In the same small neighborhood church where Mario Navidad was baptized a quarter-century ago, his family and friends said goodbye on December 30, 1996.

The 27-year-old Chino father of two was remembered as a dedicated husband, parent and LAPD officer as his body lay in a flag-draped coffin before an altar still decorated with Christmas trees and garlands.

“If one gives his life or her life to protect and serve, that person dies a martyr’s death,” the Rev. Michael McCullough said during the funeral Mass. “And he deserves a martyr’s reward.”

Navidad, a LAPD officer of less than two years, was fatally wounded Dec. 22 by a 17-year-old Los Angeles gang member. Sunday was like any other day. Navidad and his partner, Police Academy classmate Ralph Mendoza, were patrolling the streets of the Wilshire Division when a convenience store clerk flagged them down. The clerk told them that someone had taken beer from his store. When the officers spotted the suspect, Aleim Ulloa Ortiz, he was carrying a six-pack of beer under each arm, police said.

Ortiz loaded the beer under one arm and then pulled out a gun, firing at the officers, police said. Navidad was hit six times even before he could get out of the car. The bullets passed through the unprotected side of his bullet proof vest.

Both Mendoza and Navidad returned fire fatally wounding Ortiz, whom investigators suspect had been on a drinking binge since Friday.

“One person picks up a gun to rob and kill; one picks up a gun to protect and serve,” McCullough told the mourners. “Judgment we will leave to God.”

The crowd of 700 attending Navidad’s funeral filled the pews and flowed into the aisles of the Church of St. Mark in Venice, the same West Los Angeles neighborhood where Navidad grew up and graduated from high school.

His wife, Sandra, 4-year-old son Brandon and 9-month-old daughter Melissa sat in the front pew, surrounded by family and backed by seven solid rows of blue-uniformed police officers.

“He wanted to be their role model, and he is,” Los Angeles Police Capt. John Muntz – Navidad’s commanding officer – said of the couple’s children. “His spirit, his heart and his dreams will live with them.”

Navidad became a police officer after working for almost 10 years in a Culver City supermarket, Muntz said. The Navidads would have celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary in January, he stated.

“He gave of himself each time he put on his badge and went to work for the city of Los Angeles,” said Muntz. Though Navidad had been on the force for just 21 months, Muntz said he had developed the gung-ho tenacity that marks outstanding officers, without ever losing his gentle nature. “His courage, his faith, his dedication, his compassion helped him become the kind of police officer who could be relied on by everyone,” stated Muntz.

Born in Santa Monica, Navidad was raised in Sinaloa, Mexico and returned to the United States, where he graduated from Venice High School in 1987. He earned an administration of justice degree at Santa Monica College, police said. “He was going to school to study about the law and he was also working full time,” said Teresa Webster, a checker at the store where Navidad had worked.

At the Police Academy, Navidad was remembered as a quiet man, always willing to help his colleagues through the rigors of training. “Mario was kind of a quiet individual – he was a very warm-hearted person – very gentle in his nature, a kind of a person who quietly encouraged and supported other people in the class without making a big display of it,” said Los Angeles police officer Greg Stearns, president of Navidad’s Academy class.

Stearns, who graduated alongside Navidad on Sept. 29, 1995, said Navidad had helped him, too. “He was not flamboyant or obvious in his ways, but he gave words of encouragement,” Stearns said. “He lifted my spirits in the academy.” Just two weeks ago, Stearns said he and Navidad discussed their careers. “He was interested in being out on the streets, getting to know his division,” Stearns said. “We spoke about work, and he spoke about Christmas and his family.”

From Navidad’s death, his academy classmates have taken a bitter lesson. “It goes to demonstrate the tenuous nature of this work,” Stearns said. “One minute you are in roll call, joking with your partners, getting ready to go on the street and the next minute in a fight for your life.” Searns said anyone who joins the force knows the risks. “I think anyone who comes into this job, they know that when they accept the responsibility,” he said. “It’s always in the back of your mind, you have chosen a profession that places you in harm’s way.”

At the time of the shooting, Navidad had worked at the Wilshire station for little more than two months after completing his training at Rampart Division.

Los Angeles police Lt. Sol Polen, a watch commander at Rampart, described Navidad as “a real friendly, real happy-go-lucky guy.” “Rampart is known as the most violent division in the city,” Polen said. “He did a good job here on is probation – he just always had a smile on his face. Some kids come in here, they are real intense. He laughed all the time, joked and seemed like he was a happy person, enjoyed his job.”

Besides Navidad’s wife, Sandra, and children, Brandon and Melissa, he is survived by his parents, Saul and Magdalena Navidad.

Contributions to the Navidad family can be made to: Navidad Blue Ribbon Trust Account, c/o Wilshire Community Police Station, 4861 W. Venice Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90019.

They said he was a good man, a good friend and a good law-enforcer who gave his life for his community.

