura added a P.S.:
"Hey be careful out there." With the note was a poem
Laura Knapcik had written. Titled "The Ultimate
Cop," it was dedicated "To all cops in the world who
have daughters who love them with all their hearts. And
especially my Dad."
It reads as follows:
He picked me up from school,
his excitement he didn't hold back.
He shared with me his enthusiasm
of our cities' power attack.
Tonight there will be a drug bust
somewhere in an empty lot.
My dad would bust the dealer
and become the ultimate cop.
94
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
He dropped me off at home,
he kissed me and held me tight.
As he drove off, he said,
"Say a prayer for me tonight."
At home I went on as usual,
waiting to hear from Dad,
hoping he made the bust,
hoping he nailed them bad.
At 10 I watched the news,
anxious to hear the outcome.
When a newsman read his news
I felt my heart turn numb.
The stern-looking newsman
announced in a voice like thunder.
As my eyes filled with tears,
I said to myself, "Oh why
couldn't Dad be a plumber!"
I screamed at the top of my lungs,
filled with sadness and rage.
I realized then that being a cop
was more than an act on a stage.
Mom awoke with the sound of my screams,
running in fear to me.
Before she could ask, she saw
Dad's body lying dead on the ground.
OF WEEPING ADULTS, WHO WEAR BADGES
95
She fell down on the couch
and grasped for a breath.
She just couldn't cry-
she was scared to death.
I was running like crazy,
throwing things all around
until my mother got up
and tackled me down.
I couldn't stop shaking,
I was nervous and so scared,
I yearned for my Daddy,
and on that thought I blared:
"Oh Daddy, dear Daddy,
where are you now?
I feel so scared and lonely.
Please show me how
to have faith in God
and in your will to live.
Show me a sign that your life
you'll not give.
Daddy, my Daddy,
can you hear me cry?
Oh God, I need my Daddy,
Please don't let him die!!!"
That night Ken Knapcik stood alone in his house as he
read his daughter's note and her poem. He is 40 years
96
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
old, a 20-year veteran of the Chicago Police Depart-
ment.
"I started to read it," he said the other day. "I took
several minutes. I would get through a part of it, and
then I would have to stop and wait awhile before I could
go on. I was weeping.
"She had never told me that she was scared for me.
She had told me she was proud of me-but she never
told me she was scared. I have three daughters, and I
don't recall any of them ever telling me that they
were scared.
"I took the poem to work with me the next day and
showed it to my fellow officers. I've never seen so many
grown men weep. Some couldn't even finish it."
Laura Knapcik told me, "I never told my dad how
scared I was, because I didn't want him to feel guilty for
being a policeman. One night when I was about 11, I
had a dream that he had been killed. He was working
midnights when I had that dream, so I got into bed with
my Mom. I was still crying; she asked me what was the
matter. I told her. She said, 'It is scary.' She said that she
gets scared too."
Laura said that ever since she and her sisters were
small, her dad had told them that he wished he could
carry them around with him. She used to laugh at that,
thinking her dad was joking-the image of him carry-
ing the family with him seemed sort of funny to her.
"Then when I was a little older, he and I were having
an argument," Laura said. "He said, 'Don't you under-
stand that I'm serious? I wish I could carry you and
your sisters and your Mom with me every moment. I
wish I could have you with me all the time, so I could
OF WEEPING ADULTS, WHO WEAR BADGES
97
always be there to protect you." That night it was Laura
who cried.
So, now another Chicago police officer is dead, and
this seems like the proper time to tell you the story
about Officer Knapcik and his daughter's poem.
The poem, by the way, is not framed in the Knapcik's
house, and it is not taped onto a page in a scrapbook.
It is in the pocket of Officer Knapcik's police jacket.
He carries it with him every time he leaves the house for
a new shift.
"I don't want to be out there without it," he said.
"I'll probably carry it with me forever."
Detective John Davis
Phoenix, Arizona Police Department
"BIG JOHN": A SON REMEMBERS
"That was the heartbreaker-that Dad survived for a
while, then died. He was up and walking. I helped him
walk. The next thing you know, he's got this bacterial
infection that causes him to lose his life."
