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.

His was a cop’s life, and a cop’s family – his father, father-in-law, brother-in-law, all of them wearing badges. Don Burt couldn’t wait for his turn.

And 15 months after his proud father pinned the badge of the California Highway Patrol on the Second generation of Burts to wear the CHP shield, Don Burt, 25-years-old, died a cop’s death.

On Saturday evening, July 13, in a brightly lit parking lot, within sight of the Mexican restaurant where he had had dinner with his pregnant wife Kristin just a few hours before, and where his niece and nephews had teased him and called him “Onky Donkey” instead of “Uncle Donnie,” he was shot to death, allegedly by a motorist who was carrying a suspended driver’s license – and a 9 mm handgun.

As they so often do, things got out of hand fast. Dozens of late diners at Coco’s Family Restaurant saw it happen: the traffic stop, the call for the tow truck, Burt waving off a fellow cop who happened by and asked whether he needed help, Burt turning up some bogus travelers checks – and then the pushing and shoving, and the gun.

Burt was shot seven times. “The suspect had a 9 mm pistol,” CHP Capt. Chuck Lynd said. “The first six shots knocked him down on his side. The suspect stood over him and fired a round into the left side of his head. That was the fatal round.”

Arrested for Burt’s murder, 25-year-old Hung Thanh Mai, was captured two days later in Houston, Texas. Mai, an Orange County resident, has a reputation for violence and ruthlessness. Identified as being a very, very dangerous man, Mai is a member of one of Southern California’s fiercest gangs, the Tiny Rascals.

With his own baby on the way, he had asked for Saturday, July 13, off, to entertain his young niece and nephews, whose father had been killed in a traffic accident in Arkansas last October. But they were short-handed, Kristin said, so he went to work.

It was about 8:30 p.m., on the Orange Freeway, when Burt pulled over the leased white BMW. The driver left the freeway at Nutwood Ave. and drove into the large parking lot shared by a restaurant, gas station and motel.

A few minutes later, Burt called in a license check on the driver, Lynd said. At that point, it looked to be a routine traffic stop. The computer reported the driver had a suspended license and Burt, following procedure, called a tow truck to impound the car.

Burt waved off the Fullerton police officer who had signaled an offer of help. And then, waiting for the tow truck, he searched the trunk and turned up “forged or counterfeit” travelers’ checks. The driver grappled with him, pulled the gun.

One witness saw the man fire over and over, saw Burt crumple. Then the gunman bent down and took Burt’s service pistol. He got behind the wheel of the patrol car, whose lights were still flashing, and drove off.

“We wondered why he just didn’t take his own car,” said Anaheim Police Lt. Tom O’Donnell. The patrol car, its lights still whirling, was abandoned seven miles away, at a car dealership in Anaheim.

A witness, Jerry Noyes, reported that when he ran to Burt’s aid following the shooting, the officer was holding an ID in one hand and a bunch of traveler’s checks in the other. Noyes stated “There were hundreds of these checks, just littering the parking lot. They were $100 checks.”

Police experts later reported the traveler’s checks were bogus. They provided a link between Mai and a web of Asian gangs that specialize in sophisticated and lucrative white-collar crimes.

More than 4,500 police officers and other mourners crammed church services to pay tribute to the rookie CHP officer. Officers came from as far away as Maryland and New Jersey.

Burt’s wife, Kristin, and his parents, Don and Jeannie Burt, listened as Gov. Pete Wilson and other speakers remembered Burt as a dedicated officer with an infectious sense of humor that endeared him to friends, colleagues and his superiors.

Burt, an avid soccer player and water skier, was remembered as a loving man who wanted to help people. At Perris High School, where he had been student body president and a 12-letter man – varsity in soccer, swimming and water polo, for all four years – Burt had planned on being a high school history teacher.

But There was his father’s example – the elder Don Burt had been a CHP officer since 1969, and with not so much as a traffic accident And then there was his wife and her family.

