Although half of all police officers killed in the line of duty die in traffic mishaps, motorcycle accidents such as the one that took the life of Officer Randol Marshall June 2 are relatively rare, police say.

Lt. Dan Cooke, a spokesman for the Los Angeles Police Department, said that Marshall, 39, an 18-year veteran of the force, was killed when a cab smashed into his motorcycle on Saticoy Street near Balcom Street in Reseda. The driver of the cab, Gordon Dummer, 54, was not hurt and has not been charged.

Bob Lindsey, police safety coordinator for the department, said that Marshall, who leaves two daughters and a former wife, was the first fatal victim of a police motorcycle accident since 1984.

About seven police officers have died in traffic accidents since 1978, Lindsey said. He added that while non-fatal traffic accidents involving police have ranged from around 900 to 1,000 since 1983, only about 7 percent are motorcycle accidents.

Sgt. John Martin, who helps train motorcycle officers, said that because police are both riding motorcycles and performing a duty, “It is mandatory to learn to be able to control the motorcycle at all times. It has to become second nature to survive.”

A police spokesman said that a memorial service was held for Marshall in the Church of the Recessional at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Glendale.

– L.A. Herald Examiner

Hundreds of fellow officers filled the First United Methodist Church of Indio to pay tribute to California Highway Patrolman Michael Brandt who was killed May 6 during a pursuit.

Full military honors were accorded to the 34-year-old Air Force veteran and a 100-vehicle motorcade wound its way through Indio streets to the Coachella Valley Cemetery.

Brandt’s wife Sylvia, twin 5-year-old daughters Monique and Nicole, and other family members heard him praised as a fine officer, loyal friend and dedicated family man.

“I want to assure Sylvia and the family that Michael’s work, his life and his death were not in vain,” said Pastor Arthur Smith, officiating at the funeral service. “The essence of what Michael was will live on. His gentleness, his kindness, his sincerity and his honesty will always find expression in those who loved him.”

Sgt. Dennis Hacker, chosen by the family to deliver the eulogy, said Brandt was “loved and respected beyond words. He loved his job for what he believed it represented and believed that what he was doing was right.”

He called Brandt a high achiever who “gave 150 percent all the time.”

Two hours before the fatal crash, Brandt arrested a suspected drunken driver.

“He wasn’t at a coffee shop kicking back,” Hacker said. “He was out on patrol doing his job. Mike was the kind of cop you wanted next to you on a beat. You could depend on him for anything at any time.”

Off-duty Brandt was a runner, Hacker said Brandt recently had coaxed fellow officers to spend a Saturday morning in an organized run up the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway Road – a 2.7 mile journey which climbs 2,000 feet into a mountain canyon.

“Of course, he left us in the dust. Mike beat us by almost 30 minutes. But as each member of the squad crossed the finish line, the guy there to meet each one with a slap on the back was Mike.”

“I’d like to leave you with something bright and cheerful but it’s really hard,” he said. “All I know is when the Good Lord needs a runner, He takes the very best.”

Between 500 and 600 police, fire, and other public safety officers filed past, each covering their hearts with caps. Virtually every local, state and federal public, safety agency was represented from the Mexican border to as far north as Visalia. About 80 CHP officers attended, from state Commissioner Jim Smith to Indio office Capt. Ken Myatt and Brandt’s co-workers.

According to CHP accounts of the accident, Brandt was pursuing a pickup truck down the twisting Highway 74 grade south of Palm Desert May 6, when his patrol car struck a small hill, became airborne and overturned down an embankment. He was airlifted by helicopter to Eisenhower Medical Center where he died a short time later.

The pickup truck investigators believe Brandt was chasing went off the roadway about three miles downhill of the point where the CHP car crashed. The pickup’s driver, Daniel Lee Thompkins, 29, of Fallbrook, was taken into custody on suspicion of felony manslaughter, felony drunken driving and child endangerment. His two children, Robert, 4, and Charley, 3, were in the truck.

Brandt, of Bermuda Dunes, was an eight-year veteran of the force. Starting in the El Centro area office in 1980, he was transferred to Indio in November 1981. He was the first local CHP officer killed on duty in 17 years.

