Flags at Los Angeles City Hall were flown at half-staff in honor of a police officer that was mortally wounded more than five years ago – a shooting that paralyzed him and placed him on a slow path toward death.

Retired Los Angeles Detective Norman R. Eckles, 42, died April 20. The cause of death, the county coroner’s office said, was “acute and chronic” infections related to a bullet wound that he suffered while trying to serve a narcotics search warrant in South Central Los Angeles on Dec. 1, 1983.

The coroner’s office now lists Eckles as a homicide victim. His assailant, however, will not face a new charge of murder.

Eckles, in essence, outlived the statute of limitations for murder. Sandy Gibbons, a spokeswoman for the district attorney’s office, explained that the law requires that death occur within three years and a day of the “the fatal stroke” for murder charges to be filed.

Eckles assailant, Edwin P. Donelson, is serving a 22-year term at Tehachapi state prison. He was convicted in 1985 of two counts of attempted voluntary manslaughter, one count of assault with a firearm. Donelson also inflicted lesser wounds on another police detective and a passer-by.

Donelson opened fire when Eckles and another officer, identifying themselves as police officers, tried to enter Donelson’s apartment in a surprise predawn raid. Eckles’ partner tried to force the door open and Eckles broke a window “as a diversionary tactic,” he said in a 1984 interview.

At Donelson’s trial, Eckles testified: “Everybody was screaming ‘Police!’ I know I said ‘Police, we have a search warrant’ . . . at least twice . . . I heard a shot. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground.”

Eckles was wearing a bulletproof vest, but the bullet entered from the side, beneath his right armpit and lodged in his spine.

The wound immobilized him from the chest down, forcing him to take a disability retirement. He took 20 different medications to deal with constant pain, said Eckles’ wife, Cynthia.

Even so, Eckles remained active in law enforcement. From his wheelchair, the former narcotics detective testified frequently in court as an expert on narcotics cases.

Eckles also served as a police consultant, lecturing officers on “safety and survival,” Los Angeles police spokesman Bill Frio said.

Three weeks after the shooting, Eckles said in a hospital room interview: “I used to think a badge would protect me. I used to think the badge covered my whole body, but it was a little short that morning.”

Several months later, upon his retirement, Eckles said: “This is the saddest day of my life – I don’t want to retire.”

Eckles, who lived in Upland, is survived by his wife, daughters, Tracy Lynn Paulik and Tammy Eckles; son, Norman J. Eckles; and three grandchildren.

“He was a policeman until the day he died,” his wife said in a statement released by police officials. “He loved the LAPD. It was always important to him.”

Deputy Richard Robert “Rick” McHale, 32, became the first Kern County deputy sheriff to be shot to death in the line of duty in nearly 20 years.

McHale died March 3, at 3:13 p.m. in Kern Medical Center’s intensive care unit, where he had been in grave condition since emergency surgery after being shot in the head the previous evening.

His death ended a long, silent vigil held outside the intensive care unit by dozens of fellow peace officers and their families, and McHale’s friends.

Of McHale’s death, Sheriff’s Department spokesman Richard Dixon said: “It hurts. There’s a lot of pain right now.”

Dixon said McHale was shot once in the head at 5:45 p.m. on March 2, apparently with his 9mm semiautomatic handgun during a fight with a man in the crowded living room of a home.

McHale’s alleged assailant was Jerry Lee Twyman Jr., 26, who lived in the home.

After the deputy was shot, Twyman fatally shot himself in the head, Dixon said.

Dixon tried to reconstruct the murder of McHale and the suicide of his killer.

Twyman’s fiancée, Trina Rawlie, 18, called the Sheriff’s Department at 5:33 p.m. to report that Twyman was throwing furniture and clothing out the back door of the home, and yelling obscenities at her. Rawlie made the call from the home of a neighbor.

Rawlie’s call was the third made to the department that day about Twyman’s behavior. McHale did not respond to either of the first two. En route to the residence on the third call, McHale called for a backup unit. There were six other sheriff’s cars patrolling in the Greater Bakersfield area at the time. The one designated to assist McHale had to come from about four miles from McHale’s location.