Kristin Burt’s father had retired from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, and her brother is still a deputy. That influence, and his father’s work, changed Burt’s mind about teaching. In April 1995 he graduated from the CHP academy, and was soon teaching computers and showing the ropes to other rookies.

“He was the perfect son,” said his father, Don, choking on his words during an interview from his Perris home. “He respected others and he loved people. He loved to help people. That was his goal in life.”

Burt’s father, a Riverside CHP patrol sergeant, said he was apprehensive when his son decided to follow in his footsteps. “Times have changed. There’s too many crazy people out there. There’s no value of life. They shoot you for rims, tires. It’s a terrible society we live in now,” he said.

Catching drunk drivers was his special mission, and “doing something to protect others,” as his mother, Jeannie, put it, “people who get in trouble on the road.”

“He was just really aggressive about doing his job,” said his beat partner Ari Wolfe. “When some guys might go get a cup of coffee, he’d go write that extra ticket, or go help five more cars on the freeway.”

His parents worried, though, about the boy they still called “Baby Donnie”‘ “He wasn’t as big as I was,” his father fretted, “and he was a lot nicer than me.”

And his mother-in-law, Judy Muravez, the mother and wife of cops, said “It’s kind of different when your husband’s been an officer because they’re an adult, but it’s really hard when you raise a child and see them vulnerable. I loved Don like a son.”

Don Burt is believed to be the first CHP officer to be shot to death in Orange County since the 1960s.

A memorial fund has been established to help Burt’s widow, Kristin, who gave birth to the couple’s baby on Sept. 22. Donations may be sent to the Officer Don Burt Memorial Fund, c/o CHP, 2031 E. Santa Clara Ave., Santa Ana, CA 92705.

TV SHOW FEATURES CHP OFFICER DON BURT JR.

“Arrest and Trial” aired a reenactment of the murder of California Highway Patrol Officer Don Burt, Jr., on November 8, 2000, on UPN Network. Officer Burt was killed on July 13, 1996, by Hung Thah Mai, a gang leader, who from his jail cell is calling for the murder of other law enforcement officers. Don and Jeannie Burt, said they were glad people had the opportunity to see how much effort went into the arrest and prosecution of Mai for their son’s murder.

A somber sense of loss swept through Orange County Tuesday, May 28, as an estimated 1,400 mourners gathered to bid farewell to Terry L. Fincher, veteran Brea police detective who was killed in the line-of-duty May 22, 1996.

A procession of more than 300 vehicles, stretching almost three miles, escorted Fincher’s body from the Fullerton church where Services were held to the Whittier cemetery where he was laid to rest. Fincher, 48, who dedicated 16 years to the Brea Police Department, was lauded as a man of integrity, sharp police instincts and tenderness.

“If the bad guy was bigger than you, you wanted Terry to watch your back,” said Pastor Steve Biffle, a close family friend. “If your life was broken, you wanted Terry by your side.”

Representatives of many law enforcement agencies – from Orange County to Fincher’s hometown Chino to Los Angeles – attended the funeral at the Evangelical Free Church.

Hundreds of officers affixed black ribbons to their badges to symbolize the loss of a colleague, he second Brea officer to die in the line-of-duty in the department’s 81-year history.

It was poignant that Fincher’s funeral came the day after Memorial Day. The officer had served with distinction during the Vietnam War.

Fincher was killed when, as other officers shouted warnings, a freight train struck him during a search along the tracks for a baseball bat believed to have been discarded near the railroad tracks after an attack. As another officer waved his arms and shouted a warning, Fincher apparently took a step away from the approaching train, police said.

But he was sucked into the side of the locomotive by the pressure of the passing train, which was moving downhill about 50 mph, Brea police investigator Bill Hudson said. Fincher was hurled down an embankment, where he was pronounced dead.

