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.

Officer George F. Butler, 52, was flying as an observer in a CHP helicopter that was taking aerial photographs of a double traffic fatality on Interstate 80 near Dixon. After finishing the photographs, the helicopter then set down a short distance from the accident scene in an open field adjacent to an irrigation canal. Butler exited the left side of the aircraft and proceeded to walk up the edge of the canal’s raised berm when he was struck by the helicopter’s main rotor and hurled into the empty irrigation canal. The 21-year veteran of the CHP was killed instantly.

A Los Angeles teenager was driving without a license when he collided with a police car, killing the first San Bernardino policeman to die on duty in nearly 40 years, investigators said.

Sgt. Timothy F. Littlefield, the father of five children, died about an hour after the Sept. 14 wreck. The 16-year-old driver, whose name is being withheld by police, was treated for minor injuries and released from a hospital.

Littlefield, 37, was on his way to a check-cashing business at Fourth and G streets to supervise a forgery investigation. He knew another officer already had detained a suspect there and wasn’t in jeopardy, “so there was no reason for him to be hurrying to the call,” Bloomer said.

The front of the teenager’s borrowed Buick slammed into the driver’s door of the police car.

Littlefield was wearing his seatbelt. “But they’re not designed to (fully) protect you from a side impact,” said Sgt. Darryl Sellas.

The teenager wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and was ejected onto the pavement, but received only minor cuts and bruises.

Littlefield’s reputation is that of a family man who worked hard to become a cop, his colleagues said. “It’s too bad it happened to a nice guy,” said one sergeant.

“He is one of 13 children. And, of course, he has five children,” said Capt. Dan Robbins, commander of the patrol division.

Littlefield is a Navy veteran who was discharged in August 1971. He went to work at the sheriff’s office in 1974 as an evidence clerk and, the following year became a police assistant at San Bernardino Police Department.

As a police assistant, Littlefield processed paperwork and helped detectives who specialized in forgeries and bunco schemes. After 2 ½ years, he was hired as a policeman in August 1977.

At the time of his death, he had been a policeman for nine years. He was promoted to sergeant April 28.

Littlefield is believed to be the first San Bernardino police officer to die in the line of duty since a September 1947 car wreck killed Patrolmen Frank A. Rogers and Harris R. McCullough, department officials said.

The San Bernardino Police Officers Association has opened a trust fund for Littlefield’s daughter and four sons, whose ages range from 5 to 12. Donations to the Littlefield Memorial Fund may be made through P.O. Box 202, San Bernardino 92401.

August 16, 1986 was scheduled as a training session for the Sheriff’s Department Aerosquadron and Search and Rescue units. The mission objectives were to see how a fixed-wing aircraft could be used to search for drowning victims in the Kern River, state certify Ray Bockman’s search dog in a fixed-wing aircraft, and acclimate Sergeant Marvin Kline in a small fixed-wing aircraft since he was second-in-command for the Search and Rescue unit and had never flown in a small aircraft.

Doug Moonen, the volunteer Aerosquadron pilot with 12,000 hours of flight time, was piloting his Cessna 182 along the Kern River at a low altitude. Sergeant Marvin Kline was on the passenger side and Roy Bockman and his dog Kelly were in the back of the plane. The team was searching for drowning victims in the Kern River from the mouth of the canyon to Hart Park. Apparently, Doug Moonen forgot about the low electrical wires across the Kern River on the west end of Hart Park and piloted the plane into the wires. The investigation revealed Doug Moonen’s airplane clipped the electrical wires forcing the aircraft to the ground in a violent motion striking trees and killing all three men and the dog on impact.

Note: During the mission briefing Doug Moonen, who was the safety officer for the Aerosquadron, told all the pilots and Search and Rescue personnel more than once to remember the electrical wires extending across-the Kern River at the west end of Hart Park.

Doug Moonen’s aircraft came to rest on the north side of Mirror Lake approximately 200 yards from the west entrance of Hart Park. A monument now stands at the crash site to honor the four members of the plane crash.

August 16, 1986 was scheduled as a training session for the Sheriff’s Department Aerosquadron and Search and Rescue units. The mission objectives were to see how a fixed-wing aircraft could be used to search for drowning victims in the Kern River, state certify Ray Bockman’s search dog in a fixed-wing aircraft, and acclimate Sergeant Marvin Kline in a small fixed-wing aircraft since he was second-in-command for the Search and Rescue unit and had never flown in a small aircraft.

Doug Moonen, the volunteer Aerosquadron pilot with 12,000 hours of flight time, was piloting his Cessna 182 along the Kern River at a low altitude. Sergeant Marvin Kline was on the passenger side and Roy Bockman and his dog Kelly were in the back of the plane. The team was searching for drowning victims in the Kern River from the mouth of the canyon to Hart Park. Apparently, Doug Moonen forgot about the low electrical wires across the Kern River on the west end of Hart Park and piloted the plane into the wires. The investigation revealed Doug Moonen’s airplane clipped the electrical wires forcing the aircraft to the ground in a violent motion striking trees and killing all three men and the dog on impact.

Note: During the mission briefing Doug Moonen, who was the safety officer for the Aerosquadron, told all the pilots and Search and Rescue personnel more than once to remember the electrical wires extending across-the Kern River at the west end of Hart Park.

Doug Moonen’s aircraft came to rest on the north side of Mirror Lake approximately 200 yards from the west entrance of Hart Park. A monument now stands at the crash site to honor the four members of the plane crash.