Class Learned Lesson Hard Way When Trainee Slain

The most difficult and painful lesson for cadets enrolled in the 74th Sheriff’s Academy came in the form of a death bulletin on the nightly news.

One of their classmates, Kelly Ann Bazer, 28, the divorced mother of two children, was murdered Jan. 13 by a grocery store robber who took the keys to her Mustang and drove it four blocks to a getaway car.

“She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Sheriff John Duffy said.

Thus, on the seventh day of training, the San Diego County Sheriff’s Academy roster was reduced to seven women and 61 men.

The tragedy--the first time a San Diego County Sheriff’s deputy had been killed in uniform since the late 1800s--forced Bazer’s fellow cadets to reconsider the peril of police work. Several admitted privately that they were on the verge of resigning. Others said they felt pressure from relatives to turn in their badges.

“My children said, ‘That could have been you,’ ” said Maria Bailey, 37, mother of three who was Bazer’s closest friend at the academy. “They were concerned and they were sad, but they understood. . . . You have to educate your family and let them know you won’t die.”

Before Bazer’s death, few trainees had seriously pondered the possibility of getting killed in the line of duty, said Lt. Dennis Kollar, director of the Sheriff’s Academy. That changed after the shooting, Kollar said, even though Bazer was not acting as a deputy and her selection as a target apparently was random.

“For some people, the shooting stunned and shocked them to the reality that this could happen to them,” Kollar said.

Kollar’s staff of training officers spent a stressful week sympathizing with the cadets and trying to help them recover from the ordeal without easing up on the strict discipline and protocol they consider so critical to law enforcement training.

Above all else, they did not want to lose another trainee. Four had dropped out during the first week. For the staff and the cadets, the academy’s second week--from the brutal shooting Monday evening to the emotional funeral Friday afternoon--seemed to last a lifetime.

Duffy called it “the week that was.”

Monday, Jan. 13:

During their second firearms lecture, Bazer and her classmates were issued service revolvers and ordered to store them in a concealed place in their cars. Bazer was nervous about learning to handle a firearm.

“She said, ‘Maria, I had never shot a gun before. I don’t know how to load the damn thing,’ ” Bailey recalled of her classmate.

“She seemed eager to learn,” said Deputy Ron VanRaaphorst, who recalled that Bazer sat in the front row during his four-hour firearms lecture. “After class, I walked out and patted her on the shoulder and said, ‘I know you’re going to do well. You’ll do OK in all your classes, and you’re going to have a good time doing it.”

As she did after class each evening, Bazer drove to her sister-in-law’s house in Spring Valley to discuss the day’s events at the academy. On this night, however, she only made it as far as the front lawn of a nearby house.

Two armed men who had robbed a Safeway market shortly after 7 p.m. jumped a wall and encountered Bazer, who was getting out of her car, keys in hand. Bazer ran from the assailants, but was shot once in the back from a distance of five or six feet. The two robbers took her keys, drove Bazer’s Mustang for four blocks and abandoned the car.

Sheriff’s investigators believe the gunman did not know that Bazer was a sworn deputy. Her cadet uniform--forest green pants, white shirt and a black tie--bore no identifying badges, and she was wearing a civilian jacket. Her gun was found in the trunk.

Deputy Pat Hardigan, whom Bazer had been dating, was one of the officers who responded to the shooting scene. Bazer was taken by ambulance to Grossmont Hospital, where she was pronounced dead at 8:23 p.m.

Duffy and his wife were sipping wine at the Town & Country Hotel with eight dinner guests from the American Correctional Assn. convention when he learned that Bazer had been shot. He left immediately for the emergency room, where he viewed Bazer’s body. She was still wearing her academy uniform.

“I’ll never forget that night,” Duffy said. “I went in to talk to her father and stepmother. . . . Well, the looks on their faces. They were incredibly shocked, the father particularly . . . all you can do at a time like this is say, ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

Bazer’s father, Thomas Hotchkiss, told Duffy, “Sheriff, I may have lost a daughter but you lost an enthusiastic deputy.”

Duffy said in an interview, “I promised him that we would get whoever was responsible. And I said if we don’t get them today, we’ll get them eventually.”

Three suspects were arrested the next morning. On July 31, a Superior Court jury convicted Jesse Lee Stuart, 19, of first-degree murder in Bazer’s slaying. Stuart, who faces a minimum prison term of 27 years to life, will be sentenced Sept. 11. Two other suspects--Ronnie Davis Williams, 20, and Prentice Byrd, 19, are awaiting trial.

Tuesday, Jan. 14:

Many of the cadets broke down in tears as they gathered on the picturesque Southwestern College campus on a gloomy, overcast morning to learn more about the shooting. The academy staff whisked the cadets to a lecture hall for a 7:45 a.m. briefing to dispel rumors and to protect them from dozens of reporters and TV crews who waited outside.

