His love for his wife and three children is what sustained him, some of his neighbors said. And despite the danger in police work in the city, he loved that too, they said.

Ironically, his occupational zeal is what led Liczbinski, a 12-year veteran of the department, to a quiet block in Port Richmond on Saturday, where he was gunned down by a ruthless robber with a formidable weapon.

More than 100 residents of Schiller Street near Almond and Philadelphia police officers and community activists held a memorial in honor of Liczbinski and his family, at the spot where his painful cries echoed down their block.

The sergeant's brother, Floyd Liczbinski, thanked the mourners and well-wishers for their support, while Capt. Kevin Hodges, of the 24th District, where Liczbinski was assigned before his death, said, "It's like he's been a part of my first family."

Hodges recalled how he broke Liczbinski in as a rookie when he joined the force in 1996.

Liczbinski's best friend, Howard Casler, held back tears as he recalled how, in their younger days, they "bumped school and chased after girls."

"We had good times together," he said. "My father darn near raised him. He grew up without a dad. And my dad picked up where any man would."

Speeches from several police officers and community activists followed. Near twilight, applause erupted from spectators as two police vans drove through carrying Liczbinski's family members, including his wife, Michelle, 38, and his three children: Matt, Stephen and Amber.

As the family walked to the tent where dozens of bouquets, balloons and a Flyers' banner hung, they stood and clutched one another for support. After a few moments, they returned to the vans.

Police Commissioner Charles H. Ramsey wrapped an arm around Amber's petite frame. Behind them, Michelle Liczbinski turned around, waved to the crowd of people and mouthed the words: "Thank you."

Later, Mayor Nutter arrived with members of the Polish-American String Band. They silently marched down the street with Nutter and added a floral wreath to the pile of flowers.

One resident pointed to a picture she'd seen Michelle Liczbinski leave behind: their wedding picture. It lay against a silver frame with a poem that read:

Every morning, he dressed in blue/

He chose the job that heroes do/

To keep it safe for me and you/

There are no words that can express this feeling, this sadness, our emptyness/

I'm sorry that you died this way, too sorry for words, too sorry to say/

You gave your life to keep us safe/

In God's kingdom you have a place/

We will not forget what they had done/

We will not give up they have not won/

You have not died in vain, my friend/

In the end, we'll meet again. *