Dec 2023. Blues Vol 39 No. 12

Somehow by the grace of
God, I hit both the suspects in
the dark and they both went
down as well. I was the lone
survivor. That’s a term I would
hear over and over again.
Within seconds, I heard
deputies arriving from all
over. Sirens. I could hear sirens
everywhere. Sirens echoing
throughout the building. The
scene was just so surreal.
Dust. Red and blue lights
bouncing off the walls. Blood
running across the bare concrete
floors. Bodies motionless
on the floor. And this young
deputy at my side. I just sat
there and waited for the EMTs.
“Lieutenant … Lieutenant…
Lieutenant….?”
“What??”
“Sir you need to get up and
let them work on Jones.”
I stood up and watched the
EMTs from the firehouse squad
that was just blocks from
here, begin working on him
but they stopped really before
they started. There was
nothing they could do. He was
gone.
I notified dispatch to send
me detectives, crime scene
and notify the sheriff.
But I WAS the night sheriff,
and I knew what I had to do. It
was my job to notify the next
of kin, spouses and parents of
any deputy killed in the line
of duty. In my 30+ years, I had
only had to do it once. But
this was different. This young
man was dead on my watch.
Standing 10 feet from me. It
was my responsibility to keep
him safe and I failed. I failed
him, his wife, and his baby girl.
The truth is, I shouldn’t have
left the scene. I had just shot
and killed two suspects. I had
a dead deputy on the ground
20 feet from the dead crooks.
The DA shoot team would
be enroute and so would
the sheriff. Maybe the sheriff
should go to Jones’ and make
the notification?
Nope. It was my job and my
job alone, I had to do what I
had to do. Without realizing it,
I had pulled off the highway
and pulled up under an old
railroad crossing underpass.
I was trembling and crying
uncontrollably. It was at that
moment that I felt like my life
had ended. A young man was
dead because of me. I was his
supervisor; his backup and he
was dead. I was old and at the
end of my career and he was
just getting started. It should
be me on that floor. God got
this wrong. I should be dead. I
should be dead.
I found myself under that
bridge, with my gun in my
hand. I was praying that God
would forgive me for everything
that happened that night
and what I was about to do.
It was at that instant I heard a
voice say, “Mister are you ok?”
I turned around and standing
there before me was this
young couple holding a baby.
“What? Where did you two
come from? What are you doing
down here?”
“We have no other place
to be. We lost our home in a
fire and we’ve been camping
under this bridge for a while
now. What are you doing here
officer? Are we in trouble? Are
you hurt? You’re bleeding!”
“No, you’re not in trouble. I
146 The Blues 40th Anniversary Issue