On Nov. 27, hundreds of friends and family members turned out at the Church of the Highlands to say goodbye to that man – veteran Eureka police investigator Charles D. Swanson, who died on November 21, 1996 from a massive heart attack while arresting a burglary suspect.

A senior police investigator, Swanson was serving a search warrant on a storage locker when a suspect identified as Steve Garland Christopher, 34, of Eureka arrived at the locker. Upon seeing the officers, he fled and a car chase ensued.

Christopher’s car ran off the road and he fled on foot with Swanson chasing him. Swanson was assisted by his partner and close friend, Detective Pat Freese, in arresting the suspect. Moments later, dispatchers received a call that an officer was down.

Freese administered cardiopulmonary resuscitation while an ambulance was enroute. Swanson was taken to the Arcata hospital, where he was pronounced dead. The autopsy revealed that he suffered from arteriosclerotic heart disease, said Coroner Glenn Sipma. He had undergone triple bypass surgery in 1989, and was later cleared by his doctor to return to work.

It’s unusual for a police officer to resume his career after such a major surgery, but Swanson couldn’t stay away, said his friend and colleague Frank Jager, an investigator in the District Attorney’s Office. “Police work was the love of his life,” he said. “He was just entirely too valuable a resource for anyone to lose.”

“I think he would be any employer’s dream,” said Jager. “He was always willing to go the extra mile for you. There was no time clock for Charlie.” Jager recalled how Swanson mastered the art of fingerprint identification, earning a reputation as an expert in the field at a time when other investigators often leave that work to lab technicians.

Tony Viegas, a deacon at the Church of the Highlands and Swanson’s friend, said the gathering also was a celebration of a much-loved man. “And a celebration it should be,” Viegas said. “For 47 years, Charles blessed us with his presence on this Earth.” He also spoke of Swanson’s well known, and somewhat mischievous, sense of humor.

“That sense of humor that manifested itself in a bunch of practical jokes,” Viegas said, eliciting smiles and some laughter from listeners. Chief Arnold Millsap said “We’re like a family here. We’re tighter than most families. We all share in this risk, and our wives share in it. It’s a nightmare come true.”

“He was just an all-around outstanding peace officer,” Millsap said. “He was what chiefs yearn for. I had such great respect for him.” But it was Eureka Police Department’s Capt. Murl Harpham’s heart-wrenching testimony about Swanson, his best friend, that was perhaps hardest to hear.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this,” Harpham said, his voice cracking. “Forgive me, Cheryl, I’m supposed to be the one giving you strength.” The captain said he lost his best friend “and the citizens of Eureka lost one hell of a cop.”

He noted that Swanson was the only Eureka policeman to be picked as Officer of the Year two times.

Harpham said there were second-guessers who questioned why Swanson had returned to work if he had such heart problems. “Because that was Charlie,” Harpham said. “He would have it no other way.”

Deputy District Attorney Rob Wade said “Swanson was extremely conscientious, very bright and extremely hard working. The quality of his investigative work was first rate. I just thought he really embodied the virtues of a good cop.” He cracked cases that seemed hopeless. And at times, Wade said, was able to earn the respect of the most unlikely people. “He even had a good rapport with the defendants that we prosecuted in a lot of cases,” Wade stated.

Swanson was a graduate of College of the Redwoods and graduated with top honors from the Gilroy Police Academy. He had worked in the Eurekea Police Department for 22 years, joining the force as a reserve officer in June 1974 and was hired as a patrol officer in 1975. He was voted Rookie of the Year in 1976 and Officer of the Year in 1982 and again in 1986. He was promoted to the rank of detective in 1980 and to senior investigator in 1992.

Swanson worked homicides and other major crimes. He taught at the College of the Redwoods Police Academy and was especially proud to be an assistant scoutmaster with Eureka Boy Scout Troop 54. He was also known for his work with local news organizations. He was the officer who initiated the “most wanted” program – appearing in the Times-Standard weekly as Law Enforcement Bulletin – which publicized criminal suspects wanted by police and resulted in more than 250 arrests.

Swanson was 47. He is survived by his wife of 23 years, Cheryl, and his 19-year-old son, Ryan, as well as other family members. Christopher remained in jail on a felony burglary warrant, receiving stolen property and resisting arrest. His companion, Maria Elena Zimmerman, was released from jail.

The family has asked that memorial contributions be made to Boy Scout Troop 54 or to the Eureka Police Officers Association, both in care of the Eureka Police Department, 604 C St., Eureka, CA 95501.

Ofc. James D. Schultz died early Saturday, Nov. 16, after being struck by a vehicle driven by a motorist who had apparently dozed off at the wheel. Schultz, 46, was checking an abandoned vehicle on Interstate 8 between Gordon’s Well and the Brock Research Center. He was standing on the left side of the car checking for a vehicle identification number, when he was struck by a westbound 1979 Cadillac sedan pulling a trailer loaded with greyhound racing dogs.

Theodore Jeske, 58, of San Ysidro, the driver of the vehicle, allegedly fell asleep while driving and drifted off to the right side of the road striking Schultz.

