Hunley: Fallen lawman's memory lives on

Fridays are supposed to be happy. The weekend is beginning, and many people are looking forward to lounging around and thinking as little as possible about serious matters.

Not so for the family of Sgt. John Conner III this past Friday, "family" meaning not only blood relatives but members past and present of the Manassas Police Department.

Conner is the only Manassas officer ever to have died in the line of duty. A gunman ended his life with a semi-automatic rifle July 24, 1988, when Conner was but 37 years old. He had just been promoted July 1.

Since then, the Manassas police annually commemorate their fallen brother's passing with a wreath-laying ceremony at his grave in Quantico National Cemetery.

Friday was the day this year. It marked 21 years since the man who wore badge No. 23 lost his life.

Officers from the motorcycle unit were there, wearing their dark blue dress uniforms, as were the department's command staff and even the fire chief.

Two of Conner's former supervisors, now retired, came to pay their respects, too.

But as the sound of bagpipes played and the summer sun beat down, most solemnly striking was the presence of Conner's family, including his sister, Ingrid Vance, and two of his four children.

They watched as Manassas' Honor Guard marched the flags of the city, the state and the nation onto the cemetery.

Then police Chief John J. Skinner and Master Police Officer T.J. Rodriquez brought the wreath to John Conner's grave. It was adorned with red, white and blue flowers, and a bow with red, white and blue stripes.

"John's untimely death reminds all of us of the evil forces and dangers that every police officer faces each and every day," Skinner said as he faced Conner's grave.

Next, he brought a white-gloved hand to his brow in a salute.

"Sergeant John Conner, you are a comrade," Skinner said. "You are a fallen hero, and you will always be in our thoughts and prayers."

The whole ceremony took less than 20 minutes, but it brought into stark reality the danger that police face anytime they go to work.

The situation Conner responded to on Laurelwood Court was a domestic call, one of the most dangerous tasks for police.

"Statistics will point that out to you," retired Manassas Lt. Darrell Mullins told me after the ceremony.

He said Conner was not only a colleague but a friend. They both hailed from southwestern Virginia: Conner from Lexington; Mullins from Dickenson County.

The lawman reminisced with Billy Crisp, who retired as assistant chief of the Manassas police.

Crisp said Conner was a remarkably earnest man, one who always wanted to know if he was doing a good job. The retired police captain said that he liked to rib Conner but that he respected his leadership.

"I knew when I was gone that the street was going to be taken care of," Crisp said.

And Conner didn't seem to worry about the peril of his job, said Vance, his only sibling.

She suggested that he try something else, something less dangerous. But police work was all Conner knew. He had been a military policeman in the Army before coming to Manassas.

"Not one time did he ever want to leave the police department," Vance said.

His dedication didn't ease the pain of his loss, though.

Vance said that, for a long time after her brother's death, she couldn't even watch police shows on TV.

The annual remembrance of Conner, too, while important, can be a sad affair.

But if the ceremony usually honors a life ended, this year it also boasted a dramatic beginning.

Conner's daughters, Lora Conner, who lives in Buena Vista, and Elizabeth Jordan, who lives in Cañon City, Colo., had never really met before.

They were born of two different marriages, and Lora was 16 and Elizabeth only 15 months when last they saw each other.

Jonathan Hunley is a staff writer at the News & Messenger. Contact him at 703-369-5738 or

at jhunley@insidenova.com.