Dixon said, “It appears that McHale went into the house, and there was some sort of confrontation between him and the suspect (Twyman).”
Lt. Stan Moe added, “The room was fairly small, and crowded with furniture, so the walking area was even smaller.”

Dixon said, “Our analysis of the physical evidence at the scene shows that there was a struggle, and the guy somehow got McHale’s gun, shot McHale in the head, and then shot himself.” Dixon could not confirm a report that McHale was shot behind his right ear.

Two shots were fired from McHale’s 14-shot handgun.

While court records showed Twyman had no prior criminal record in Kern County, he did spend five days in the San Luis Obispo County Jail in January 1988. Court records indicated he was charged with six misdemeanor offenses, including failure to obey an officer and giving false information to an officer. All but one of the charges, driving a suspended license, was dropped.

There is no formal procedure for deputies to follow in handling one-on-one situations, Dixon said. “You do the best you can, with the training and experience you’ve had.”

McHale joined the Sheriff’s Department on Nov. 23, 1981, as a Deputy Sheriff I, and was promoted to Deputy Sheriff II a year later.

His shooting, Dixon said, points out the perils that patrol officers face each time they respond to even the most seemingly innocent call. McHale was a Kern County patrol deputy for three years, and a patrol deputy for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for 12 years.

“Any reported crime can be dangerous,” Dixon said. “There are a lot of mean people out there who don’t mind beating other people.”

McHale was one of the five members of the Sheriff’s Criminal Apprehension Team (SCAT). “It was formed,” Dixon said, “to crack down on a particular – crime problem in a particular area.”

As a member of SCAT, McHale had worked undercover for more than a year in a series of ongoing raids on drug dealers in southeast Bakersfield.

McHale, often outspoken, was one of the first law enforcement officials to talk about the burgeoning gang problem in the greater Bakersfield area.

He took it personally when gang members from the Los Angeles ghettos began invading the neighborhoods near Cotton wood Road.

Two days before he was shot, McHale sounded glum.

He said he missed the action in the “five beat” patrol area of Cottonwood. Rosedale and Oildale, he said, were busy but boring.

The SCAT team began in January 1988, although the seeds were sown six months before that when McHale and his partner in the beat, Deputy Ulysses Williams, ran a four-week undercover operation and arrested 14 rock cocaine dealers.

“I’m getting burned out,” McHale said shortly before he went back to patrol. He planned to stay away for about six months, and then apply to return to SCAT.

“It’s hard to see them going on without me,” he said earlier this week.

Deputy Jess Baker remains a member of SCAT, and as a close friend of McHale served as liaison between McHale’s wife, Leslie, and other family members.

Lt. John C. Helmick, who friends and comrades said epitomized dedication, loyalty, and friendship, was honored and remember by family, friends, and hundreds of uniformed officers from California, Nevada and Oregon.

Adorned in ceremonial dress, an estimated 500 officers from more than 12 jurisdictions joined the Red Bluff community at the Elks Lodge to pay last respects to the 20-year CHP veteran, husband, and father of five.

Helmick who lost his life Monday, February 27, in an auto accident in Chico, was the highest-ranking CHP officer and first area commander to die in the line of duty in CHP history.

The ceremony was one of the largest ever held for a fallen CHP officer according to the CHP Northern Division public affairs coordinator.

Helmick, 42, had served as the Red Bluff area commander since June 1988. During his tenure, he provided sound leadership and guidance, and unconditional friendship, fellow officers said.

He also was the quintessential family man.

“I remember going over to John’s house, and he would be mowing the lawn with his kid in one of those holders on his back,” said Sgt. Kirk Mitchell, who served with Helmick in San Diego and later in Red Bluff. “I think I can best explain my feelings about John (through) my admiration for him as a father, boss, and as a man.

“He was my friend. I’m going to miss him a lot.”

Redwood City CHP Lt. Alex Jones described Helmick as “an impact player.”

“His spirit, strong will, unshakable sense of integrity and loyalty has given each of us a gift, a gift of example that will guide us throughout our lives,” said Jones, who delivered a eulogy, along with Bakersfield CHP Capt. Rich Breedveld.

“John was also the guy we turned to to laugh and enjoy life with,” Jones said. “John saw life for what it is – a celebration.”

