North State Voices: Remembering Randy Jennings

REMEMBERING RANDY

He stood in his green and tan uniform, filling the hallway with his large frame. He’d missed SWAT training due to scheduling issues and was noticeably disappointed. I don’t know why I stopped to look back, as the team was leaving, but as I did, the thought came to my mind, “What a tall, handsome man.” It was the last time I saw him, for in a matter of days he would be dead.

Randy Jennings was a Deputy with the Butte County Sheriff’s Department for 9 years. During his career, he’d worked in the jail, the courts, the civil division and in the special enforcement unit. He taught arrest and control techniques at Butte College and was a team member on the Special Incident Response Team. It was his dream and he worked hard to get on the team.

It was the night of May 21, 1997 Randy was working an overtime shift, covering south county. The call was for a domestic violence incident in Thermalito. A distraught wife who had fled the residence and a husband who was possessed by an, “evil spirit” having gone out after her. He’s left the residence. Does he have any guns? No? Alright.

Within a few minutes, Randy spotted the suspect at 10th and Grand. A short foot pursuit ensued into the field adjacent to a church. Without warning, the man who supposedly didn’t have a gun, spun and fired at Randy. He was hit.

Now, from a simple domestic violence call, Randy was in the fight for his life. He drew his sidearm and returned fire. The suspect now too was mortally hit. With reasoning only known to the unreasonable, the suspect turned his gun towards his heart and ended his own life.

“County 30, “ This was Randy’s last earthly transmission. The cup was broken. It would hold his life no more.

The funeral and its proceedings are a vague memory now. The members of the Special Incident Response Team were the pall bearers during the funeral. The dignitaries took our seats, so we sat in a side room of the church and told stories about Randy. It was about the best thing we could have done.

As he was laid to rest, the contingent of helicopters flew the missing man formation. It was so appropriate, as Randy loved flying in the helicopters for the Special Enforcement Unit. In my mind, it was then that his soul left and was free to go home.

Today, hundreds of people drive over the Randy Jennings memorial bridge separating Oroville and Thermalito. I wonder how many know the man to whom it was dedicated when they look at the plaque that features Randy’s image.

Many people have come and gone since that time and may not have any idea the complete sacrifice that one man gave to protect his community.

I have a copy of the memorial service in my locker, alongside of a rubbing from the National Peace Officer’s Memorial in Washington D.C. with Randy’s name. It’s the first thing I see every day I go to work and the last thing I see before I close the door on my work day.

In the poem, “In Flanders fields” the author calls out with the voice of those who have died. “To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high.” For those who worked alongside Randy, these things will ride with us for the remainder of our lives. And despite the darkness, or perhaps in the face of such darkness, the best we can do is to keep the torches taken from those failing hands held high for all to see.