The public respects law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty. We rightly honor those who have sacrificed their lives in this noble mission to protect and serve. But what about those who survive or win against a violent criminal adversary? This is my story, which I share in hopes that it will educate and prepare those who have yet to face deadly force and give some comfort to those who have.  

I was working an off-duty job at the door of a Latin community dance. The band was loud, and just over 300 people were drinking and dancing. Shortly before 1 a.m., shots came from an area off the dance floor near the bathrooms.
My partner for the night and I immediately ran toward the scene. The band was still playing, and there was a mass of humanity, some screaming and some dancing under the flashing, colored lights and darkness. I saw the suspect on top of the man he had just murdered, pounding on his face with a revolver. I did not consciously draw my weapon, but when I needed it, it was in my hand. I yelled at him to stop. He looked at me and instantly came off the body, lunging toward me and pointing
his gun at me. 

Even though this happened in just two seconds, I recall thinking that if I missed, it needed to be high since there were so many people around. I fired two rounds. They were pointed, not aimed, from a semi-crouched position. I did not look at my sights and could not have since my concentration was so intensely focused on the threat before me. One bullet hit him on his left collarbone. The second struck his neck, destroying his throat and severing his carotid artery. He fell face down toward me. I saw his gun fall to the floor. I quickly grabbed it among the many feet. I did not want it to be lost. I grabbed my radio and called signal 33, demanding an ambulance, supervisor, shooting team and lots of backups to my location 10-18. The room was too loud for me to hear any response, so I repeated my radio call just to be sure help was coming.

I then tried to render aid to the man I had just shot. I turned him over and blood sprayed out of his neck with each heartbeat. He looked at me but could not speak because of the blood being choked up from his nose and mouth. 

I knew I could not help him and jumped to the other man lying face up on the floor. His hands never moved, even when I had seen the suspect hitting him in the face. I could find no pulse. He had been shot in the heart and was dead on the spot. I turned to my partner and asked a stupid question that sounds strange to those who don’t understand post-shooting trauma. “That’s the guy who had the gun, right?” 

Fortunately, this officer did not hear me since his ears were ringing from the shots I had just fired in this room so close to him. I, by the way, experienced tunnel vision, time slowing and auditory blocking — those I consider gifts since there was no information my brain could obtain from sound in that noisy environment. My gunshots felt and sounded like a CO2 pellet gun to me. Of course, I knew I had shot the right guy. But at that moment in time, I was seeking confirmation from another human being that I got it right. 

The cavalry soon arrived. I reached for the first uniformed officer, who was wide-eyed looking at the bloody scene over my shoulder. He thought I wanted to shake his hand. Instead, I put the suspect’s revolver in his hand and said as I pointed, “This is the gun that guy shot that guy with and then pointed at me. I shot that guy.” He was stunned, and I repeated my information, adding that I needed to go outside. By now, the band had long stopped playing, the lights were on, and some in the crowd thought I had shot both men and were becoming hostile. Fortunately, some had seen the two men arguing earlier in the evening. Others saw the suspect later come back to attack the victim with the gun, shooting him directly in the chest and following him to the floor, beating him before he pointed the gun at me. The state attorney came to the scene and quickly ruled it a justifiable use of deadly force. There are other interesting aspects of my memory from that night, but one that sticks out was walking around the scene with an empty holster after my gun was taken as evidence by the shooting team. I know that is a necessary procedure, but it felt odd.

I was suspended for several days as the investigation proceeded. It was a bit surreal. I felt confusing emotions, from pride that I had performed so well and no one else was hurt to regret that I had taken a life. I was changed somehow. It was intensely real. I looked in the mirror to see if I looked different to others as a killer. I didn’t know if the news media would report the story to my out-of-state friends and family. I reached out to an old, trusted mentor, which was helpful. I was reinterviewed several times. I received supportive calls from a few administrators and squad members of my undercover selective enforcement unit. I just wanted things to be normal and was eager to get back to work. I was allowed to go teach my defensive tactics class at the police academy.  The recruits stood quietly in a display of respect when I came into the mat room. That stirred me emotionally. I knew they were curious, and as an instructor, I chose to share this teachable moment with them. It was cathartic. I also had to be cleared by the department-contracted psychologist to go back on the street. I strongly support these mandatory sessions to be sure the officer involved has had an opportunity to process the incident. 

My therapy was done well before that formal meeting by a respected sergeant who had also delivered deadly force. We drank beer and sat on the beach and talked. It was good and far more beneficial than any session with anyone who hasn’t “been there.” I have since made it a point to reach out to LEOs who have had to take a life to offer an absolutely unofficial and absolutely confidential informal debriefing. I had to forgive that man for making me shoot him, and I had to apologize to him for doing so. I replayed that scene thousands of times in my head, looking for alternatives. 

I am comfortable that legally, morally and tactically, I did the right thing. Still, I did not want to take a life. Saving lives and helping people are why I chose to be a police officer. I knew killing was a possibility, and I was as well-prepared as anyone could be for such an event. As much as I wish this had never happened, I am glad I was there when it did. I am glad to have been tested and passed. I now know what I am capable of under stress.  

Many September 22nds have passed since then. I am increasingly less haunted by that date. Two things still bother me a bit. The other officer with me was criticized by some that he froze, never even drawing his gun. When I learned of this, I was angry and quickly defended him. He is no coward. He ran toward the sound of gunfire just as I did. I don’t know what he saw or perceived. I have had a good deal more training and am far more tactically aware than most, having been an academy instructor and trained in street survival at a higher level. I just acted faster. He finished an honorable career as a patrolman, but I never really talked to him. 

The other thing that bothers me is the politics of police shootings that continue today. In my case, I learned that an administrator suggested I be given some hero medal for handling a situation that could have been much worse. It was rejected by the mayor, who allegedly said that “to award an officer for the taking of a human life would send a chilling message to our community.” I wasn’t feeling too heroic anyway and didn’t care about a medal, but that was a real kick to the groin. If he’d killed me, I’d have been given a fine funeral by my city. But since I won, I should feel shame? What a destroyer of morale. Instant burnout!  

I am an instructor, and as such, my hope is that others can benefit from what wisdom I can offer. Take care of yourself, and stay safe!