Tag: Wayzata Police

EDITOR’S NOTE: This story in Wayzata.com is unlike any we have published before. The loss of Officer James W. Anderson, killed in the line of duty on August 31, 1982, marks one of the darkest days in our community’s history.

We approach this coverage with care and humility. Our intent is not only to recount what happened, but to honor Anderson’s life of service and reflect the grief, respect, and unity that continue to shape Wayzata.

A note of sensitivity: Some of the content includes descriptions of violence that may be difficult to read. Out of respect for Sgt. Anderson’s family, colleagues, and community, many photographs and descriptions — particularly the most graphic — have not been published.

The images presented here were provided by retired Officer Jim Wilson from his personal archive. They are the work of photographer Larry Baier, who volunteered countless hours capturing heroic images of public safety personnel. Other photographs he took that day ran in both the Star Tribune and the Wayzata Weekly News at the time.

Every word and image here is offered as a collective remembrance — a way for Wayzata to pause, reflect, and carry forward Sgt. Anderson’s legacy of service. This work has been prepared with the oversight and guidance of retired Officer Jim Wilson, and was submitted prior to publication to current Chief of Police Jamie Baker to ensure accuracy, integrity, and respect.

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Jim Wilson and I recently met for lunch at the Muni, the kind of place where the servers know your name. Wilson ordered a cup of chili. I went with the BLT and a Diet Coke. At first, it was small talk — the kind of easy back-and-forth that helps two people find their footing.

Wayzata Bar and Grill

But when the conversation turned to August 31, 1982, Jim’s face changed. His voice dropped, and there was a pause before he finally said: “That was J.W.’s birthday. He wasn’t even supposed to be working that day.”

Wilson remembers finishing a shift on the dog watch — “from eleven p.m. to seven a.m., overnight,” as he put it. His wife, Gayle, shook him awake to the thrum of helicopters and a surge of sirens pouring into town. Wilson phoned Hennepin County dispatch and was told Sgt. Anderson had been shot.

Even four decades later, the words were burned into him.

Wilson set his spoon down, eyes fixed on something that wasn’t in front of him. “You never forget,” he said.

As he spoke, the weight of it filled the space between us. The loss hadn’t only scarred a department or a town; it had changed him. Sitting in that booth, chili and sandwich cooling on the table, the story of that day returned — raw, halting, and still unbearably close.

As he talked about the events of that day, Wilson turned the thick pages of a photo scrapbook he’s carried for decades, the plastic sleeves cloudy with age, the photographs inside still sharp. Each image is a fragment of a day he cannot forget.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” he recalled. “You don’t expect to hear that in Wayzata. But it was J.W., and I knew I had to get there.”

When he arrived, the whole town seemed to be in motion. Squad cars from neighboring towns were screaming toward Wayzata. The UPI wire reported that officers converged on the Wayzata Post Office, rifles drawn, as stunned residents looked on. For Wilson, it wasn’t an image on paper; it was the scene in front of him.

The Star Tribune called it “a mid-morning eruption of violence in a quiet lakeside community.” The Wayzata Weekly News told readers that “residents gathered silently on the sidewalks, some weeping, others praying.”

“It shook the whole town,” he said. “You could feel it.”

There are numerous accounts of that day — three crime scenes unfolding in rapid succession, more than 200 law enforcement officers converging from across the metro, SWAT teams, the FBI, the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Department, and squads from Minnetonka, Orono, and St. Louis Park. Helicopters circled overhead as downtown Wayzata was locked down, the air heavy with confusion and fear.

“I still see it,” Wilson stated over lunch. “More than forty years later, I still see it.”

The Sergeant & the Town

In 1982, Sgt. James W. Anderson was a senior man on the Wayzata Police Department. To most, he was simply “J.W.” At 36, he carried the calm authority of someone both respected and relied upon. Away from the uniform, he was on the edge of a new beginning — soon to be divorced, recently engaged to Eunice Swanson, the Bridgeman’s manager across the street, and helping raise her daughter, Tammi, alongside his own three boys. Colleagues remembered him as an even hand — the kind of officer who could steady a scene without force or theatrics.

