NARCOTICS OFFICER SHOWED COMPASSION.

Byline: BETTIE RENCORET Senior Columnist

When Frank Woodrow Gibson died recently, he left an extraordinary legacy - the fact that he was a narcotics testing officer who was actually liked by those he had to test.

With seemingly thankless and distasteful duties - and an astronomical caseload - Gibson gave it his best, without complaint. More importantly, he was compassionate and willing to work with his subjects, helping them clean up and strive for a better, drug-free life.

He insisted on strict adherence to the law but privately, he felt their pain.

``They really can't help it, you know. The pull of the addiction is too strong for most of them,'' said the man known to his friends as ``Woody.'' ``In order to lick it they have to have help but it takes a lot to get them into rehab. To make it work they have to be willing to go.''

He made himself available, and those he tested knew they could count on him if they ever wound up hungry, or with no place to stay. Gibson would see that they were fed and had accommodations until they could find themselves.

The only condition was, they had to stay clean.

And Gibson did have his successes. Those few were his pride and joy and nobody was ever happier than he was to have one of his former charges come back to see him, living a straight-arrow, gainfully employed and happy existence.

``When I see that happen, man, I know it's all been worthwhile,'' he'd say to whoever would listen.

Gibson knew his job well, and his probationers knew they wouldn't be able to get away with any funny stuff during their monthly urinalyses, which were done at Gibson's discretion.

Gibson believed the odds for getting a valid test depended a lot on the surprise factor, so it was not unusual for him to show up on a man's doorstep at 5 o'clock in the morning.

``If I get him early enough, before he's had a chance to empty his bladder after sleeping all night, then he can't claim an inability to give a sample,'' he explained on several occasions. ``They don't like that but they have to accept it. I don't go alone. I take my dog with me.''

A native of Belize, Gibson was raised in Fullerton, and served three years in the Army during World War II.

He was a spectacular-looking young man who during his college years helped support himself by posing as an artists' model. Vestiges of those good looks were still in evidence as he matured into a handsome senior citizen.

Earlier in his career he was a juvenile officer, and he established a rapport with incarcerated children, just as he did with many adults, according to fellow probation officers.

He retired from the Los Angeles County Probation Department in the mid-1980s, after 35 years, and immediately was hired back by the court system as a juvenile court officer, a job he much preferred.

He was known as a devoted family man who loved being surrounded by the grandchildren whom he playfully called ``crumb pickers.''

He is survived by his wife of 56 years, Bettie Marie; their three children, Germaine, Lutricia and Aaron; 13 grandchildren; and 13 great-grandchildren.

As Jeffrey Elam, who officiated at a memorial service in Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses, 10615 East Avenue S, Palmdale, said:

``Woody didn't try to be cool. He was cool!''