Oakland Unified School District police officer Timothy Blaine Howe of Hercules, 34, was fatally shot April 14, 1995 in East Oakland after stopping a car for a possible traffic violation.

When Howe approached the vehicle, a verbal altercation erupted and he was shot, said Sgt. Tony Hare of the Oakland Police Department. Howe died a short time later at Highland Hospital.

The wedding invitations he and his fiancee had sent were arriving at the homes of friends and relatives. Instead, there would be a funeral.

“I wasn’t planning for a casket, I was planning for a wedding,” said Linda Mussman, Howe’s mother “It’s such a nightmare.”

Officers throughout the East Bay said they also felt like they had lost a family member.

“What happened to Tim could happen to any one of us and because of that, there’s a bond between officers that comes with the job,” said one of his supervisors, Sergeant Bob Scurria. “It’s bad enough to lose any cop, but this one I worked closely with, and it hurts.”

Howe’s death was the first fatality in the Oakland Unified School District police force since its inception 42 years ago.

Police work was in Howe’s blood, said his mother He was born July 16, 1960, in Berea, Kentucky, the son of a state trooper When he was just six units shy of his bachelor’s degree in economics, Howe came home and told his mother, “Mom, I want to be a policeman.”

After going through the academy, Howe started working in the Oakland Police Youth Services Division. He was assigned to patrol schools in the Oakland Unified School District, where he investigated vandalism, burglaries and other crimes involving students.

Linda Mussman said her son tried to make a difference in the East Oakland community. Howe often spent his own lunch money to take abused children to McDonald’s, his mother said. At times he felt it was a losing battle. “I take one gun away, they come back with ten more,” he once told her.

“He was doing what he really wanted to do all his life. It made me really proud. If there’s any consolation, that’s it said Howe’s fiancee, Kendra Peterson. “But it’s not much.”

Howe’s supervisor, Sergeant Harold Boutte, said Howe was too strong to let anything upset his mind. “He talked health, happiness and hope to every student and person he met. He worked only for the best, and only accepted the best. He was too large for words, too noble for anger, too strong for fear and too happy to admit the presence of trouble and danger.”

The suspect in Howe’s death was killed April 18 in a hail of gunfire at a roadblock after a four-hour siege in which he wounded three people. At the request of the family, a scholarship fund was created in memory of Howe for Fremont High School students entering criminal law education fields. Checks can be made out to the Tim Howe Scholarship Fund and mailed to Oakland Unified School District Police Services Office, 1025 Second Ave., Room 111, Oakland, CA 94606.

Police officers from across the state were among the 2,000 people who attended a funeral Mass April 19, 1995 for Newport Beach Police Officer Bob Henry.

Henry, shot in the head March 12 by a man who then took his own life, clung to life in a coma for 33 days before he died.

Mourners heard the 30-year-old father of three remembered as a devoted Catholic who made the ultimate sacrifice that shadows the life of every peace officer. Also remembered was his good-hearted sense of humor, his love of surfing, his proposal to his wife on his knee in front of a class-room full of children she was teaching.

After the funeral Mass, hundreds of police vehicles and a fire engine followed the hearse to Holy Sepulcher Cemetery in Orange.

The graveside service was somber. Five police helicopters flew overhead in a missing-man formation. Henry received a 21-gun salute by the Los Angeles Police Department Honor Guard. Row after row of officers, mostly from the Newport Beach Police Department, stood at attention while a trumpeter played “Taps.” The private burial followed a day of public remembrances of Henry at the Mass and at a reception in Newport Beach.

At the Mass, mourners heard the message of Resurrection offered by The Rev. Stephen J. Duffin of St. Catherine of Siena Church. “A whole police force, a whole army, cannot stop death from taking our brother,” said Duffin as Henry’s parents, brothers, sister, wife and three small children stood nearby. “But for us, this isn’t the end, it’s a new beginning.”

The Henry recalled most fondly was a loving friend who used his humor to shepherd those close to him through trying emotional times.

Sheila McHenry, a friend of Bob and Patty Henry, said Henry cheered her up after her cancer surgery. She told Henry that doctors had removed a tumor the size of a volleyball. “Yeah, right,” Henry replied. “The surgery was probably one hour long and they were playing volleyball for the other four.”