In October 1986, Deputy Keith Farley was involved in two separate incidents; an on-duty automobile accident and he was kicked in the head while arresting a suspect. Farley died as a result of these incidents.

Police Officer Benjamin Worcester’s forte was arrests.

Worcester died March 25, doing what fellow officers say he did best while answering a routine call that exploded in violence.

“He was really good at arresting people, he brought a lot of people that needed to go to jail to jail,” said Sgt. Tom West, his roommate.

In his fifth year with the Hayward Police Department, Worcester was respected as an officer whose skills were so good he was used to train new recruits.

“Ben was excellent, there was no question in anybody’s mind that he was a good cop,” West said. “Ben just wanted to be the best person he could be.”

Known to his friends as “Benjie,” Worcester, 29, loved working as a police officer. “It was real important to him,” West said.

Worcester just finished training a rookie officer recently and planned to take a sergeant’s exam the next time it was offered.

“It’s just real rough to deal with,” said West, who spent off time skiing with Worcester. “We did everything together.”

Worcester graduated in 1975 from Irvington High in Fremont, according to a high school friend who brought Worcester’s girlfriend to the hospital.

After high school, he joined the Navy where he worked as a mechanic on jets. Later he became a base officer at Alameda Naval Air Station, and that experience convinced him he wanted to be a police officer, the friend said.

“He really liked working for Hayward,” she said.

Since his days with the Navy, Worcester loved airplanes and planned to begin taking flying lessons this summer, West said.

“He was a really nice guy, he was always in a good mood,” said paramedic Rudy Leuver. “A lot of police officers, when we drive by and wave, they don’t do anything,” emergency medical technician Andrew Schedl said. “We’d wave, and he would smile and wave back.”

“He was one of ours,” said emergency medical technician Marc Mestrovich a member of the ambulance crew that took Worcester to Eden Hospital. Worcester had been stabbed to death in a violent fight involving two other officers and a man welding a torch made from an aerosol can, officials said. “It’s different when it’s somebody in the emergency field like you are.”

Police officers gathered outside Eden Hospital’s emergency room awaiting word of his condition.

Sgt. Dennis Houghtelling, who performed cardiopulmonary resuscitation, had known Worcester since he joined the force.

Visibly shaken himself, Houghtelling comforted friends and fellow officers as they arrived at the hospital. Never, he said, had he had to answer a call where a fellow officer needed emergency medical help.

In uniform and in street clothes, the officers hugged each other and cried, mourning the loss.

Officer K.R. Powell sat on the curb outside the emergency room and wept.

“We’re real close friends,” said West, who told Worcester’s girlfriend he died on duty when she arrived at the hospital. “I think what I’ll probably remember most is what a good friend he was.”

A Compton Unified School District police officer, shot from ambush last week, has died of complications resulting from surgery, officials said. The victim, Roosevelt Ferrell, 51, of Inglewood, is believed to be the first school district police officer in California to die in the line of duty.

A 16-year-old boy was arrested shortly after the March 9 shooting on the Chester Adult School campus, when he was spotted fleeing the scene by an observer in a Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department helicopter. Two other youths escaped and are still being sought.

Sheriff’s Deputy Lynda Edmonds said Ferrell was on routine foot patrol of the adult school campus shortly after 5 p.m. when he spotted three youths trespassing on the grounds.

Edmonds said that 40 minutes after Ferrell had ordered the three to leave campus, the officer was shot from ambush, falling with a leg wound.

The wounded officer was taken to Dominguez Medical Center, where he died Monday of complications arising from surgery on the wounded leg, hospital spokeswoman Karen Oppliger said.

Ferrell, employed by the school district as a watchman in 1978 and a sworn peace officer since 1980, was married and the father of four.

Senior Officer Ken Crawford characterized his slain colleague as “an exemplary officer who never shirked his duty.” Crawford said that Ferrell’s death came as a shock to the 45 members of the district police force.

Ferrell, a native of Monticello, Arkansas, was the sixth of 11 children born to the late Frank and Alberta Ferrell. He attended schools in Monticello and El Camino College in California. He was a member of the United States Army. He was a loyal and active member of the Tamarind Avenue Seventh-Day Adventists Church.

