America paused during athletic events, church services and gatherings in towns large and small Sunday to memorialize those lost during terrorists attacks 15 years earlier on 9/11.
It was the deadliest day in U.S. law enforcement history, with 72 officers killed during the attacks and emergency response.
They are among 20,789 law enforcement officers, including 1,682 from Texas and six from Burleson, memorialized by the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial in Washington, D.C. The memorial is operated through the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund.
"It is a beautiful, completely open site that has accessibility 365 days a year," said Steve Groeninger, senior director of communications and marketing for the Memorial Fund. "Names of our fallen officers are engraved on 128 panels with blue uplifting light. At night, it takes on a whole different effect."
The memorial is projected to have space to honor fallen law enforcement officers through 2046, Groeninger said. New names are added annually to the memorial during National Police Week.
There are six known Burleson residents honored with the inscription of their name on the memorial. The first was Crowley Police Officer James M. Carpenter, 25, killed in the line of duty by gunfire Feb. 13, 1979. Dallas Police Cpl. Lorne Ahrens, 46, would be among those added in 2017 for being killed in the line of duty by gunfire July 7, 2016.
Janice M. Vanderveer, 35, is the only Burleson police officer on the memorial wall. She was struck and killed Dec. 27, 1987, while setting flares. She's a distant relative of Carpenter. Deputy Clifton L. Taylor, 31, of Burleson, the man for whom the Johnson County Law Enforcement Center is named, is one of two Johnson County deputies to have been killed in the line of duty, He died from gunshot wounds from a disturbance call April 23, 2011.
Three other Burleson residents are memorialized. Fort Worth Police Officer Alan F. Chick, 34, was struck and killed by a drunk driver while assisting a motorist Dec. 27, 1993. Irving Police Officer Andrew A. Esparza, 26, died in an auto crash April 13, 2007. Dallas Police Officer Mark T. Nix, 33, was killed by gunfire March 23, 2007.
"To have four of seven officers killed by gunfire is unique," Groeninger said, "considering for 15 of the past 20 years traffic is the leading cause of officer fatality."
The panels including each of the officers names can be viewed through lawmemorial.org and by searching the officer's name.
"Our mission is to tell the story of law enforcement and to make it safer," Groeninger said. "We have staff working to always know when an officer has been killed anywhere in the country. They put in a lot of time and energy into tracking and articulating the death."
Texas presently leads all states with 15 officers to have been killed in the line of duty in 2016, nearly double Louisiana and triple any other state.
"There are basic things local departments can do to better protect officers," Groeninger said. "We focus on single-vehicle crashes. Officers should reduce their rates of speed on calls. You can't help if you don't arrive alive. Also, wear your seat belt and reduce the distractions you have."
Not only does staff work to nearly instantly record a memorial page for a fallen officer, but also researches line of duty deaths through ancestry records.
"We are working to be sure they are all forever honored," Groeninger said.
The cost to engrave a single name is $260, and the memorial could have in excess of 200 names to engrave each year at a cost of at least $52,000.
"We certainly have other expenses from the vigil to dedicate new names on the wall and bringing out their survivors," Groeninger said. "We are also building a National Law Enforcement Museum."
Tax-deductible contributions toward the effort can be made by law enforcement and civilians at lawmemorial.org. Memberships aren't sold to the Memorial Fund.
The National Law Enforcement Museum will provide a "real sense of what it is like to be an officer, improving the relations we have with communities," Groeninger said.
Whether an officer has been killed in the line of duty through traffic crashes such as the ones which claimed Chick, Esparza and Vanderveer, or shootings such as claimed Ahrens, Carpenter, Nix and Taylor, their stories deserve to be told, Groeninger said.
"We feel a responsibility to use the data we collect for a greater good," he said. "We want to do anything we can to ensure that at the end of a shift our officers make it home safely to their families."
There's good that can come from the worst, such as with the Dallas police shooting.
"The chief called for applicants for their academy and people were motivated to apply for a position to make a difference in their community," Groeninger said. "Each and every person on the wall is a life. It represents a shattered family and community. It has a significant impact on those around them. One line of duty death each year is too many."
