“I remember her brown eyes.”
Those were the first words out of John Behrens’ mouth after reuniting with Jenn Clark for the first time in 30 years.
Behrens was a young police officer when he kneeled down, took the hands of a frightened 9-year-old girl, and told her that her mommy had died.
No training, no amount of experience on the job, could prepare him for that moment. It was one of the defining moments in his 31-year career in law enforcement, all with Salem Police.
“That was a rock bottom call,” Behrens said, “but something good came out of it.”
He thought of that little girl often, especially during the holidays, wondering where she was and how she was doing, like so many others did, from dispatchers to deputy chiefs.
And she became the inspiration behind the agency’s toy drive that makes Christmas merrier for hundreds of local children each year.
The 911 call came in at 12:31 p.m. on Dec. 17, 1986. Officers were dispatched to the northeast Salem home where Jennifer, which is what she went by then, lived with her mother. A neighbor who often babysat for Jennifer made the call. The fourth-graderwas in class at Englewood Elementary School.
Randy Hicks was the first officer to arrive on the scene. The house was well-kept. The only things out of place were a toppled chair in the living room and a receipt for $3.90 on the floor.
“Everything seemed to be normal,” Hicks said. “Nothing appeared like there were any problems with the mother or that something bad was going on there. It wasn’t like you see in a lot of houses, where you knew something was going on.”
A decorated tree stood in the corner. It was eight days before Christmas. There were no presents underneath the tree. Hanging from the ceiling, near the tree, was Jennifer’s mom.
Jennifer’s parents were divorced. Her father lived in California. Some of her best childhood memories are of her and her mom together, roller skating at Bush’s Pasture Park, swimming at Olinger Pool, and camping and hiking throughout Oregon.
Her mom, at the time of her death, was working toward her master’s degree and employed part-time as a teacher. She worked with children with disabilities. The incident report, based on interviews with the family, mentioned she had recently ended a relationship with a boyfriend.
Jennifer, even at age 9, knew her mom was sad. Her mom had been seeking help for depression, and was scheduled to see a doctor the day she took her life.
“She was actually trying to get better,” Jennifer said.
It wasn’t until she was 14 that she learned her mom had committed suicide.
“The family was so devastated and heartbroken and taken aback by it, no one wanted to talk about it for a long time,” she said. “It just wasn’t spoken of.”
John Behrens, a school resource officer at the time, was called to the scene by a supervisor, and then sent to Englewood to pick up Jennifer.
Her class was rehearsing for the school’s annual Christmas pageant when he arrived. He waited for her in the front office, and remembers several staff members trying to hold back tears as Jennifer was brought in.
Jennifer was scared and knew something was wrong, but didn’t say anything. Neither did Behrens. His job was to take her to family, not to deliver the news. Imagine the weight of silence as the patrol car made the less-than-two-block drive from the school to the neighbor’s house.
Jennifer’s grandparents were there. They were the ones who asked the neighbor to check on their daughter after they had been unable to reach her by phone.
The family was so overwhelmed that the burden of telling Jennifer fell on Behrens after all.
He was 29, with six years on the job. It wasn’t his first death notification, one of the most dreaded jobs for a police officer. Finding the right words is never easy, but for a child it is especially agonizing.
Behrens said all he could do was hold Jennifer’s hands and tell her the truth: “Your mommy died.”
It’s a moment he will never forget.
“I’m the one,” Behrens said recently, “who stomped on her heart.”
Hicks, the 28-year-old officer first on the scene, struggled with his own emotions.
He may not have had to look that little girl in the eyes, but the call was no less heartbreaking, compounded by his recent personal loss. Hicks' mother had recently died from cancer, and one of the first calls he responded to after returning to the job was a DOA involving a cancer patient.
While searching the house, Hicks discovered Jennifer’s Christmas wish list.
He recalled finding it on the kitchen counter. Though he admitted the details are fuzzy after three decades, Hicks remembers he passed the list on to Behrens.
“The same thing went through everyone’s mind,” Behrens said. “Let’s make sure this little girl has a Christmas.”
Word spread quickly through the department that Behrens was taking up a collection.
His colleagues all but threw money at him, from the hallway to the locker room. Hardened veterans on the force emptied their wallets without saying a word.