Schultz was thrown over the hood of the abandoned vehicle and into the dirt. He was alive when paramedics arrived, but had broken legs, head trauma and a possible broken neck. He died of his injuries at the Yuma Regional Medical Center.

Schultz’s partner, Officer Robert Sapp, who wasn’t injured in the accident, and Jeske administered first aid to him. There were no indications at the scene that Jeske had been drinking. CHP officials said that misdemeanor manslaughter charges would be filed against Jeske. He could face one year in the Imperial County Jail.

More than 1,000 guests, including about 300 law enforcement officers, filled the Yuma Civic Center to pay their final respects to Schultz. Tom Messer, Schultz’s pastor at Mount Zion Christian Church, told the audience “A great man has fallen in Yuma, a great man in God has fallen and by being here today, you’re saying a good friend has fallen.”

The CHP honored their colleague of 25 years with full honors, a 21-gun salute and an aerial pass of five airplanes and three helicopters.

Schultz’s commander at the Winterhaven post, Lt. Doug McMurray, said the public outpouring spoke for itself. Dozens of law enforcement patrol cars formed the funeral procession which rolled through Winterhaven and downtown Yuma, people saluted and covered their hearts with their hands in respect.

William Schultz, a brother, said “It shows he was a good Christian and a magnificent individual.”

A coworker stated that because of Schultz’s general good nature, he was the perfect Santa Claus at the Winterhaven post.

CHP Commissioner Spike Helmick stated that Schultz, the sixth CHP officer to die in the line of duty this year, stood and lived by the code to protect California citizens. “He was a hero, Helmick said. “You have every reason to believe it.”

A strong advocate of informing drivers of the dangers of driving while drowsy, Schultz was known for his creativity in issuing tickets for such actions. Although it isn’t illegal to drive tired, he once used a law to ticket a man who was driving asleep. He cited the man for driving faster than what was “prudent under the conditions.”

Officers who worked with Schultz described him as a man with a positive attitude. Officer Richard Moss, also of the Winterhaven station, said Schultz was an excellent officer. He had been with the department going on 25 years, but he still had the zest of a brand new officer.”

Schultz had been assigned to the Winterhaven CHP office for 10 years and had served as the post’s public affairs officer for five years. “He came into this job and was always aggressive,” Moss said. “He always uplifted everyone’s spirit.”

Schultz had an unparalleled commitment to his career with the California Highway Patrol second only to his commitment as a Christian, husband, and father. He was extremely active with the Mt. Zion Christian Church in Yuma and had traveled to Russia and Indonesia as part of a Christian Ministry. Jim, as he was known to his friends, also worked in the area prisons in the Prison Ministry Program. He also was a lover of country music, working part time at a Yuma radio station.

Schultz was born in Dunkirk, NY. He served in the U.S. Army prior to joining the California Highway Patrol in January 1972. He is survived by his wife, Teresa, of Felicity; 21-year-old son, Jeremiah, a member of the United States Marine Corps; mother, Dorothy; brother, William; both of Westfield, New York.

The family requested that any remembrances be sent to the James Schultz Memorial Fund, c/o the Winterhaven CHP Office, 1 Killingsworth Dr., Felicity, CA 92283.

Officer Noreen A. Vargas was driving along the San Bernardino Freeway on her way to a conduct a felony investigation when an oncoming tractor trailer rig lost its trailer’s right dual tires which bounced across the freeway lanes into the center divider, one of the tires struck the divider and careened 30 feet into the air and landed on Officer Vargas’ vehicle. The impact crushed the vehicle’s roof and killed Vargas instantly. The 37-year-old patrol officer was a member of the CHP for eight years. Officer Noreen Vargas is the first female officer killed in the line of duty since the CHP began including women in its ranks in 1974.

Officer Reuben F. Rios’ life was ended by the type of person he had dedicated his life to do battle against – a drunk driver. Prosecutors filed murder charges against Thomas E. Marquez, 34, who ran down Rios on October 27 in Devore while he was directing traffic following a rock concert. Rios suffered major head injuries and died after being airlifted to a hospital.

Marquez was charged with second-degree murder and felony drunken driving. Tests indicated that he had a blood-alcohol content of .14. He had previously been convicted of drunken driving in 1991.

It was the first time a CHP officer in San Bernardino County died on duty since 1973.

Rios, a 24-year veteran of the San Bernardino CHP, was named Officer of the Year for 1995. He gave speeches at local alcohol and drug rehabilitation centers and gave traffic safety presentations to many local groups including Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.

Every year, Rios attended candlelight vigils held by Mothers Against Drunk Drivers to remember the victims of drunken drivers. He booked a lot of drunken drivers in his career.

Retired CHP officer Tony Hernandez said “It’s ironic that one of these idiots would be the one to take him out.”

Rios was regarded as a role model for many of the department’s officers. He was honored twice this year as Officer of the Year – first by the Latino Peace Officers Association and later by VFW Post 8737 and the Ladies Auxiliary.

