Steven Burke is 75 years old, but when he tells the story, it’s like it just happened.

It was 1965 and a sniper was hiding in the mountains above the Pali Highway shooting at tour buses. Police officers were at the S-curve waiting for the shooter to be flushed out so they could grab him.

“In hindsight, we were sitting ducks,” Burke said.

He was shot in the left knee and right foot. A bullet grazed his head. Two other police officers were shot. The officer next to him, Bradley Kaanana, was hit multiple times.

“Back then, Queen’s emergency room was just beds separated by curtains,” Burke said. “I could hear Bradley next to me as he bled out. The bullets went right through him. He was saying, ‘I cannot breathe.’”

Burke heard a doctor pronounce Kaanana’s time of death.

Over the next several days, Kaanana’s parents came to Burke’s hospital bed every day and asked him over and over: “What happened to my son?”

“The father was just crying at my bedside,” Burke said.

Burke told me that story on Thursday morning as I sat with him to hear about a party he was planning. Just hours later, the news broke about the shootings in Dallas, and Burke’s stories about his time on the police force and his life’s work of supporting fellow officers suddenly took on even deeper meaning.

Burke retired from the Honolulu Police Department in 1991, and for the last 25 years has been at the heart of an organization for retired cops. Hui Ana o Maka‘i is part social organization, part human resources — dedicated to looking out for police officers after they leave the job.

“You put in 25 or 30 or 32 years when you retire. During that time, you have Human Resources at HPD, Civil Services, SHOPO, all that umbrella of protection. Then all of a sudden, you have no place to go. Everything is severed from the department,” Burke said.

Burke was a member of the legendary Metro Squad, an elite team known to use unorthodox methods to maintain order in the community. He also served as vice president, president and director of SHOPO, the Hawaii police union, over a 15-year period.

Working with retired HPD Capt. Bobby Schmidt, Burke founded the organization that would act as a watchdog on legislation that could affect retiree benefits and pass the hat if a former officer fell on hard times. Schmidt and Burke made the decision to include anyone who had ever served at HPD even if they quit before retiring, were terminated or had been incarcerated.

“As long as they mended their ways, we embrace them,” Burke said. “Once you become a police officer, the camaraderie is a thing. Even if you had a glitch in your career, if you’ve made amends, we accept you.”

They keep track of former officers who are struggling, like one who is homeless, addicted to drugs, living on the edge. They bring him food and clean clothes. Burke tells active duty patrol officers to keep an eye on the man. They do, and they’ll come back and tell Burke, “He’s doing OK.”

Schmidt has become the Eulogy Man, the one who will speak at the funerals of old policemen that nobody knows anymore. He researches their careers in the department and talks with the family to come up with a true telling of the person’s life. He has written and delivered more than 30 eulogies for old cops who would otherwise be forgotten.

And once a year for the last 25 years, they throw a party.

This year, it’s scheduled for Aug. 5, from 5 to 10 p.m. at the Pearl Harbor Rainbow Marina Pavilion. There’s entertainment and a free buffet. More than 400 are expected to attend.

“When we were young, we did all the physical work, setting out the tables and chairs — now I have a bad leg. We’re trying to get the younger retirees to get more involved,” Burke said. “We used to kalua pig, huli-huli the hind quarters. Now the guys who used to do that all got stents in their hearts.”

Their organization doesn’t require an application or collect dues. They aren’t even taking RSVPs for the party — it’s a “just show up” event. It’s a chance to share stories with those who truly understand.

“All of the things that police officers go through, there’s a closeness with the guys you work with,” Burke said. “As long as you wore the blue, you belong.”

Reach Lee Cataluna at 529-4315 or lcataluna@staradvertiser.com.