Loren’s death is linked to Dan Neus murder which happened 5 months later.
Loren Busse of New Hope was biking home from work at a Red Lobster restaurant. He was on a side street off Highway 169 at 10:30 p.m. on August 30, 1995. Police say someone fired at least a half-dozen shots at Loren as he passed through the 1800 block of Mendelssohn Avenue. He fell from his bike and later died while being transported to an area hospital.
Five months later, on the 3300 block of Major Avenue N, Dan Neus, 29, was shot to death while walking his dog at about 11:15 pm, two blocks from his home.
Ballistic tests determined that the same gun, a 40-caliber semiautomatic, was used in both shootings. More than 20 years later, the cases remain unsolved and besides the fact that the same gun was used on two Golden Valley men of a similar age, there has been nothing else found to link the murders, according to police reports.
To this day, both shootings appear totally random, and as a former police chief pointed out, “the vast majority of murders aren’t random.”
Related to Loren’s murder: Dan Neus murder 1996
A letter from LouAnn Gallion
In a letter recalling her younger brother Loren, LouAnn Gallion remembered when she, Loren, and some neighborhood kids climbed an old tree partially fallen to the ground, stumbled across a beehive, and scrambled away amid a cloud of bees.
“Loren was still pretty young and got left behind,” Gallion writes. “Since I was ‘big sister,’ I had to go get him. Even if it meant more stings.”
On August 30, 1995, Gallion found herself again going back to Loren, speeding across four states with her fiancé to get to Golden Valley. But this time she couldn’t save her little brother. The only thing she could do was reflect on a life cut short.
“Whoever killed our son took him from us but will never take away the beautiful memories we have of him,” write Loren’s parents of their only son and the baby of the family.
The Busse family’s memories and stories of Loren stand as reminders: a person’s life is not just a summation of major achievements, but a tapestry of little things, a collection of seemingly small moments that never find their way into the history books.
“I remember summer bike rides,” Gallion writes. “Riding snowmobiles, fishing, and playing with Matchbox cars in the dirt. …Loren playing dress-up or Barbie dolls with us…pets, slumber parties in tents and sheds. …Loren holding his first son, Derek… so full of love and amazement.”
Loren had three children when he died. The youngest was two. His niece, Alicia Panchyshyn, was four.
“I try my hardest to hold onto the few memories I have left,” Panchyshyn writes, recalling the last time she saw him.
“I got to help feed his iguanas for the first time. I was so excited that when my uncle warned me it might bite me on accident, I didn’t listen. It ended up biting my hand, scaring me, and making me scream. Everything went flying. The food, the iguana, and me. That all happened two weeks before he died. That was the last time I hugged him, told him I loved him, heard his voice, saw him, and laughed with him.”
Gallion writes of loss. “I miss hearing his voice through the telephone. I miss swapping stories with him about his life and his kids. I miss getting to know him as an adult. I miss praying for his success and health. I miss seeing him and his family on our trips to Minnesota. I miss him.”
Golden Valley Police Department
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