Funeral services were conducted at the Garden Grove Community Church for police officer Michael Lloyd Rainford, 23, killed in a hit-and-run accident.

The young officer had stopped a car on the Harbor Boulevard onramp to the Garden Grove Freeway westbound, and was attempting to talk to the driver when struck by a second vehicle.

Rainford is the second Garden Grove police officer within five months to be killed in the line of duty.

He is survived by his pregnant wife, the former Lori Farmer; his mother, Lidia Rainford Richmond; his brothers, Paul and Philip, Garden Grove; sister, Cathy, San Francisco; foster brother, Jeff; and foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. John Lambrecht, Garden Grove.

Rainford, despite cardiopulmonary resuscitation at the scene, was dead on arrival at Fountain Valley Community Hospital.

Police later arrested Ann Catherine Stallybrass, 42, on charges of felony drunken driving, felony hit and run and vehicular manslaughter.

At approximately 8:50 p.m. on October 23, 1980, the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department helicopter crashed and burned in a vineyard located just north of River Road, ½ mile south of the Sonoma County Airport.

Both the pilot, Deputy Sheriff Brent Jameson and, co-pilot, Deputy Sheriff Bliss Magly, were killed instantly upon impact.

At approximately 7:30 p.m. on Thursday evening, the sheriff’s department helicopter had responded to assist in an earlier incident wherein a California Highway Patrol Officer had been shot at. The helicopter was summoned to assist in an area search of Ludwig Avenue as the suspect had fled into the rural countryside. The Highway Patrol Officer was not injured, and a short time later a suspect identified as Alfredo C. Fernandez, 23, was arrested and charged with attempted murder.

The helicopter was responding back to the Sonoma County Airport when the crash occurred.

Just before the crash, the helicopter crew had been in radio contact with the Sonoma County Airport Tower. The crash occurred only seconds later.

Jameson and his wife, Marcille, resided in Rincon Valley, Santa Rosa. After his death, Jameson’s wife gave birth to their daughter, Julie. He is also survived by his parents, Darol and Veva Jameson; brother, Stephen; and sister, Mary. His parents reside in Petaluma.

Jameson attended St. Vincent Elementary School, St. Vincent High School and graduated in 1968. He attended Santa Rosa Junior College and graduated from there with an Associate Arts degree in 1970. He also had attended the University of San Francisco.

His previous employers included: patrolman for Novato Police Department from July 1971 to July 1974; appointed as deputy sheriff on July 29, 1974 for Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department; resident deputy for the North Coast and Central Coast Area from 1975-1978; assigned to Main Office of the Sheriff’s Department Patrol Division from 1978-1979; relief helicopter observer from 1978-1979; chief observer (full time) effective February 24, 1979; received his advanced certificate from the California Peace Officers Standards and Training.

At approximately 8:50 p.m. on October 23, 1980, the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department helicopter crashed and burned in a vineyard located just north of River Road, ½ mile south of the Sonoma County Airport.

Both the pilot, Deputy Sheriff Brent Jameson and, co-pilot, Deputy Sheriff Bliss Magly, were killed instantly upon impact.

At approximately 7:30 p.m. on Thursday evening, the sheriff’s department helicopter had responded to assist in an earlier incident wherein a California Highway Patrol Officer had been shot at. The helicopter was summoned to assist in an area search of Ludwig Avenue as the suspect had fled into the rural countryside. The Highway Patrol Officer was not injured, and a short time later a suspect identified as Alfredo C. Fernandez, 23, was arrested and charged with attempted murder.

The helicopter was responding back to the Sonoma County Airport when the crash occurred.

Just before the crash, the helicopter crew had been in radio contact with the Sonoma County Airport Tower. The crash occurred only seconds later.

Jameson and his wife, Marcille, resided in Rincon Valley, Santa Rosa. After his death, Jameson’s wife gave birth to their daughter, Julie. He is also survived by his parents, Darol and Veva Jameson; brother, Stephen; and sister, Mary. His parents reside in Petaluma.

Jameson attended St. Vincent Elementary School, St. Vincent High School and graduated in 1968. He attended Santa Rosa Junior College and graduated from there with an Associate Arts degree in 1970. He also had attended the University of San Francisco.

