Sergeant Damon Gutzwiller: A Community Mourns
By Christina Wise
Part 1: June 11, 2020
Noah Jones was going home. The afternoon of Saturday, June 6th was a regular work day for the Ben Lomond resident, but the typical quiet of his office was jarred by the never ending scream of sirens as law enforcement officers from around the county hurtled through Scotts Valley, en route to a call for assistance from the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Department. Jones, 26, a Berkeley grad who teaches kids to code, had moved back to the San Lorenzo Valley just a few weeks earlier in an attempt to escape the COVID-19 outbreak in Virginia. Jones’ parents had moved to Ben Lomond in 2007 following the Virginia Tech shooting in April of that year. Both of them were professors at the school, but the massacre on campus that left 32 people dead and 17 wounded left them shattered, so they sought—and found—solace in the mountains of Ben Lomond. Mary, Noah’s mom, was sure that the peace and quiet, the neighborly vibe and comfort that came from the community, was exactly what they needed. So, she was stunned to receive a cryptic message from her son on Saturday afternoon. The text included the words “carjacked” and “man with gun,” but ended with the reassurance that Noah was fine.
Mary and her husband had been preparing to drive to Scotts Valley to check on Noah. Minutes earlier, they had been under the impression that whatever was summoning such a huge response from law enforcement must have been happening in Scotts Valley, and they wanted to make sure he was safe; after all, things like this don’t happen in small towns. But once she and her husband crested the hill on their country road in Ben Lomond, they saw Noah sitting on the side of the road, looking stunned but unhurt.
Noah had left work early to escape whatever the police were responding to, and when he turned onto his home’s dirt road off Highway 9, he had only driven a short way when a man approached him. Noah thought perhaps the man was warning him of a problem ahead or offering assistance of some kind—country neighbors do that. But when the man approached the car, he told Noah he needed the vehicle, and then he put one hand on the car and tried to open the door. That’s when Noah saw the blood…and the AR-15 style rifle. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need this car,” said the carjacker, Steven Carrillo, and Noah understood the implication in those words. Noah had the presence to ask if he could gather his items from his 2000 Toyota Camry, and Carrillo let him collect his backpack and phone before absconding with the vehicle.
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Ashlie Rayne doesn’t remember anything odd about Carrillo. They both attended San Lorenzo Valley High School, with Carrillo graduating in 2006. “He kind of kept to himself for the most part,” Rayne said. He spent a lot of time with his then-girlfriend, (now late wife, Monika) and Rayne recalled how they seemed like “the perfect couple.” Away from everyone else, though, Monika would call friends and talk about how he mentally abused her. She would be hanging out at a friend’s house,” Rayne said, “and he would show up, call her names and embarrass her to the point she would leave with him.” Rayne worked with Carrillo at the Round Table in Felton when she was 15 or 16 years old. “He was a fun person to work with,” Rayne said. “He seemed normal, so where the turning point of really becoming a monster was, I’m not really sure.” Monika Carrillo, who served in the U.S. Air Force with her husband, Steven, died in 2018. Though Steven Carrillo wasn’t charged in Monika’s death—she committed suicide— her family maintains that he was a factor in it, referencing his “narcissistic and domineering” attitude towards his wife in an interview with the Mercury News.
