On August 6th, 1945, the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. It was an act of violence that changed the world and the way people thought from that point on. 48 years later to the day, I was involved in an act of violence on a much smaller scale that nevertheless changed me and the way I thought from that point on.
After I had told my story, I went to the patrol officer's office while everyone did their work. I did a little bit of work too, which lead to something a bit weird.
We wrote down the days activities on a log sheet that we carried around in our car. When we got back to the police department, we would enter all the information into the computer. I hadn't been given any instructions about what to do so I was just hanging out in the office while everyone else worked, trying to figure out how to investigate a police shooting.
I decided to put in my log entries, except the for the last one. I left that one for the chief. I had done a couple things before having dinner with Jorge and I entered the information into the computer. As I was sitting there typing, the phone rang. Out of habit, I grabbed it and announced who I was. On the other end was the dispatcher. She let me know that Doug, who had been life-flighted to major hospital, was dead. I hung up.
How bizarre was that? Looking back brings up some obvious questions. Why was I allowed to answer phones since I was technically on administrative leave at the point? Why didn't the dispatcher ask to talk to the chief? The call didn't bother me and never has. We were just two people doing our job and that's how it went down.
I walked across the central room to the chief's office and let him know. He went off to talk to someone else. I just returned to the patrol office and sat there, pretty much twiddling my thumbs.
They allowed my wife to come in to the police department and then they brought in my religious leader. The three of us went to a separate room where we could talk in private and I was told that I wasn't going to be going to hell for what I had done.
I have never worried about going to hell and if it's possible, I worry about it even less now that I know that hell is a made up place along the lines of the bogeyman, made to get kids to eat their vegetables and clean their rooms. Other cops do worry about that though so it was a valid thing for this guy to let me know. You know, the whole, "thou shalt not kill thing," that is bandied about in church and then is completely dismissed if the people your killing live on top of an oil field. Why anyone who believed in hell and biblical rules would become a cop is beyond me. There have been a lot of cops that have died because they weren't able to pull the trigger, just couldn't bring themselves to take another life.
There's nothing wrong with not killing people but don't become a cop if that's your belief. A lot of these nice guys leave behind wives and kids because they made a bad choice in careers or religious beliefs.
In the academy, we had an instructor early on that gave us all a moment of silence. He told us that we should really truly think about what it would be like to kill someone and then decide if we would be able to do it. I had never really given it much thought until then. During the quiet time, I went inward and really asked myself, "If I needed to, could I kill someone." The answer was surprising. I knew without a doubt that if I had to do it, I would do it. I never asked myself that question again up until the shooting.
I did ask myself that question again some time after the shooting and the answer was, "The first time is probably the hardest." I know that if I was ever placed in a position where I had to defend myself or my family from a deadly threat, the attacker will die. And I won't wait for 200 feet next time either.
I don't know how long it was before my next visitor. Supposedly this guy was a police chaplain or something. There was something shady in his past that came out later. I never found out what it was but he disappeared and was never spoken of again. He spent most of the time with the chief but around midnight, he came in to see how I was doing.
Think of the crash your body goes into after your most adrenaline pumping event or after mainlining caffeine for too long. Times that by 10.
"How do you feel?" the chaplain asked me. I was back in the patrol room with my wife. My religious dude was gone but I could call him if I ever needed anything. I never called him.
"I'm tired and I'm hungry," I said.
"My expert advice to you would be to go home, get something to eat, and get some sleep," he said. I don't know how much training goes into this kind of thing but damn if he wasn't on the right track.
"I can leave?" I asked.
"Let me check," he said and waddled off to talk to the chief. He was a pear shaped guy with a body longer than his legs.
The chief came back and said I could go home and that I could have the next day off.
That turned out to be a good thing.
. . . to be continued
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