Paul Korber was a strong swimmer and a dedicated law enforcement officer. He worked for the Ventura, California, Harbor Patrol. On March 15, 1998, Officer Korber received a call for help. Two young boys and their mother had been caught in an ocean rip tide and were struggling for their lives.

When efforts to reach the family by boat failed due to rough seas, Officer Korber dove in to make the rescue. He reached the family and managed to keep them afloat long enough for lifeguards to get them to safety. But, Officer Korber wasn't so lucky. Tossed into a jetty by the six-foot waves, he became disoriented and drowned. Paul Korber, an 11-year veteran of the department saved three lives that day . . . and in doing so, he gave up his own.

Shortly after that terrible tragedy, a letter appeared in the local newspaper. It was written by the man who had called the Harbor Patrol for help. The man was humbled by what he had witnessed that day and he wanted others to know. He wrote, "We often hear comments directed at firemen, lifeguards, harbor patrols and other safety professionals about the ease of their jobs. In the absence of catastrophe, some people assume their work is rather inconsequential. But those of us who have been saved . . . know the real truth. And the truth is that if 364 days go by without incident, and on the 365th, that man or woman has to break through a burning door, or swim out through the swells on a big day, they earn everything we pay them in that moment. For Paul [Korber] and his family, that debt, in fact, can never be paid, but we understand the value of his commitment."

Paul Korber is one of roughly 170 law enforcement officers who drowned, died in boating accidents, or were killed enforcing fishing laws on our nation's waterways. All of their names appear on the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial in Washington, D.C.

Those officers typify the selfless heroism that is the norm for the law enforcement profession. They include heroes like Kentucky Conservation Officer Denver Tabor, who in 1973, drowned while trying to save a young boy who fell overboard from a boat; and Sergeant Karl Kelley, of the Indiana Department of Natural Resources, who drowned in 1998 while trying to rescue two of his colleagues who had fallen into swirling waters during a dangerous training exercise; and Pennsylvania Fish Warden Raymond Schroll Jr., who in 1958 had nearly swum ashore after his boat overturned in a rain-swollen river, but drowned when he heard his partner's cries for help and returned to attempt a rescue.

A review of these cases also points to the senselessness of so many attacks on those who enforce our laws. Just ask the officers serving with the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission. They can tell you the story of Wildlife Officer Dewey McCall who, in 1971, was shot to death after issuing a man a citation for an undersized fish. Or, let the deputies in St. Clair County (MI) tell you what happened to Lieutenant Donald Bezenah when he tried to arrest a drunken boater. Instead of stopping, the drunken man rammed his boat into Lieutenant Bezenah's, killing the 51-year-old law enforcement veteran.

Or, talk to members of the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission. They will remind you of what happened nearly 80 years ago to the legendary fish warden, William E. Shoemaker, the first line of duty death in the department's history. Fish Warden Shoemaker loved having a job that kept him close to the natural world. He performed his duties in an aggressive and no-nonsense manner. In those days, not everyone agreed that the government had the right to regulate the taking of fish and game, let alone charge a fee for the right to do so. In fact, Fish Warden Shoemaker was actually barred by the railroad from boarding its trains and checking for hunters and fishermen. But, that was nothing compared to the treatment he received on the evening of August 25, 1921. As he was returning home around 9:30 p.m., Fish Warden Shoemaker spotted two men spearfishing in a local creek. He was preparing to arrest one of the men for fishing without a license when the other one grabbed the lawman's gun and fired at point-blank range. William Shoemaker died 28 days later. His assailant served less than 10 years in jail for the crime.

Robert C. Banker, a conservation officer with the Kentucky Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources, suffered a similar fate on March 19, 1987. After issuing a fishing citation, he was shot in the chest three times. One of the darkest days for our nation's conservation officers occurred on July 12, 1940, in Minnesota. Three officers with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources — Douglas P. Brady, Melvin A. Holt, and Marcus E. Whipps —were conducting what they thought was a routine interview with some commercial fishermen when they were shot and killed.

So often, the law enforcement officer puts himself or herself in harm's way so that others can be safe. Certainly, that was the case with many of the officers who have drowned while trying to spare others from danger. In 1903, Kansas City (MO) Patrolman Joseph P. Keenan drowned when he was swept away by flood waters while attempting to take a group of citizens to safer ground. Ten years later, Captain Allen D. McGown, of the Findlay (OH) Police Department, was trying to rescue a family from their home in eight feet of flood waters when the boat they were in capsized and Captain McGown drowned. Michigan State Trooper Ralph Broullire was attempting to rescue two boys stranded on an ice flow in Saginaw Bay when he fell in the water and drowned on December 18, 1937.

In the law enforcement profession, even the most routine of circumstances can become life threatening. That is especially true when the officer is working on or near water. In 1966, Maryland Natural Resources Police Officer George T. Mullikin suffered a fatal heart attack while scuba diving on the job. On May 28, 1990, Texas Game Wardens Franklin Hill and William Decker drowned when their patrol boat struck a submerged tree stump. On May 24, 1998, Deputy Sheriff Edward R. Callahan, of the Douglas County (NV) Sheriff's Office, was on routine patrol with his partner on Lake Tahoe. As they were coming into the dock, a large wave overturned their boat. Deputy Callahan was pulled under the water and never resurfaced.

And, even more recently, Captain John Garlington of the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries drowned on February 10 of this year while investigating an illegal fishing report. In June, Sergeant Alane Stoffregen died during a deep-water diving exercise with the Chicago Police Department's marine unit.

Some departments have begun to pass policies making it mandatory that officers wear personal floatation devices while patrolling our waterways. History tells us that such measures will help to save lives. But, more needs to be done to protect our officers on the water and on land, because the only certainty of police work is that danger could strike at any moment.