Anderson, a veteran officer, followed Chief Dave Brehm from the Minnetonka Police Department, where Brehm had been deputy chief and Anderson a patrolman. When Brehm took the helm in Wayzata, he soon named Anderson the city’s first sergeant — a new rank in a department of just seven officers.

Wayzata’s force was small, covering a town of roughly 3,000. The office was tucked inside the municipal building downtown, a short walk from the post office, the hardware store, and the handful of restaurants on Lake Street. The roster was lean but close-knit — men who traded shifts, saw one another at church, and often grabbed coffee together after patrol.

Among the younger officers around the department were Jim Wilson, who worked the overnight “dog watch,” and Greg Rye, then serving as a community service officer and part-time reserve. Both would later describe Anderson as a mentor and a steadying force — someone they could lean on when the work pressed in too hard. In many ways, he bridged the gap between the city’s seasoned veterans and those just finding their footing.

Wayzata in those years was a lakeside town proud of its quiet reputation. The Wayzata Weekly News brimmed with block party notices, high school football previews, and Chamber of Commerce updates. Violent crime was something that happened in Minneapolis or St. Paul, not here. Most days, the police calls were routine: bar fights, shoplifting, the occasional domestic dispute.

For Anderson, policing was more than enforcement. He believed in presence, in knowing people by name, in being part of the community he served. He was the department’s first line of stability — both for residents and for the younger officers who looked to him.

The Star Tribune would later note that his killing was the first time a Wayzata officer had died in the line of duty. But in late August 1982, that idea felt unimaginable. On the last morning of that summer, the town was in its ordinary rhythm: children heading back to school, merchants opening their doors, boats cutting across Lake Minnetonka.

And on that morning, though it was his 36th birthday and he wasn’t scheduled to work, Sgt. James W. Anderson reported for duty.

The Birthday Shift

Wilson remembered finishing the overnight “dog watch” and giving Anderson a ride in for the day shift. J.W. wasn’t even scheduled to work — he was filling in for an officer on honeymoon. As Wilson dropped him off, he wished him a happy 36th birthday. Anderson laughed, and Wilson told him he’d see him again at three, when he doubled back for the evening watch.

The Apartment

At 10:43 a.m., Hennepin County dispatch put out the call: a domestic disturbance at 930 Rice Street.

It sounded routine — the kind of family call Anderson had handled countless times before. In Wayzata, most police work meant noise complaints, bar scuffles, the occasional shoplifter. That morning, George’s mother, Gladys, phoned to say her son was “breaking up the place.” When the dispatcher asked about weapons, she said no. Anderson knew Johnson and expected nothing more than another disturbance to settle.

“Do you have someone with you?” the dispatcher asked. “No,” J.W. replied. “You could start someone like [Orono], I suppose. I’ll get ahold of you from inside. He’s about 37 years old — George Johnson.”

As Jim Wilson later pieced together, Anderson drove over alone, entered the building, walked the basement hall, and knocked on Johnson’s door. Inside, Johnson had been tearing the place apart; his mother’s frightened call still echoed on the dispatch line. The door opened. Johnson stood in the frame, a revolver in his hand.

The first shot caught Anderson in the abdomen as he turned. He staggered backward down the narrow hall. Johnson fired again; the round struck his hip and dropped him to the floor.

In the stillness that followed, Johnson walked forward with a chilling calm and fired several more rounds into Anderson’s chest.

Neighbors would later recall hearing the bursts of gunfire; Chief Brehm said simply that Anderson “was shot as he walked in.” However it was described, the result was the same. Anderson — 36 years old, a senior man on the Wayzata force — lay mortally wounded in the hallway. Johnson bent down, unfastened the holster, and took the sergeant’s service pistol before stepping out into the bright late-summer morning.

Stunned by what she had just seen, Gladys Johnson bolted from the apartment and ran across Superior Street to the Goodyear store. Breathless and hysterical, she told the manager, Paul Havens, that her son had shot a police officer. Havens grabbed the phone and called it in. Within minutes, squads from Orono, Minnetonka & Plymouth swarmed the block and began locking down the building.

Wayzata’s chief, Dave Brehm, was already on his way back to Wayzata after a meeting with Congressman Jim Ramstad when he heard the call. After racing to the scene, he made the decision to send officers inside. In the dim basement hallway, they found Sgt. Anderson, unconscious and gravely wounded.