A professional who would never treat even a small, non-injury accident as routine was how coworkers described Rios. “You only had to work once with Reuben to realize you wanted him as a partner,” Hernandez, a close friend of Rios, told the standing room only crowd assembled at the First Assembly of God Church for the funeral service.

“He was my hero,” Hernandez said, his voice cracking as he stared at the open blue casket where his friend’s body lay before the audience. “I loved him like a brother.”

Hernandez noted that although Rios was nearing retirement, he still worked with rookie officers as a training officer. “Who else would you want but the best to train new officers,” he asked.

During the funeral services, scores of uniformed lawmen wept openly beside civilians as speakers remembered Rios as a soft-spoken gentle man with a personable style. Several recordings of Rios’ favorite country western tunes were played.

“That big laugh he always laughed, when he would throw back his shoulders and his head,” Officer Dale Clark recalled before the gathering. “I wish I could hear that laugh again. I miss him.”

CHP Commissioner Spike Helmick told the crowd about the continuing need to spread the word about the dangers of drunken driving “so not one more innocent officer or citizen needs to suffer because of them.” Rios epitomized the qualities of a CHP officer, Helmick said. “The motorists of this state were a little safer because of what Reuben did” he said.

Officer Hector Pena, one of Rios’ coworkers, said he was always dressed impeccably no matter what. “Not like some of us. When Reuben got dressed after work or on his days off, it was not Levis and tennis shoes. It was regular dress slacks.”

A family man, Rios tried to take his lunch or dinner breaks at his Colton home whenever possible. Because he was an avid pool player, he screened in his back patio and put in a pool table. It was a popular gathering place for friends. Hernandez stated that his goal was to beat Rios at pool but he never could.

Rios was devoted to the Lions Club and arranged his days off to accommodate the Bloomington Lions Club’s meetings. Hernandez stated “He looked forward to Christmas time, working with the club and community. That is what gave him the greatest joy – to deliver gift baskets to needy families.”

His coworkers take some comfort in knowing that 25-year-old Reuben Jr. recently completed his oral exams for the CHP. “He looks and talks just like his father,” Hernandez exclaimed. “Hopefully, he will be one of us pretty soon,” said Pena.

Rios, 53, lived in the San Bernardino area most of his life and graduated from San Bernardino High School in 1961. He also attended San Bernardino Valley College and served in the Army from 1964 to 1966. He joined the CHP at the age of 31 as a cadet in 1974 and served his entire career with the CHP’s Inland division.

Rios is survived by his wife of 26 years, Irene; a daughter, Gina; a son, Reuben Jr.; three grandchildren; and a brother and sister.

A memorial fund has been established for Rios’ family. Donations may be sent to the San Bernardino CHP office, 2211 Western Avenue, San Bernardino 92411, and should be marked “Reuben Rios’ Memorial Fund.”

Karl Duane Simons’ two families grieved as one Friday, Oct. 18.

Five days after the Long Beach officer died in an early-morning freeway accident, more than 2,500 of his police brethren turned out for his funeral and burial.

And his family by blood and marriage – including his widow, Leslie, and their 7-month-old daughter, Katelyn – mourned the loss of their husband, father, son and brother.

Simons, 26, died instantly at 5:05 a.m. Sunday, Oct. 13, when his speeding Chevrolet Caprice patrol car spun out of control on the northbound Long Beach (710) Freeway, hit another car, then careened into a metal sign pole.

His two families converged on the Saints Simon & Jude Catholic Church early Friday. At 10:30 bagpipers began playing “Amazing Grace,” the plaintive wail rising into the hazy morning sky and cavernous church. Uniformed officers from all over Southern California saluted while Simons’ walnut coffin – blanketed by an American flag – was pulled from the back of a white hearse.

Inside, the Rev. Laurence Dolan asked the mourners to take note of a lighted Easter candle. It is a symbol of baptism, he said, but also a reminder of rebirth. “So Karl has come full round,” he said.

Nonetheless, Dolan said in a soft yet penetrating voice, it’s not easy to express Christian sentiments of joy when someone as young as Simons is killed. “When a man is in his 20s or 30s or teens,” he said, “it’s difficult to be happy.”

Later, following Communion, Mayor Beverly O’Neill said it is impossible to express the profound sorrow gripping Long Beach. The fact that Simons was just entering the prime of life, beginning his own family and starting a career, O’Neill said, is a reminder of the precariousness and fragility of life.

Chief of Police Robert Luman said losing an officer is a chief’s worst nightmare. Even though officers are constantly aware of the dangers that go with the job, it is still devastating when someone is killed. He noted that Long Beach went 15 years without such a loss.

“Karl paid the ultimate price,” he said, “trying to make this world a better place for the rest of us.”

Perhaps the clearest picture of Simons was painted by his partner, Officer Bill Swaim, who kept a journal about police work and his friend Karl. The crowd chuckled as Swaim told of Simons’ love of weaponry, how he carried extra guns and extra rounds of ammunition. “The higher risk, the more he seems to like it,” read one journal entry.