Mike Guerena went to school with Henry from first grade through graduation from Mater Dei High School. He recalled the time that a bored Henry, who had landed them both jobs in a mail room, slipped a cardboard box over his torso and began hopping around, only to be surprised by his boss.

The Mass served as a public grieving and the seed of healing for more than 1,000 police officers who came to honor Henry. “No matter where we work, we’re doing the same type of job, striving for a safe community,” said Fremont Police Officer William Caratini. “It could be any one of us at any time.”

Bob Henry was the 38th Orange County officer killed in the line of duty. Newport Beach Police Chief Robert J. McDonell, who offered one of the eulogies, vowed to watch over Henry’s wife and three children: six-year old Bobby, Jenna, 2, and Alyssa, two months old when her father died. “We pledge to you Bob Henry that we will close ranks and protect your family until you are all happily together,” he said through tears.

The loss hit the close-knit Newport Beach force hard, said Officer Mark Hamilton. “Bob gave us hope. Bob gave us courage. Bob gave us strength,” Hamilton said. “On April 13, 1995, Bob gave us his life.”

Contributions to benefit the Henry family may be made to the Robert Henry Fund, Newport Beach Police Department, Attn: Sgt. Andy Goins, P.O. Box 7000, Newport Beach, CA 92658-7000.

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There weren’t enough seats for the 1,400 police officers attending the memorial April 3, 1995, for “the old man” of the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department.

Hundreds of officers stood in formation in the foyer as speakers remembered and thanked Deputy Frank V. Trejo. The grandfather and career lawman was 58 when he was shot to death March 29.

Trejo was well-known to graveyard shift workers in the huge area he policed from west of Santa Rosa and Cotati to near Forestville. He had spotted a pickup in the lot of a closed store near Sebastopol and pulled into investigate. Minutes later, Sonoma County’s oldest patrol deputy lay dead from a shotgun blast. Two suspects were later arrested.

“My dad loved his job,” said 24-year-old Nikki Trejo, surveying the auditorium filled with uniformed officers from across the state. “This was where he belonged, among the rest of you.”

Although 2,200 people attended Trejo’s memorial, the farewell had the feeling of a family affair. Ordinary citizens walked to the microphone to say something about the down-to-earth, reliable deputy.

Clerks who worked the graveyard shift in west county stores said they liked the stout and muscular Trejo and felt safer knowing he wasn’t far away.

West county resident Ann Davis thanked Trejo’s family for the deputy’s sacrifice. “To all of you in uniforms, it could have been any of you,” Davis added. “Thank you for protecting us.

A close friend of Trejo, former Deputy Carlos Basurto, was a detective when Trejo, formerly a policeman in Lompoc and Tiburon, became a Sonoma County deputy in 1980. Basurto said he took one look at Trejo and knew he was looking at the department’s new narcotics detective.

At Basurto’s suggestion, Trejo began deep-cover work, buying heroin from dealers and then sending in deputies to bust them.

“Frank was good at buying heroin,” said Basurto. The somber crowd laughed when Basurto added, “He was so good, the dealers gave him a discount.” Basurto ended by beseeching the officers present, “Please be careful.”

Earlier, a motorcade of 240 patrol cars and 60 police motorcycles, led by limousines bearing Trejo’s family, moved slowly from the fairgrounds in central Santa Rosa to the memorial at the Burbank Center. Along the route, some spectators bowed their heads in honor of Frank Trejo. Others saluted.

Trejo was remembered as a fine father and loving grandfather and as the kind of cop who used brains rather than brawn, although he had both.

Former Tiburon policeman Bill Langston, now a sergeant with the Placer County Sheriff’s Department, recalled that in 1978 he was a young cop eager “to go out and kick some butt,” Langston credited Trejo’s patient mentoring with helping him mature into a good cop.

Ron Hutchins, an officer from Trejo’s home town of Lompoc, said Trejo was a master at resolving fights and other problems without getting physical. Hutchins said when he heard Trejo had been killed, “I thought, damn, I lost my role model.”

He was a role model also for son Michael, 22. The younger Trejo struggled to contain his grief as he said his family deeply appreciated the community’s love and support and all the expressions of fondness for his father. “He was a great man,” Michael Trejo said.

Trejo is survived by his wife Barbara; son Michael, Jr.; daughters Debra Radovich, Dominique Trejo and Deanna Trejo; three grandchildren; and mother Carmen Trejo of Lompoc.