Back at home sleeping, Jim Wilson was jolted awake by his wife, Gayle. From their house he could hear the chop of helicopters and the rise of sirens streaming into Wayzata. Something was terribly wrong. He called the Hennepin County Sheriff’s dispatch and learned the unthinkable: Sgt. Anderson had been shot.

Wilson rushed to Lake Street and Minnetonka Avenue, where a makeshift command post was forming.

Chief Dave Brehm pulled him aside and explained what had happened.

City Hall

After gunning down Anderson, Johnson moved up Rice Street toward City Hall, midway between the apartments and the post office where the day would end. He pushed through the doors and entered the Department of Motor Vehicles, which had recently taken over the space once occupied by the Hennepin County courts.

Inside, he opened fire. Tom Schleich, a janitor, and Kathy Miklethun, a clerk working behind the license plate counter, were struck and badly wounded. Both would survive. Investigators later believed Johnson, still seething over a recent DWI arrest, mistook the DMV for the courthouse and unleashed his rage on the people inside.

In the chaos, Steven Larson—there to buy a license—panicked and hurled himself through the plate-glass entrance to escape the gunfire. He suffered multiple cuts and was treated and released from Methodist Hospital in St. Louis Park — one more shard of the violence that shattered an ordinary morning.

The Post Office

From City Hall, Johnson scrambled the two blocks to the Wayzata Post Office and entered through the public door. “I was working the counter alone at about 10:30,” clerk Donn Wood recalled. “George Johnson came in with a gun in his hand and one strapped to his chest and demanded I open the door by the box section to let him in.” Johnson stepped into the workroom and lined the staff up at gunpoint. After a while, he told them to leave.

He then moved into the postmaster’s office—on the same level—pulled the blinds, and remained inside as police officers sealed off downtown.

Minnetonka Cpl. Ken Hatcher crouched behind his squad car on Indian Mound Street, within sight of the postmaster’s window. A single shot cracked through the glass. The bullet struck his squad car, fragmented, and a shard tore into his head. Hatcher felt the warm flow of blood but managed to stay on his feet; he was soon rushed from the scene and survived with a minor wound.

At 11:12 a.m., a call came over the radio: the suspect might already be down. Someone inside had reported Johnson slumped in a chair, with blood across his chest. A postal worker even peeked into the office & saw him motionless. Still, no one could be sure. Officers feared a trap, the command post held the line.

Because the post office was a federal building, the FBI dispatched its Minneapolis SWAT team, joining other officers from Hennepin County, Minnetonka, and St. Louis Park.

By midday, downtown Wayzata was sealed off by hundreds of officers. Helicopters circled overhead, phone calls rang unanswered inside, and rifles stayed trained on the quiet brick building. The standoff dragged on for hours.

It wasn’t until late that afternoon, when SWAT finally stormed the building, that they found Johnson dead in the postmaster’s office with Sgt. Anderson’s service weapon in his hand. On the desk beside him lay a note with two words: “It’s over.”

The official reports said simply that Johnson was found dead in the postmaster’s office from a self-inflicted gunshot.

For postal clerk Donn Wood—who had been lined up at gunpoint—the memory remains blunt. “He went into the Postmaster’s office and [shot himself],” Wood said. “I later saw them carry him out around 5 p.m.”

The Aftermath

By the next morning, the story had spread far beyond Lake Street. The Minneapolis Star and Tribune laid out the facts with clinical precision: a 36-year-old Wayzata police sergeant, shot and killed while investigating a disturbance; a suspect dead by his own hand inside the Wayzata Post Office; a lakeside community left shaken.

The article traced the day’s grim arc — Anderson’s approach to the apartment, the sudden eruption of gunfire, and the long standoff at the post office, where George Johnson had already taken his own life early on — a sequence that briefly thrust Wayzata into the center of the Twin Cities news cycle.

But it was the Wayzata News a few days later that gave the tragedy its hometown texture. Its September 6th edition described a community in mourning, a police department in shock, and a Main Street still stunned by the sight of employees leaving the post office with their hands over their heads. Where the metropolitan press focused on the sequence, the Weekly focused on the absence left behind: a well-liked sergeant gone on his birthday, a fiancée without a future, and young sons without a father.