Rick Davis is talking about his father, "Big John"
Davis, a Phoenix, Arizona police detective who died on
August 6, 1982, a little over a month after he was shot
98
BIG JOHN: A SON REMEMBERS
99
attempting to apprehend a bank robbery suspect. The
suspect also shot Phoenix Officer Ignacio Conchos,
who died almost instantly.
Detective Davis had bullet wounds in the thigh and
the abdomen. He was doing fine after the first surgery.
"Folks were saying to Dad, 'We'll see you in a couple
of weeks.' They'd tell him they were going to buy him a
beer when he got out of the hospital."
But doctors needed to operate again. And after the
second operation, John Davis began to show signs of a
bacterial infection.
"He knew after the second surgery that he wasn't
going to make it," Rick Davis says. "He would shake his
head and wave his hands, because he knew."
Detective Davis's wife, Arlean, and the couple's two
sons, John Davis, Jr., then 22, and Rick, then 20,
buried the 12-year veteran officer on August 12. Thou-
sands of people along the funeral procession route paid
their respects to John Davis, says Rick: "I knew that he
was well-known-to see all the people lined up on the
side of the streets. Even the street people were taking off
their hats. People were praying. It made me feel good to
know how many people understood what we had been
through."
Rick, a college student on a basketball scholarship at
Oklahoma Baptist University, had to return to school
less than a week after his father's death. It was tough,
but Rick worried that it would be even tougher for his
mother, brother, and 3-year-old nephew, who had to
stay in Phoenix with the ever-present memories of their
husband, father, and grandfather.
"When I got back to Oklahoma, nobody knew about
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
my dad's death. They'd ask me, 'How was your sum-
mer? Did you have a good time out there in the sun?'
And I'd have to explain the whole thing."
It was a terrible year for Rick Davis. "I flew home
three times before Christmas to check up on Mom. I
wanted to go back to my family, but I was on a basket-
ball scholarship. I had to stay. I couldn't afford to pay
my way through college."
People had said Rick Davis was going to be a big star.
But that season, he averaged only 10 points a game.
Before his father's death, 30 to 40 points per game was
routine for him.
"Dad's death blew away a lot of stuff. Nothing really
helped," he said. "By the end of the season, I was the
last one on the bench, watching. It really hurt me. I kept
worrying about whether I should have stayed home."
Somehow, Rick managed to keep his grades up. The
next year, he transferred to Grand Canyon College in
Phoenix. "John Shumate gave me a scholarship there.
He was one of the first coaches to win over 20 games in
his first year. I did really well that year. It made me real
happy to be able to play in front of my mother."
Rick graduated from college in 1985 and got a job in
TV, "thanks to the Phoenix Police Department. I took
a course that required my interviewing people in the
communications field, so I went to the Media Relations
person at the Police Department, Brad Thiss, who had
known Dad." Thiss took Rick around to the local TV
stations. KTSP-TV offered him a job as a part-time
editor. Today he is a photographer for the CBS affiliate.
When I talked to Rick Davis, he was groggy, having
been up till 4:00 a.m. the night before, covering a police
BIG JOHN: A SON REMEMBERS
101
shooting. "Being a photographer puts me real close to
Dad's work," Rick says. "I see a lot of violence." Rick
had even applied to be a police officer in 1985. Though
his father's old police friends encouraged him, his
mother "was not too thrilled about it." Rick decided to
stay with the television station.
Rick Davis still misses the father who meant so much
to him. "He did a lot for us. He taught me to play
basketball, and that helped me get a college education.
He taught me and my brother how to deal with things.
"One time, he told me to go get something at the
store. I went to get in the car, and the spark plugs were
missing. He'd taken them out so I could learn about
taking care of cars. I went back to him and said, 'I
need some money. For some reason my spark plugs are
missing.' Dad gave me the money, then watched me fix
the car."
For a long time after his father's death, Rick suffered
flashbacks every time he saw a police officer. "One time
in the gym at college, there were a couple of cops. I
stood and stared at one of the guys. A girl came by and
asked me why I was staring. I said, 'He's wearing a
bulletproof vest."