No. 1 on Jennifer’s Christmas list was a Cabbage Patch doll, which debuted in 1983 but was still popular three years later. Behrens must have gone to 20 stores to find one, but had no luck. He was able to get everything else on her list, but always felt badly that she had to settle for a knock-off doll.
The presents were wrapped and sent to her at her grandparents' place.
So much money was left over that the officers wanted to find a way to help other children. Behrens made calls to nonprofits and police departments in the area, but at the time there were no organized toy drives.
So Salem Police Department started its own.
In the early years of the toy drive, organizers kept the stash of toys and wrapping paper in a closet in the chief’s office. Today, there are five drop-off sites in addition to the police department, and the agency works with community partners to identify families and children in need. Officers also make recommendations based on observations on the job.
“We strongly encourage that, since that’s how it got started, with an officer seeing a need,” said Jennifer Hingston, the department's volunteer coordinator who has organized the toy drive for the past 10 years.
Delivery has changed over the years. Today, school resource officers deliver the gifts to the families, much like Behrens did 30 years ago.
Behrens thought about Jennifer often throughout his career, but never reached out. Police officers often are associated with tragedy. A death notification can be etched in the family memory forever. He didn’t want to risk re-opening the wounds.
Deputy Chief Steve Bellshaw, in celebration of the 30th anniversary of the Salem Police toy drive, helped arrange the reunion between Behrens and Clark. It’s because of Behrens and Clark that thousands of children have enjoyed a brighter Christmas over the years.
The two met on a recent afternoon in a conference room at the police station, embracing as soon as Clark walked in the door.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” she said as they embraced.
“You and me both,” Behrens said.
He was taken aback by her eyes, still recognizable even though they are now veiled by black-rimmed glasses.
Clark would never have recognized him if they had passed on the sidewalk, but their conversation came naturally, despite the circumstances.
“I recognize his heart now,” she said. “Big as always.”
She reported to him that she lives in Eugene and is a hairdresser. She runs a salon out of her home, Hair by Jenn Clark.
They took turns sharing what each remembered from the day their lives intersected so unexpectedly and painfully. Much like him, she will never forget how he told her about her mom.
“I’m sure it was hard on you,” she said. “I’ve always felt so sorry that you had to do that. Thank you for being so kind.”
Behrens doesn’t remember much the actual delivery of presents to Jennifer, but she does. He showed up at her grandparents’ farm a couple days after her mother’s death, bearing gifts.
“You came out like Santa Claus in your uniform,” she said.
Much of what was on her wish list was related to the action doll She-Ra, the twin sister of He-Man from Masters of the Universe. The highlight was a playset called Power Crystal Falls.
Behrens apologized during their reunion for not getting her a Cabbage Patch doll. Now going by the first name Jenn, she made a confession. She already had one of the popular dolls at that time and was “just being greedy.”
She assured him he scored big-time with the She-Ra collection.
“Now I don’t feel so bad after 30 years,” Behrens said.
Jennifer went to live with her dad after her mom died. After about 6 months, they moved back to Salem. She attended Swegle Elementary, Waldo Middle School and McKay High schools. She was involved in theater and was crowned prom queen at McKay.
After graduating in 1995, Clark moved to Eugene and attended Lane Community College. While studying theater, she became interested in hair and makeup, and then went to beauty school.
She has been a hairdresser for 15 years, and many of her clients are regulars. They know her story, and that her mom committed suicide.
“I’ve tried to use my experience to help other people who might be going through something similar or know somebody who is going through it,” Clark said.
In the wake of a suicide, grief can be intense and complicated, because those left behind often struggle with feelings of guilt and blame.
Clark was able to overcome those feelings over time. A daily reminder is the phrase “faire grâce” tattooed on her neck. In French, it means to forgive.
“That has been a huge part of my life, and not just with my mom, but everyone else and myself,” she said. “It’s a wonderful thing to have, to forgive yourself for whatever guilt and sadness you have.”
It was a cathartic reunion for both Behrens and Clark. For him to see that the toy drive wasn't the only joyous outcome from this story, and that she has a good life. For her to hear how he has thought of her often, and how the toy drive she helped inspire 30 years ago is still going strong.
“It’s been in my mind and heart for a long time,” Clark said. “It really has been a bastion of light in a really dark spot of my life. I’ll always be grateful.”