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Richard Robinson has been a Ben Lomond resident since 1994. He and his wife, Susan, raised two daughters who both attended SLV schools. In 25 years, Robinson noted, this was his first vigil for a downed officer. Robinson and 100-120 neighbors gathered at Ben Lomond Park on Mill Street on Sunday evening to pay their respects and hold space for Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Sergeant Damon Gutzwiller, 38, who was killed by Carrillo. At the park, Robinson looked for a point person, but didn’t spot one. “It seemed to be more like a memorial where people were taking turns saying what needed to be said.” Robinson said about seven people addressed the crowd, but no one who spoke identified themselves as being a first responder of any kind. Asking Robinson what he felt he took from that experience, he replied, “My fellow Ben Lomondians had come together to mark an important passing, and maybe to find some comfort in seeing each other at the vigil, and to try to remind each other of some important lessons that are easily forgotten—to take care of each other, and remember that there are people putting themselves at risk every day for the good of the community.” The first man to speak at the Mill Street vigil said something that struck Robinson: “If you think that dropping off a card at the sheriff’s office will be meaningless, please don’t think that.” The speaker recalled that a woman from Minnesota that he’d never met had made him a quilt to commemorate a personal loss, and he still has that quilt. Robinson said his own daughters will make a card to drop off, and that he struggles with what to say in the card. “We have so few things that have impacted the community so broadly—we’re just a small little rural community, and we’re lucky that we don’t have a lot of tragic events that affect us all. This one’s hitting us all,” said Robinson.
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Well over 1,000 mourners gathered in the parking lot of the Sheriff’s Station on Soquel Avenue in Live Oak on Sunday to honor and remember Gutzwiller, a 14-year veteran of the department. “He never had a bad day, even when he was due one,” said Steve Ryan from the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s office. “He was better than most of us.” There were prayers from clergy, statements from Sheriff Jim Hart, and remembrances from team members who worked closely with Gutzwiller. “His work did not go unnoticed, and this world is a better place for it,” said Sergeant John Habermehl. In his career, Gutzwiller never received a single civilian complaint. “Damon was a hero,” said Habermehl, “and he’s someone we’re never going to forget.” In a news conference on Monday afternoon, Sheriff Hart announced that a second sheriff’s deputy had been shot in the chest during the ambush by Carrillo; “his vest was able to stop the bullet, but he suffered some significant internal trauma and shrapnel wounds from a bomb that was set off, and was struck by the suspect’s car as Carrillo fled the scene.” Hart said he and his department were grateful for the outpouring of support from the community and beyond. “In this era of negativity about law enforcement, it’s been a real godsend to see what our community really thinks about us here in Santa Cruz County.” Hart shared that he had received hundreds of emails, phone calls and messages sharing support and offering assistance to the department. “They are a quiet majority,” Hart said. “You don’t hear them often, but there is a ton of support for the sheriff’s office and local law enforcement.”
That support was also on display on Sunday evening in Boulder Creek as about 40 mourners assembled in front of the sheriff’s substation on Central Avenue. Residents brought flowers, lit candles, and signed a memorial board featuring Gutwiller’s photo. And, as if on cue, the group threw back their heads at 8pm, and howled for Damon.
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Part 2: June 18, 2020
On the morning of June 17th, thousands gathered under the summer sun at Cabrillo College to honor the life and celebrate the stories of Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Sergeant Damon Gutziller. The ceremony, led by Twin Lakes Church pastor René Schlaepfer, opened with the Lord’s Prayer. “May his family sense our collective love for Damon, and our support and love for them,” he implored. “We pray for all uniformed personnel. Let them sense the gratitude of our community today. We pray that our community may be filled with faith, hope, and love.”
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“I slept with the lights on for four nights,” recalls Clara Racabal, the RN who took the video of two male residents pinning shooting suspect Steven Carrillo to the ground in Ben Lomond, and subsequently beckoning law enforcement to come provide assistance. Racabal was on her way to Felton when she noticed a flurry of police action ahead of her on Highway 9 in Ben Lomond. She pulled over and struck up a conversation with two gentlemen along the road. “I arrived at the scene around 3:15pm,” says Racabal, “and at that point, we all knew what he (Carrillo) was accused of.” Though neither Racabal nor the residents ever saw the white van that Carrillo had allegedly used during the incident, they all saw the other weapons that he had once they got him on the ground: a pipe bomb, AR-15 style rifle and pistol. They also saw the gunshot to Carrillo’s leg. When the two men had started searching for the suspect, they knew he had to be close. One neighbor searched in a yard that had a child’s play structure in it. As he peered into the tube-style slide, he saw the suspect’s feet—and a puddle of blood that had gathered from the gunshot wound.