Contributions to a trust fund to benefit the family may be mailed to Frank Trejo Family Trust, c/o Exchange Bank, P.O. Box 6005, Santa Rosa, CA 95406.

Tragedy struck Lassen County March 2, 1995, when Deputy Larry D. Griffith was shot and killed while attempting to contact a suspect in a domestic dispute.

Sheriff Ron Jarrell said Griffith, 44, responded with three other officers to a ranch house near Ravendale. The suspect, a reputed survivalist, began shooting as the officers were exiting their two patrol vehicles, and Griffith was fatally injured.

Law enforcement vehicles from throughout California and Nevada arrived for the funeral services March 7. The tribute began when more than 200 patrol cars, motorcycles and fire engines formed a procession from the Lassen County Fairgrounds to the funeral at the Assembly of God Church.

Griffith’s death affected the entire community. “I’ve never seen an outpouring of this magnitude,” said family friend and Los Altos Police Officer Craig Penley. “People pulled together in a way I’ve never seen before.”

Craig Griffith added that he’d “never seen anything even remotely as powerful” as the community response to his brother’s tragic death.

Carolyn Hutchinson, Griffith’s sister, expressed hope that the tragedy would lead to increased officer safety throughout California. She said the family requested and fully supported Susanville Police Officer Todd Daugherty’s plea for positive change during the funeral service.

“It’s not a negative thing,” she said. “We want it to be protective, with the necessary resources provided to improve safety.”

Griffith’s death in the line of duty was the first of a Lassen County sheriff’s deputy in over 25 years.

Deputy Scott Ruppel gave the eulogy, summarizing Griffith’s Army service in Vietnam and entry into law enforcement in the early 1980s as a Plumas County reserve deputy. After three years as a full-time deputy in Plumas County, Griffith joined the Lassen County Sheriff’s Department in 1984.

Ruppel said Griffith was always more concerned about family and friends than himself. “I feel that if he could repeat the day, he would not change the outcome,” Ruppel said, referring to Griffith’s death and the ten-hour standoff which followed. “He would have found it unbearable to lose a fellow officer.”

Many of Griffith’s close friends were members of the Lassen County Country Corvette Club which Griffith founded. Club President Wayne McGaughy recalled that Griffith declined the presidency because many of his nights and weekends were dedicated to his work.

Also a Corvette Club member, Officer Daugherty remembered that he and Griffith were hired in 1984 by their respective departments. “We were both the squeaky wheels,” Daugherty said. “We wreaked the most havoc and wrecked the most patrol cars.”

Daugherty also said Griffith seemed to know he was going to die. In his last month, he requested that he be buried with his badge and designated who he wanted as pallbearers.

Sheriff Jarrell characterized Griffith as an exemplary officer. “He was a dedicated professional with a strong commitment to serving his community both in law enforcement and the military reserve, Jarrell said. “He chose this profession out of a strong desire to help people. He got his share of tough details and he always did a good job.”

Griffith is survived by his wife Lauri of Susanville; sons David Griffith of Fernadina, Florida, and Eric Harrison of Quincy; daughter Krystal Griffith of Susanville, parents Marvin Fogel of Texas and Mary Griffith of Poway, brothers Michael Griffith and Craig Griffith as well as sisters Carolyn O’Mara and Terri Griffith.

A trust fund to benefit his family has been established. Donations may be made to the Larry Griffith Trust Fund, c/o Lassen County Federal Credit Union, P.O. Box 1060, Susanville, CA 96130.

Roseville policeman Mark A. White was remembered as a dedicated officer with a mischievous grin and compassionate manner during funeral services attended by about 2,000 mourners, including 1,500 uniformed law enforcement officers from throughout California.

White died February 10, 1995, when Shawn Brackin, a 25-year-old Roseville resident intending to commit suicide, walked into the Roseville Police Department and pulled a gun on the counter clerk.

White, out of uniform and ready to leave for the day, was caught in the confused melee that resulted.

He was shot by a fellow officer who didn’t recognize him until after he fell with a gunshot wound to the chest.

In a ceremony at St. Isadore’s Church in Yuba City, White, 30, was eulogized by Roseville Police Chief Thomas Simms as an officer who loved his job so much he was called “Mr. Roseville” by his own wife.