Ferrell is survived by his wife, Ruthell; daughters, Hazel F. Lewis and Larraine Ferrell; sons, Michael and Christopher Ferrell; three grandchildren; seven sisters and three brothers; as well as a host of relatives and friends.

“Station 44, Eagle II is 10-98”

That was the radio message sent hundreds of times by Costa Mesa’s police helicopter, Eagle II, to inform the dispatcher that it had finished its mission.

That was also the message printed in bold letters on the memorial service program for two officers killed when their jet-propelled helicopter collided with another police copter March 10.

In a double funeral that drew an estimated 1,150 uniformed officers, Costa Mesa Police Chief David Snowden said the call signal Eagle II will be retired in honor of fallen pilots James David “Dave” Ketchum and John W. “Mike” Libolt.

The retirement will leave a numerical gap in Costa Mesa’s helicopter division – a reminder of the void left by the two deaths.

“They died making Costa Mesa a safer place to be, “Snowden said his voice faltering with emotion. “As they would have wished, we’ll continue to patrol the skies of our city.”

About 3,500 mourners – including federal, state and local law enforcement officers from San Francisco to Calexico – crowded the main hall and three overflow rooms at Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa.

Rows upon rows of police motorcycles and squad cars from 31 jurisdictions glistened in the parking lots, the officers attended the service. Many of them watched through closed circuit television sets in three overflow rooms, while other mourners lined the walls of the main hall.

Libolt and Ketchum, both 39, along with civilian observer Jeffrey A. Pollard, were killed when their helicopter collided with a Newport Beach copter while pursuing a suspect stolen car.

The Costa Mesa aircraft exploded in flames after crashing in the rolling hills of Bonita Canyon in Irvine. The Newport Beach craft also crashed about 200 yards away, injuring both officers aboard.

Ketchum and Libolt, both 15-year veterans, are the first Costa Mesa police officers killed in the line of duty in the department’s 33-year history.

As part of the memorial service, the crowd moved into the chapel courtyard where police helicopters from throughout the county flew overhead in a V-formation, with gaps left for the missing pilots.

The fly-over prompted gasps, then tears and finally hugs among the civilians. Jaws were clenched among the rigid-standing officers.

“This has made everybody feel a lot closer,” said Costa Mesa police clerk Millie Ruffalo. “You don’t realize how close you are until something like this happens.”

Both fallen pilots were to be privately interred.

During the service, two caskets draped with American flags stood at the front of the main hall. Nearby were two portraits of the pilots. The caskets would be brought outside for the fly-over, with the flags folded in military fashion and given to the pilots’ families.

Lani Wilson, Libolt’s fiancée, said he would have loved the pageantry – the scores of spit-shined officers, the playing of taps, the motorcades of siren-wailing patrol units.

“His mom and dad and I were talking when they started up the sirens. We said, he’s probably walking around up there with his chest puffed out, thinking. “I deserve this,” Wilson joked, during a reception after the funeral.

“He loved people to make a fuss over him.”

In one hand she held Libolt’s badge, in the other, a Kleenex. Wilson and Libolt, a part-time model, had planned to be married on June 13.

Thirteen, said Wilson, was their lucky number. Libolt’s badge number was 13. The two first met at the age of 13.

Now, Friday the 13th marked Libolt’s funeral.

“It’s not very lucky anymore,” said Wilson, breaking into tears every time someone came to console her.

She thought about what Libolt would want to say to her now.

Wilson concluded, “He would say. ‘I’ll wait for you.’ ”

Orange County sheriff deputies, as well as police officers from Newport Beach and Laguna Beach took over patrol duties for Costa Mesa police during the funeral – more evidence of the fraternal ties among the forces.

“The brotherhood just kind of closes in when somebody gets killed,” said Costa Mesa Officer Clay Epperson. “Obviously we’re depressed. We really loved those two guys.” Added Costa Mesa Sgt. Dennis Cost, “Everybody’s been in a bit of a fog the past few days.”