Rick explains that his father, a plainclothes detective,
rarely wore a protective vest. "A lot of the older guys
didn't," he says, "it almost seemed like a seniority kind
of thing." Seven years after John's death, Rick still
seems to wrestle with the fact that John Davis might
have survived, had he been wearing the vest.
Not long ago, Rick went with a news crew to cover
yet another police shooting. The officer, Johnny
Chavez, had been shot in the heart-but, unlike John
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Davis, Chavez was wearing a bullet-proof vest. "Man, I
was nervous. I was SO glad to see he wasn't killed. I
shook his hand."
Rick Davis doesn't identify himself as the son of a
slain police officer when he's with police officers as a
photographer at the scene of a crime. "For me to try to
identify myself that way would change their attitude
toward me as a photographer completely. But I like to
be there. I like to help them out in any way I can."
Big John Davis would be proud of this son who had
to finish growing up without him.
WHY DID THIS HAVE
TO HAPPEN TO ME?
Every day, law enforcement officers deal with life
and death. It's part of the job, and it's why the job's so
difficult. This book includes many stories of officers
who died in violent confrontations with criminals. But
death and injury are not the only traumatic outcomes of
such altercations.
The following account, written by a veteran officer of
a federal law enforcement agency, describes what can
happen to an officer who must kill to protect himself or
others. It is a moving example of the extraordinary
stress peace officers must come to terms with.
The question always was, "Why did this have to
happen to me?" And I guess I will explain that question
a little later.
The newspaper headline was titled "Federal Agent
in Fatal Shootout." The United Press International
carried it. It said, "a federal agent shot and killed a
man in a downtown gunfight on Friday. Local police
have identified the agent but were unable to say who
the dead man was, because he was carrying three
different identifications.
Well, I was the federal agent the newspaper
described, and I remember the incident as though it
were yesterday. I remember seeing the gun emerge from
behind the guy's back in his left hand, I entered the
dream world of a slow-motion movie. This guy, who
only moments before had been standing a few feet from
me, was suddenly an actor in a frame-by-frame B movie
edged with a kind of soft, fuzzy fog. I could only see
103
104
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
that gun and his big, brown, watery eyes that seemed to
be laughing at me and saying, "I've got you now!"
"I ain't goin' nowhere with you," he was saying in
that deep, slow voice of a reduced-speed audio tape.
I knew the gun had to be a toy as the frames slowly
clicked by and the gun began to level off at my chest. It
just had to be a toy. There was just no way that some-
body would shoot me-a federal agent.
"Drop it!" I tried to scream at him, but my mouth
wouldn't work. The frames kept clicking silently by in
this dream world with no sound.
"I can't take a chance," I said to myself. "If he points
it at me, I've got to shoot." Suddenly my service
revolver was in my hand and I felt myself moving in
slow motion to my right as I tried to get to the outside
of his gun hand.
"Was that a puff of smoke from his gun barrel," I
thought, "or part of the fog in my movie? Okay, what's
in your field of fire? What's behind him? Okay, it's a
brick wall. Nothing on the left. Nothing on the right.
Calm down. Take a breath."
In my mind, I painted a rectangular target outline on
his chest. "Just like at the range," I thought.
I took one last look into his eyes as I felt his slug pass
by my left hip and fired twice. I could see his
expression change as I watched my first round impact
on his chest.
"I guess you've got me," his eyes said, and I literally
saw into his soul as his eyes rolled back, and he was
knocked off his feet. Though he was on the ground, the
target outline was still suspended in midair, and I had to
shake my head to make it disappear.
WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME?
105
"Oh my God, what have I done?" I thought, as the
wave of nausea swept over me, and I began to vomit on
the sidewalk at his feet. My movie was suddenly real
time, and I could hear all of the running and screaming
by those who had witnessed this terrible thing. It was
strange because my ears weren't even ringing. I leaned
down, moved his gun away from his head where it lay,
rolled him over on his back, and heard one last, noisy
exhalation. There was no carotid pulse to be felt.
"Finally over," I thought, and I started to cry. I
vomited my way into a store and called the boss. I was
sobbing so hard that I had to tell him three times before
he understood what I had done. When I came back out,
I breathed a deep sigh of relief that his gun was still
there. I was sure somebody would have taken it.