Between classes, the training officers, who wore black tape over their silver badges in Bazer’s memory, kept the cadets talking about their feelings and provided them with the latest available information. They emphasized to the cadets that Bazer was a random victim and that anyone--a neighbor, friend or loved one--could have met the same fate.

The shooting could not have come at a more inopportune time for Kollar and his training staff. They were as busy providing tours and answering questions for a national law enforcement inspection team as they were responding to the Bazer shooting.

The Sheriff’s Department had been preparing for two years for a thorough, weeklong inspection by the Commission on Accreditation for Law Enforcement Agencies. Five administrators from around the country arrived on Monday to conduct an evaluation of sheriff’s operations, including the academy training facilities, records and procedures.

As for the cadets, several training officers said they were fortunate the murder had not taken place later in the academy when the cadets had formed closer friendships. Because the shooting occurred during the second week, many of the cadets had not even been introduced to Bazer.

“If this had happened two months down the road, it would have hit them a lot harder,” Deputy Kenneth Culver said. “They get to be like family.”

During the lunch hour, Lt. John Tenwolde, director of the Sheriff’s Department public affairs division, reported the latest information to the cadets and answered questions. Tenwolde, who had spent the entire night at the sheriff’s command post, drew a sketch of the shooting scene on a chalkboard and explained the events that led to Bazer’s murder. He said that three suspects had been arrested in the early-morning hours after an all-night search in the Bonita area near the academy.

The students were very attentive throughout the 20-minute session, Tenwolde said. Several volunteered to be pallbearers. Others posed questions: “Was Kelly in uniform?” “Did she have her gun?” “Could the robbers tell she was a deputy sheriff?” “Did she feel any pain?”

Tenwolde said he thought there was little suffering on Bazer’s part. At the end, he told the class this was the last time he would discuss the shooting. Tenwolde said he conducted his class on report writing the next day “as if Kelly Bazer never existed.”

The academy training officers also admonished the cadets to put the shooting death behind them.

“We impressed the importance of staying together and working as a unit,” Deputy Jack Strumsky said. “We told them it’ll be business as usual. Life must go on. We must suck it up and go ahead with the business at hand.”

It quickly became apparent to the staff, however, that the tragedy would not be so easily forgotten.

Several cadets were frightened and expressed doubts about continuing with law enforcement. Others felt something was wrong because they were not emotionally troubled by the shooting death. They did not remember Bazer’s face or know how to pronounce her last name.

Duffy said he was deeply concerned about the impact of the murder at such an early stage of the cadets’ careers.

“This brings home really suddenly just how mortal you really are,” Duffy said. “I mean you are OK one minute and the next minute you’re laying dead in the street in a pile of blood. Sure, we can say she wasn’t in an on-duty situation, but . . . that’s the kind of thing a deputy sheriff can run into anytime.

“You have to be able to pull yourself out and be objective. We’ve all seen the bodies, we’ve all seen the tragedies. Somebody that close to you suddenly gone . . . but that’s the way it is in this business.”

Duffy suggested that Assistant Sheriff Frank Hill offer to speak to the cadets. But Kollar had already decided to bring in Dr. Charles V. Ettari, a La Jolla psychiatrist.

Wednesday, Jan. 15:

A cadet’s first trip to the San Diego County coroner’s office is usually a traumatic experience. Most have never seen a corpse before, let alone the remains of victims of shotgun blasts, stab wounds and hangings.

Bob Ring, a retired homicide investigator, was upset that the trip to the morgue had been scheduled so early in the academy. He feels that cadets are better prepared for a visit to the coroner’s office after they’ve been exposed to law enforcement training for at least a couple of months.

Bazer’s death made the situation worse, Ring said. Several cadets balked at visiting the coroner’s office, but the academy staff did not reschedule the trip because it wanted to conduct “business as usual.” Coroner’s personnel made arrangements to conceal the location of Bazer’s body in the morgue.

The cadets met at county offices at 7 a.m. sharp for a two-hour session.

“You must condition yourself. This is a very major part of your job,” Ring told the cadets. “I know about Kelly, but you must learn that, no matter what, you got to be able to remove yourself personally . . . whether it’s someone you know or a child. Think of the body as a piece of evidence.

“Once you get past the initial shock, the anatomy is a very interesting thing. It’s something you must learn to do, so it’s better to get over the shock here in a controlled setting.”

The group shuffled into the coroner’s autopsy room, where they viewed two suicide victims who had died of shotgun blasts and a 4-month-old victim of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

After a few minutes, cadet Betsy Vint, 35, walked outside on the coroner’s loading dock for fresh air. Obviously shaken, Vint said she could not believe she was having trouble stomaching the morgue.