In the eulogies, Libolt was remembered as being quick-witted, sympathetic and ruggedly handsome. Ketchum was said to be practical and devoted. He was a sportsman and angler, constantly in search of “Ol’ Mo,” the elusive fish that was bigger than the last he had caught.

Like other comrades on the helicopter squad, they declined to apply for a recently opened sergeant’s position out of fear they would have to give up their wings.

“Dave used to tell me, ‘Once I’m a pilot I’ll never leave the detail, I’ll retire there,’ ” said Lt. Dave Brooks, commander of the helicopter squad.

“He was proud of his ability to catch crooks . . . people who were evading officers on the ground.”

Ketchum leaves his wife Meg and two daughters, Hilary, 13, and Penny, 12.

Libolt, as remembered by former Costa Mesa officer Gary Walsh, moonlighted as a male model and planned to become a marriage and family counselor.

Wash, now a Los Angeles County firefighter, said Libolt loved nothing better than snappy retort and stinging humor.

“No one appreciated his humor more than Mike himself . . . He called himself “a legend in his own mind,’ ” he said. “Mike never felt the meek should inherit the Earth, and if they were going to live here, they were fair game.”

For instance, a fellow officer once bragged about taking down a crook with two hits. Libolt teased. “Yeah, he hit you and you hit the ground.”

Walsh offered another example: While buying chocolate from an expensive gourmet shop, Libolt complained that only the rich could afford to eat there.

When two obese people walked through the door, Libolt said, “Look two millionaires.” Though he had a biting wit, Libolt was also compassionate, Walsh said.

“For those he cared for and some he didn’t, Mike offered honest sensible advice that came from a sixth sense on what seemed the right thing to do,” he said.

Walsh added that Libolt, marveling at his good fortune in life, recently said, “Take me now God, it can’t get any better.”

Libolt is survived by fiancée Wilson, son David, 19, and daughter Katy, 15.

– Orange Coast Daily Pilot

“Station 44, Eagle II is 10-98”

That was the radio message sent hundreds of times by Costa Mesa’s police helicopter, Eagle II, to inform the dispatcher that it had finished its mission.

That was also the message printed in bold letters on the memorial service program for two officers killed when their jet-propelled helicopter collided with another police copter March 10.

In a double funeral that drew an estimated 1,150 uniformed officers, Costa Mesa Police Chief David Snowden said the call signal Eagle II will be retired in honor of fallen pilots James David “Dave” Ketchum and John W. “Mike” Libolt.

The retirement will leave a numerical gap in Costa Mesa’s helicopter division – a reminder of the void left by the two deaths.

“They died making Costa Mesa a safer place to be, “Snowden said his voice faltering with emotion. “As they would have wished, we’ll continue to patrol the skies of our city.”

About 3,500 mourners – including federal, state and local law enforcement officers from San Francisco to Calexico – crowded the main hall and three overflow rooms at Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa.

Rows upon rows of police motorcycles and squad cars from 31 jurisdictions glistened in the parking lots, the officers attended the service. Many of them watched through closed circuit television sets in three overflow rooms, while other mourners lined the walls of the main hall.

Libolt and Ketchum, both 39, along with civilian observer Jeffrey A. Pollard, were killed when their helicopter collided with a Newport Beach copter while pursuing a suspect stolen car.

The Costa Mesa aircraft exploded in flames after crashing in the rolling hills of Bonita Canyon in Irvine. The Newport Beach craft also crashed about 200 yards away, injuring both officers aboard.

Ketchum and Libolt, both 15-year veterans, are the first Costa Mesa police officers killed in the line of duty in the department’s 33-year history.

As part of the memorial service, the crowd moved into the chapel courtyard where police helicopters from throughout the county flew overhead in a V-formation, with gaps left for the missing pilots.

The fly-over prompted gasps, then tears and finally hugs among the civilians. Jaws were clenched among the rigid-standing officers.

“This has made everybody feel a lot closer,” said Costa Mesa police clerk Millie Ruffalo. “You don’t realize how close you are until something like this happens.”

Both fallen pilots were to be privately interred.