His previous employers included: patrolman for Novato Police Department from July 1971 to July 1974; appointed as deputy sheriff on July 29, 1974 for Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department; resident deputy for the North Coast and Central Coast Area from 1975-1978; assigned to Main Office of the Sheriff’s Department Patrol Division from 1978-1979; relief helicopter observer from 1978-1979; chief observer (full time) effective February 24, 1979; received his advanced certificate from the California Peace Officers Standards and Training.

By Catherine Mervyn
(Public School Teacher – Retired)

Many have been the John Adairs who’ve thrilled my students in my classroom, but this John Adair is no more, and to him and all the others, I offer tribute.

For John Adair there was no illness to be diagnosed, no prescriptions to be filled, no anxious moments to wait out. There was no time for tender moments, nor tender loving care to satisfy the caring heart. One furtive missile, “an inch below the safety belt,” swiftly performed its deadly act, and all was over. Years of education, well-made plans, lovers’ dreams, father’s hopes, all too quickly ended.

“I lived it all over again,” said Chief R. Owens of the Oxnard Police Department. He and I both remembered a similar incident, nine years ago, when Officer Fred Clark met a similar fate. Fred, too, answered a call for a domestic quarrel, a call loathed by every peace officer.

It was a warm October evening as I drove up in front of the mortuary where Officer John lay in state. The sky was clear, few stars were shining, and all seemed at peace. The vacant black-and-white cruiser was there, parked in the driveway, mute symbol of the man not on duty, less protection for the city’s citizens, a loved one eternally removed.

My hesitant hand rested gently upon the chapel’s swinging double-doors. The stale air was felt moving as one of the doors gave way to my slight pressure. One step inside . . . a moment’s hesitation . . . Why, oh God? I was overwhelmed by frustration.

There were no mourners at the moment. The chapel’s wooden pews, naturally stained, were vacant. The supporting ceiling beams were bare as were the off-white painted walls. The six stained-glass windows, three to a side, provided the only break in the otherwise blank walls.

A variety of flower scents mingled to give a pungent odor to the thick, stifling air. On the fair-end-wall, across from the entrance, a stained glass window rose above the walnut casket, with a compassionate Good Shepherd looking down upon His gentle sheep. A myriad of flower arrangements surrounded the casket.

Beside the casket, one at each end, stood two men in the navy-blue uniform of the Oxnard Police. In white-gloved hands, they stood to keep vigil and pay honor to the fallen man, one last gesture of respect and comradeship.

There was an awesome stillness in that lonely chapel, and the feeling of intrusion was overpowering. I tensed my muscles, and stood erect. Decidedly I walked up to the casket. Out of the corner of my right eye I noticed that I knew well one guard of honor from past experience, but neither of us acknowledged the identity. This was not my classroom it was, rather, death’s domain, and a different task to be accomplished.

I bent my head to look at the Officer, lying in the white-lined casket, a sharp contrast to the navy uniform he wore. John Adair, the name tag stated on the right side of his chest, just above the shirt pocket. On the left side, the Police Badge, Number 18. (“A Badge of Honor!” I remembered telling my students. I still have the collection of “Police Stories” my students wrote.) The Badge was a silent reminder of an explanation a police gave to my students for the acronym P.I.G., “Perseverance, Integrity, Guts.” The children were impressed.

He was here in full uniform, up to the two pens in his left pocket, and a service bar on his left sleeve.

“Six-foot-four,” they said. No wonder the casket seemed short for him!

I felt compelled to touch the human form, and as I didn’t, I found that life yet seemed to linger in that death-cold hand!

Men came in, some alone, some with wives. Most came alone to pay their final respects. They came in uniform and in civilian clothes. There was no need to wonder who they were. The neat haircuts, the way they walked, the stance they took, the tear they shed . . . all bespoke a bond of love and unity. Some knelt and crossed themselves, others simply stood there, in total helplessness, and frustration.

They came and left, no one lingered long. The reverent silence was monstrously profound, penetrated only by the occasional squeaking of leather shoes as the two honor guards slowly shifted their weight in brief relief from standing.

Then almost cruelly, the intense silence was shattered. The double-doors swung wildly open and a drab young man penetrated that sanctuary. There was immediate tenseness in the air. No one moved.