.
Those were the first words out of John Behrens’ mouth after reuniting with Jenn Clark for the first time in 30 years.
Behrens was a young police officer when he kneeled down, took the hands of a frightened 9-year-old girl, and told her that her mommy had died.
No training, no amount of experience on the job, could prepare him for that moment. It was one of the defining moments in his 31-year career in law enforcement, all with Salem Police.
“That was a rock bottom call,” Behrens said, “but something good came out of it.”
He thought of that little girl often, especially during the holidays, wondering where she was and how she was doing, like so many others did, from dispatchers to deputy chiefs.
And she became the inspiration behind the agency’s toy drive that makes Christmas merrier for hundreds of local children each year.
The 911 call came in at 12:31 p.m. on Dec. 17, 1986. Officers were dispatched to the northeast Salem home where Jennifer, which is what she went by then, lived with her mother. A neighbor who often babysat for Jennifer made the call. The fourth-graderwas in class at Englewood Elementary School.
Randy Hicks was the first officer to arrive on the scene. The house was well-kept. The only things out of place were a toppled chair in the living room and a receipt for $3.90 on the floor.
“Everything seemed to be normal,” Hicks said. “Nothing appeared like there were any problems with the mother or that something bad was going on there. It wasn’t like you see in a lot of houses, where you knew something was going on.”
A decorated tree stood in the corner. It was eight days before Christmas. There were no presents underneath the tree. Hanging from the ceiling, near the tree, was Jennifer’s mom.
Jennifer’s parents were divorced. Her father lived in California. Some of her best childhood memories are of her and her mom together, roller skating at Bush’s Pasture Park, swimming at Olinger Pool, and camping and hiking throughout Oregon.
Her mom, at the time of her death, was working toward her master’s degree and employed part-time as a teacher. She worked with children with disabilities. The incident report, based on interviews with the family, mentioned she had recently ended a relationship with a boyfriend.
Jennifer, even at age 9, knew her mom was sad. Her mom had been seeking help for depression, and was scheduled to see a doctor the day she took her life.
“She was actually trying to get better,” Jennifer said.
It wasn’t until she was 14 that she learned her mom had committed suicide.
“The family was so devastated and heartbroken and taken aback by it, no one wanted to talk about it for a long time,” she said. “It just wasn’t spoken of.”
John Behrens, a school resource officer at the time, was called to the scene by a supervisor, and then sent to Englewood to pick up Jennifer.
Her class was rehearsing for the school’s annual Christmas pageant when he arrived. He waited for her in the front office, and remembers several staff members trying to hold back tears as Jennifer was brought in.
Jennifer was scared and knew something was wrong, but didn’t say anything. Neither did Behrens. His job was to take her to family, not to deliver the news. Imagine the weight of silence as the patrol car made the less-than-two-block drive from the school to the neighbor’s house.
Jennifer’s grandparents were there. They were the ones who asked the neighbor to check on their daughter after they had been unable to reach her by phone.
The family was so overwhelmed that the burden of telling Jennifer fell on Behrens after all.
He was 29, with six years on the job. It wasn’t his first death notification, one of the most dreaded jobs for a police officer. Finding the right words is never easy, but for a child it is especially agonizing.
Behrens said all he could do was hold Jennifer’s hands and tell her the truth: “Your mommy died.”
It’s a moment he will never forget.
“I’m the one,” Behrens said recently, “who stomped on her heart.”
Hicks, the 28-year-old officer first on the scene, struggled with his own emotions.
He may not have had to look that little girl in the eyes, but the call was no less heartbreaking, compounded by his recent personal loss. Hicks' mother had recently died from cancer, and one of the first calls he responded to after returning to the job was a DOA involving a cancer patient.
While searching the house, Hicks discovered Jennifer’s Christmas wish list.
He recalled finding it on the kitchen counter. Though he admitted the details are fuzzy after three decades, Hicks remembers he passed the list on to Behrens.
“The same thing went through everyone’s mind,” Behrens said. “Let’s make sure this little girl has a Christmas.”
Word spread quickly through the department that Behrens was taking up a collection.
His colleagues all but threw money at him, from the hallway to the locker room. Hardened veterans on the force emptied their wallets without saying a word.
