Larry Peters

He was preceded in death by his parents, Larry and Rose Peters, his daughter, Rochelle Richardville, his ex-wife Elaine Stewart.

Larry is survived by his daughter, Janice Jantz (Rich Jantz), son Scott Peters (Kim Peters), grandchildren, Aaron Richardville (Bree Richardville), Jamie Richardville (Michelle Kuhns), Laura Henderson, Leandra Rogers (Ethan Rogers), Colton Peters and Lauryn Peters and great-grandchildren Aidan Henderson, Hailey Fairbrother, Aaron "AJ" Fairbrother and Rosalie Rogers.

Below is a paper written by daughter Janice as a result of an interview she had with her father on February 28, 2010

My dad was born August 28, 1932 in Oaklawn Illinois. He was the oldest of three kids. The 1930’s held no significance for my dad. December 7, 1941, my dad, age nine, remembers sitting in front of the radio listening to The Shadow. They interrupted the show to announce that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. “The gravity of the situation was clear to me. My dad and a neighbor engaged in a very loud and angry discussion about what the U.S. response should be.” There were no newspapers then so the only communications his family had was the radio; they did not go to the movies. The government controlled what they knew about the war. His father worked for Chrysler at the time. Automobile manufacturing was halted as the factory began making tanks for the war. His dad was hurt in an accident when a 4x4 steel beam hit him in the head and shoulder. He was unable to continue working. His father received a $15,000 settlement and the family moved to Lawton Michigan to raise ducks. They raised about 13,000 ducks a year and sold them in Chicago. Apparently, people in Chicago liked duck. His mother was forced to take a job at the five and dime to make ends meet. It was then that my dad decided that when he grew up he needed to learn a trade.

In 1951 my dad joined the Air Force. He went to radar school in Biloxi Mississippi and was then shipped to Everett Washington. It was there, in 1951, that my dad had his most memorable experience in his military service. He and a couple men were monitoring the echoes on radar, when suddenly there were five unusual blips. Rather than leaving the familiar dots that planes made, these left what they called long tails, and they were moving at over 1,200 MPH, much faster than the 400-500 MPH that aircraft traveled. Later that evening a general and a captain arrived on base, which never happened, and told the men that they were never to talk about what they had seen. There was a flood of UFO reports in that area on that evening. My dad remains convinced that what they tracked that evening were UFO’s.

My dad was honorably discharged in 1952. He had several odd jobs until he decided to keep a promise he made to himself when he was 11. He went to Oregon Technical Institute on the GI bill. He wanted to be either a television announcer or a cameraman. He graduated with a degree in electronics, but struggled to find that “dream job.” In 1958, he met my mom. (I was three. My mom had been married previously.) They moved to Colorado in 1959 and got married. My dad got a job selling vacuum cleaners, but saw an ad saying that the police department was having open enrollment. He applied. In the mean time, vacuum sales were slow so my dad also got a job with Pepsi. He was accepted at the police academy and, on January 4, 1960, he was sworn in.

On April 21, 1960 my dad and his partner answered a silent alarm at a drug store. As he was walking down an isle toward the back of the store, one of the gunmen stepped out, put his gun to my dad’s head and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired. The gun was later taken to the police lab and six consecutive shots were fired. My dad put his gun in the gunman’s mouth and fired. His gun did not misfire, but the gunman did not die. My dad came home, got me out of bed and sat and rocked me. “That night I knew I was meant to be a cop; I had found my dream job.”

Shortly after that my sister and brother were born. The ‘60’s and ‘70’s were marked with racial tension. La Razza and The Black Panthers were very active in Colorado. My dad made detective, then training officer, then Sergeant. He worked in Vice and Narcotics, Homicide and on the streets. In 1972, he was working as a training officer. He and his new recruit answered a call at a bar fight. His trainee was shot four times and died in my dad’s arms. He was crushed. His recruits were like his kids, and someone killed one of his kids. He was later promoted to Sergeant and went back to Vice and Narcotics where he spent most of his time “under cover.” He was different, much harder; loosing one of his recruits changed him.

My dad went through two more losses that affected him deeply. In 1978 his mother went in for a routine physical. The doctors discovered that she had some arterial blockage and wanted to do surgery immediately (to this day I do not know why the sudden urgency.) She made it through the surgery with flying colors. Three days later she died of acute renal failure. I have never seen my father so devastated. It took years for him to accept her death. Four years later, in 1982, his father committed suicide. He had undergone a triple bypass surgery about six years prior. They told him he was going to need another surgery. He did not want to go through that again; and he was still grieving over the loss of his wife. This sent my dad reeling. Partly because of his father’s death and partly because of the way he died. My father was not the most devout catholic, but the stigma and judgment of people at his church drove him out of the church. These losses made him turn away from religion completely.

In 1984 my mom and dad got divorced. His work became his life. In the summer of 1991 he retired, 31 years after he started his dream job. He was 59 years old. He spent his time working in his yard, going south for the summers and working as part of a task force of retired policemen that the mayor had started after 9/11.

I asked my dad how he wanted to be remembered. He said “I want my headstone to read: Not a great husband (I figure I deserve that), tried to be a good father, and a great cop. Being a policeman was what I was really good at.” We talked about the changes that he is going through as he ages. In his mind, they are not significant, just annoying. His eyesight is going downhill; he had to get glasses at 46. His early years on the job and at the firing range cost him his hearing. It has gotten progressively worse. He finally had to relent and wear hearing aids. And most frustrating is his loss of taste. My dad considers one of the joys of his life to be eating; and now he cannot taste anything. He gave up riding his motorcycle, one of his favorite pastimes, because he felt like his sense of balance is not what it used to be. In 2002, the doctor’s found several blockages in his heart as the result of a routine stress test. On August 28, 2002, his 70th birthday, he had a quintuple bypass. He wouldn’t let anyone wait at the hospital. He was convinced he was going to die and did not want us to be told at the hospital, like he was told about his mother. I think it was the first time my dad faced his mortality. He came through the surgery amazingly well and both his body and mind have been repaired. My dad says he didn’t change his diet after the surgery, he considers ice cream comfort food. He admits to having a “touch of dementia;” the degree of which is an area of contention. He has trouble with remembering things relative to time and place, remembering names and basic short-term memory. Overall, though my dad is in amazing shape. He is 77 and no one thinks he looks his age. He admits to some shortness of breath upon over exertion, and arthritis in his wrists bothers him at times, but other than slowing down a bit and avoiding heavy lifting, his life hasn’t changed much.

When I asked him how he has maintained his health he said “good genes, I take vitamins everyday and I stay active. I still mow my own lawn (it is 1 ½ acres) and I go to the gym to work out for an hour and a half four to five days a week.” He doesn’t eat a lot of fatty food, eats lots of vegetables and feels like he has no stress in his life. He still goes to bed at around 3:00 A.M., since the majority of his career he worked 7:00 P.M. to 3:00 A.M. He feels peace and solitude in his home and yard and his life style suits him. He sleeps well, has a great attitude and enjoys life.

He finished our interview with a song; “regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again to few to mention…I did it my way!” (L. Peters, personal communication, February 28, 2010.) Frank Sinatra would have been proud.

Celebration of Life will be at 1:30 pm on Friday, April 16, 2021 at Olinger Crown Hill, Pavilion of Reflection.