Heroic Cop Unselfish To The End

One night back in the 1980s, a Spokane County sheriff’s deputy was called to a house fire.

Before the officer could react, the homeowner ran back inside to retrieve some belongings. As the flames grew it became obvious the man was seconds away from becoming trapped.

The deputy didn’t flinch. He charged headfirst into the inferno, found the man and pulled him to safety. But here’s the most amazing thing about the rescue:

Jim Davis never told anybody.

And that, perhaps more than anything, reveals what this remarkable man was made of.

No one would have known about the fire had it not been for a letter the grateful man wrote. Davis’ friends found the testimonial tucked away in his personnel file as they conducted the grim search for material to include in a memorial service.

Davis, who went on to work for the Ocean Shores Police Department, didn’t survive his last unselfish act.

The 41-year-old lieutenant drowned April 26 in the crashing cold seas trying to save a surfer caught in a riptide.

His memorial last Tuesday in Ocean Shores resembled a funeral for a head of state. Flags flew at half-staff.

Every reader board in town expressed condolences to the Davis family.

The service itself drew 1,400 people, the largest crowd ever in the city’s convention center. A motorcade of 100 police cars, 40 motorcycles and a dozen fire department rigs stretched for well over a mile. Law enforcement officers representing two dozen jurisdictions came to bid farewell to a man who truly personified the definition of hero.

Davis would have balked at such a label. He viewed himself as just a regular Spokane kid who graduated from North Central High School, joined the U.S. Army and decided to become a cop. He’d never tell you about being an All-City hurdler in high school or earning the National Defense Service Medal in the Army.

After the service, Davis’ longtime pal, Spokane County Sheriff’s Sgt. David Fray, went to the beach and stared at the waves where his friend died.

“It was a calm day and yet those breakers were 5- or 6-feet tall,” says Fray, noting the ocean on the day Davis died was much rougher. “I thought, ‘My gawd, how did Jim steel himself to go out in that churning, foaming, thrashing water.”’

But that was Davis. He put his life on the line so often and so good-naturedly that even his closest friends and family members took for granted what dangers he faced.

That was easy to do. Davis could take the tension out a situation with one of his trademark wide smiles or a practical joke. He once stole Fray’s handgun, took it apart and gave the pieces back to him in a sack.

“He was really good at letting you know you had done something wrong without shoving your nose into the dirt,” says Spokane’s Dave Trefry, another of Davis’ longtime friends.

Trefry met Davis the hard way. The officer caught him drinking one night in the Dishman Hills. Trefry was under age.

Davis confiscated the beer and handled the situation creatively. Knowing Trefry’s father, Walt, was a fellow cop, he told the 20-year-old he wasn’t going to arrest him. “I’m going to tell your dad,” he said.

“He knew that was the worst thing you could do to a cop’s kid,” Trefry says. “He was right. I’ll never forget the footsteps of my father heading up to my room later that night.”

Davis and Trefry became friends years later, when Trefry became a prosecutor for Grays Harbor County.

“Are you still the juvenile delinquent you used to be?” the cop asked at their first meeting.

“Well, I’m a lawyer now,” replied Trefry. “So I guess I haven’t changed much.”

Davis received five commendations during his seven years with the Spokane County Sheriff’s Office. At Ocean Shores, he helped found the surf rescue team, which has saved 70 lives over the years. He was named Policeman of the Year in 1994 and was awarded three Medals of Merit.

One of those came for a dramatic rescue. With no time to wait for backup, Davis single-handedly pulled three struggling teenagers out of the roiling surf.

The father of five was chairman of the local school board, a volunteer football coach and DARE officer at an elementary school.

He died on a day off. He was home when he heard the radio call of a surfer in trouble. Like always, he rushed off to help.

But this time the rough waves spit his inflatable rescue boat into the air like a toy. Davis and a fellow officer were dumped into the water.

The surfer and the other officer were eventually saved. Davis weakened in the frigid gray water and drowned before a helicopter could pull him out.

Near the end of the memorial, the standing-room-only crowd was momentarily puzzled when a radio call interrupted the service.

“Adam Four. Adam Four…” Then it dawned on the mourners. Adam Four was Davis’ police call sign.

As the crowd sobbed, the dispatcher’s crackling voice came over the loudspeakers one final time:

“Adam Four is out of service.”