About 150 friends and relatives of a 24-year-old man who was stabbed to death on a Tustin High School tennis court gathered Monday to bid farewell to the UCLA and Georgetown University graduate.

In a marble-facade mausoleum adorned with gladioli, roses and lilies, friends took turns recalling their memories of Thien Minh Ly as his favorite songs played in the background.

At the end of the funeral service, Ly’s 48-year-old father, Thi Ly, stood solemnly clutching a framed photo of his son.

“We have had tremendous support from the community, from friends at UCLA and others, to whom we are indebted,” the father told the gathering at Fairhaven Memorial Park Mortuary. “We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”


The memorial service was a painful closure for family members and friends, who were stunned a week ago when Thien Ly was found sprawled on a tennis court, riddled with more than a dozen stab wounds and his in-line skates still on.

Coroner’s investigators said Ly died sometime between midnight Jan. 28 and 7:30 a.m. Jan. 29. Police detectives worked around the clock and over the weekend to try to piece together clues, but so far, no suspect has been named, Police Sgt. Brent Zicarelli said.

The slaying sent a shock wave through Little Saigon, where it became a top news item on radio and in newspapers.

Ly graduated in the top 10 of his class at Tustin High School and went on to UCLA, where he received a bachelor’s degree in biology and English. In August 1995, he earned a master’s degree at Georgetown specializing in physiology and biophysics.


The graduate often talked about becoming a doctor but in the past few months had entertained thoughts of going to law school.

Ly had volunteered with community organizations and was constantly thinking of ways to promote Vietnamese language and culture, friends said. While at UCLA, he served as president of the university’s Vietnamese Students Assn.

“On the outside, he rarely spoke,” said Duc Kim Nguyen, 46, of Orange, who knew Ly since 1989. “But on the inside, he was constantly talking, constantly thinking . . . thinking about his family, his friends and his future.”

Nguyen said in a eulogy that she had noticed a sadness in Ly’s voice when she last spoke with him a few weeks ago.


“I meant to call him to have a heart-to-heart talk,” Nguyen said. “On the night of his death, I had picked up the phone to call him when my husband came home, so I put off the call. My husband and I then sat down to eat dinner, and while I was working on my first bowl of rice, the phone rang. It was my son calling to tell me that Thien is dead.

“I wish I could give him one more hug. I miss him.”

Several students who knew Ly from UCLA spoke of the first time they met him and read poems written for him “because he loved poetry,” said Mai Pham, 22.

The two-hour event ended with a procession of mourners, each holding a flower. They tossed their last token of love at the casket.


Ly’s father, still clutching his son’s photo, let out a wail as he watched the flowers pile up.