“On the morning of August 31 the peaceful pace of life in Wayzata was tragically rocked by the shooting rampage of a man often seen about town, but not well known. In less than an hour, George Johnson, worked into a rage over a ticket he had been issued more than a year ago, took the life of Wayzata’s police sergeant, shot two city employees, and injured a Minnetonka policeman.”

The news of the incident spread like a crushing tide throughout the community. People talked in hushed voices and prayed there would be no more victims. Police departments from miles around — plus law enforcement officials from county, state, and federal agencies — kept up an anxiety-ridden hour-by-hour vigil on the post office, and in the end learned what they had suspected all along: George Johnson had taken his own life. Together, the coverage sketched both the public and private dimensions of loss: the blunt reality of violence in the headlines, and the quieter grief carried in a town where almost everyone knew someone who was impacted that day.

The Funeral

On Wednesday, September 1, 1982, mourners gathered at the David Lee Funeral Home in Wayzata, where Sgt. James W. Anderson lay in repose.

Three days later, on Friday, September 3, 1982, more than 800 mourners filled Redeemer Lutheran Church in Wayzata for the funeral. Rev. Gregory Bodin, chaplain at North Memorial Hospital, officiated.

The sanctuary overflowed; people stood in the aisles and spilled into adjoining rooms. Uniformed officers from across Minnesota filled pews alongside city staff, neighbors, and the Anderson family. Pallbearers included Jerry Anderson, Jack Jaruszewski, Jerry Miller, Richard O’Hara, Pat O’Neil, David Brehm, Dick Anderson, Tracy Johnson, Tom Arnold, Howard Drobny, and Ted Wangen.

The Wayzata Police Department served as honorary pallbearers, joined by officers from surrounding communities.

When the service ended, a procession of squad cars stretched for blocks, a patrol car at the front draped in black. At its center was Anderson’s own squad, driven by Jim Wilson and Greg Rye.

Under a warm September sky, his casket was carried into Lakewood Cemetery in Minneapolis and laid to rest with full police honors.

His obituary and local coverage described him as “a servant to all people and a victim of violence while protecting the public.” Even in death, the community sought to transform grief into legacy, establishing the James W. Anderson Memorial Education Fund.

He left three sons — Tim, Brian, and Bill — his fiancée, Eunice Swanson, and her daughter Tammi, along with his father, William, his brother Jerry, and his sister Marilyn Leadstrom.

The Man Behind the Badge

James William “J.W.” Anderson was born on August 31, 1946, in Minneapolis. A graduate of Benilde High School, he entered the Air Force, serving in the Strategic Air Command’s ICBM security division.

After his military service, he pursued a career in law enforcement — first as a Hennepin County deputy sheriff in 1967, then with the Minnetonka Police Department in 1969. In the spring of 1981, Anderson joined the Wayzata Police Department.

Within a year, he was promoted to sergeant — the first officer in the department’s history to earn promotion through a competitive process overseen by a board of police chiefs. His career reflected both dedication and expertise, marked by hundreds of hours of specialized training.
Colleagues knew him as steady and measured, a public servant who viewed policing as an act of protecting all people. Friends described a man with a wry sense of humor, deeply devoted to his family and community.

Anderson’s story — from Air Force veteran to the first promoted sergeant in Wayzata’s history — endures as both personal and civic memory. His life, and the way it was taken, continues to symbolize the risks borne by those who serve and the enduring bonds between a small town and its protectors.

The Tributes

Here are a few of the notes that have gathered over four decades—neighbors, friends of friends, fellow officers, and family—each carrying a fragment of the man they knew. They read like quiet dispatches from a community still remembering. What follows is a small selection, presented as written.

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Greater love has no one than this, That someone lay down his life for his friends.

Matthew Anderson, Grandson
December 12, 2018

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I was Mr. Anderson’s neighbor and grew up with his sons. He was always a fun person to be around, and my dad enjoyed having a few beers with him. I would love to hear from anyone who knows how I can reach his sons, Scott or Tim. They moved away when we were in junior high. My prayers are still with Mr. Anderson.