No. 1 on Jennifer’s Christmas list was a Cabbage Patch doll, which debuted in 1983 but was still popular three years later. Behrens must have gone to 20 stores to find one, but had no luck. He was able to get everything else on her list, but always felt badly that she had to settle for a knock-off doll.
The presents were wrapped and sent to her at her grandparents' place.
So much money was left over that the officers wanted to find a way to help other children. Behrens made calls to nonprofits and police departments in the area, but at the time there were no organized toy drives.
So Salem Police Department started its own.
In the early years of the toy drive, organizers kept the stash of toys and wrapping paper in a closet in the chief’s office. Today, there are five drop-off sites in addition to the police department, and the agency works with community partners to identify families and children in need. Officers also make recommendations based on observations on the job.
“We strongly encourage that, since that’s how it got started, with an officer seeing a need,” said Jennifer Hingston, the department's volunteer coordinator who has organized the toy drive for the past 10 years.
Delivery has changed over the years. Today, school resource officers deliver the gifts to the families, much like Behrens did 30 years ago.
Behrens thought about Jennifer often throughout his career, but never reached out. Police officers often are associated with tragedy. A death notification can be etched in the family memory forever. He didn’t want to risk re-opening the wounds.
Deputy Chief Steve Bellshaw, in celebration of the 30th anniversary of the Salem Police toy drive, helped arrange the reunion between Behrens and Clark. It’s because of Behrens and Clark that thousands of children have enjoyed a brighter Christmas over the years.
The two met on a recent afternoon in a conference room at the police station, embracing as soon as Clark walked in the door.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” she said as they embraced.
“You and me both,” Behrens said.
He was taken aback by her eyes, still recognizable even though they are now veiled by black-rimmed glasses.
Clark would never have recognized him if they had passed on the sidewalk, but their conversation came naturally, despite the circumstances.
“I recognize his heart now,” she said. “Big as always.”
She reported to him that she lives in Eugene and is a hairdresser. She runs a salon out of her home, Hair by Jenn Clark.
They took turns sharing what each remembered from the day their lives intersected so unexpectedly and painfully. Much like him, she will never forget how he told her about her mom.
“I’m sure it was hard on you,” she said. “I’ve always felt so sorry that you had to do that. Thank you for being so kind.”
Behrens doesn’t remember much the actual delivery of presents to Jennifer, but she does. He showed up at her grandparents’ farm a couple days after her mother’s death, bearing gifts.
“You came out like Santa Claus in your uniform,” she said.
Much of what was on her wish list was related to the action doll She-Ra, the twin sister of He-Man from Masters of the Universe. The highlight was a playset called Power Crystal Falls.
Behrens apologized during their reunion for not getting her a Cabbage Patch doll. Now going by the first name Jenn, she made a confession. She already had one of the popular dolls at that time and was “just being greedy.”
She assured him he scored big-time with the She-Ra collection.
“Now I don’t feel so bad after 30 years,” Behrens said.
Jennifer went to live with her dad after her mom died. After about 6 months, they moved back to Salem. She attended Swegle Elementary, Waldo Middle School and McKay High schools. She was involved in theater and was crowned prom queen at McKay.
After graduating in 1995, Clark moved to Eugene and attended Lane Community College. While studying theater, she became interested in hair and makeup, and then went to beauty school.
She has been a hairdresser for 15 years, and many of her clients are regulars. They know her story, and that her mom committed suicide.
“I’ve tried to use my experience to help other people who might be going through something similar or know somebody who is going through it,” Clark said.
In the wake of a suicide, grief can be intense and complicated, because those left behind often struggle with feelings of guilt and blame.
Clark was able to overcome those feelings over time. A daily reminder is the phrase “faire grâce” tattooed on her neck. In French, it means to forgive.
“That has been a huge part of my life, and not just with my mom, but everyone else and myself,” she said. “It’s a wonderful thing to have, to forgive yourself for whatever guilt and sadness you have.”
It was a cathartic reunion for both Behrens and Clark. For him to see that the toy drive wasn't the only joyous outcome from this story, and that she has a good life. For her to hear how he has thought of her often, and how the toy drive she helped inspire 30 years ago is still going strong.
“It’s been in my mind and heart for a long time,” Clark said. “It really has been a bastion of light in a really dark spot of my life. I’ll always be grateful.”
.