The accident occurred about 8.30 a.m. when Fincher and several other officers were searching the area near Esperanza Road and Hickory Drive. Hours earlier, police had arrested four young men on suspicion of following a couple from a bar and beating them with a bat near some railroad tracks.

The detective had been combing a rocky area near the tracks with his back to the oncoming train, police said. The train was just rounding a turn, and the view was partly obscured, said Mike Martin, spokesman for the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Co.

The train’s crew spotted the detective walking on the tracks when the train was about a third of a mile away, Martin said. By the time crew members hit the brakes, they were about a sixth of a mile way, he said.

“There’s not a lot of time to react when you’re traveling at around 75 feet per second,” Martin said. The train, with two engines pulling 19 cars, originated from Kansas city and was heading to Los Angeles Because it was heading downhill, the train might have been less noisy than usual, Martin said.

“Only a locomotive could take out this super cop,” Biffle said during the funeral service.

Fincher began and ended his law enforcement career with the Brea police. Over the course of his career, he worked in many aspects of law enforcement, from motors to homicide, checks and fraud, burglary, crime scene investigations and the Special Enforcement Detail.

He was one of the founding members of Brea’s Peer Counseling and Crisis Intervention Team. He was a member of the Hostage Negotiation Team and Tactical Arrest and Containment Team (TAC). He was also the department’s sign language interpreter. As he once said, “I want to learn it just in case we ever need it.”

He was awarded the department’s Medal of Honor in 1967 and was held in high regard by fellow officers, who voted him as Associate of the Year in 1980 and Officer of the Year in 1981.

“In my heart, Terry will never die,” said Brea Police Chief William C. Lentini, who called the funeral service a celebration of Fincher’s life and achievements. “A loss of one is a loss for us all.”

In a poem, friend and partner Det. Jerry Brakebill told the legacy Fincher left “For nothing loved is lost… for he was loved so much.”

During the funeral service, time seemed suspended as the funeral procession slowly moved to the burial site at Rose Hills Memorial Park in Whittier. Traffic along Brea Boulevard and the Orange and Pomona freeways was halted for miles.

But not even Biffle – despite his storehouse of anecdotes about the 1957 “hot-rod” Chevrolet Fincher had as a high-schooler, or his habit of singing over the phone to his grandchildren – could fully transcend the profound sorrow that permeated the vast sanctuary during the service.

“Terry, we’ll miss you … we’re so very, very proud of you,” Biffle concluded with a crack in his voice, nodding toward the flag-draped coffin bathed in a bright spotlight at the foot of the altar.

The mourners were a somber mix of civilian friends and police officers from more than three dozen Southern California jurisdictions. Nineteen of 32 teachers at Briggs Elementary School in Chino, where Fincher’s widow, Brenda; is a secretary, arranged for substitutes so they could attend the service.

The church became quiet as all 110 of Fincher’s fellow Brea officers filed down the main aisle, the only sound coming from the squeaks of their black dress shoes – burnished to a spit-polish shine – echoing through the chamber. The Brea officers made no attempt to hide their sadness.

Brakebill halted several times before he was able to complete the poem in Fincher’s memory, choking in particular when he said Fincher had gone to a place of comfort where there are no dates or years.”

At the burial service, a fresh breeze blew through the crowd just as four police helicopters flew over. Six pallbearers then removed the American flag that covered the wooden casket. They stood rigidly, neatly folding the flag which Chief Lentini delivered to Fincher’s wife, Brenda, who was composed and kept her eyes lowered. She and her two daughters ended the ceremony by approaching the casket, upon which each gently placed a rose and a soft kiss.

Brea police pastor Doug Green read the 23rd Psalm. The seven-member police rifle squad fired a 21-gun salute, the sound reverberating off the nearby hills of Rio Hondo College, where Fincher attended police academy before joining the Brea force.