Lance Streff (Johnson), Neighbor
February 2, 2007

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My father was a patrol officer with the Wayzata Police Department, and he worked alongside Sgt. Anderson. I remember the day of this incident vividly and will never forget it. I was in grade school then, in a building located across the street from the Wayzata P.D. I remember hearing the sirens and feeling afraid for my father’s safety.

Only now, as a police officer myself, can I truly look back and appreciate the sacrifice Sgt. Anderson made for his community. I honor him for that, and I continue to pray for his family and friends. Thanks, Sarge.

Officer C. Poclington #89
Scottsdale Police Department
Arizona August 30, 2003

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My dad, Tom Arnold considered Jim a close friend, and has shared great memories of their times together. It was touching to see the memorial in his honor 30 years later and am glad that my dad was able to see it. He misses his time with Jim, as I am sure many do. He had a lasting impact on all who met him.

Tina Arnold
April 29, 2022

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While I never had the chance to know J.W., I know we will never forget his service and sacrifice. Those at the Wayzata Police Department will forever carry on your legacy. Forty years ago today, on his 36th birthday, we lost a hero. Rest in peace brother, we’ll take the watch from here.

Chief Marc Schultz
Wayzata Police Department
August 31, 2022

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Rest in peace always knowing that your service and sacrifice will never, ever be forgotten by your law enforcement brethren.

Detective Cpl/3 Steven Rizzo
Delaware State Police (Retired)
August 31, 2020

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“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” Matthew 5:9

Marshal Chris Di Gerolamo
Federal Air Marshal Service
September 8, 2017

Source: https://www.odmp.org/officer/reflections/1209-sergeant-james-william-anderson

The Aftermath

The impact of Anderson’s death rippled far beyond the crime scenes that day. For generations, Wayzata had been the kind of town where you left the doors unlocked, where the police station sat across from the grade school, and the most common calls were noise complaints, bar scuffles, or the occasional shoplifter. The shootings of August 31, 1982 shattered that sense of insulation.

For Jim Wilson, it was life-altering. He admitted the trauma stayed with him for years. In 1982, there were no real programs to help officers process what they had seen. “You basically took a day or two and went right back to work, without having a chance to deal with your trauma,” he said.

Eventually, counseling gave him a way forward. “I’ll never forget J.W. or August 31, 1982, but now I can deal with my emotions in a positive way.”

Each year on the anniversary, a small group of Minnetonka and Wayzata officers — most now retired — gather at Anderson’s grave at Lakewood Cemetery. Wilson’s son Dave, now a Wayzata officer himself, makes sure someone from the department is always present.

Greg Rye, then a part-time reserve and community service officer, carried scars of his own. “August 31, 1982 changed my life forever,” he later said. “As a member of the Wayzata Police Department, I learned that day the difference between love and hate… right versus wrong… good and evil. Sgt. Anderson was my boss, mentor, and friend. I never fully recovered, battling depression, alcohol, and anger management. The loss was profound and sent me searching for another career path.”

Those who lived through it have never forgotten the contrast. In a place where serious crime felt distant, the sudden eruption of gunfire — at an apartment, at City Hall, and finally in the post office — left scars that ran deeper than the broken glass or the crime tape.

What had once felt like a safe and sheltered town now carried the memory of its darkest day, a reminder that violence could find even a place like Wayzata.

In 2016, Jim Wilson’s former wife, Gayle, helped lead the effort to create a permanent memorial outside Wayzata City Hall.

The monument honors both Sgt. J.W. Anderson and Officer Bill Matthews, who was killed in 2017 while clearing debris from Highway 12 just east of Ferndale Road. The memorial stands today along the east side of City Hall, a quiet reminder of the officers who gave their lives in service to the community.

Jim Wilson asks that each August 31 the community pause to remember J.W. — “a true Wayzata hero” who gave his life protecting this town—and to never forget the sacrifices of Sgt. James W. Anderson and Officer Bill Matthews.

The Gunman

George Alfred Johnson was a familiar yet little-known figure in Wayzata. Neighbors remembered him as quiet, a man often seen but rarely understood.

