She was a middle-aged matron who had dug in her heels where women had never dug before.

But Abreu's quest for a fair chance at sergeant stripes changed the face of police departments across the state. Her 1972 complaint about the promotion process in a male-dominated institution led to a class action lawsuit that opened police departments not only to women but also to men who didn't meet a 5-foot, 8-inch minimum height requirement.

Lucile Abreu
"Many things had to be thrown out the window because of her case," said Stanley Burden, former executive director of the State of Hawaii Organization of Police Officers, which backed Abreu's fight. For one, the badge which then read "patrolman" was redesigned to "officer."

Abreu, 78, was honored for her trail blazing efforts yesterday at the annual YWCA Leader Luncheon. "I was thankful for the positive way it turned out," she said. "It meant the outer islands didn't have to fight the same battle."

The state House of Representatives and Mayor Jeremy Harris last week presented her with congratulatory resolutions inspired by the YWCA award for "significant contributions to women's growth and leadership in Hawaii."

Abreu retired in 1978 after 25 years in the department, the last three as a detective in the rape investigation detail. She was the first woman assigned to criminal investigation.

But things were far from triumphant when she began her police career in 1954.

"The men didn't want to show they knew me," she said. "A lot of them didn't think anything would come of it."

The rank and file reflected what the top echelon of the department implemented in "subtle and not-so-subtle ways. There was no fighting. It was more like I wasn't there."

Hired to work with juvenile offenders and runaways, she was one of a half-dozen women put in a special policewoman category under Civil Service classification separate from police officers.

It took them a year to promote her, during which another woman was promoted first, and it took two years for the retroactive pay for the higher grade to come through.

"I have no hard feelings. I'm not that kind of person," said Abreu.

The 5-foot, 1-inch mother of five was far from the stereotypical cop.

"I can't stand bad language," she said. "I never used it."

She developed a reputation as firm but fair, often hailed on the street by kids and parents she had encountered on the job.

"I'd been taking courses in the disturbed child. Everybody walking through that door was a disturbed child, even the parents. The requirement for women recruits then was two years' college and three years experience working with children. Men didn't have those requirements."

Abreu was the only woman, and valedictorian, of her 36-member recruit class, which included physical agility testing as well as study of laws and procedures.

"They didn't think I could climb the wall," she recalled.

The fact that her training was similar to men's and that she was allowed to take the exam to qualify for sergeant several times, were significant aspects in her discrimination case.

He recalled that the union was lambasted for backing Abreu in her appeal.

Her life after retirement revolved around her husband Frank, who died in 1983, and her extended family of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Two of her four sons became police officers, as did two grandsons, and her daughter is a civilian employee of the Honolulu Police Department.

Despite the historical significance of her case, she was never asked to speak to recruit classes, a glaring omission in some minds.

"In retrospect, it's a dismal history," said state Rep. Annelle Amaral, who was in the second training class containing women and served seven years in the department. "Here was this excellent woman who was so courageous who was not held up as a role model."