Then bagpiper Robert Hackney played a last melody, Brea police buglers Larry Hernandez and Tim Shevlin sounded taps, and the mourners looked skyward for a helicopter fly-by salute from the Orange County Law Enforcement Regional Air Support.

Simultaneously, a freight locomotive from the adjoining Union Pacific tracks sounded its horn, a haunting reminder to some, of Fincher’s death but a tribute however ironic – to the fallen officer.

Silence fell and the crowd melted away.

Besides his wife and daughter, Edie, 23; Fincher is survived by his son, Erik, 25; and step children, Melissa Scott, 16; and Nathan Scott, 20. Fincher and his wife Brenda resided in Chino. He also has two grandsons, Benjamin and Brandon.

Numerous officers, friends and citizens of Pomona lit candles and shed tears during a candlelight vigil as they paid tribute to Officer Daniel T. Fraembs at the spot where he was shot and killed early Saturday, May 11, 1996.

Officers wore black bands across their badges, and the two-hour memorial ceremony was awash with tears and optimism as colleagues spoke about the man they knew as a model police officer.

“Your presence graces us with an honor that helps ease our pain,” said Pomona police Capt. Joe Romero, whose voice trembled when he spoke to the audience of the slain 37-year-old officer. “l had the honor of being Dan’s captain and brother officer.”

Fraembs’ mother, Dorothy, and sister, Darah, were flown in from their Cincinnati home to attend the solemn ceremony and Daniel Fraembs’ funeral, which was held Friday, May 17.

Known as one of the Pomona officers most well-informed on Asian gangs, Fraembs was shot to death early Saturday near an abandoned incinerator plant. He was the first policeman in the 108-year history of the Pomona Police Department to be gunned down in the line-of-duty. He never pulled his gun out of its holster.

Following an extensive search and tips from unidentified sources, a suspect, 22-year-old Ronald Bruce Mendoza, was arrested in Kingman, Arizona on May 22. Pomona Police chief Rick Shaurette stated “We’re very confident we have the right man. We have a witness.” Mendoza is a member of the Mexican Mafia of the Happy Town gang.

People who didn’t know Fraembs laid either flowers or white candles near patrol car 34 – the car he drove that night – which was parked at the spot where his body was found. An enlarged picture of Fraembs stood over the display, adorned with a wreath and white and purple roses.

Draped over the hood of the patrol car was a silk flag that depicted a police badge with a black band across it.

Fraembs was born in Hong Kong. He was found orphaned on a beach by a Hong Kong policeman, who turned him over to an orphanage.

At nine months of age, Dan was adopted by Donald and Dorothy Fraembs of Cincinnati, Ohio. In August 1963, Fraembs became a citizen.of the United States. He graduated from Forest Park High School in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1977.

In the fall of that year, he enrolled in the University of Cincinnati. He completed his college education at Fullerton Community College.

In 1981, Fraembs joined the Untied States Marine Corps, where he excelled. He earned numerous declarations, medals, badges, citations, and campaign ribbons while in the service. He had obtained the rank of sergeant prior to receiving his honorable discharge in 1985.

In September 1988, he was appointed to the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, where he worked for five years before joining the Pomona Police Department.

Fraembs is survived by his mother, Dorothy Fraembs, and a sister, Darah Fraembs, both of Cincinnati, Ohio.

A memorial fund has been established in Fraembs’ honor. Checks may be made payable to: Officer Daniel Fraembs Memorial Fund, PPOA, 319 So. Park Avenue, Pomona, CA 91766.

James Rex Jensen Jr.’s parents tried to talk him out of police work, but being a cop was more than just a job for him.

Regarded by fellow police officers as a top notch patrolman with a highly promising career, Jensen was remembered by Oxnard residents as a tireless community supporter who helped energize Neighborhood Watch programs, taught youth sports and labored hard on his own time to make Oxnard a better place to live.

Jensen, 30, died March 13 after he was accidentally shot by a fellow officer during an early morning drug raid at an Oxnard condominium complex.