He encourages those with support for the Memorial Fund mission to donate to the effort.
"There's no gift too small," he said.
In the future, a National Law Enforcement Museum membership could be available, Groeninger said.
THE MIKE CARPENTER FILE
James M. Carpenter had discussed with his family leaving law enforcement. His mother had decided it was too dangerous.
He had worked in Alvarado, Joshua and Mansfield before leaving law enforcement for a short time. He was drawn back into law enforcement as an officer in the Crowley Police Department.
Carpenter, 25, was on duty Feb. 13, 1979, when a call was received that there had been a kidnapping and robbery, and a suspect vehicle was entering Crowley.
"He stopped them and because it was really foggy he let them get in the car with him," his brother, Mark Carpenter, recalls. "They were wanted for aggravated kidnapping."
One suspect was in the front seat, and the other in the back seat. The front seat passenger went for Carpenter's gun, and the back seat passenger restrained Carpenter.
"They told him to get out of the car," Mark said. "They thought if they killed him it would give them more time to get away."
Carpenter, a Burleson resident, was the first Crowley police officer killed in the line of duty and the police department is named in his honor.
"His memory will last for a long time. We were happy when they decided to do that," Mark said. "It was nice of the city to do that for him."
Mike, as he was known to his friends, was killed while his younger brother, Mark, was in school in Houston.
"You really don't believe it until you reach the funeral home," Mark said. "You hope with every fiber it is not true and you'll wake up from this bad dream."
The shooting led Mark to enter law enforcement. He was first a reserve and then qualified to become a deputy constable.
"I thought if I could become a reserve, other officers wouldn't be alone," Mark said. "Why would they have to work alone when I could be there to help them out."
He's since heard stories of his brother befriending a 7-Eleven employee who was raped on his off night from work and the family of a truck driver with a sick infant.
"He convinced the 7-Eleven worker it wasn't her fault and she should testify," Mark said. "The family with the baby was worried about money. He made them go to the hospital and probably saved the baby's life."
Often, a story is about to be told of his brother and is abruptly stopped in Mark's presence.
"They don't want to bring up bad memories, but I enjoy hearing about him. It makes me happy to know he's remembered," Mark said. "I like knowing the stories of the person he was or the things he did."
Mark can recall buying his brother a thermos to take on patrol and finding it after the funeral, realizing maybe it wasn't such a good gift.
"That's the way I've always been. I don't know what to get you," Mark said. "My brother would spend his last dollar on you and it would be something you need. He just cared for people that much."
THE ANDREW ESPARZA FILE
Christina Esparza was the last to talk to her son, Irving Police Officer Andrew Esparza, on a wet, stormy night on April 13, 2007.
They talked about the weather and then ended the call. Soon, he was asked to respond to assist another officer.
"We were having some horrible storms that night," Christina said. "As he got on [State Highway] 183, his vehicle hydroplaned, he lost control and hit a light pole."
Esparza, 26, would die from the wounds he received in the accident.
"The tires on the vehicle weren't good," Christina said. "The vehicle shouldn't have been in service."
Andy, as he was known to his friends, gave 110 percent in everything he did, Christina said, and so his last night on patrol was no different.
"It led to a lot of changes," she said. "Some said we should have sued the city. No amount of money was going to bring my son back. His brother was in the department, and so we didn't want that."
Christina and her husband, Ralph Sr., wanted change for Andrew's fellow officers.
"Ralph told them their cars are more important than their guns – they use their cars every day," Christina said.
Andrew's brother, Ralph Jr., remains a SWAT officer in the IPD, and his brother-in-law, Brian Stahl, is a Fort Worth police officer. Another brother, Felix, is a Fort Worth firefighter.
The Andrew Esparza Memorial Run honors his memory each year in Burleson. Andrew was an all-district football player and two-sport athlete at Burleson High School. His nieces play softball for the Lady Elks. This year's run will be at 8 a.m. Oct. 1 in Old Town Burleson.