I knew the manual said to handcuff him, but it just
didn't seem right. It would look as though an execution
had taken place here. Suddenly, I realized that the wall I
had seen behind him was really a floor-to-ceiling win-
dow with the curtains drawn. I wasn't sure where my
second round had gone and frantically searched that
window for a bullet hole. I asked bystanders if anyone
else was hurt and was assured that only the bad guy had
been hit. Later, I learned that my second shot hit him in
his left side as he was pivoted by my first round. I
begged them not to leave so the police would have
witnesses to verify my story.
The next few hours were a blur of time. I was numb
and frightened. The local police were great. They got
me out of there before the news crews could photograph
me and bought me some of my favorite cigars. We
drove around the city for the next couple of hours while
106
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
the two police officers tried to console me. Finally, the
radio crackled, "We're ready for him."
Homicide Division did an excellent job of protecting
me from the press and well-wishing officers. My boss
was already there, and I could tell he wasn't real happy.
An hour later, my taped statement was finished, and I
walked back to my office to dictate my personal state-
ment to be submitted with the inspection report to
headquarters.
The next two weeks were a numbing blur of events as
I told my story over and over to the inspectors from
headquarters and anyone else who wanted to hear the
gory details. I just could not be consoled in my guilt
over taking a human life. Some of the comments people
made were well-intentioned, but unbelievably insensi-
tive. The inspectors chastised me for being so emotional
during my taped statement to the police. Congratula-
tory remarks seemed especially inappropriate to me.
Then there was the white police officer who congratu-
lated me for "bagging my career nigger." His remark
certainly did not reflect my feelings. So many of the
people seemed to be living vicariously through my expe-
rience. They were sucking me dry and giving nothing in
return. They wanted to hear everything of the excite-
ment but nothing of my emotional trauma.
I got a brief emotional respite four days after the
shooting when the county prosecutor advised the press
that I "was justified in using his firearm
to protect
lives and property" and that there would be no case
presented to the grand jury. I waited for similar words
from my own agency, words for which I would wait
nine and a half years.
WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME?
107
On the fourteenth day after the shooting, I was walk-
ing back to the office from the cigar store when it
suddenly hit me: I had almost been killed! I couldn't
breathe as the anxiety gripped at my throat and locked
me in a bear hug. I was barely able to make it back to
the office where I locked myself in my work area and
tried to regain control.
Over the next six months, I began to lose my short-
term memory: I kept losing my car keys. I lost my train
of thought in mid-sentence. I became enraged when I
couldn't remember where I had left my checkbook. The
nightmares intensified and came several times each
night. It was always the same: There was my bad guy
standing at the foot of my bed smiling at me with a gun
in his hand. I reach for my gun; six good shots in his
chest, reload, six more shots, and he's raising his gun to
fire when I wake up screaming. My constant question
was always: "Why did this have to happen to me?"
My crying spells always seemed to come at the most
inappropriate times. I was drinking more and more.
Rarely was I sober. I came to work drunk, usually
drank my lunch, and went home drunker still. My
production statistics dropped from many arrests and
cases closed to no arrests or cases closed for many
months. For the first time in my marriage, I was
unfaithful to my wife. I thought I was slowly losing my
mind. Surely "they" would send me away.
I made life a living nightmare for my wife, who could
not understand my emotions. She lived with her
anguish by denying that "it" had even happened. If
nothing had happened, then there was nothing to dis-
cuss at home, and the shooting became a forbidden
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
subject. It became the turning point in a marriage that
soon started a downhill slide to divorce seven years later.
After seven months, I realized I couldn't keep killing
myself. My parents and siblings had slowly recovered
from their initial shock but felt helpless as they watched
my continuing self-destructive behavior. Several local
police officers who had been through similar incidents
were finally able to help me see light at the end of my
tunnel. My father, a minister, was my closest friend
throughout the whole ordeal. I think the incident may
well have forced him to evaluate many of his personal
feelings and religious beliefs. I stopped drinking and
slowly resolved my fears and guilt with their help.