Once, he said, at the height of a 100-mph chase on the Artesia (91) Freeway, Simons turned to him and said, “This is the s… baby! It doesn’t get any better than this!”

And every day, he recalled, when they were ready to begin duty, Simons would say, “Let’s rock!”

Simons, he said, was a man who didn’t know the meaning of break time or slowing down. Swaim called him the “most highly motivated individual I’ve ever known,” and said he “died the same way he lived – at a high rate of speed.”

Swaim urged city officials to dedicate the North Division Substation as a memorial to Simons. “It was his station, and it has the right to bear his name.”

Officer Jim Allen recalled that people could always count on Simons to lend a hand – at work or even around the house. “If you needed someone to lean on, Karl was there.

He called Simons was a high-energy man with an infectious personality, macho and tough. “He was, and is one of the best cops I had the opportunity to work with.”

Another officer, Peter Lackovic, read a poem Leslie Simons wrote to her late husband. In it she talked of their mutual and ever-lasting love. She spoke of their dreams and the smile on his face when he left for work. She recalled that she would always tell him, “Catch a big one for me.”

Two days after her husband’s death, Leslie’s mother died from a heart attack.

After the funeral, the young widow sat under a lonely pine in a corner of Good Shepherd Cemetery wearing a simple black dress with white trim. She and Karl would have celebrated their second wedding anniversary on Oct. 22. Instead, it was a graveside ceremony, with bagpipes, a police honor guard, a 21-gun salute in three volleys, a helicopter flyover and the playing of “Taps.”

With smoke from the gun salute drifting across the green slopes of the cemetery. Leslie Simons wept quietly. Chief Luman got down on one knee and comforted her, then presented her with a token of her husband, the flag that had draped his coffin.

Simons, an Eagle Scout, was a graduate of Edison High School. He worked as a professional courier for five years until he was hired on the Long Beach Police Department. On January 18, 1993, he became a member of the Long Beach Police Academy’s Class #65. He excelled in weapons training and graduated in the top 20 percent of his class. He interest in target shooting led him to regularly be recognized as the department’s “100% Shooter” after required quarterly qualifications. Simons was well respected among his peers, supervisors and the citizens he served. He received numerous commendations from those who recognized the care and quality work that he put into all of his endeavors.

A passion for law enforcement led Simons to pursue a degree in Criminal Justice at California State University of Long Beach. While studying for one particular class, he completed a project on gangs that included videotaped interviews with gang members. He was 18 units short of receiving his Bachelor’s degree.

Simons is also survived by his mother, Claire; brother, Kevin; and sister, Denise. His father, Frederick, preceded him in death in 1982.

A fund has been established by the Long Beach Police Officers Association for Leslie Simons and her 7-month-old daughter, Katelyn. Contributions can be sent to the “Widows and Orphans Fund” in their name at 2865 Temple Ave., Long Beach, CA 90806.

Unlike many people, Sheriff’s Deputy Anthony “Tony” Olson loved to come to work – and everyone at work loved to be around him.

He will be remembered for his great sense of humor, his energy, his positive attitude and his bounty of ideas.

Olson, 36, died of burns and smoke inhalation on Tuesday, September 24, 1996, when his patrol car skidded off the road and slid over a 400-foot cliff. “He was following another deputy on a domestic disturbance call,” Sheriff Norman Hicks said.

“We really don’t know what happened,” Hicks stated, “The weather was clear and the road was dry.”

The other deputy lost communication with Olson en route and when he failed to arrive at the scene of the disturbance, he drove back down the Arroyo Seco Road until he saw flames from the wreckage.

“Both deputies were rolling on ‘Code 3,’ with red lights and sirens on, as required by law if officers are likely to exceed the speed limit,” Hicks said.

The patrol car Olson was driving was a 1996 Ford Crown Victoria, the only current model of car that comes with a police. package Olson had no record of accidents as a deputy, and his efficiency reports described him as a good driver.

Olson, a Monterey resident, had been with the department for 4 1/2 years. Initially, he worked in corrections, but had served as a patrol officer for the last 14 months. He also patrolled lake San Antonio, driving a Sheriff’s Department jet ski.

“He was a creative, energetic, friendly and funny fellow,” said Lt. Dave Allard. “It’s a real loss to the community as well as the department.”

Olson was “very well-liked,” according to Sgt. Bruce Palmer, who worked with the deputy in the Monterey substation “People loved to be around him. He always walked in with a mischievous look in his eye, like he knew a joke you weren’t privy to yet,” said Palmer, “I never heard him complain about late detail or uncomfortable calls.”

Allard said Olson exemplified the department’s desire to incorporate more of a community-policing stance into its role.

“He epitomized the kind of energetic, creative, service-oriented person that we want. He was one of those people who had the community-oriented ideas that the sheriff has been promoting within our department and working toward for so long.”