“Hey!” The young man called out loudly, his right arm flinging in the air, his face grinning in twisted amusement. Obtaining no reaction from the standing men of honor, he swaggered halfway to the casket, stopped, then as if in self-reproach, turned and left that sacred place.

Almost in retaliation, an elderly man came in. Bent from age . . . and work, white hair, and wearing casual clothes, he slowly made his way to the slain officer, paused for a moment, then resolutely turned to the silent guard to his right. With trembling voice, and deep respect, he, too, was heard amid the sorrowful stillness.

His “Thank You” sounded like a Great Amen. He spoke the words clearly and simply. Expecting no response, he slowly and sadly made his way to the out-of-doors.

The unfeeling clock’s hand on the wall, above the entrance, moves on for the living, and life continues, unaffected for some, changed for others. I, too, join the gentleman in saying, “Thank You!” But, Dear God, when will people learn to value YOUR ways?

Deputy Dirk Leonardson was employed with the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department for two years. He was hired on August 29, 1978. He was assigned to the Blythe Station. In 1979, Deputy Leonardson transferred to the Blythe Jail and in 1980; he transferred back to the Blythe Station.

Deputy Leonardson attended the 73rd Basic Academy in the fall of 1978. His law enforcement career began with the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department and he did not work with any other agency.

On October 4, 1989, Deputy Leonardson was at home during his off-duty time. At approximately 2:15 a.m., he heard a disturbance outside his apartment. There had been much vandalism in the parking lot near Deputy Leonardson’s apartment. Deputy Leonardson, carrying his gun, went to investigate the disturbance. He was mistaken for the vandal by a Blythe police officer. The Blythe police officer saw Deputy Leonardson in a dimly lit area of the parking lot (Leonardson was still carrying his gun). The Blythe police officer shot and killed Deputy Leonardson.

Deputy Leonardson was survived by his wife, Judy. They did not have children. He was also survived by his parents, one brother and two sisters. Deputy Leonardson was born in Ft. Wayne, Indiana.

Officer Ernest R. Felio was on routine patrol when he was shot and killed by a motorist he stopped for questioning. A security guard at a nearby farming operation testified he heard a brief conversation between the motorist and the officer, then heard the sound of two shots. The 49-year-old patrol officer was an 18-year CHP veteran who served 17 years at the Crescent City Area office. A description provided by the security guard led to the capture of Felio’s killer.

Reprinted from the Vallejo Times-Herald

Ten additional inmates were placed in isolation following a preliminary investigation of the events that led to the death Sunday, August 17, 1980, of a California Medical Facility inmate and guard.

Authorities also suspect that more inmates were involved with the fight that preceded the deaths of inmate Charles Gardner, 31, of Alameda County and guard Al Patch, 44, of Vacaville.

“It’s beginning to look like perhaps two others were involved, but we don’t have anything solid,” CMF spokesman Jim Kane said Monday.

According to Kane, the violence began after breakfast Sunday when Gardner and inmate Archie Menefield, 29, of Sacramento allegedly got into a fight using prison-made knives. While chasing Menefield, Gardner stabbed Patch. Both Gardner and Patch died in the prison’s hospital from wounds to the heart.

Menefield was placed in isolation immediately after the fracas. The other 10 men, who were not identified, have been added since the initial investigation was made Sunday.

Placing the inmates in isolation is an investigation tool, said CMF spokeswoman Teda Boyll.

“This way the inmates won’t be able to discuss their stories with other inmates,” she said.

The investigation is being conducted by the state Attorney General’s office. Tony Cimarusti, press secretary for the attorney general, said it is unknown how long the investigation will last or even if charges will be made.

“Historically, prison inmates don’t testify. It’s pretty hard to develop evidence when they won’t testify,” Cimarusti said.

Despite the difficulty, the investigation will continue. “We’re trying to – believe it or not – determine if we have a case,” Kane said.

“If this were outside, witnesses would have legal protection. But we’re dealing with inmates who are afraid to be labeled ‘snitch’ and can be easily impugned if they take the witness stand.”

A total lockdown at the prison, enacted immediately following the incident, will continue at least until Wednesday, Boyll said.

Sergeant Vegas was killed when his police motorcycle was struck by a car while he was responding to the scene of another accident. He had been with the agency for 11 years.