Connie Cone Sexton
The Arizona Republic
Jan. 18, 2005 12:00 AM

The first shot hit his chest. Bullets 2 and 3 - and some later would say No. 4 - tore through is abdomen, back and legs. Glendale police Sgt. Larry Apodaca had been sitting in the front seat of his patrol car then his assailant walked to the driver's window and calmly opened fire. Apodaca could feel the blood leaving his body as he got out the passenger side and slid to the ground. He saw the shooter driving away and reached for his radio and called in a description. He knew it was probably the armed robbery suspect he and other officers had just been searching for. As Apodaca waited for help that Saturday afternoon in January 1986, the 48-year-old suddenly thought, "I'm going to die here. "He began talking to God. He wondered if he would ever see his wife and four children again. He thought about how he didn't feel spiritually prepared to die. And he thought how he only had 16 months to go before he could retire. As help arrived, Apodaca listened to his radio as other officers chased the suspect. It didn't take long. Anthony Donald Obregon, who had a 20-year-plus criminal record, eventually was sentenced to prison for 42 years. Apodaca recovered and went on to live almost 19 more years. Apodaca was 67 when he died Dec. 26 of pneumonia. The Glendale resident's family wonders if the shooting all those years ago somehow played a part. Obregon had shot Apodaca with bullets but also with snake shot, which is like birdshot. The pellets remained in his chest and about a year ago became infected. He seemed to rally but a few weeks ago he was sick again. The shooting was something Apodaca could never completely put behind him. One person or another would ask about it over the years and Apodaca would kindly share his memories. He came to think of the ordeal as a second chance on life. Larry Apodaca Jr. said his dad was never a glory hound about the incident. "I think the shooting haunted him for a little while. He said, 'I almost met my maker.' But as soon as he got back to work, that all went out the window. "Larry, 44, said his dad never lost his enjoyment of life. He said his dad had been a loving but strict father. "He would tell us in advance the perils and pitfalls of what can go wrong in life," he said. And if his four kids did something wrong? "The punishment befit the crime," Larry Jr. said. Although, he added, he and his siblings might beg to differ. Like the time 15-year-old Larry Jr. hotwired the family truck out for a quick trip down the street. He had only made it a few houses away when he clipped a car. But he left a note and the car's owner let Larry Jr. work off the damages around his house. Larry Sr. didn't let his son off so easy. Even though young Larry had confessed up to his dad, he was grounded. "Needless to say, I didn't get to drive until I was 18 years old," he said, laughing. "The girls (his sisters) had to pick me up at prom. I guess I had it coming. "Glendale police Officer Frank Balkcom Sr., 49, said he grew up knowing Apodaca. Most everyone in Glendale's Latino neighborhoods knew about Apodaca. "Larry was doing community policing before the title was created, "Balkcom said. It was Apodaca who influenced Balkcom to become a police officer. "He was a true mentor. "Longtime friend and fellow Glendale police Officer Al Alexander said Apodaca always cared that a young boy or girl know the best path in life. "As a police officer, he was one of these who could arrest somebody one day for whatever reason and spot the kid the next day and the kid would run up to him and say, "Hi, Mr. Apodaca. How are you doing? He was fair and just a good cop. "Isabel Apodaca said her husband couldn't go anywhere without making friends. "He truly was a people person."
Sometimes that got him in hot water. In 1990, the couple opened a restaurant in downtown Glendale. Isabel cooked. Larry took care of the tables. "People would come in and say, 'You're the officer who got shot.' And they'd want to hear the story," she said. "I told him I was going to fire him if he didn't stop talking. I finally got the newspaper clippings and just put them on the wall. He just loved people."

(back to National Latino Peace Officers Association)