True and Fascinating Canadian History
Vet of the Month: July, 2025
A Sad Memory of Reg.#25214, Constable Terry Tomfohr:
A Life Cut Short in RCMP Service
RCMP Vets. Ottawa, ON
Nearly sixty years ago, a young constable in the scarlet uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police met a tragic end during the night while carrying out his police duties. His name was Constable Terry Eugene Tomfohr. He was just 19 years old—barely at the start of his career—when his life was cut short in the line of duty. I remember that night vividly and with deep sorrow. I was on motorcycle patrol at Pattullo Bridge not that far away, and I listened over the police radio as the search unfolded in the dark. No one could imagine that Terry had fallen to his death. The fear and helplessness of that night have never left me.
Constable Tomfohr was born in Lethbridge, Alberta and raised in the town of Milk River. On October 25, 1966, he joined the RCMP and began training at “Depot” Division in Regina, Saskatchewan—the world class national basic training RCMP Academy known for its rigorous preparation of new recruits. He graduated on May 9, 1967, proudly earning his place in the ranks of the Force.
Just three weeks into his new assignment at Burnaby Detachment, and still unfamiliar with the rugged terrain of Burnaby Mountain—near what is now Simon Fraser University—Constable Tomfohr was dispatched one evening to investigate reports of teenagers causing a disturbance in a wooded area. While searching in the darkness and heavy underbrush, he tragically fell over a cliff, plunging nearly 200 feet to his death. His body was not found until later in the night, and investigators eventually confirmed that no foul play was suspected.
The night he died is etched permanently in my memory. Although I was no longer posted at Burnaby, I remember vividly listening to the unfolding events on the police radio. The atmosphere was tense and increasingly frightening. No one could find Terry, and the darkness made the search nearly impossible. The area was not fenced in, and one step off the path could mean certain death. No one could imagine that he had already fallen to his death. The sense of helplessness and dread that hung in the air that night is something I have never forgotten.
I went to Terry’s memorial service in Richmond, B.C., a few days after his death. It was a very sad and sobering time for me. It was the first time I had seen a fellow RCMP member lying in a casket wearing the red serge. Terry looked very young—almost too young to be gone. The image of him in red serge, at rest, has stayed with me ever since.
Having spent over a year and a half posted at Burnaby Detachment myself, I was very familiar with the terrain around Burnaby Mountain. I knew the steep paths, the heavy underbrush, and the sudden drop-offs that could become invisible in the dark. That night, Terry had been sent to search for some noisy teenagers in those woods—something I had done myself on similar calls. I’ve often thought about how easily that could have been me. The danger was real, and Terry’s death was a reminder of how unforgiving the job could be—even on what might seem like a routine call.
The loss of Terry at Burnaby Detachment was devastating. He was a beloved son to parents Mr. and Mrs. Eugene A. Tomfohr, and a dearly loved brother to Leigh (also a member of the RCMP). He was also a cherished grandson. No ceremony or words could truly soften the blow of such a profound and heartbreaking loss.
Constable Tomfohr had only just begun his journey in the Force. He wore the RCMP uniform with pride, stepping into a role where danger can arise at any moment—often without warning, and sometimes with tragic consequences. Police work--especially in uniform--is inherently hazardous. It calls for altertness, courage, unwavering commitment, and the acceptance that, from one moment to the next, everything in one's life can change.
Terry’s story reminds all police officers not only of the dangers inherent in policing, but of the youth, promise, and human lives that are too often lost in the name of Canada, the RCMP and public service. His name deserves to be remembered—not as a brief mention in the history of the RCMP, but as a lasting symbol of the quiet bravery that defines those who wear the Red Serge.
Rest in peace, Constable Terry Tomfohr. You are not forgotten.
A monument (photo below) to Constable Terry Tomfohr now stands at Burnaby Detachment, a solemn reminder of his service and sacrifice. I have often visited it over the years. Each time, I am reminded not only of that tragic night, but of the quiet bravery he embodied—and the bond that all members of the Force share across generations.
This story is drawn from my memory of the night nealy 60 years ago that Constable Terry Tomfohr lost his life in the line of duty. With the help of an AI language model (Anthropic's Claude), I was able to improve its structure and readability while preserving the emotion and truth of that night.
Reporting from Fort Healy,
J. J. Healy
June 23rd, 2025