On his own initiative, Olson implemented the first jet-ski patrol on lake San Antonio. He obtained a jet-ski under a “Law Loaner” program from Kawasaki.

“He was so excited about the jet ski,” said Palmer. “He was just proud as punch. He thought it was the greatest thing in the world.”

Olson volunteered to patrol the lake during the summers. “His patrol helped immensely,” said Allard. “It helped the department enforce water boating laws and helped with public safety by making sure people were properly using the waterways and facilities.”

Allard said Olson’s patrol kept the area safe for children, swimmers and other boaters.

According to Palmer, a press conference was held at the lake announcing the acquisition of the jet ski and the water patrol program. Shortly after the conference, while people were still milling around, there was a call for a medical emergency across the lake. Olson responded on the jet ski.

Palmer remembers the day fondly. “He hopped on his noble steed right away. The call was for a man who had had a heart attack across the lake. Olson had cut the response time by – well, a lot! He had fun coming to work… “He was just a rare guy,” said Palmer, fighting back tears.

Olson is survived by his parents, George and Fofo Olson of Pleasant Hill.

A poignant calm hung over the funeral on August 21 of Ineasie Maxie Baker, who was slain at an institution for young adult criminals where she worked.

Mourners wept silently during the service, marked by law enforcement personnel in dress uniform, a flag-draped casket and the honors accorded a fallen comrade.

Ten days after Baker’s body was found at a Walnut landfill, more than 2,800 friends, colleagues and family gathered to remember her at a service, which occasionally captured the rich spirit of a revival meeting. More than 20 flower arrangements flanked the casket, which was surrounded by several pictures of Baker.

Baker, 42, counseled inmates at the Heman G. Stark Youth Training School in Chino. It was there that she was beaten to death on August 9, allegedly by 24-year-old inmate James Ferris. Police allege Ferris killed Baker with a battery pack and dumped her body in a trash bin. Ferris is already serving a life sentence for murder. Baker’s body was found August 11.

Friends and clergy who spoke at her funeral at the vast Four-square Gospel Church emphasized not the tragic manner of Baker’s death but the value of her life.

“We ask ourselves, ‘How could something like this happen to someone of such noble character?’ ” said Joe Sandoval, representing the Youth and Adult Correctional Agency. “But through that pain, you must know you have been enriched by knowing her.”

The homicide is the first ever of a peace officer at a CYA facility and the first of a staff member on an institution’s grounds since a teacher was killed at the El Paso de Robles school in San Luis Obispo County in 1975, according to CYA spokesman Tony Cimarusti.

CYA Director Frank Alarcon said in a prepared statement: “I’m sure the sadness I feel is shared by all Youth Authority employees. We talk frequently about how dangerous our line staff’s work can be. this tragedy brings that home in shocking fashion.”

“There is a pall over the whole department,” Cimarusti added. “People are numbed by Baker’s death.”

The congregation, sprinkled with uniformed members of the CYA, the Youth Training School and several white-gloved honor guard members, heard words of consolation and hope based on Christian scripture.

“Where God has put a period, we should not put a question mark,” said the Rev. Charles Bennett, pastor of Revival Time Church of Christ in Compton. “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.”

Following the service, Baker’s flag-draped casket moved through two columns of officers, receiving acknowledgment from the honor guard and a final, solemn salute from officers.

Parole Officer Donny Ross met Baker when he was a rookie at the authority in 1987. He praised her as a dedicated and inspirational counselor whose main concern was the inmates.

“When people on the inside are killed, it hurts all of us,” said Ross. “We’re there for treatment, training and education, trying to better help these young people.”

Baker’s vitality will be missed, said Group Supervisor Lafayette Boyd, who worked with her at CYA. “She was very well respected at the facility,” Boyd said. “She was the model for all of us.”

After graduating from Cal State Fullerton, Baker worked as a supervisor for Laura Scudders for more than ten years before gaining interest in criminal justice. After successfully graduating from the academy, she became a correctional officer and was later promoted as a counselor. She was employed by the CYA for 13 years. She was highly respected as a State official, often working long hours to fulfill the needs of others.

Baker is survived by her husband, Don; daughter, Tiffany; stepdaughter, Cynthia Baker; stepgrandson, Dominic Cloy; and parents, Fred D. Maxie and Mary Maxie.

A trust fund has been established: Ineasie M. Baker Scholarship Fund, Redlands Federal Bank, 2900 Hamner Avenue, P.O. Box 878, Norco, CA 91760.

Joey Little used to tell his colleagues at the police department that life can change in the blink of an eye. He’d say “Tell people today that you love them; you may not have the chance tomorrow.”

“It turned out to be almost prophetic,” said Matt Reynolds, one of Little’s closer friends on the force.

Little, the city’s first police officer to die of injuries sustained on duty, was buried with full honors on August 13, 1996 at the Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Cypress. The injuries occurred in an October 1989 car accident caused by a driver who ran a red light.