The nightmares slowly diminished and eventually
stopped two years after the shooting. But I swore I
would neither forgive nor forget my agency for what
"they" had done to me and the lack of support I had
received from "them." My boss had been involved in a
shooting several years before and felt I should work it
out on my own. At no time did anyone from manage-
ment even tell me that I was right, that my agency felt
the shooting was justified. For me, I never had "clo-
sure" or an end to my incident. The stigma was there:
He
is a "killer." Several transfers later, I was still the
problem child and trouble-maker for my supervisors. I
had a chip on my shoulder for management that was
the size of a giant sequoia. I felt that all of my problems
were their fault.
In February 1988, the employees assistance program
of my agency required me to attend a critical incident
seminar along with twelve other agents who had been
WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME?
109
involved in critical incidents during their careers. I was
skeptical, and I wanted to stay mad.
At the end of this seminar, I emerged without my
nine and a half years of bitterness, frustration, anger,
and rage. Police Psychologist Roger Solomon, who was
then with the Colorado Springs Police Department,
Special Agent Jim Horn of the FBI Behavioral Science
Services Unit, and this group of my peers had helped
me to finally unload those Herculean chips from my
shoulders and rid myself of all that emotional baggage.
The head of our agency addressed us during the third
day of that seminar and committed headquarters sup-
port to ensure that those mishandled incidents from the
past would never be allowed to happen again. Those
three days filled me with an inner peace that I've never
experienced before. After nine and a half years, I had
finally received the vindication and approval from my
peers and the management of my agency that I had
always wanted and needed. I can now get on with
my life.
In retrospect, it was my vulnerability and the feeling
of a lack of control that did me in. I hated that guy for
what he had done to me: for showing me my vulnerabil-
ity and taking control of my life away from me for a
mere four to six seconds. And, I suppose, I hated my
agency for having placed me in that position. Unfortu-
nately for me, the employees assistance program was
not established until two years after my shooting. I will
never be able to adequately express my gratitude to
headquarters and the employees assistance program for
making that seminar available to me
and for mak-
ing me attend!
110
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
If I had the opportunity to share what I've learned
with my fellow law enforcement officers, here's what
I'd tell them:
1. We are vulnerable, and we can have our control
taken from us. IT REALLY CAN HAPPEN TO YOU!
We must do all that we can to physically, mentally, and
emotionally prepare ourselves for the trauma of a criti-
cal incident.
2. It is normal to have a reaction to a critical incident,
even if we are on the periphery and not directly
involved. That reaction may be mild, moderate, or
severe. Any type of reaction is normal considering this
abnormal event.
3. Take advantage of a peer support group or addi-
tional professional counseling. Although we want to
stand tough and do it alone, we cannot be an island.
Don't wait nine and a half years to accept help that now
will be made available to you shortly after your inci-
dent. Take advantage of whatever help is offered you
and realize that you are not the first to suffer this kind
of tragedy, and you don't have to suffer it alone.
4. For those of you who must have contact with this
individual, be gentle. Even the most innocent remark
can be devastating in this individual's state of emotional
hypersensitivity. We don't consider ourselves "head
cases," and we don't consider ourselves heroes. We are
just ordinary people who have been through extraordi-
nary experiences
and we are still ordinary people.
A NEEDLESS DEATH ON
A BEAUTIFUL DAY
Sometimes it seems that tragedy begets tragedy. Too
often, a family that has suffered one tremendous blow
receives another just a year or two later. Stories like
these make even the casual listener shiver with horror.
"How can so many terrible things happen to one
family?" we ask, trying to imagine how we would
survive if so many tragedies befell us, and not knowing
the answer.
What happened to Officer Dan Gleason of the Phila-
delphia Police Department and his family is one of
those terrible stories-a story of pain, and devastation,
and courage you never wanted to be forced to have.
Pam Gleason found that courage somewhere, some-
how, after her husband was killed. "Dan was my hero. I
idolized him. But he never thought he was anything
special."
Those were Pam's closing comments to me when I
interviewed her by telephone on August 3, 1989. A
trustee in the COPS (Concerns of Police Survivors)
group, Pam had been recommended as someone I
needed to talk to for this book. She gave me two hours
of her time, speaking from a friend's borrowed tele-
phone in a vacation trailer in Cape May Court House,
New Jersey.