During the service, two caskets draped with American flags stood at the front of the main hall. Nearby were two portraits of the pilots. The caskets would be brought outside for the fly-over, with the flags folded in military fashion and given to the pilots’ families.

Lani Wilson, Libolt’s fiancée, said he would have loved the pageantry – the scores of spit-shined officers, the playing of taps, the motorcades of siren-wailing patrol units.

“His mom and dad and I were talking when they started up the sirens. We said, he’s probably walking around up there with his chest puffed out, thinking. “I deserve this,” Wilson joked, during a reception after the funeral.

“He loved people to make a fuss over him.”

In one hand she held Libolt’s badge, in the other, a Kleenex. Wilson and Libolt, a part-time model, had planned to be married on June 13.

Thirteen, said Wilson, was their lucky number. Libolt’s badge number was 13. The two first met at the age of 13.

Now, Friday the 13th marked Libolt’s funeral.

“It’s not very lucky anymore,” said Wilson, breaking into tears every time someone came to console her.

She thought about what Libolt would want to say to her now.

Wilson concluded, “He would say. ‘I’ll wait for you.’ ”

Orange County sheriff deputies, as well as police officers from Newport Beach and Laguna Beach took over patrol duties for Costa Mesa police during the funeral – more evidence of the fraternal ties among the forces.

“The brotherhood just kind of closes in when somebody gets killed,” said Costa Mesa Officer Clay Epperson. “Obviously we’re depressed. We really loved those two guys.” Added Costa Mesa Sgt. Dennis Cost, “Everybody’s been in a bit of a fog the past few days.”

In the eulogies, Libolt was remembered as being quick-witted, sympathetic and ruggedly handsome. Ketchum was said to be practical and devoted. He was a sportsman and angler, constantly in search of “Ol’ Mo,” the elusive fish that was bigger than the last he had caught.

Like other comrades on the helicopter squad, they declined to apply for a recently opened sergeant’s position out of fear they would have to give up their wings.

“Dave used to tell me, ‘Once I’m a pilot I’ll never leave the detail, I’ll retire there,’ ” said Lt. Dave Brooks, commander of the helicopter squad.

“He was proud of his ability to catch crooks . . . people who were evading officers on the ground.”

Ketchum leaves his wife Meg and two daughters, Hilary, 13, and Penny, 12.

Libolt, as remembered by former Costa Mesa officer Gary Walsh, moonlighted as a male model and planned to become a marriage and family counselor.

Wash, now a Los Angeles County firefighter, said Libolt loved nothing better than snappy retort and stinging humor.

“No one appreciated his humor more than Mike himself . . . He called himself “a legend in his own mind,’ ” he said. “Mike never felt the meek should inherit the Earth, and if they were going to live here, they were fair game.”

For instance, a fellow officer once bragged about taking down a crook with two hits. Libolt teased. “Yeah, he hit you and you hit the ground.”

Walsh offered another example: While buying chocolate from an expensive gourmet shop, Libolt complained that only the rich could afford to eat there.

When two obese people walked through the door, Libolt said, “Look two millionaires.” Though he had a biting wit, Libolt was also compassionate, Walsh said.

“For those he cared for and some he didn’t, Mike offered honest sensible advice that came from a sixth sense on what seemed the right thing to do,” he said.

Walsh added that Libolt, marveling at his good fortune in life, recently said, “Take me now God, it can’t get any better.”

Libolt is survived by fiancée Wilson, son David, 19, and daughter Katy, 15.

– Orange Coast Daily Pilot

To his fellow officers, Manuel Lopez Jr. was a cool-headed cop who never made rash decisions. In a life-or-death situation, he was the guy to have around, they said.

For that reason, officers at the Sunnyvale Department of Public Safety were stunned to learn that Lopez had been killed March 3, when his car collided with a freight train while he responded to a routine burglary call.

While the department’s investigation is continuing, Southern Pacific Transportation Co. has concluded that Lopez ignored both a train whistle and warning lights and drove around the railroad crossing gates.

“He was always good on a call,” Officer Tommy Hoppin, one of Lopez’s closest friends, said. “He was never one to take an exceptionally big chance. It’s such a shock to the whole department.”

