To many children who have so little, Officer Randy meant so much.
He brought them bicycles at Christmas. He took them to Dodgers games and McDonald's. He got them new shoes for school. He invited them to day camp for a swim and slipped their parents money for groceries.
Nearly every weekend he visited lower income neighborhoods from Carson to Watts to South-Central, as part of a church group he founded -- Glory Kids Ministries -- to steer youngsters from gangs and toward the gospels.
He helped a mom weather her battle with cancer, and his influence on children often rubbed off on the unruly adults in their lives.
And now he was gone.
For the first time, the Glory Kids vans made their Saturday pilgrimages without Los Angeles Police Officer Randal Simmons, 51, who was shot to death Thursday during a SWAT raid in the San Fernando Valley.
The Glory Kids volunteers tried to explain to the likes of Machealle Corswell, 12, how it could be that Simmons would no longer dress up as Santa for their holiday celebration, or shoot baskets with them on the playground, or treat them to the USC-UCLA football game.
"He was like an uncle to me," said Machealle, who could not stop crying. She was among three dozen children the Glory Kids crew met with at Scottsdale Townhouses in Carson. "When I heard about it on the news, I didn't want to talk to anybody," Machealle said, echoing the anger and confusion expressed by other children who had been in Simmons' orbit.
"It's not fair," said Tommy Newsome, 12, who stared watery-eyed across the Scottsdale basketball court. "I called him my hero. He was going to take us to the skate park next week."
The Glory Kids team Saturday set up loudspeakers at Scottsdale, played a quick round of Jesus-themed "Simon Says" with the children, gave them balloons and said it was OK to cry. More than anything, they stressed that Simmons would not want them to lose faith.
"Where's Randy right now?" asked Greg Parra, a church minister.
"In heaven!" the children shouted in unison.
They cheered as they released the balloons into the sky, as a way of letting go of their sorrow.
But still they struggled.
Eleven-year-old Julian Johnson said he was "mad" about Simmons' killing.
"He always came here to tell us about God," said Julian, who was straddling his bike. "That's how all the kids here know about God."