“He just went out and did his job,” remarked Simms, who also read condolences sent by President Clinton to White’s pregnant widow, Elizabeth, and 4-year-old son Matthew.

In an impressive tribute to a fallen comrade, hundreds of uniformed officers lined up in the parking lot and the street in front of St. Isidore’s and stood at attention for more than an hour before the services began.

During the eulogy, Yuba City Police Chief Roy Harmon drew warm chuckles from the assembly when he recalled White’s happy nature and impish grin. “He always, always had that grin on his face, like he just got by with something, and he probably did,” said Harmon, remembering White’s days as a police cadet in his department.

“When White was a cadet, he had a habit of disappearing immediately after the morning briefing,” Harmon related. “A sergeant followed him one day and discovered he was running home to eat a bowl of Cheerios.”

“Liz used to complain that she didn’t have a husband and a son,” Harmon remarked. “She said she had two children.”

White also had a compassionate side while on the job, the two chiefs stated. Harmon remembered when White arrested a woman, handcuffed her and booked her. Immediately after, he tried to help her get bailed out of jail.

“Another time,” Simms recounted, “White ousted a poor, non-English speaking woman from a condemned house. He then tried to find another place for her to live.”

The funeral concluded with all 1,500 officers, some of whom had come from as far away as Pasadena, filing past the open casket and saluting the fallen officer.

Before joining the Roseville Police Department nearly three years earlier, White worked for five years as a deputy for the Sutter County Sheriff’s Department.

The funeral procession to Marysville, where White was buried, stretched for miles through the streets of Yuba City. About 400 patrol vehicles and motorcycles were part of the procession to Sierra View Memorial Park.

At the cemetery, a 21-gun salute was fired, followed by a flyover by law enforcement agency helicopters.

The Roseville Police Association established a trust fund for White’s family Contributions can be mailed to the Roseville Police Department, 401 Oak St., Roseville, CA 95678.

More than 1,000 relatives, friends and colleagues of Los Angeles County Safety Police Officer Thomas Worley attended memorial and burial services on December 29, 1994.

Worley died December 21 from gunshot wounds received when Jesus Mario Valenzuela tried to rob a shoe store. Confronted by Worley, the robber opened fire. Worley returned fire; both died of their injuries a short time later.

Pam Worley rushed to her husband’s side, where an off-duty firefighter, Don Reyes, was attempting to revive the mortally wounded officer. “It was wonderful what that firefighter did; I could never thank him enough,” she said. The couple would have celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary in March.

“Tom’s sense of justice, his commitment to serve others caused his life to end much too soon,” his mother, the Rev. Dorothy Worley, told mourners at the First United Methodist Church in Santa Monica. She urged them to cherish him in death as they did in life. “He will live on within each of us,” she said.

Hundreds of Southern California law enforcement officers attended the funeral, including Los Angeles County Sheriff Sherman Block and Los Angeles Police Chief Willie T. Williams.

After the memorial service, 40 motorcycles led a huge procession of police vehicles to Oakwood Memorial Park in Chatsworth. There a lone bagpiper played as eight of Worley’s colleagues escorted his flag-draped casket to the grave.

Worley’s wife accepted the folded flag, then hugged her family. Thomas and Pam had a two-year-old son, and Worley had a six-year-old daughter from a previous marriage.

Following a 21-gun salute and the playing of “Taps,” Worley was laid to rest in the family plot. Relatives and friends spoke in quavering voices of Worley’s short life and a bright future lost.

“For us, Christmas will forever have a bittersweet taste. As we celebrate it every year, we will remember Tom and feel the pain anew. But we must remember that he gave his life for a great cause,” his father, Robert Worley, said. His son viewed law enforcement as more than a career. “Tom had a calling to be in law enforcement. He knew it. He said it.”

Worley’s colleagues spoke of his dedication and how they still cannot believe he will not be joining them for the next shift. “One day you get the call, and he is gone,” said county Safety Police Officer Ken Reichling.

“He was the epitome of a law enforcement officer,” stated Henry Jex, the father of Worley’s ex-wife, Suzanne Worley. “The kind of guy you would want protecting you and your country.”

Worley’s mother spoke of the family’s pride. “We are deeply hurt; there’s no hurt greater than this. At the same time we are very proud of him. He was doing what he had always wanted to do, protecting other people. He was a fine Christian young man, a wonderful husband and father,” she said.