“This is a terrible loss for the city because this is a police officer who didn’t view being a police officer as just a job,” said John Branthoover, a 52-year-old Oxnard resident who helped found the city’s Neighborhood Watch program six years ago and had worked with Jensen.

“He was a guy who was trying to make the city a safer and more family-friendly place. He was really involved and really cared about the community. He tried to make a difference.”

Jensen joined the Oxnard Police Department in April 1992 after working for three years as a deputy in the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department. Respected by both his peers and top brass, the young patrolman was promoted to the special weapons and tactics – SWAT – team in July 1995.

“He was a very open person. He was very well-liked. He was a dedicated officer,” said Police Chief Harold Hurtt. “He was a professional in every way.” Jensen is the second Oxnard police officer killed in the line-of-duty since 1993.

Married and the father of two daughters, Lindsay, 5, and Katie, 3, Jensen lived in a household that revolved around law enforcement: His wife, Jennifer, works at Todd Road Jail for the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department as does her mother, sheriff’s officials said.

Jensen developed an interest in law enforcement while serving in the Marine Corps for four years as a military police officer, his parents said in telephone interviews. Jensen was stationed both in Okinawa, Japan, and at Camp Pendleton after graduating from high school in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1983.

Reached at her home in Price, Utah, Jensen’s mother said she tried to persuade her only son not to become a police officer after he left the Marines. But he was set on the career.

“I didn’t want him to go into police work,” said Shirley Jensen, 70, a retired nurse. “I didn’t like it but then again, mothers don’t have much say.” Jensen’s father, Rex, said in a separate interview that he too had tried to stop his son from becoming a police officer.

Shirley Jensen said her son was well aware of the risks involved with the job he loved but rarely discussed them with her.

“He didn’t talk much about it with me cause he knew I was a worrywart,” she said. Jensen’s mother and friends said Jensen was a devoted father who enjoyed spending free time with his family.

Growing up in Salt Lake City, Jensen was active in school activities and played sports while attending East High School, his mother said. “He was a busy guy, even when he was little,” Shirley Jensen said. “He thought he could never be doing too much.”

Jensen took his can-do attitude to Ventura County, where he coached Little League baseball and played second base on the police force’s “Blue Wave” softball team in addition to many other activities.

After working the late shift the Friday night before his death, Jensen went to the baseball diamond Saturday morning to help out during an all-day baseball camp for 60 Oxnard youngsters.

“He loved working with kids,” said Ralph Sanchez, program coordinator for the Police Activities league, which sponsored the baseball clinic. “He felt this was a way for him, as an officer, to interface with kids in a different environment.”

Sanchez, who also coaches the Police Department’s softball team, called Jensen an excellent athlete whose fierce professionalism showed in every aspect of his life.

“Jim was a very dedicated person,” Sanchez said. “Whenever he came to practice, he was usually the first one there and the last to leave. He rarely missed practice or games, although it wasn’t easy with the demands of his job.”

Branthoover said many Oxnard residents knew Jensen because of his community involvement and his efforts to encourage residents to establish Neighborhood Watch programs.

“He was one of those officers who from the very beginning thought that community involvement with the Police Department was a great idea,” Branthoover said. “In the early days, some of the officers weren’t that enthusiastic about citizens appearing on the streets at night.”

Branthoover recalled encountering Jensen on the beat including one night when Branthoover was painting over a graffiti-covered wall in his neighborhood.

“He would creep up with his flashlight and say, ‘Oh, it’s you again,’ Branthoover said. “We would stop and talk for a while.”

Oxnard Mayor Manuel Lopez whose wife, Irma, was injured during the 1993 shootings that killed another Oxnard police officer called the accidental shooting death of Jensen a “huge loss.”

“I think it is a real, real tragedy,” Lopez said. “He was the type of police officer that everyone wants to have.”

Jensen had been a member of PORAC since August 21, 1992.