The massive brain damage Little suffered ended his life as he’d known it and took from his family and friends a man they described as dedicated, romantic, athletic, compassionate and fun.

Instead, Little and his family took on a long, loving, painful struggle to keep him in their lives. Early this past summer, the effort became too much.

“Enough was enough,” said his wife of 19 years, Diane Little, praised by her husband’s colleagues for her bravery and loyalty. “The pain was too much. He’d fought as long as he could. He decided it was time to let go.”

On July 28, in one of the periodic letters she sent friends to keep them abreast of her husband’s progress, Diane Little wrote: “Joey recently requested in writing that we love him enough to let him die… I asked that he write about this request with more than one person. His request was consistent and thus is being honored…”

Little said her husband quit the many medications he was taking to prevent infections. He asked to be baptized, was working with a hospice team, and was at peace, she wrote their friends.

On August 7, he died. He was 40.

Little served the Placentia Police Department from 1977 to 1989, first as a reserve officer, then patrol officer, field training officer, sergeant and finally detective. In 1989 he received the Distinguished Service Medal for writing an updated Field Training Officer Manual still used by the Placentia Police Department.

“I liked him right away,” said officer John Somoya, an old hand on the force by the time Little arrived. “He was young, energetic, exciting, Yet, he could be very serious when the time came.

Fellow officers tell a story about Little jumping in to help a paramedic free what they both believed to be a dead woman from a car threatening to burst into flames. She survived. And the time Little ran into a burning building to rescue a man who had gone back in to save a dog.

“He did what was right,” said Sgt. Rick Miller, another old friend. “There was never a question of that with Joey. He had a way of guiding other people to what was right too.”

His dedication wasn’t only to work. He loved deep-sea fishing with friends from the force or heading out to the Anza-Borrego desert to ride motorcycles. He had a huge backyard garden. He was a horseman and an accomplished photographer.

Diane Little said she received five phone calls over the years informing her that her husband was injured and hospitalized. Nevertheless, she found it easy to be a cop’s wife, she said.

“He wasn’t a hot-shot cop or a redneck,” she said. “He was a thinker and a leader. And there was that much trust.”

On October 31, 1989, Sgt. Little was helping out a fellow officer and friend, Brian Hill, who was recuperating after being shot while on duty and had been assigned to light-duty. Little had been appointed “contact person” to assist Hill.

He soon earned the nickname of “Mother Joey” through his efforts of watching out for his welfare. He was taking Hill to the police station when a driver ran a red light and smashed into the driver’s side of the car.

Hill was relatively unscathed, but Little had numerous injuries, including crushed limbs and massive head injuries. The driver of the other car received a ticket for running the light.

After the accident Little needed a respirator. Two days later, his doctors told Diane to say good-bye. “I couldn’t” she said. “I told him, ‘If you’ll fight, I’ll fight and I’ll fight as long as you fight.’”

Little fought to relearn writing, and to remember how to speak He communicated via eye blinks and an eye-controlled computer: He lived with pain, but eventually he even managed to stand.

About a year ago, the family moved him to a hospital in Kansas where care was more individualized. His mental acuity continued to rise and fall. His health began to deteriorate, and he broke his leg in May. The pain he lived with increased and he finally asked his family to let him go.

The quality of his life had deteriorated beyond being bearable. He stopped fighting the infections that attacked him.

Breaking the news to friends, Diane Little wrote: “Joey’s strength and courage have continued to show through as he teaches me the true definition of ‘dying with dignity.’”

Joey Little’s Courage was matched by that of his wife, Miller said. “The true gold in this story is her perseverance, and how loyal she was to her husband through all that happened to them,” Miller said. “They were well suited. Both bullheaded in the best sense. There’s got to be a special place in heaven for people like her.”

Casie, 16, Keith, 13, and Kelly, 11, and their mother, however, say they are grateful for the time they were able to have with their father and husband.

A trust fund has been established at the Bank of Yorba Linda, 18206 Imperial Hwy. Yorba Linda, CA 92886. Attn: Judy Heffner. Checks should be made out to the Joey Little Trust Account.

Five days after gunfire ended his life, family friends and fellow officers wept as Ventura County Sheriff’s Deputy Peter John Aguirre, Jr. was laid to rest in the town where he was born.

Aguirre died at work, Wednesday, July 17, 1996, as he tried to calm a maritial spat in Oak View, Ca. Michael Raymond Johnson shot him once in the shoulder and twice in the head. Johnson was charged with murder and the special circumstance of killing an on-duty police officer, which could lead to the death penalty.

Aguirre and three other officers had answered a domestic dispute call, arriving to find Guillermina Johnson warning them that her husband had a gun and was in the shower. Aguirre entered the home alone and several shots rang out. Authorities said Johnson, naked, ran outside and fired shots from two guns at Deputy James Fryhoff.

Fryhoff returned fire and hit Johnson in the rib cage. Johnson was further accused of attempting to kill Fryhoff. Prosecutors also charged him with kidnapping and forcing sex on his wife.