In those two hours, Pam told me about Dan's line-of-
duty death three years before, and she told me of her
own survival. Dan and Pam had six children; when Dan
was killed, their youngest was three months old. Since
his death, Pam was managing to carry on, attempting
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112
IN THE LINE OF DUTY
to be both mother and father to their children.
It was tough, she said. It was lonely. There were
tears in her voice at the end of the interview. I was
impressed by her honesty and her vulnerability, her
strength and her generosity of spirit. As a founder of
the Southeast Delaware Valley chapter of COPS, Pam
was doing a lot for other survivors. I thanked Pam,
asked her to send me some news clippings about Dan
when she got home from vacation, and filed my notes
away for the time being.
Not two weeks later, just as I was sitting down to
write Pam and Dan's story for this book, I got a phone
call from Betty Miller, another police widow active
in COPS.
"I thought somebody ought to tell you," she said.
"You interviewed Pam Gleason, didn't you?" I con-
firmed that I had.
Betty was crying. "I don't know how to say this, but
Pam is gone. She's dead."
My mind raced backwards to my telephone interview
with Pam nine days before. No, it was impossible, Pam
couldn't be dead, not with those six children depending
on her!
But it was true. Pamela Gleason died on August 13,
1989. A passenger in a car driven by a drunk driver, she
was killed instantly when the car ran into a tree.
I looked back over my interview notes, and there were
the children's names, with their ages at the time of their
father's line-of-duty death just three years ago:
Danny 15
Irene 14
Barry 8
NEEDLESS DEATH ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY
113
Mandy 3
Judy 2
Craig 3 months
Now they were not just fatherless children. They were
orphans.
Danny would be 18 now. Since his father's death, he
had a sense of responsibility for the family. Pam had
told me that he was worried about heading for college
in the fall. "Will anything get done around here without
me?" he'd ask his mother.
I wonder if Danny will make it to college this year,
with his mother gone.
I wonder if little Craig will remember either of his
parents.
I wonder why both parents had to be ripped away
from the children they loved SO much.
Looking for answers, I went back to the newspaper
clippings, the fading pages that tell the story of what
happened to their father. There are no answers to my.
"Why's" there-only the recounting of what Pam Glea-
son called "a needless death on such a beautiful day."
The first of the two young parents died on June 5,
1986.
In North Philadelphia on that sunny morning, a man
named Nathan Long said that Allah was speaking to
him. "I am the instrument of Allah," Long said.
Nathan Long had à criminal record. He had been
arrested on charges of riot, assault and battery, resisting
arrest, and obstruction of justice after assaulting a
police officer. He was found guilty of obstruction of
justice and received a suspended sentence. Two warrants
were out for his arrest: He had shot and wounded a
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
neighbor, and he was a suspect in a burglary case.
When Dan and his partner, rookie Laurine Venable,
answered the disturbance call on West Sedgely Avenue
that bright morning, they didn't know who Nathan Long
was. They didn't know they were about to confront a
violent man who always carried a gun, a man whose
apartment was full of gun publications, a man who
received murderous marching orders from his God.
Long was enraged about the growing prostitution
activity in his neighborhood. That morning, he encoun-
tered a prostitute sitting in a car with a customer. Long
accused the man of wearing a shirt stolen from Long's
house. Then he picked up a baseball bat and began to
smash the windows of the car. Several other people got
involved in the brawl.
When Officers Gleason and Venable arrived, Dan
went to talk to Nathan Long, around the corner from
the other people involved in the incident. Laurine Ven-
able stopped to talk with them. A low-key, gentle man,
Dan Gleason was good at defusing angry situations. He
had calmed arguments like these many times before.
But this time, he didn't get a chance.
In court, Nathan Long testified that the officer came
up to him and very politely asked, "Good morning,
what can I do for you today?"
Nathan Long's answer was six bullets fired from a
semiautomatic weapon.
Three bullets hit Dan Gleason in the head. Two more
glanced off the bullet-resistant vest he was wearing, one
of them piercing the pictures of Dan's kids in his breast
pocket. Another bullet struck Dan in the right arm.