“I refuse to remain saddened by John’s death,” said Breedveld. “My life has been enriched through his.”

Breedveld recalled when he and Helmick once set off in Helmick’s new boat for Santa Catalina Island off the Southern California coast.

“A mere 120 miles of open ocean lie between us and our destination,” Breedveld said. “I asked John, ‘Are you sure that you know how to navigate?’ He assured me that there was no need for navigation, that he had a plan. His plan was to follow the coastline north until he saw Catalina, and hang a hard left.

“I had many such trips with John, and I will remember them all.”

The Rev. Steve Igarta of the First Church of God described Helmick as a loyal public servant. “A tragic loss is made bearable by the model of John’s life. This would be an excellent time for us to realize just how fortunate we are in America, to have such dedicated, devoted, and disciplined persons keeping our community safe,” he said.

“I’m sure John would say to you, ‘Carry on, please carry on.’ ”

Cars along Red Bluff streets slowed as a motorcade of patrol cars and motorcycles, lights flashing, led a procession to Oak Hill Cemetery for graveside services.

Officers formed columns around the burial site, and saluted as a CHP plane and helicopter flew overhead.

It’s important for the family to understand that their loved ones are part of our law enforcement family,” said Gudath. “Law enforcement in general feels a bond with one another, and police honor demonstrations such as this show family and all law enforcement officers that we are a family and will stick together through any crisis.”

Helmick was born Nov. 5, 1946 in Oroville. He was a Vietnam war veteran and a member of the Red Bluff Rotary Club. He is survived by his wife, Nancy, and five children: Erika, 18; Brian, 14; Tiffany, 10; Lindsay, 3; and Michael, 1.

“It’s a real loss to the community,” said Mitchell. “We’ll continue on with John’s philosophies and work ethic. He provided leadership and guidance. I respected him a lot. He was just a real, caring loving father.”

– Red Bluff California Daily News

– San Jose Mercury News

White-gloved hands rubbed at wet cheeks as hundreds of uniformed deputies and officers said goodbye to a friend and comrade.

Tears flowed freely when members of a dozen law enforcement agencies crowded into a little church in Vista to pay tribute to sheriff’s Deputy Theodore Leroy Beckmann, killed in a traffic accident while on duty in Bonsall February 8.

Beckmann, 35, of Fallbrook, was “the consummate cop, who knew his beat, the people in it, and took care of business,” Sheriff John Duffy eulogized. “There is no question that Deputy Sheriff Theodore Beckmann did something very worthwhile with his life during his short time on this earth, and he really made a difference.”

Duffy wiped his eyes as he handed Beckmann’s family an American flag and kissed the deputy’s two sons, Theodore, 13, and Steven, 6. They sat with their mother, Brenda Beckmann, of Vista; the deputy’s mother, Evelyn; and other family members at the West Coast Baptist Church.

With them were scores of deputies and officers who had driven, red and blue lights flashing, in a miles-long freeway procession from San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium to the church.

Beckmann was killed instantly when the left half of his patrol car was sheared off by the force of a head-on collision with a flatbed truck that swerved in the wrong lane.

Detective James Rhem, 41, riding with Beckmann, was hospitalized for two days with head and hand injuries. He recalled the horror of watching the oncoming truck approach, and later seeing Beckmann dead in the seat next to him.

“The last thing I saw Ted do was try to turn the steering wheel,” Rhem said., “Losing Ted has given me a new appreciation of the love among this group of officers.”

Truck driver Jose Villareal Anquitano of Fallbrook was arrested on a charge of vehicular manslaughter. He suffered an ear injury.

Officiating at the funeral, Pastor Wesley Clark said that poem Beckmann recently wrote might show that he sensed his impending death.

The poem opened with the lines:
“Night doesn’t always wait until the day is done.
When the shadow is cast, that which is light is taken before its time . . .
But I go on and must not dim,
For I am driven by the light that burns within.”

“I think Ted knew he would go (be killed) on duty,” Deputy Donna Wells said. “I think it bothered him, but he never let it stop him.”

Beckmann’s former wife said she had thought it odd when, in a subdued mood, he came by the office where she works as a dental assistant.