Safety Police Officer Dale Bailey, who graduated with Worley from the Rio Hondo Community College Academy in 1994, praised his dedication. “That was his life,” Bailey said. “He was an outstanding officer.”

His voice shaking, Safety Police Officer James Schickel recalled how Worley could be relied on for a steady hand and level head in the face of danger. “I knew my backup was there, and I’d be safe.”

And, as a friend, “Tom could be counted on to lend a shoulder and a kind word,” Schickel said. “He always knew the right thing to say. He gave me hope.”

Contributions to a trust fund for the family may be sent to the Thomas Worley Memorial Fund, Los Angeles County/USC Medical Center Foundation, 1200 North State St., Room 1112, Los Angeles, CA 90033.

Nobody who ever worked with James Guelff was surprised that he was the first officer to arrive at Pine and Franklin streets, where a gunman was firing rounds into the night.

“If it was hot, Jim was always there first,” said Sergeant Larry Price, Guelff’s supervisor. “It was amazing but he always got to a crime scene first. If you ever did happen to beat him there, you could look over your shoulder and see him pulling up right behind you.

Guelff’s driving skills and gung-ho attitude were legendary among his colleagues in the San Francisco Police Department, as were his smile and quick wit.

That enthusiasm and uncanny ability to arrive first may have cost the 38-year-old Guelff his life on November 14, 1994. He was shot and killed by heavily armed Victor Boutwell, who was later killed by a police sniper.

“Jim Guelff did not die in vain,” Officer Dave Herman said. “[Boutwell] was on his way somewhere to do something terrible. His destination was not Pine and Franklin. Jim was just there first, and this guy had immense firepower waiting for him.”

The gunman was armed with two assault rifles, an Uzi automatic pistol, a Colt .45 and a Glock 9mm pistol. Guelff carried only with his department-issued six-shooter, which he emptied at Boutwell before being shot.

A 10-year veteran of the SFPD, Guelff spent his entire career at Northern Station. He earned several commendations, including a medal of valor in 1990 after he apprehended a gunman while off duty.

“The guy was intense,” said Officer Robert Clevidence, Guelff’s partner last year. “He knew how to get things done, and fast.”

But along with that intensity, there was a warmth that was, literally, disarming. “His mode was to smile,” Sergeant Price said. “He knew how to treat people. He would rather solve a problem by talking. and he was damn good at it.”

A divorced father with two small children, Guelff amazed his friends by finding time for everything in his life. “I don’t know how he did it,” said a friend. “He was a great cop, a great buddy and a great father.”

San Francisco police Captain Richard Cairns told Guelff’s children Laura, 8, and Landon, 6, during his eulogy that, ‘Your father gave the most important thing that anyone can give, his life, so that innocent people will live. He’s a great hero.”

Guelff was born in Michigan and grew up in Santa Maria and San Luis Obispo. He became a police officer on his birthday in 1984. His siblings remembered a friendly kid with a slightly rowdy streak who grew up to be a smiling, lively gentleman, with just the right amount of tough guy to be a great cop.

“Jimbo was my guardian growing up,” said his younger sister, Nan Klecka. “He never picked on me, but he was always there for me.” His older brother Lee said, “I know this sounds cliched, but he really was truly a great human being and the perfect brother.”

“He was an outstanding officer who loved police work,” said Al Trigueiro, president of the police officers’ association. “It’s never easy to lose one of your own. Jim was well liked and respected.”

The department allows officers to carry semiautomatic pistols. ‘I warned him about that for years,” Clevidence said. “He could have had 16 shots instead of six. He would do anything for anyone else, but he just never bought anything for himself.”

Contributions to the Guelff Family Trust can be sent to: San Francisco Police Credit Union, 2550 Irving St., San Francisco, CA 94122.

La Habra Police Department Officer Michael Osornio, 26, was fatally injured October 31, 1994, when a drunk driver ran a red light and smashed into his cruiser. Osornio succumbed to internal injuries an hour after the collision, which demolished his cruiser and left him pinned inside.

He became the first officer on the city’s police force to be killed in the line of duty.

