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Crestlawn Memorial Park
Riverside, CA

Famiily Recalls Memories of Slain Officers

He used to say he wanted to be a "peace man." As a small child, he couldn't say "policeman," it always came out "peace" And he did become a peace man.

He wore the badge of the Riverside Police Department proudly, said Mrs. Edith Christiansen, mother of Officer Leonard Christiansen, one of two Riverside policemen murdered in the line of duty April 2.

Dr. Svend A. Christiansen, a longtime Colton chiropractor, and his wife looked back on some of the mementoes and pictures of Leonard.

Today is Police Appreciation Sunday. This week was National Police Week, set aside by proclamation of the President as a time to honor all policemen, but especially to pay homage to those who have given their lives in the line of duty.

The Chrisitansens have lived in Colton over 10 years. Dr. Christiansen has kept busy with his practice and Mrs. Christiansen raised two sons, Luis and Leonard, and found time to operate the Colton Flower Shop too.

Police Week came just six weeks after Leonard was slain in an ambush in Riverside with Officer Paul Teel.

Reviewing his life and his career, Leonard's parents said that as grieved as they are, they would never attempt to change anything Leonard had done.

"He always wanted to be an officer. Even when he was a tiny child, he would wave at policemen and say, 'I'm going to be a peaceman too' and of course we could never change his mind," said Dr. Christiansen.

"He never ever wanted to be anything else. He never went through stages like most boys do. wanting to be firemen, engineers, pilots. He always wanted to be a cop," said the doctor.

Speaking easily of their blond-haired son, they told of many incidents in Leonard's life in which he influenced those around him.

Dr. Christiansen used to be superintendent of an industrial school in Colorado where Leonard was born. This school, a type of reform school for delinquents, housed many youths, said Dr. Christiansen.

"When Len was just four, he saw a monitor at the school strike one of the youths with a chain. The little tyke ran out and told him not to do that, that he wouldn't go to heaven if he hit people. Well, the monitor and Len got to be pretty good friends after that and the youth never struck anyone again."

Then there was the time after Leonard and his pretty wife Jan moved to Riverside. Len was a cop by then and he stopped home in his police car. His neighbors came screaming that their baby was dying.

Leonard gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and revived the baby, who was a blue baby and had nearly died. Later, the mother told Leonard, "You know, I have a brother who hates cops. I wonder what he'll think when he finds out a cop saved his niece's life."

There were the youths at the Youth Service Center where Len spent many long hours off-duty helping the kids with their problems, rapping about society, giving of himself. They liked the officer who made it known he was a cop, but that he was human.

He tried to bridge the gap between community and police, and adults and youth. He must have been successful, because at his funeral, there were long lines of tear-stained youthful faces, unashamed of the tears shed for their friend.

Shoulder-to-shoulder stood clean-cut officers in polished boots and gleaming helmets, and young shaggy-haired youths clad in blue jeans and moccasins, each sharing the loss of a good friend.

When Jan and Leonard lived in Colton for two years, he was employed by L.A. Airways and was in charge of the local office. The blond Len and dark-haired beauty he married made many friends here.

But Leonard wanted to be a cop.

"When he graduated from the police academy, he was so proud, he nearly burst," recalls his mother. "And I was proud too," she said softly.

And then the tears came.

"We went to a dedication ceremony at the academy. they had a plaque from the graduating class honoring Leonard and Paul. All those eager, shining young faces, so young, so vulnerable. But so willing. Just like Len." She cried softly and left the room.

She returned moments later. "He loved everybody. He made friends easily and never knew a stranger, because everyone was a friend," she said.

"When he went on calls on the troubled eastside of Riverside, he knew he had those staunch friends among the residents that he could depend upon," said his father.

"At a traffic accident when he first went on motorcycles, a teenager was injured. The girl lay on the pavement bleeding. And Leonard talked with her, comforted her and calmed her down until the ambulance arrived. She came back to him later and thanked him for his help. She told him she didn't think policemen were kind, but that now at least, her mind would be open when it came to police. Not closed against them as before," said Dr. Christiansen.

There were the may p

The year was '68, in Chicago they were rioting at the Democratic convention, but Dan and I were driving a big block '62 Impala down to Mexico...

"Living on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean...

Dan's my oldest buddy, going back to small-kid times. Just over 20, we were clueless about what the future held--the draft, family, job--but no one could have told us nothin', we knew it all back then.

"all the Federales say, they could have had them anyday,
they only let them slip away, out of kindness I suppose."

Back then, the song on the radio wasn't "Pancho and Lefty"--no, it was Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild." And we took that idea seriously. Sometimes, looking back, you wonder about the things you did, and how you managed at all, how you even survived, and about those who didn't--

"The dust that Pancho bit down south
Ended up in Lefty's mouth..."

A lot of tires worn out since those days, and different songs on the radio when you're pushing 60, and I'm not talking mph, but years. Today I blundered into the country station and heard:

"if I had a dime for everything I've done,
that didn't make no sense at all, I'd be living a little higher on the hog."
Pancho and Lefty
Born to be Wild