Lopez, 29, was pronounced dead nearly five hours after his patrol car struck a train at the North Mary Avenue Crossing.

He was responding to a silent burglar alarm at OKI Semiconductor. As it turned out, a janitor, according to public safety Capt. Al Scott, had triggered the alarm accidentally.

Scott, too, seemed puzzled that Lopez would actually risk his life for the kind of call that frequently ends up being a false alarm.

“It is kind of odd,” he said. “Those things frequently don’t turn out to be anything; it’s not the type of call where you take chances.”

“But we don’t know what was going on in his head at the time,” Scott said. “Maybe he hit the gas pedal instead of the brake, maybe the gas pedal stuck, who knows.”

Southern Pacific spokesman Bob Hoppe said the engineer of the 19-car train never saw Lopez until it was too late.

“The gates were down, the lights were flashing and the bells were ringing,” Hoppe said. “That meant a train was coming and he, or anybody else, should not have crossed.”

The train, traveling at 55 mph, struck the driver’s side of the car, flipping it on its side and pinning it to a telephone pole.

Lopez’s wife, Sheila, a deputy for the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Department, and a throng of officers waited at the hospital all night until Lopez was removed from life-support machines.

The couple, which met a few years ago when Manuel also worked for the Sheriff’s Department, would have celebrated their first wedding anniversary in April.

Manuel Lopez was a well-liked member of both departments.

“He was always there when you needed him,” Hoppin, who was in Lopez’s wedding party, said, “If you needed anyone, it was, ‘Just call Manny.”

Lopez loved sports and was “a Giants fan to the end,” Hoppin said. He played on soccer and softball teams with other Santa Clara County law enforcement officers.

“In fact, I was going to call him this morning because I heard he had an extra ticket to the Warriors,” Hoppin said.

“For me, he was just . . . a good policeman and a good friend.”

Santa Clara County sheriff’s Lt. T.K. Davis, who was the Training Officer I in the Main Jail when Lopez started working there in 1978, described him as a “conscientious worker” who was “kind of quiet.”

“He had probably the most important job in the jail,” Davis said. “He was responsible for opening and closing the doors to let inmates in and release them.

“You don’t give that position to somebody who isn’t sharp.”

Honor guards from the sheriff’s office and the Sunnyvale Department of Public Safety provided a full police funeral for Lopez.

Many had not known him when he was alive – but he was one of their own and they came to say goodbye. Nearly 800 law enforcement officers, from as far away as Riverside and Newport Beach, paid their last respects to Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Deputy Charles Robert Anderson, who was shot dead in his home by a burglar.

“He was a good man,” said Deputy Gene Eggers, who was a classmate with Anderson at the Sheriff’s Academy.

St. Finbar Catholic Church in Burbank, which the 35-year-old Anderson had attended with his family, could not hold the more than 1,400 friends, relatives and law officials who attended the funeral services for the slain deputy.

Archbishop Roger Mahony spoke at the services, and Sheriff Sherman Block was among the mourners.

Anderson, a sheriff’s deputy for the last 11 years, had just returned from a family outing late Saturday night, January 24, when he came upon an intruder in his Burbank home, according to Deputy Willie Miller.

Dow said investigators are uncertain whether Anderson struggled with the intruder, but to some of the officers at the funeral, it did not matter.

“We consider this dying in the line of duty because he confronted him,” said Deputy James Dimas. “He took police action and he died for it.”

During the services, the Rev. David Anderson thanked his younger brother’s fellow law officials for their support. “We’ve been overwhelmed by the kindness. It’s not surprising that all my nephews want to be policemen,” he said.

As sheriff’s deputies carried Anderson’s flag-draped casket out of the church and more than 100 cars and motorcycles formed up for a procession to the San Fernando Mission Cemetery, one of Anderson’s neighbors stood outside the church with tears in her eyes.

“My son is going for the Highway Patrol this year,” said Eleanor Sturman. “It frightens me. There’s something good and wholesome about law and order and people have it in for law enforcement. There’s no respect.

Anderson is survived by his wife, Beth, and five-year-old son, Michael.