Behind that exterior, however, lay a simmering resentment. According to news reports, he had grown embittered over a year-old traffic ticket, convinced he had been unfairly singled out by the system.

On the morning of August 31, 1982, that grievance erupted. Armed with multiple weapons, Johnson moved through downtown with chilling intent. Within an hour he had shot and killed Sgt. James W. Anderson and wounded two city employees inside City Hall.

By late morning, he stormed the Wayzata Post Office, holding clerks at gunpoint and triggering a siege that drew law enforcement from across the Twin Cities. During the standoff at the post office, a Minnetonka police officer was grazed by gunfire. Johnson retreated to the postmaster’s office and ended his own life with a gunshot.

For the town, the violence was unthinkable. The Wayzata Weekly News reported how a man “worked into a rage over a ticket” had cut down a respected sergeant and paralyzed a community.

In the end, Johnson’s life ended as suddenly as the one he had taken, leaving only grief and the haunting question of how bitterness had curdled into such destruction.

The Photographer

On August 31, 1982, Baier was in Wayzata documenting one of the city’s darkest days. Some of his photographs ran in the Star Tribune and the Wayzata Weekly News; others remained unpublished, preserved by retired Officer Jim Wilson.

He passed away in 2020 at the age of 82, remembered by his wife Lyn, his extended family, and countless friends. His legacy endures not only in those relationships, but also in the images he left behind — photographs that continue to remind us of sacrifice, resilience, and community.

Through his photographs, Baier helped ensure that Sgt. Anderson’s sacrifice — and Wayzata’s grief — would never be forgotten.

Special Thanks

Jim Wilson, Larry Baier, Greg Rye, Donn Wood, Mike Lee & David Lee Funeral Home, Wayzata Police Department Chief Jamie Baker, Sue Sorrentino & Joanie Holst at the Lake Minneotonka Historical Society, Hennepin County Dispatch, UPI, Minneapolis Star Tribune, Wayzata Weekly News, Officer Down Memorial Page.

With gratitude to those who served with Sgt. J.W. Anderson.

Joint Statement by City Leadership

As Wayzata remembers, the voices of today’s city leadership carry forward the weight of that loss. Their words, offered together, reflect not only the deep respect for Sgt. Anderson’s sacrifice but also the gratitude owed to every officer who continues to serve.

“On August 31st we pause to honor the memory of Sergeant James W. Anderson, a dedicated public servant who was killed in the line of duty on August 31, 1982.

Sergeant Anderson, a 13-year veteran of law enforcement, made the ultimate sacrifice for our community. He was just 36 years old and was killed on his birthday while responding to a domestic disturbance call. His death was a profound and tragic loss that continues to be felt not only by our city, and those who responded from other cities.

We ask our community to join us in remembering Sergeant Anderson’s service and his ultimate sacrifice. We also extend our deepest gratitude to the brave officers who continue to protect and serve Wayzata with courage and integrity every single day. His memory is a permanent and honored part of our city’s history.”

— Wayzata Police Chief Jamie Baker, Interim City Manager Mike Kelly, and Mayor Andrew Mullin

Blessed are the Peacemakers

Just outside Wayzata City Hall, a quiet granite monument stands in honor of Sergeant James W. “JW” Anderson — the first Wayzata police officer to be killed in the line of duty. Dedicated in 2018, the memorial serves as a place of reflection and remembrance, not only for Sgt. Anderson, who was ambushed and killed on August 31, 1982, but also for Officer Bill Mathews, who lost his life while serving the community in 2017.

Community members and visitors are invited to pause here, to reflect on the sacrifices made in service to public safety, and to honor the courage of those who protect Wayzata every day. The memorial is open to the public year-round — a permanent reminder that their lives, their service, and their sacrifice will never be forgotten.

“With profound gratitude, the citizens of Wayzata honor our peace officers. The brave members of our police force who protect our community. They are the keystone of our safety, the enforcers of our law and order, the first responders to our crises, the calm solvers of our problems large and small. They are our peacemakers who risk their own lives for our. This memorial is dedicated to our peacemakers past, present, and future. We invite you to reflect on their courage, their devotion to duty, the sacrifices they and their families make for their commitment to public service, and their pride in the badge they wear.”