3,000 Honor Policeman Slain in Line of Duty

Three thousand Southern California law enforcement officers attended a funeral Friday to honor slain Los Angeles Police Officer Brian Brown, but most eyes were on the policeman’s 7-year-old son.

Speakers remembered Brown, a 27-year-old single father, as a brave Marine and vigilant cop. But it was plucky Dylon Brown--saluting crisply and remaining dry-eyed through the one-hour service at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills--who captured everyone’s heart.

Only the day before, Dylon, with his grandparents by his side, climbed onto a stage in the Parker Center auditorium and, voice shaking, told a silent crowd that he loved his dad and would miss him.

On Friday, most officers saw Dylon and thought of their own children. Others, like Officer Vito Ceccia, who went through the Los Angeles Police Academy with Dylon’s father, thought about the danger of their jobs and were relieved to be childless.

The sight of pale Dylon cut Corona Police Officer Adam Roulston to his core. Ten years ago, when Roulston was 14, his father--an Anaheim police officer--was killed while on duty.

On Friday, Roulston leaned down and spoke to Dylon after the service. Roulston removed the survivor pin he had worn since his own father’s death and put it on the lapel of Dylon’s black blazer.

“Thanks,” Dylon said.

Brian Brown survived sniper fire in Somalia only to be shot to death by a gang member on the streets of Los Angeles. He was killed on patrol Sunday night when he and his partner saw two men fleeing a murder scene in Mar Vista near the Los Angeles-Culver City border. After a short chase, Oscar Zatarain, an Inglewood gang member, opened fire with an assault rifle, striking Brown in the head. Zatarain was killed as other officers at the scene returned fire.

Friday morning, officers gathered at Forest Lawn for Brown’s service outside the Hall of Liberty. With the building’s Birth of Liberty mosaic and the Hollywood Hills as a backdrop, Brown’s colleagues from the Marine Corps and Los Angeles police stepped forward to share memories of an officer who loved his job.

Marine Mike Ventura told the crowd of Brown’s courage in Somalia in 1993, and described how Brown maneuvered his team under fire, “neutralizing” a Somalian armed with a rocket grenade launcher. In the course of the skirmish, Ventura said, Brown and another soldier were wounded, and Brown made sure the other soldier was rescued. For his own wounds, Brown received the Purple Heart.

Los Angeles Police Sgt. Craig Herron remembered Brown’s enthusiasm and professionalism. Brown would look at him, Herron said, and his eyes would light up as he smiled and said, “Sergeant, did you hear what I got into?”

When Officer Keith Krallman first saw Brown at the Police Academy, he was struck by Brown’s appearance: a suit and shiny military issue dress shoes. Krallman accurately figured that Brown had just left the military. In fact, Brown was honorably discharged in September 1995, and that same month entered the academy, where he was selected a squad leader.

Brown was the kind of classmate who kept encouraging everyone in the squad, egging them on to study harder and run faster, Krallman said.

“The words ‘I can’t’ did not exist in his vocabulary,” Krallman said.

After the eulogies and prayers, the police honor guard fired its rifles and a bugler played taps. Police helicopters flew overhead in “missing man” formation. Then as a police bagpiper played “Amazing Grace,” the honor guard removed the American flag that had draped Brown’s coffin and folded it. Chief Bernard C. Parks presented it to Brown’s father, Dennis.

California Highway Patrol Chief Ed Gomez gave a folded state flag to Dylon, who sat solemnly on his folding chair.

Brown will be buried Monday in Houston.

As the family departed for a reception held at the recruit training center in Westchester, officers came up to Brown’s wood casket. Some patted it. Others saluted. Brown’s friends reminisced about a man who had always seemed very much alive.

“He wanted his squad to be the best,” Ceccia said fondly. “He was always coming up and adjusting my tie or tie clip. He was a perfectionist.”

Brown’s death was a humbling reminder of the fragility of life and the all-too-real dangers of police work, Krallman said.

“Every day, I drive to work and I think, ‘Is this going to be the day that I take a bullet or get hurt?’ ” Krallman said.

“They tell us in the academy that someone in the room is going to die during the course of the job,” said Jim Menard, a San Jose police officer and former classmate of Brown. “But you discount it, you forget it--until a day like today.”