A trust fund has been set up for the Jensen family. Contributions can be sent to: The Oxnard Police Officers Assn., Channel Island National Bank, 155 South A Street Oxnard, CA 93030.

CHP officer David W. Manning, who had been in a coma since he was found unconscious next to his crashed patrol motorcycle on Jan. 26, died at Mercy Hospital in Bakersfield on February 15, 1996.

Manning, 31, a seven-year CHP veteran, was found beside his motorcycle seven hours after he left his duty station while driving home from work.

Manning’s last ride on his Kawasaki Police 1000 began late Jan. 25. His shift ended at 10 p.m., and he left for the ride home from CHP headquarters at about 10:15 p.m. He rode onto southbound Highway 99, heading to his home.

He was last seen by a pair of graveyard-shift officers who passed him on the freeway about 10:20 p.m., CHP spokesman Mack Wimbish said. They noticed nothing amiss.

When the officer hadn’t arrived home more than four hours later, his wife, Melissa, called the CHP for help in locating him. Bakersfield police and Kern County Sheriff’s deputies joined in a two-hour search before the downed officer was found near his regular route home from work.

He was found just after dawn in an oat field just north of his home. Manning underwent brain surgery shortly after he was found, but never regained consciousness. It appeared as if his motorcycle had simply run off the end of the road and crashed, investigators said.

Despite extensive investigation the CHP found no indication that any other vehicles were involved in the crash.

The Bakersfield native and Highland High School graduate was described as an avid baseball player, athlete and family man who just moved into a new home with Melissa and his 2-year-old daughter Hannah.

Manning was one of the first officers assigned to the local CHP’s motorcycle detail last year, when the patrol was pressed back into service after a 25-year hiatus. But the officer already had four years of experience with motorcycle work after graduating from the police academy and working as a motor patrol officer in east Los Angeles, said his father, Wayne Manning.

On December 8, 1995, California Highway Patrol Officer Artie J. Hubbard, 43, succumbed to injuries he sustained during an on-duty collision that occurred over a decade earlier.

On April 5, 1985, Hubbard was on his dinner break when he heard an 11-99 (officer needs help) call on his radio. The officer making the call reported he was involved in a physical altercation with a subject who had been stopped for a traffic violation and was later discovered to be wanted in Oregon.

Hubbard was traveling eastbound on Pocket Road in Sacramento when he failed to negotiate a curve. His CHP Mustang slid off the roadway and struck a utility pole broadside.

The driver’s door took the full impact of the violent collision. Hubbard suffered extensive injuries, including a severed spinal column.

Other units responding to the same call heard a citizen come on the radio and say, “Mayday, mayday.” When the dispatcher asked this person to identify himself, the citizen reported that there had been a bad wreck involving a CHP car, adding that the officer was “in bad shape.” He then provided the location of the accident.

With a helicopter already en route to the 11-99 location, the dispatcher diverted it to Hubbard’s location and then directed the citizen at the scene to turn on the CHP unit’s spotlight and direct it upward so the chopper could locate the wreck. By the time the helicopter landed, another CHP officer was providing emergency lifesaving care to Hubbard, who was then flown to the hospital.

Hubbard was placed on life support and survived. For more than ten years, he was cared for in his parents’ home in Manteca. He could communicate only through eye movements.

Several weeks before his death, Hubbard underwent routine surgery to mitigate deterioration in his condition, but the procedure was unsuccessful. Hubbard entered the CHP Academy in January 1975 and reported to the Central Los Angeles CHP office in May of the same year. In March 1983 he voluntarily transferred to the South Sacramento CHP office.

Hubbard is survived by his mother, Helen Hubbard; a sister, Roseada Beggs; and a brother, Michael Hubbard.

Donations in Hubbard’s memory may be made to the CAHP Widows and Orphans Trust Fund, P.O. Box 161209, Sacramento, CA 95816-1209.