“He wanted to talk, to make sure the boys were doing fine – like he was preparing for something, like he knew he didn’t have much time,” she said.

Beckmann, an eight-year sheriff’s veteran twice decorated, was born in San Francisco. He graduated from Vista High School, served two years in the Navy, and then worked five years as a civilian Navy helicopter mechanic before becoming a deputy.

He and his wife divorced about a year ago, but he kept in close touch with his sons, frequently taking them on outings, Mrs. Beckmann said during a post-funeral gathering for family and friends.

“He deeply loved his boys,” Mrs. Beckmann said. “He had the nobleness of a man in another century. He wanted to be a knight in shining armor.”

Beckmann received a commendation last summer for disarming a drug addict who took four people hostage at Fallbrook Hospital. Facing the man’s drawn gun, that deputy talked him into surrendering.

In 1985, Beckmann won a medal for his work on a street crime team aimed at drug dealing in the 500 block of South Santa Fe Avenue in Vista.

His colleagues praised Beckmann’s courage and professionalism as a deputy who would stand his ground, support his partners and lighten a tense situation with a joke and smile.

Deputies Wells, Pat Beatty, Bob Bishop, and Roy Castaneda, who met Beckmann at Vista High School, also recalled him as a prankster who talked back to teachers, set fire to paper in the restrooms, and threw oranges at passing sheriff’s cars.

Beckmann’s sister, Penni Hughes of Texas, said she used to tag along after her older brother, but also fell victim to his mischief when he helped her climb a tree and then left her to figure out how to get down along.

“He was my best friend back then,” she said. “As a kid, he always talked about becoming a cop.”

Sgt. Derek Clark said at the service that Beckmann, a former partner and longtime friend,” put his heart and soul “into his job.

– The San Diego Union

– San Jose Mercury News

What started as a routine call of a disturbance in downtown San Jose turned into a bloody, cat-and-mouse shootout that claimed the lives of two police officers and a gunman Friday, Jan. 20, – the second and third officers in department history to die after a criminal wrestled away a police gun.

Officer Gene Simpson, 45, died instantly after being stalked and shot in the head with his own gun. Officer Gordon Silva, 39, the second person to face the gunman, clung to life for several hours after being shot in the stomach and the leg. He died Friday evening at San Jose Medical Center, despite two rounds of emergency surgery that replaced his entire blood supply at least six times.

The gunman, Dale Randy Connors, 35, was shot three times through the heart by other officers, who swarmed to the scene of the shootout on East Santa Clara Street outside Winchell’s Donut House near Fifth Street.

Simpson and Silva were the first San Jose police officers to die in the line of duty since July 1985, in that earlier killing; the officer also was shot to death with his own gun.

A solemn farewell to comrades

It was a morning of farewell. They came by the hundreds to say goodbye to San Jose police officers Gene Simpson and Gordon Silva. Two good street cops. Two good friends. They came to make a proper ending of it. And they did. So long, with stiff salutes and unchecked tears.

There was frost on the ground. In the chill of the morning, columns of smoke rose from the valley floor like plumed feathers. By 9 a.m. hundreds of police officers from throughout California and hundreds of civilians from San Jose were already driving or trudging upon the steep hill to First Baptist Church. More than 3,000 gathered in all.

Then the motorcycles came in columns of two, more than 170 strong, leading the solemn processions of black hearses and limousines that carried the dead and the bereaved.

The flag-draped coffins, made of oak-stained poplar, were removed by pallbearers and taken through the honor guard into the church. The cops were massed at attention.

Every officer present understood that neither Simpson nor Silva had much time at the end. But Simpson had the presence of mind to radio Code 30, major emergency. The first units were on the scene within 26 seconds of Simpson’s radio contact. And yet it was all too late.

Life is a quickly woven tapestry. The bright threads of joy take long moments; tragedy passes in the blink of an eye. But even in terrible aftermath, there are things to be weighed and considered. There are men to be honored, a perspective to be gained.

It was such a morning in San Jose.

“It’s OK to feel sad,” police Chaplain David Bridgen told those gathered. “It’s OK to feel anger and to feel the pain and the frustration of grief.