Even if he'd had time to return fire, Dan probably
NEEDLESS DEATH ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY
115
wouldn't have, Pam told me, because there was an
eight-year-old boy near the shooting scene. "Dan would
never have fired his gun with a child that close by."
Officer Venable was still talking to Nathan Long's
neighbors when she heard the shots ring out. Coura-
geously, she ran at once toward the gunfire. Assuming a
firing position, she shot at the suspect. When she ran
out of bullets, she took Dan's revolver and fired again,
hitting Long twice in the arm. Her shots did not stop
him immediately. He got into his car and drove away,
but his wounds forced him to drive to a hospital, where
police arrested him.
"I think she's a hero," Pam Gleason said of Officer
Venable, who was devastated by her partner's death.
"When she came to our home the day before the
funeral, all of Dan's brothers and sisters-our whole
family-stood up and applauded her."
But Laurine Venable's courageous actions could not
save Dan Gleason. He was pronounced dead at 10:22
a.m. at Temple University Hospital.
That started Pam Gleason's long nightmare.
The police officers who came to notify her of Dan's
death did their best to help her. "The captain took the
baby out of my arms. They went and got my kids out of
school. They took me to the hospital. I had to really
push to be allowed to see Dan. I could only a see a small
portion of his face.
"He had told me, 'If I go, don't bury anything. Give
it all away' But all I could do was donate his eyes and
his skin."
There was the funeral-a five-mile-long motorcade.
There were the immediate demands of six children-two
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
of them in diapers!-to be met. "All my kids got real
sick that summer," Pam remembered. "I think it was a
combination of physical and psychological things. I'd
get to bed at 2 a.m. and get up at 4 a.m. That was the
only time the baby would let me sleep."
Then there was Nathan Long's trial dragging on for
weeks. Pam sat in the courtroom day after day. "There
was one person who wasn't represented in that court-
room, and it was Dan," she said. "I had to be there for
him. People had to see that it was more than a badge
that died that day."
Victims in the courtroom are often warned by the
prosecuting attorney not to show any overt emotion. A
mistrial can be declared if a weeping victim or survivor
can be proved to have influenced the jurors. In fact,
when an aunt hugged eight-year-old Barry Gleason,
who had gotten upset in the courtroom, the judge
ordered them both removed.
Determined to stay in the courtroom for Dan's sake,
Pam sat through dramatic testimony about her hus-
band's killing and his injuries, never breaking down.
It came out in court that Nathan Long had planned
for 10 years to kill a policeman. "I thought that consti-
tuted premeditated murder, but the jury didn't see it
that way," Pam said. Nathan Long was found guilty of
murder and received a life sentence. After 12 years, he
can petition the Governor of Pennsylvania to change his
sentence to a specific number of years instead of life. If
this ever happens, he will become eligible for parole.
"We may have a lifetime of fighting ahead of us to
keep this from happening," Pam said.
NEEDLESS DEATH ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY
117
Sadly, Pam did not have a lifetime. She had just
another nine days to live.
Pam told me about the lowest moment she experi-
enced after Dan's death. It was about a year later. "I
was at the kitchen sink, up to my elbows in pots and
pans. Three of the kids were hanging on me, and the
other three were fighting and screaming in the next
room. I was exhausted and miserable, and I said to
Dan, 'How in hell can you be happy in heaven when
I'm SO damn miserable down here?"
It was a turning point for Pam, who soon realized
that maybe Dan wasn't happy in heaven: "Maybe he
couldn't be until I got it together."
The Gleasons had the kind of marriage many people
only dream about. "If you knew Pam, you knew Dan,
and vice versa," Pam recalled. "We didn't have any
money. He was just a cop and we had all these kids. So
we did everything ourselves and we did everything
together. He'd change diapers and wash dishes, I'd
change the oil in the car. All he ever wanted to do was be
with his family."
Pam's love for Dan was still obvious three years after
his death. "He was so handsome," she told me, "six feet
tall, 165 pounds-slim, though he could eat like a
horse-curly brown hair, blue eyes with those disgust-
ingly long eyelashes. All my sons have inherited them."