“I’ve worked on a trauma team for five years and this is tearing me,” said Vint, a respiratory therapist. “I think it’s because of Kelly . . . I just keep thinking of Kelly, that’s all.”

Vint was joined outside by Thomas Vrabel, 23, whose face turned white. He said he “dwelled on the bodies for too long.”

Jeff Loving, 21, said he handled the visit fine until he came across the dead baby. “All I could think about was my little girl,” Loving said.

After about 20 minutes, the group gathered outside the building to discuss their observations. Ring said he thought the group had seen enough and did not need to witness the autopsy of a decomposed body.

“I’m really, really pleased,” Ring said. “You handled it great. You are approaching this with the idea of evidence. It’s no longer a living, loving warm human being. You are getting the proper attitude. It’s difficult at best.”

The cadets returned to the academy for lunch and their afternoon appointment with Dr. Ettari. The training staff canceled an “Arrest and Control” session on defensive tactics to make room for the meeting.

Deputy VanRaaphorst began by telling a joke and explained that the staff wanted the session to be a relaxed, informal gathering where trainees could air their feelings. During the meeting, VanRaaphorst announced, the cadets would not be required to use “sir” when addressing their training officers.

But habits die hard, even if they are only a week old. When the cadets spoke to Ettari, they stood and began, “Sir, Trainee Smith, sir.”

Ettari said that some of the cadets expressed regret that they had not known Bazer very well and that others wanted to know why they did not feel any remorse.

For the most part, Ettari said, the cadets were coping well. He was more concerned about the few relatives and spouses who attended the session.

“You could see it in their faces,” Ettari said. “They tended to be a little bit more wide-eyed. . . . They were obviously trying to digest this and make some meaning of what was going on there.”

Thursday, Jan. 14:

The cadets stayed late to discuss arrangements and marching formations for Bazer’s funeral. Because no one in the Sheriff’s Department had been killed in nearly a century, San Diego police officers were asked to assist with preparations. The Police Department has buried nine officers slain in the line of duty in the last decade.

The cadets were told to bring a bag lunch so they could eat on the way to the funeral.

“We would be seated in church for a lengthy period of time, and we didn’t want them fainting or getting sick,” Kollar said.

Two cadets asked to be excused from the funeral. One male cadet said he did not want to relive his father’s recent death and one female said she became emotional at funerals.

Deputy John DeAngelis said he felt the academy should have required the entire class to attend the ceremony.

“They will see a lot more than that when they go out in the field,” DeAngelis said. “If they can’t take that, how are they going to take things in the field?”

But Kollar decided he would not compel anyone to go, and the two cadets were given a special assignment.

Friday, Jan. 15:

About 350 uniformed officers from 27 California police agencies attended the funeral, which served to reassure many cadets about the close-knit fraternity of law enforcement.

“I had no idea what it was going to be like,” Cadet Joseph Marquette, 24, said. “I saw Bill Kolender there, Sheriff Duffy and I saw it on TV. There were some people there from the Montebello Police Department. I don’t even know how to get to Montebello.”

Duffy told the congregation that Bazer was among the top 5% of the cadets who qualified for the academy. He said he would have preferred to meet Bazer’s father on academy graduation day.

“I wanted to see the proud, smiling face of her father,” Duffy said. “Instead, we met in one of the small waiting rooms after I had viewed her body . . . and learned how she was brutally murdered by armed robbers.”

Most of the cadets remained composed during the brief ceremony. Afterward, as they stood at attention in two lines outside the church, Duffy consoled Bazer’s mother, Gail Patterson of San Clemente.

“She asked if she could speak to the academy classmates,” Duffy said. “And I said sure. I didn’t realize she was going to talk to each and every one, one by one . . . I appreciated what she was doing, but I was wondering how that was affecting each one of them.”

Dressed in a black dress and veil, Patterson spent about 15 minutes with the academy class.

“She encouraged them to do their best in the academy and to remember Kelly, but not to let this interfere with their career,” said Duffy, who accompanied Bazer’s mother as she spoke to each cadet.

Patterson paused for several moments to hug the seven female cadets. Many of them wept openly. Even some of the men who said they felt no particular loss over Bazer’s death also cried.

“It was eyeball to eyeball from this far away,” Duffy said. “And some of them were having a great deal of difficulty. Maria Bailey was having a hell of a time controlling herself. Some of the guys, too. Emotionally, it was really getting to them.”

Tom Bedsworth, 34, said he tried to put the murder out of this mind as he struggled with Bazer’s death all week.

“At first, I felt I didn’t feel anything,” Bedsworth said. “It’s just the reason we’re all here. There are people out there who are nuts. I had a creepy feeling that someone’s number came up. I think 90% of the guys felt this was going to roll off their backs and not bother them.

“But the mother got to us. . . . You looked into her eyes, you saw the pain and you felt the pain, too.”