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Sheriff Jim Hart began his speech by acknowledging the police first. “You guys are amazing, and I love you for that, thank you. It was a bad call,” Hart said. “Our people saved many, many lives. I want to thank all the community members—our deputies are loved, and if you watched the procession (for Sgt. Gutzwiller), you saw hundreds of people lining the streets to show their appreciation.” Hart also thanked the “dozens of law enforcement agencies and officers who have poured into our community to protect us. On that day, more than 40 agencies responded, not to mention our fire brothers and sisters, dispatchers, EMS crews. To all police agencies, I will forever be in your debt,” said Hart, and he acknowledged that his deputies feel the same way. “We are humbled by what they have done. The FBI showed up with 50 people to process the crime scene, and they flew in teams from Quantico to help.” Hart had known Sgt. Gutzwiller for 20 years and promoted him to Sergeant just last year. “Damon showed us what it means to be generous of energy and spirit, and unflappable in the face of life’s challenges. If I could fill my department with Sergeant Gutzwillers, I would,” said Hart. He ended his address by saying, “Let’s make Damon proud.” And then, with tears in his eye, he left the stage, approached Damon’s family, and got down on one knee in front of Gutzwiller’s widow, Favi, as he presented Damon’s 2-year old son, Carter, with his daddy’s badge.
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There were two men who held Carrillo to the ground until law enforcement could get to their location. Hart recalled their efforts in the memorial. “On that day, two deputies were ambushed, but a civilian looked madness in the eye, said, “Not in my town,” and swatted away a bomb, a rifle and a pistol.” He thanked them for stopping the rampage, and shared appreciation for the communities of Ben Lomond, Felton, and Boulder Creek as businesses and residents brought water, food, and love to the deputies. For now, though, at least one of the men wishes to remain anonymous.
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On June 10th, three Felton Business & Community Association members erected a thin blue line American flag, which represents law enforcement and is flown to show support for the men and women who put their lives on the line every day to protect this nation, at the corner of Highway 9 and Graham Hill Road. Were Sgt. Gutzwiller’s death being acknowledged in a vacuum, the raising of that flag might have been a more neutral statement; the country is not in a neutral place, though, given the murder of Minneapolis resident George Floyd on May 25, 2020. When the thin blue line flag went up—four days after Gutzwiller’s murder, and 16 days after Floyd’s—protestors for the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement found themselves sharing a message beneath the flag that, in their eyes, represented the oppressors. Some might recall that, several weeks ago, a POW/MIA (Prisoner of War/Missing in Action) flag had waved on that very pole, but the process to raise that flag had included a petition, and the veteran who advocated for its installment had gone through hoops with various agencies to ensure he met all the prerequisites.
The thin blue line flag’s appearance signaled a break with the BLM movement, and Felton businesses began receiving angry emails from residents who disagreed with the messaging. Now, after suffering significant financial losses due to COVID-19, business owners find themselves again struggling to remain open as their sales are potentially diminished by the confluence of a flag and its meaning.
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Other public servants shared their love and respect for Sgt. Gutzwiller. Mark Ramos, Deputy Fire Chief for Santa Cruz City Fire (retired), openly wept during his remembrance. He recalled the time that Gutzwiller had announced that he and wife, Favi, were trying to start a family. “We’re playing without a goalie,” Ramos remembered Damon saying, and the crowd at the memorial laughed. “He was so excited to become a family,” said Ramos, and the tears flowed freely. “Damon, we will honor your life by loving your family,” he said. “Until we meet again.”
Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Sgt. Steve Ryan called himself blessed to be a close friend of Sgt. Gutzwiller. He told the tale of how he and Damon had joined the SCCSO Drone Team and made themselves flight jackets (which upset a fellow officer that was a licensed pilot). In keeping with his wicked sense of humor, Gutzwiller changed his phone’s ring tone to the “Top Gun” theme song; Ryan called Gutzwiller during a briefing and the ringer exploded with “Danger Zone.”