"We're keeping his memory alive, while helping students continue their education," Christina said.
She hopes he's remembered for the person he was as an adult, and even in high school.
"At his funeral, we heard stories about how he was always willing to do anything for or help anyone," Christina said. "He would run with all the crowds in school and never felt he was too good for anyone. Everyone knew him, and he was friends with everyone."
Her husband also met an Irving man who told a story of Andrew responding to a disturbance. The man's son was upset with him, and Andrew reasoned with him. After about a 30-minute conversation, the son went back inside and apologized to his father.
"That's the type of person Andrew was," Christina said. "They talked and the boy apologized."
Visit andrewesparza.org to learn more about the Andrew Esparza Memorial Foundation or to register for this year's run.
THE CLIFTON TAYLOR FILE
Deputy Clifton L. Taylor, 31, had purchased a Burleson home and was working his off day for extra money when he took a call that would end his watch on April 23, 2011.
"It wasn't his call, but he took it because he was closer," his father, Randy Taylor, said. "He took point because he told the other guys they had family. He felt he needed to go first. That makes us proud of him."
An armed suspect was barricaded in a shed at a property where a domestic disturbance call had been received by the Johnson County Sheriff's Office. Taylor was shot during a search that led him to the shed. He died from the wounds he received.
The sheriff's office is named in Taylor's honor.
"I didn't want him to be an officer," his mother, Rebecca Taylor, said. "I certainly would say I stood in his way. I told him I didn't want him to be John Wayne – his job was to get home and take care of his parents. He always said if anything ever happened that he was ready."
He's one of two deputies to die in service to Johnson County.
Around the sheriff's office, he was one who could lighten the mood. He had a good Forrest Gump impersonation and could do a striking President George W. Bush impersonation. His best may have been Sheriff Bob Alford.
"I've never seen anyone who could be as happy as he was without a cent in his pocket," Rebecca said. "He liked people and he was truly a servant."
On his headstone, his slogan "We got this" is printed. That may have come from his love of police dramas and anything he could find on television related to policing.
"I had all my shows recorded on DVR," Rebecca said. "I'd come home and he'd have erased all of mine so he could have the space to record every police show you could imagine. Now, I just wish he was here filling up my DVR with shows I don't want to watch."
Although described as a difficult child, because he opted for the more difficult path in life, Taylor gave in ways his parents never understood until his death.
He saved a suicidal girl he ran across on patrol by taking her to the hospital, but his job wasn't complete. He stayed with her and even went back to check on her.
"He didn't judge her," Rebecca said. "He talked about some of his strife and problems with her."
Then he ran across two neighbors arguing about one's dogs a few days before his death. He had left his number with one of the homeowners and had offered to help build their fence, because he said he liked their dogs.
And just last week, the Taylors learned of a teacher who had befriended their son. He would visit to talk with students.
"She just loved him to death," Rebecca said. "He encouraged them to consider law enforcement as a career and to go for their own dreams."
Taylor was a high school dropout, Rebecca said, but got his GED and the education he needed to become a deputy. His father recalls on his police academy application, Taylor was proud to have "checked all the boxes."
Rebecca and Randy Taylor have made the trip to the National Law Enforcement Officers' Memorial in Washington, D.C.
"It was so overwhelming to see in person," Randy said. "It stretches as far as the eye can see with panels of officers' names."
They recall the ongoing treatment they received "as royalty" while on the visit.
"At one point, I told them they had to stop, that they had done enough," Rebecca said. "We're just simple people. Clifton was a simple guy. We don't need extravagant things."
The treatment they received there and in the community in the days, months and years following Clifton's death made an impression on the Taylors.
"It means a lot to us," Randy said.
"It was the worst thing that could have ever happened to us, but we've seen the best out of people," Rebecca said. "It is the worst in humanity to have your son taken, but you are able to see the best in humanity from how others respond."
And some of Clifton ended up rubbing off on his father. He now owns what he calls a "Barney Car," a replica Mayberry police car.
"That car has a story," Randy said. "Everyone who sees it gives me an opportunity to tell Clifton's story."