1,500 pay last respects to Minneapolis park police officer

The Rev. Terrence Hayes knew he was looking at a sea of more than 1,500 troubled hearts. And they had many questions. Why would Minneapolis park police officer Mark Bedard have died accidentally in the line of duty in the prime of his life? And how could it be that the actions of one of his colleagues was the cause?

The priest's words echoed throughout the Basilica of St. Mary on Wednesday, met with nods and tears by those paying last respects to Bedard.

Friends said he would have been embarrassed to have his funeral in such a grand building and would have blushed at the dramatic ceremony bestowed on fallen officers.

Eulogists were quick to admit that there was no simple way to summarize the spirit and quality of Bedard's 34 years of life.

But the story of his young son Nic's proud observation at the hospital the last week captured it gracefully. There, Nic had said, "I have a good daddy."

As proud as Bedard was to be an officer for the past 11 years, his family took priority, park Police Chief Brad Johnson said. The guy who was always smiling looked for new things to learn, he said, adding, "I'll miss having Mark to help me."

Bedard had a gift for communicating with children, said those who knew him, and he frequently volunteered to speak at schools. He was once called to a school to deal with a 5-year-old boy who was out of control. Within minutes, they were walking down the hall hand in hand. "He understood his job was to protect and serve, but he always wanted to go that extra mile," said Jon Olson, president of the Minneapolis Park Board.

An hour before the service, Bedard's memory was already being honored by the hundreds of officers from across the state who gathered on the steps outside the basilica. Bells pealed and squad lights flashed. Officers stood shoulder to shoulder as Bedard's coffin was slowly taken inside.

Besides the officers, Bedard's wife, Andi, Nic and family members were supported by dignitaries who included Gov. Tim Pawlenty, Minneapolis Mayor R.T. Rybak and Hennepin County Attorney Mike Freeman.

Bob Rowe was there to support his son, a Minneapolis police officer who was a good friend of Bedard's. "Mark's death brings it too close to home," he said.

The laughs came easy when Art Froehle, Bedard's uncle, talked about the officer's childhood. He was a junior entrepreneur, collecting lost golf balls at golf courses for resale. That activity drew the attention of park police, he said.

He spun tales about his nephew's woodworking and hunting skills, football awards at Minnehaha Academy -- and Nic. The boy, who's almost 3, is often described as "a little Mark," he said.

Shannon Welle, a friend of Bedard's for 17 years, said he had married the girl of his dreams. Welle said she admired his strong, optimistic views on life, as well as the more light-hearted parts of his personality, such as the pranks that usually backfired.

"He had great plans for the future, but God had other plans," she said. "He was a gentle man and a gentleman."

Hayes recalled time spent at the hospital with Bedard's family after he was injured and how Nic would light up the room when he entered.

Hayes said people asked him where God was Nov. 1, when Bedard was hit by a squad car driven by a Minneapolis police officer while chasing a suspect into an alley. He died of his injuries eight days later.

"God was with the officers who attended to Mark, the people supporting the officers in that squad, and the hospital staff," Hayes said.

The two-hour service came to a close with thoughts from Robert Mooney, one of Bedard's park police partners. He first passed on a few messages from friends and officers, including one from another partner who thanked Bedard for "keeping me safe."

Seated toward the back of the basilica was Ron Ryan, a longtime St. Paul police officer and leader of the Metro Gang Strike Force. His son, Ron Ryan Jr., also a St. Paul police officer, was shot to death in the line of duty in 1994.

"I felt I should attend," he said after the ceremony. "I remember many of the officers from other cities who came to my son's funeral, especially officers from Minneapolis."

He said he goes to many services for those killed in the line of duty, and "it never gets any easier."

As Ryan walked out, officers were getting in line to prepare for Bedard's coffin to be taken to Lakewood Cemetery in Minneapolis. Nic, held in his mother's arms, gave a little wave at the flags hoisted by the honor guard blowing in the hard wind.

The motorized caravan slowly headed to the cemetery. There were squads from law enforcement agencies statewide, and firetrucks and ambulances. As they approached the cemetery gates, two firetruck ladders formed a "V" formation, with an American flag hanging down in the middle.

The procession inside, including a team of horses, lead Bedard's body to his final resting place.

An amplified dispatch call went out at 2:55 p.m.: "Badge 30203," and then a pause. Again the call went out for Badge 30203. No response.

One last call was broadcast reporting that Bedard's badge was out of service at 10 years and eight months.

"Rest in peace," the dispatcher said.

David Chanen • 612-673-4465

David Chanen • dchanen@startribune.com