“I’m proud to have known him. Being a policeman was one of his dreams,” said Robert Skipper, father of Osornio’s fiancee, Chartina Skipper “He wanted to be a police officer so much he would have done it for nothing.”

Officer Kari Armonstrong, who was sent to the accident when Osornio failed to answer arrived to find her injured colleague. “She said, ‘Mike, come on, wake up, wake up.’ And he didn’t respond,” said Victorio Toscano, a clerk at a nearby store.

On the following day, the accident scene had become a memorial site as fellow officers and city residents stopped to place flowers and pay respects to Osornio, described as a hardworking cop gifted with keen instincts and a wry wit. Around the station house, he was frequently consulted for his carpentry know-how and renowned for a dry sense of humor, colleagues said.

A 1986 graduate of Walnut High School, Osornio made good on a longtime dream to become a police officer when he put himself through the police academy at Golden West College and was hired soon afterward by the La Habra force.

Osornio had moved with his family four years ago to Chino, where neighbors described him as helpful, outgoing and well-liked.

“He was a real nice, easy going guy,” said John Whiteman, 37, who lives across the street from Osornio’s parents and had seen him on the day of his death stopping on his way to work. “He would wave to you all the time and if he saw you working, he’d always stop and ask if you needed help.”

The young officer, a boating and water-skiing enthusiast who remodeled old houses, recently moved in with his high school sweetheart Chartina Skipper, who owned a home in nearby Montclair. The two hoped to marry soon.

In the front yard of Osornio’s parents’ sprawling ranch-style home in Chino, clusters of the officer’s longtime friends hugged his father Rafael, who at times was in tears. Tony Robledo, who grew up with Osornio, said, “Mike was one of my closest friends and I’m going to miss him. He died a hero in my eyes.”

La Habra police and residents spent much of the day after Osornio’s death comforting each other Officers wore narrow black bands across their badges in memory of their fallen comrade.

“This is the first time I’ve had to wear one for my own officer,” Captain Terry Rammell said.

A memorial fund in Osornio’s name has been established. Donations may be sent to the Michael Osornio Memorial Fund, Sanwa Bank, 2015 W La Habra Blvd., La Habra, CA.

When a Los Angeles police officer has been killed in the line of duty in recent years, his absence has been symbolized by a riderless horse in the funeral procession.

At the funeral of Officer Charles D. Heim, the horse was absent as law enforcement personnel gathered to say farewell to the 11-year veteran who was gunned down October 22, 1994. For it was Heim whose duty it had been to lead the horse.

The 33-year-old Heim, on temporary assignment to the LAPD’s Hollywood Division, was shot when he and his partner, Officer Felix F. Pena, acted on a tip given to them during a traffic stop. Someone was dealing drugs from a motel room in the same block.

They knocked on a door at the Dunes Motel, and the suspect’s girlfriend opened it, department sources said. When Heim stepped into the doorway, he was shot twice in the upper body and Pena was wounded in one hand. “There weren’t even words exchanged,” said one officer familiar with the shooting. “The guy just opened fire.” Heim died a few hours later Pena was treated for his wound and released.

SWAT officers were called to the shooting scene. A 26-year-old gang member, Manuel Vargas Perez, was wounded by a police rifle shot during the standoff and died from a self-inflicted gunshot to his head.

Heim’s wife Beth, also an LAPD officer, said a friend, Officer Michelle Botello, called to say two unidentified officers had been hit. “I knew immediately it was him,” said the widow, pregnant with the couple’s first child. “I don’t know why. I just knew.”

The slain officer also leaves a 12-year-old son, Charles Heim II, who lives with Heim’s ex-wife in Kernville.

Throughout the department, colleagues remembered Heim as an outstanding officer who had yearned to work in the LAPD’s mounted unit from the day he first heard about it.

“There was no finer officer,” said Lieutenant Mike Hillman of the Metropolitan Division.

Few crises tested the mounted unit, or the department, more than the riots that erupted after four Los Angeles officers were found not guilty in the beating of Rodney G. King. The slain officer’s colleagues said they relied on him in those frightening and sleepless days. “We went days without rest,” said Sgt. Kirk Smith, Heim’s longtime supervisor. “One of the things that kept the unit going was Clark. He just hammered out one-liners, one after the other. It got so that people were just waiting for the next one.