SCCSO Sgt. Chris Shearer acknowledged that his memories are a lot easier to write than they are to say. “There are moments in your career that will knock you to your knees, and this is one of them. I’ve never been more proud in my life to be a member of the Sheriff’s Office than the day of that incident.” To Gutzwiller’s son, Carter, Shearer said, “Sitting behind you is a never-ending sea of tan and green. Those are your brothers and sisters that are never going away…and this is the community where your daddy’s story will be told. Be loyal, be honest, be Damon. Your daddy’s a hero, Carter, and we love you.”
Damon’s widow, Favi, spoke through tears and deep, palpable grief. “Some things are too big, too beautiful to describe, and a picture will never do it justice. That’s how it is with Damon. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before.” She recalled how she had told Damon early in their relationship that she didn’t want to have kids. Now 38 weeks pregnant and the mother of 2-year old Carter, Favi shared how she had changed her mind. “I wanted to have children with Damon because he would be their father,” she wept. During their relationship, Damon carved a Celtic lovespoon for Favi on Valentine’s Day and included a note where he explained the meaning of the symbols etched in the wood: an anchor, a heart, a keyhole, and a spade. “This is the man we are missing, and the father our new baby will never meet,” Favi cried. “I can only hope that our children will grow up to be just like their father. I pray for the strength to raise the amazing children he would have raised. I know that I will carry Damon in my heart and through my children forever.”
Finally, Pastor René implored the crowd to “Honor Damon by taking one of his qualities and prioritizing it as yours. Seek to multiply the good in Damon’s life into your own. I give you this charge: if you knew Damon, you must be the repository of memories of Damon for his children. Please seek them out over the years, tell them these stories and how much you loved him. This will not hurt them—it will help them more than you know. There is no greater love than this, that he laid down his life for his friends. May we all go forward with the same determination.”
An SCCSO dispatcher called out End of Watch for Gutzwiller’s call sign as his casket rolled through the Wall of Honor created by uniformed personnel, and those in attendance stood at attention as Favi, Carter, their family and friends trailed the casket, beginning a life without the man they love, and the man who loved them all so deeply.
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The thin blue line flag was torn from its mounting sometime on Sunday, June 12th. Aggrieved community members hadn’t felt as though the FBA had heard them—none of their emails had been responded to by then, and they were looking for action. Although the person responsible hasn’t been identified, one active community member acknowledged that this is a time for everyone to have their voices heard. “Our community is dividing rather than coming together when we need it. We are not immune to the travesties of the world. We have lost one of the good ones, Sgt. Gutzwiller. We had a terrorist in our own backyard failed by the healthcare system, whose kids go to school with ours and will need our support. Racism exists in our community and can spread like wildfire. We can only heal by listening, becoming educated, and actively making a change.”
Perhaps the memories of Damon Gutzwiller will soften the upset and division in our community, and result in a more cohesive environment for us all.
Residents are invited to show their support for those affected by this tragedy.
• The Peace Officers Research Association of California has established a “Fund a Hero” collection online for Sergeant Gutzwiller’s family. Donations may be made online at https://porac.org/fundraiser/line-of-duty-death-damon-gutzwiller-eow-6-6-2020/
• Noah Jones only had liability insurance on his Camry, and the car was declared a total loss. Plus, it’s now evidence in an investigation by the FBI, so it’s not coming back. There is a GoFundMe set up to help Noah raise money to replace the vehicle: donations can be made at https://www.gofundme.com/f/noah039s-work-transportation
• Donate in Sergeant Gutzwiller’s memory to any law enforcement agency or social service network that provides support to public servants.
Christina Wise is a writer and reporter in Felton.
Photos contributed by Christina Wise.