“But if Gene and Gordie were with us, they would be first to say, ‘We chose the profession. We knew the danger. We were aware of the possibilities. We knew and we wouldn’t trade it. Stand up. Stand tall. Be proud of the uniform. We are family. And even though we are gone, don’t let us down. Stand fast.’ ”

There seemed little danger of anyone backing down. The fraternal closeness of police officers was evident. Of course, you see that every day. What most people don’t see every day is the humanity behind the badges. And perhaps that’s because it isn’t always revealed.

But we all stand together on a morning of farewell.

Dave Paulides, who gave an emotional and eloquent tribute to his friend Silva, said of both men, “I never heard one thing bad about either of these officers. You have good men and bad men. You have great officers and poor officers. These were the great and good. Two very senior, very reliable men. When the radio went off, they answered it.”

It was a thought echoed by officers Kim Garner and Peggy Galvan, when officers gathered after the funeral at Italian Gardens.

Said Garner, “The saddest thing is that they were two easygoing guys, two of the most peaceful and gentle men in the department. They never did anything wrong to anyone.”

And Galvan, “I think you feel two things today. One is the tragedy of losing these two men, members of our family. The second is the real closeness, the community of people sharing our grief. It is beautiful.”

“This is a lesson you wish you never had to learn,” said Officer Dan Vasquez, a member of the street crimes unit, which operates in the downtown area where Simpson and Silva were shot. “The community feels the loss and senses the grief. But there is also a loss here that only another officer can understand.

“What I feel most of all is reaffirmation, an understanding of why we do this job. This call was a common, everyday occurrence. It happens every day, as common as pulling someone over and writing a ticket. And yet, look how tragically it ended.

“We can use it as a learning experience and take it out there with us. But we still have to go on out there. And we will.”

During the memorial service, Irene Trapp, married to San Jose Police Sgt. Rick Trapp, sang two beautiful hymns. There were the traditional words of prayer. And then the hundreds of officers from across the state – from Santa Barbara, Long Beach, Ventura, San Francisco, Pinole, Modesto, Salinas, Pacific Grove, Morro Bay, and Vallejo, just to name a very few – filed out in formation, saluting the caskets once again.

Outside again, there was a 21-gun salute. The flag detail removed the flags from the coffins, folded them in ceremony and presented them to Police Chief Joseph McNamara. He presented them to the Simpson and Silva families.

The day had gathered warmth. A large brown hawk soared just overhead, casting the shadows of its wings on the dead and those who would guard them.

– San Jose Mercury News

What started as a routine call of a disturbance in downtown San Jose turned into a bloody, cat-and-mouse shootout that claimed the lives of two police officers and a gunman Friday, Jan. 20, – the second and third officers in department history to die after a criminal wrestled away a police gun.

Officer Gene Simpson, 45, died instantly after being stalked and shot in the head with his own gun. Officer Gordon Silva, 39, the second person to face the gunman, clung to life for several hours after being shot in the stomach and the leg. He died Friday evening at San Jose Medical Center, despite two rounds of emergency surgery that replaced his entire blood supply at least six times.

The gunman, Dale Randy Connors, 35, was shot three times through the heart by other officers, who swarmed to the scene of the shootout on East Santa Clara Street outside Winchell’s Donut House near Fifth Street.

Simpson and Silva were the first San Jose police officers to die in the line of duty since July 1985, in that earlier killing; the officer also was shot to death with his own gun.

A solemn farewell to comrades

It was a morning of farewell. They came by the hundreds to say goodbye to San Jose police officers Gene Simpson and Gordon Silva. Two good street cops. Two good friends. They came to make a proper ending of it. And they did. So long, with stiff salutes and unchecked tears.

There was frost on the ground. In the chill of the morning, columns of smoke rose from the valley floor like plumed feathers. By 9 a.m. hundreds of police officers from throughout California and hundreds of civilians from San Jose were already driving or trudging upon the steep hill to First Baptist Church. More than 3,000 gathered in all.

Then the motorcycles came in columns of two, more than 170 strong, leading the solemn processions of black hearses and limousines that carried the dead and the bereaved.