In spite of her tremendous loss, Pam went forward,
founding a COPS chapter in her region, reaching out to
other survivors, and taking care of her and Dan's six
children. Her faith helped her. But, she told me, "I'm
still having a few arguments with God about this whole
thing."
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
Pam wanted very much to see the National Law
Enforcement Officers Memorial completed. "I'm so
thrilled with this monument, and not so much for those
who died, but for anyone that is, has, or ever will wear a
badge. They do a very unpleasant job and get spit on in
return. It's about time police were given the same honor
and dignity as military veterans. They deserve it, and it's
part of the healing process."
Certainly Dan Gleason deserved that permanent trib-
ute. So did Pam. And SO do their children.
As I write this, Pam Gleason's funeral is taking place
in Philadelphia, at the same church where Dan's funeral
was held a little over three years ago. "I can't help
feeling there's half of me buried in that ground with
Dan," she told me.
-
Today she will join him.
AFTERWORD
For Dan Gleason and for Donna Miller
for Phil
Lamonaco and for Ariel Rios
for John Davis and
for Mike Raburn, and for all the officers who have
willingly given up their lives in service to the commu-
nity, the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial
will stand as a tribute to their courage and their
sacrifice.
For their spouses and their children, their parents and
their brothers and sisters, the Memorial will be a place
of healing. It will keep precious memories alive, and say,
"Your suffering and your loss have not gone
unnoticed."
For the officers still serving today and for all those
who will serve in the future, the Memorial is a symbol
of this nation's appreciation for their dedicated service,
a symbol of America's commitment to the principles of
law and order they live and die for.
What will this Memorial, so meaningful to so many,
look like?
It will occupy a city block in the heart of our nation's
capital, a place called, appropriately, Judiciary Square,
just blocks from the Capitol and the Supreme Court,
just minutes from the Washington Monument, the Jef-
ferson and Lincoln Memorials, the Vietnam Veterans
Memorial, and The White House.
A row of stately trees will form an oval enclosure,
creating a serene, grove-like atmosphere for remem-
brance. Low granite walls, polished to a high sheen, will
be engraved with the names of officers lost in the line of
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IN THE LINE OF DUTY
duty. Benches near the walls will allow visitors to pause
and reflect in comfort.
Life-like statues of law enforcement officers will
grace the Memorial plaza. And, every evening, the
Memorial Fund wants to shine a crystal-blue laser beam
high into the night sky, representing the "thin blue line"
of police protection that stands between ordinary citi-
zens and criminals.
It will be a dignified, beautiful place-a fitting trib-
ute to the thousands of law enforcement officers who
have given up their lives to protect our American way
of life.
But it can only be built with the financial support of
all the American people. Please do your part. Send
your tax-deductible contribution to:
The National Law Enforcement Officers
Memorial Fund
1360 Beverly Road, Suite 305
McLean, Virginia 22101
The names and home towns of donors will be
inscribed in a special Roll of Honor to be kept with the
Memorial's Archives.
Please, let the families of fallen law enforcement
heroes know that you care. Help build the long-overdue
National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial.
Thank you.
The memorial is an important step forward in honoring those
who have fought and died to preserve and protect America's
ideals, not on foreign soil as others have been called to do, but
here in our streets, in our cities, in our neighborhoods and
communities.
U.S. Attorney General Dick L. Thornburgh
This memorial, which was authorized by the United States
Congress, will signify the respect and appreciation of our
citizens for the valiant efforts of the men and women who,
today and over the years, have made many personal sacrifices
in order that this Nation's citizens can live in a lawful society.
William S. Sessions
Director
Federal Bureau of Investigation
This memorial will serve as a tribute to not only those federal,
state, and local law enforcement officers who gallantly died in
the line of duty but to those 600,000 law enforcement officers
who bravely serve their country daily.
John R. Simpson
Director
U.S. Secret Service
The memorial will honor law enforcement officers who died in
the line of duty and those who carry on in protecting the values
and freedoms that Americans cherish.
Stephen E. Higgins
Director
Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms
The National Law Enforcement Memorial will give solemn
recognition to the brave men and women who gave their lives
in defense of the safety of their fellow citizens.
Stanley E. Morris
Immediate Past Director
U.S. Marshals Service