Two days ago, at Trooper Jill E. Mattice's wake, her aunt and pastor began talking about

two cherished items inside the Cheektowaga native's casket:

Her "Boo-Bear," a doll from her childhood, and the State Police badge she wore on the final

day of her life.

"Symbolically, these two items represent bookends, representing the beginning and the end

of her life here with us," Pastor Bea Radakovich of Buffalo Covenant Church said at Mattice's

worship service Tuesday.

For almost two hours in Eastern Hills Wesleyan Church in Clarence, nine speakers filled in

the intervening memories they had of Mattice, from the time she first hugged her "Boo-Bear"

until her last days as a state trooper.

The pastor called them "precious memories that for many years will comfort us and make us

smile."

The former Jill Farrar, 31, became the first female State Police officer to die in the line

of duty when she was killed in a traffic accident last Wednesday.

Tuesday's service was an impressive show of love and support, as Gov. David A. Paterson

joined the "long gray line" of more than 500 State Police officers and hundreds of other

officers from across the country in saying their final goodbyes.

As mourners entered the church, they walked through an honor guard formation: two lines of

40 troopers each. Outside were all the trappings of a hero's funeral, with flashing police

lights, fire truck ladders raised in a "V" formation, the State Police Pipes and Drums Unit

and lines of police officers from as far away as California, Texas and Florida.

A crowd of about 1,500, dominated by the large police presence, sat through an almost

two-hour worship service, listening to the words of speakers ranging from Paterson and State

Police Superintendent Harry J. Corbitt to a childhood friend who made snow angels with her as

a little girl.

Paterson paid tribute to the "long gray line," which he said has distinguished itself since

1917.

"What makes them extraordinary," the governor said, is that "for every waking hour, they

are willing to put themselves in peril to protect the citizens of this state."

Sometimes, he added, troopers suffer the same fate that befalls other citizens, such as

being killed in a traffic accident. How Mattice died, Paterson hinted, doesn't take away from

her status as a hero.

"We have to remember that she is one of those heroes, that she was willing to face a

different kind of end, if [someone] needed her help," he said.

Speakers at the worship service painted a portrait of Mattice: as a courageous trooper; as

an athlete who played sports with ease and a sense of fairness; as a woman who could be tough

as teeth or gentle as a lamb in her job; as a practical joker and a young woman who knew how

to have a good time; as a woman with a big smile and bubbly personality; and as a loving

family and church member.

"Jill was an individual whom we all loved dearly," Maj. Kevin G. Molinari, the Troop C

commander, said before the funeral. "She treated everyone [with whom] she came into contact

... with dignity, kindness, compassion and respect."

Corbitt, the State Police superintendent, pointed out that many people's lives end with a

period, marking the end. But Mattice's life ended with a semicolon, he said, with her spirit

living on.

The superintendent quoted an African proverb: "As long as one lives in your heart, they

never die. ... To the State Police, Jill will always live."

Sgt. Mark Barbera, a colleague from the State Police barracks at Oneonta, told a story that

revealed both Mattice's courage as a trooper and her goofy, practical-joker side.

Several years ago, Barbera and Mattice stopped a vehicle driven by a burly, snarling giant

whom Barbera kiddingly described as about 6-feet-10 and 500 pounds.

Barbera sounded as if he was quaking in his boots, before Mattice walked up behind him,

showing him she had his back.

"You're hot," the suspected drunken driver told Mattice. When Barbera scolded the man about

being disrespectful, Mattice took over the situation, administered the field-sobriety tests,

handcuffed the man and read him his Miranda rights.

About half an hour after the two troopers resumed routine patrol, as Barbera was praising

his young colleague, his cell phone rang, and the caller said, "Hey, when are we going out?

You're hot."

"Gotcha," Mattice told Barbera, with a big smile. She apparently had given the driver the

cell-phone number.

Mattice was killed when her police cruiser collided with a tractor-trailer in Otsego County

last week. The accident occurred as she was returning to the Oneonta barracks from her

assignment as a school resource officer.

She was an accomplished athlete who played volleyball, basketball and softball at Cleveland

Hill High School, where she graduated in 1996. Four years later, she graduated from Brockport

State College.

Mattice became a trooper in 2003, completing her field training at the Clarence barracks.

At the time of her death, she was one of roughly 400 women among the 4,800 State Police

officers.

Near the end of Tuesday's service, Radakovich provided the gist of the personal portrait of

Mattice that the speakers' words had painted in the huge sanctuary:

"From everything we've heard," the pastor said, "heaven is a lot more fun and a lot

better-looking now that she's there."