ARLINGTON -- The end of watch came suddenly for the two Arlington officers, punctuated by a thunderous crash.
But the reverberations from that accident 20 years ago on North Collins Street are still felt today.A 23-year-old roofer had ended a long day of drinking on Oct. 9, 1992, by climbing behind the wheel of his flatbed truck. After speeding and weaving through traffic, nearly causing several accidents and prompting at least one witness to call 911, he slammed broadside into a squad car driven by Arlington patrolman Terry Lewis at just before 10:30 p.m.Lewis, 35, just nine months out of the police academy, and reserve officer Jerry Crocker, 43, were killed. They were the first Arlington officers to die on duty since 1975, when officer Gary Harl was fatally shot during a traffic stop.In the time it takes to crush an empty beer can, two women became widows and six girls were left fatherless. Arlington police were heartbroken, and the community outraged.Two decades after that horrific crash stunned the city, police and prosecutors point to several positive changes that grew out of it.In the months that followed the tragedy, when members of Lewis' academy class adopted both families as their own, a new model emerged for the Police Department on how to respond when officers are killed.That standard continues to this day, acting Police Chief Will Johnson said Tuesday during a memorial ceremony at the city's police training headquarters.It led to Crocker's youngest daughter, Jeri Lyn Nichols, taking a job with the department 16 years ago as a police dispatcher, at the urging of now-retired Sgt. Don Pilcher, a classmate of Lewis'.The deaths also prompted Tarrant County Assistant District Attorney Richard Alpert to create a legacy of his own.Using his experience in trying that case and one a month earlier involving Fort Worth officer Brent Wisdom, he became a nationally recognized authority on convicting drunken drivers who injure or kill."I saw where there was a need for someone to provide the resources and training to help prosecutors and police officers handle the complexity of those cases," he said this week. "I am very proud of the fact I have made a difference in the way these cases are handled in this state."Officers rememberedLewis, described this week as a "go-getter," and Crocker, a state traffic engineer and a preacher who had planned to take a big pay cut and train to become a full-time officer, are remembered by their former peers as men who loved to tell stories and who felt a strong calling to serve and protect the public.Their deaths only strengthened the kinship felt by members of the department and their families. Pilcher said Nichols "is like a sister to me."Nichols, now a dispatch supervisor who regularly speaks at ceremonies honoring the city's fallen heroes, said that though the bonds might stretch, they never break."We have our ups and downs," she said. "But we are all family."Johnson told the men's relatives as much Tuesday: "You are our family. Know that we remember. We will never forget, and we love you."Tears still come with the memory of that night, Nichols said, and she usually takes Oct. 9 off. Still, she can feel her father's presence."He's my guardian angel," she said.Tougher punishmentThe truck driver, Vincent Lara Martinez, had a blood-alcohol level of 0.21, more than twice the legal limit. He was charged with involuntary manslaughter and failure to stop and render aid.He received consecutive five-year prison terms "and served every day of those 10 years," Alpert said. Upon his release in 2001, federal immigration authorities planned to deport him.Ten years for killing two officers might not sound like much, but in 1993, when Martinez was on trial, the Texas Penal Code still reflected the state's old one-for-the-road attitudes about booze behind the wheel. A drunken driver who caused a death could hold out reasonable hope of getting probation.For killing a woman and her friend the night before her wedding at nearly the same spot 20 months earlier, another driver received a four-month sentence and spent 93 days in jail.Considering the alternatives, Alpert and co-prosecutor Christy Jack were satisfied with Martinez's punishment. But Alpert found the law to be lacking."We don't think the law provides enough punishment for a crime like this," he said the day Martinez's sentencing became final.Lawmakers agreed. The following year, they eliminated involuntary manslaughter from the criminal statutes and replaced it with other options, including intoxication manslaughter, boosting the offense from a third- to a second-degree felony.Had it been possible to try Martinez under the new classification, he could have received 20 years in prison.Today, he might get a life sentence.In 2007, House Bill 1212, authored by then-state Rep. Paula Pierson, D-Arlington, made intoxication manslaughter of an on-duty police officer, firefighter or paramedic a first-degree felony, punishable by five to 99 years or life in prison.Alpert helped draft the bill, which is named in memory of Grapevine officer Darren Medlin and Fort Worth officer Dwayne Freeto, the most recent Tarrant County lawmen to be killed by a drunken driver while on the job.No such deaths have occurred in Tarrant County since the 2007 law change, Alpert said, and he hopes none do. But if one should, he'll have his strongest tool yet."Police officers put themselves at risk to do their job to keep the rest of us safe," he said, "and people need to be aware that if you injure or kill a police officer who's on duty, the cost is going to be very high."'Best job in the world'Alpert fights against drunken driving not only in mind but also in spirit and body.For years he lobbied Mothers Against Drunk Driving officials to add a Fort Worth version of its Walk for MADD fundraiser. The annual event takes place today at Ridgmar mall; Alpert's Team No Refusal has raised more than $11,000.Like the Police Department, Alpert has stayed in touch with the Lewis and Crocker families, even continuing to exchange holiday cards with them.He watched as Lewis' middle daughter, Anne, participated in a Texas Department of Criminal Justice program that lets victims meet with the offender.The experience gave her closure, Alpert said. "She was glad she did it."In a program that began last year, the Arlington Police Association and the Police Department ensure that the memories of officers who die in the line of duty are recognized on their end-of-watch date.A wreath is placed at a location selected by the officers' families. The families of Lewis and Crocker chose the crash site, near the entrance to the Remington Meadows apartment complex, just south of Northeast Green Oaks Boulevard.Former Arlington Mayor Richard Greene recalled the flood of emotions the tragedy brought and the sense of duty that city leaders felt."Shock is the first reaction," he said. Then "the focus begins to be on what kind of outreach to the Police Department and the community elected officials have as their responsibility."Anniversaries like the one this week "serve as an opportunity to remind us how fortunate we are to have men and women in uniform who put themselves in harm's way for us," he added.Officer Randle Meadows, president of the Arlington Police Association and a classmate of Lewis', had a similar message for members of the current academy class."This is the best job in the world, and we're lucky to have it," he said after Tuesday's ceremony."As they move forward in their careers, we want them to know that it's precious and that they need to treat it so -- and that anything can happen, but most importantly it's to keep doing what you do and to do it the best you can."Patrick M. Walker,817-983-8080Twitter: @patrickmwalker1Have more to add? News tip? Tell us