Few things gave Heim deeper satisfaction than the solemn role he played in the funerals of fellow police officers. In 1989, the military custom of a riderless horse, empty boots reversed in the stirrups to honor a fallen officer, was introduced into police funerals.

Heim’s parents, Paula and James Heim of Santa Clarita, said their son had wanted to become a police officer ever since catching a thief during his senior year at Canyon High School.

Heim was remembered as a meticulous and aggressive policeman, a caring father and husband, a prankster, a horse lover, a cowboy and an embellisher of stories. “Many of you have asked me not to forget to say he was just an ordinary cowboy,” LAPD chaplain Richard Bargas told the crowd of 4,800 gathered at the funeral. “No frills, no lace, just a good guy.”

As the chaplain finished his remarks, the air was filled with the strains of a Willie Nelson singing “Mama, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.”

The Los Angeles Police Protective League set up a trust fund for Heim’s family. Donations can be sent to the Officer Charles Heim Fund, c/o Getzoff Accounting, 16255 Ventura Blvd., Suite 525, Encino, CA 91436.

Officer Richard Maxwell fired all 12 bullets from his handgun during the gun battle that erupted after he stopped a stolen car on July 11, 1994.

The shotgun blast which struck him above the neck-line of his bulletproof vest made Maxwell the first homicide victim in the California Highway Patrol Bakersfield Division, said division Commander John Anderson.

Maxwell, a five-year CHP veteran, died at a hospital about 45 minutes after the shooting. Maxwell stopped a stolen car in a residential area, said Corporal Dave Carr, CHP watch commander. “He requested backup. When the backup officer got there, he called in, ‘Shots fired. Officer down. Need an ambulance,”‘ Maxwell was a tenacious tracer of stolen cars, earning a commendation pin for his success at catching car thieves. “Sometimes he looked a little too hard, I think, and that’s probably what happened,” Carr said. “At briefing he talked about finding a vehicle that had run from him.”

Fatal shootings involving CHP officers are rare. Since 1929, 10 CHP officers based out of the Bakersfield office have been killed while on duty. Maxwell was the first to be fatally shot.

Friends and family remembered Maxwell as an athletic man who outgrew his shyness as a boy, but never left behind the affability, good manners and compassion that went along with it.

Born in Portage, Wisconsin, Maxwell graduated from Portage Senior High School, where he set a school high-jump record. A devout member of the Assembly of God Church, he went to Evangel College in Missouri and graduated in 1982.

Maxwell earned a teaching credential, moved to California and taught a few years. But he found his true calling in law enforcement and attended the CHP Academy in Sacramento.

“He was really excited about it, really into it,” said his father, William Maxwell. “He was quiet and unassuming,” Officer Gary Sheetz said. “He was our buddy; cheerful all the time.”

Laurie Pauley, Maxwell’s next door neighbor recalled an incident about a year ago when Maxwell heard noises near her house about 10 p.m. “He came over with his big flashlight to see if we were OK,” Pauley said. “He was always watching out for us.”

Despite his commitment to his job, Maxwell always took time to be with his family. He adored his daughter. He also liked athletics and tinkering with the engine on his Dodge truck.

CHP Officer Doug Brewer described Maxwell as a quiet man. “He was one of those listeners,” Brewer said. “The good Lord needed him more than we did.”

One of Maxwell’s biggest admirers paid her respects in her own way. Fawn Finney and her two daughters owe their lives to Maxwell’s quick action following a traffic accident in 1991. Finney and her then 5-week-old and 2-year-old daughters were sideswiped by a big rig on Highway 99, Karlie, the newborn, was thrown from the car Fawn slammed into the front windshield, and her other daughter was wedged in the car.

Maxwell rescued the family, called for an ambulance and radioed ahead to have the truck driver arrested. After the accident, Finney frequently delivered balloons, cards and flowers to the CHP station to thank Maxwell. On the day he was killed, she delivered flowers to officers still shaken by their comrade’s death.

Maxwell is survived by his wife, Freda Marlene, and daughter, Megan, 8, of Bakersfield; his father, William, and mother, Joan, of Portage, Wisconsin; a sister in Deerfield and a brother in Brazil.

An account for Maxwell’s wife and daughter was established by the CHP 420 Club, an officers club in the Bakersfield area. Contributions can be made to Paramount Savings Bank, 8200 Stockdale Highway, Bakersfield, CA 93311.