Sheriff Larry Carpenter said in his eulogy that the rookie deputy grew up in Santa Paula, and fell wearing a gilt deputy’s badge with a snapshot of his wife and young daughter taped to the back. “He was murdered because he was a deputy sheriff,” Carpenter said, “and he was simply doing his job.” “He was a good deputy, very well thought of . . . and very very sincere about helping those who were not as fortunate,” the sheriff continued.

Solemnly Carpenter gripped the lectern at Sacred Heart Church in Ventura, which was packed with Aguirre’s extended family and childhood friends from Santa Paula and nearly his entire sheriff’s academy class.

Carpenter read briefly from an essay Aguirre wrote barely two years ago after he put aside early aspirations to be a teacher and applied for work as a deputy. “Today’s officer must use all of his intellect, senses and fair judgment,” Carpenter read. “Today’s officer needs all the cooperation the community can give… and the community must respect our officers if they are expected to respect the law.”

Carpenter remembered Aguirre as a 26-year-old former religious studies student who was “confident without being abrasive .. sensitive without being soft Peter was a real hero,” Carpenter concluded. “He was a lawman.”

Close friends choked back tears at the lectern as they remembered growing up in tight-knit Santa Paula – skateboarding, plowing through grade school and eyeing girls – with “Petey.” And they talked about his dedication to police work.

Aguirre earned a bachelor’s degree in religious studies at Cal Sate North ridge. At one point he considered going into the priesthood and teaching, but opted for a career in law enforcement, according to his grandfather, Don Aguirre. Aguirre joined the Sheriff’s Department in mid-1994 and served at the County Jail until January, when he was transferred to patrol duties in Ojai. After a four-month training period, he became a full-fledged patrol officer about three months ago.

“Petey loved his job so much, despite the dangers it possessed,” Gene Martinez, Aguirre’s cousin, told the congregation. “He always told me how exciting it was.”

As a sea of tan-clad deputies snapped to attention, the mournful wail of bagpipes drifted through the air. Pallbearers lifted the coffin from the hearse and bore it to the grave site as friends and family choked back sobs and wiped away tears.

After the mass, a procession of 150 motorcycle officers and hundreds of police cars drove east on Highway 126 to Santa Paula Cemetery, past an electronic traffic sign that flashed “In Memory of Peter Aguirre” in yellow letters on a black backdrop. It had been set up by California Department of Transportation workers.

Three white doves perched on power lines near the grave Site. Family members said they had been roosting there for several days, and were the reasons that Aguirre’s wife chose the Site for Aguirre’s grave in the shadow of an avocado grove.

Father Daniel O’Sullivan delivered a prayer. Then he plucked three crucifixes off the casket, blessed them with holy water and handed one to Aguirre’s widow, one to his mother and one to his child. Marie Aguirre brought the crucifix to her lips in her son’s memory and delivered a gentle kiss.

The sheriff’s honor guard surrounded the casket and neatly folded the American flag that lay on the cherrywood coffin as a lone bugler blew “Taps.”

Then, Enedina Aguirre – the grade-school sweetheart who became Aguirre’s wife of four years and then his widow – stoically accepted the crisply folded flag from Sheriff Carpenter.

Aguirre’s friends and family flinched at the sharp crack of a 21-gun salute, the harsh military farewell for the native son they knew fr6m his days as a clerk at his grandfather’s grocery store.

For some, the massive show of respect – the bagpipes, the riderless horse, the fly-by of the Ventura County sheriff’s helicopter squad – did little to diminish the pain. Aguirre was the fourth police officer slain in Ventura County since 1993.

“It’s terrible that these things happen, and somehow we have to find a way to live through it,” said Donald Ayala, a distant cousin of Aguirre’s. “Just about every day, you hear about police officers getting killed. You don’t know what is going to happen from one day to the next.”

As a mariachi band filled the graveyard with music as the service ended, a long line of mourners offered their condolences to the family and filed past the casket. They drifted to a poster-board covered in photos of a younger, smiling Aguirre who played baseball and football as a boy.

Enedina Aguirre laid a hand on the coffin, then lifted her daughter to deliver a light kiss to the wood. Aguirre’s mother, Marie, and father, Peter, followed, running their hands along the casket’s sleek finish before being helped away.

A group of deputies who worked with Aguirre huddled around the casket, rapping. it with their knuckles as if to let their good friend know that they had not left his side.

“This is too sad,” said Kathy Andres of Santa Paula, as she pointed to a card announcing Aguirre’s birth on Oct.17, 1969. “He was too young to die.”

“Peter was always an angel,” said Sylvia Montoya as she placed a red rose on his casket. “He’s just gone from one home to another, but he’ll always be in our hearts.”

A memorial fund has been set up for Deputy Aguirre’s wife, Enedina “Dina,” and their 3-year-old daughter, Gabriella. Donations can be sent to: Peter Aguirre, Jr. Memorial Trust Fund, American Commercial Bank, 300 E. Main St., Ventura, CA.