The flag-draped coffins, made of oak-stained poplar, were removed by pallbearers and taken through the honor guard into the church. The cops were massed at attention.

Every officer present understood that neither Simpson nor Silva had much time at the end. But Simpson had the presence of mind to radio Code 30, major emergency. The first units were on the scene within 26 seconds of Simpson’s radio contact. And yet it was all too late.

Life is a quickly woven tapestry. The bright threads of joy take long moments; tragedy passes in the blink of an eye. But even in terrible aftermath, there are things to be weighed and considered. There are men to be honored, a perspective to be gained.

It was such a morning in San Jose.

“It’s OK to feel sad,” police Chaplain David Bridgen told those gathered. “It’s OK to feel anger and to feel the pain and the frustration of grief.

“But if Gene and Gordie were with us, they would be first to say, ‘We chose the profession. We knew the danger. We were aware of the possibilities. We knew and we wouldn’t trade it. Stand up. Stand tall. Be proud of the uniform. We are family. And even though we are gone, don’t let us down. Stand fast.’ ”

There seemed little danger of anyone backing down. The fraternal closeness of police officers was evident. Of course, you see that every day. What most people don’t see every day is the humanity behind the badges. And perhaps that’s because it isn’t always revealed.

But we all stand together on a morning of farewell.

Dave Paulides, who gave an emotional and eloquent tribute to his friend Silva, said of both men, “I never heard one thing bad about either of these officers. You have good men and bad men. You have great officers and poor officers. These were the great and good. Two very senior, very reliable men. When the radio went off, they answered it.”

It was a thought echoed by officers Kim Garner and Peggy Galvan, when officers gathered after the funeral at Italian Gardens.

Said Garner, “The saddest thing is that they were two easygoing guys, two of the most peaceful and gentle men in the department. They never did anything wrong to anyone.”

And Galvan, “I think you feel two things today. One is the tragedy of losing these two men, members of our family. The second is the real closeness, the community of people sharing our grief. It is beautiful.”

“This is a lesson you wish you never had to learn,” said Officer Dan Vasquez, a member of the street crimes unit, which operates in the downtown area where Simpson and Silva were shot. “The community feels the loss and senses the grief. But there is also a loss here that only another officer can understand.

“What I feel most of all is reaffirmation, an understanding of why we do this job. This call was a common, everyday occurrence. It happens every day, as common as pulling someone over and writing a ticket. And yet, look how tragically it ended.

“We can use it as a learning experience and take it out there with us. But we still have to go on out there. And we will.”

During the memorial service, Irene Trapp, married to San Jose Police Sgt. Rick Trapp, sang two beautiful hymns. There were the traditional words of prayer. And then the hundreds of officers from across the state – from Santa Barbara, Long Beach, Ventura, San Francisco, Pinole, Modesto, Salinas, Pacific Grove, Morro Bay, and Vallejo, just to name a very few – filed out in formation, saluting the caskets once again.

Outside again, there was a 21-gun salute. The flag detail removed the flags from the coffins, folded them in ceremony and presented them to Police Chief Joseph McNamara. He presented them to the Simpson and Silva families.

The day had gathered warmth. A large brown hawk soared just overhead, casting the shadows of its wings on the dead and those who would guard them.

– San Jose Mercury News

On October 28, 1988, Officer David Vasquez was conducting an accident investigation at an intersection on Date Palm Drive near 35th Street in Cathedral City. It was approximately 6:30 in the evening when a vehicle driving northbound on Date Palm by a lone female struck him as he was standing next to one of the disabled vehicles.

It was estimated that the driver of the vehicle was traveling at a speed of 45 mph when she impacted with Vasquez. Emergency medical treatment was given at the scene and he was transported to Eisenhower Hospital where he succumbed to h is injuries and died that evening. The driver, whose license was expired, was not wearing her required prescription glasses.

Vasquez was one of the original officers hired by the Cathedral City Police Department. He worked patrol, detectives and at the time of his death was reassigned to patrol as a field training officer. He started his police career with the Laguna Beach Police Department then moved to the Los Angeles Housing then in on June 18, 1984 came to work for the newly formed Cathedral City Police Department.

Vasquez, 30, was survived by his parents and siblings.