It is with trepidation that I write this. I seem lately to have a foot in two diametrically opposed worlds, each populated by people vociferous in their positions and dismissive of those with whom they disagree.
I'm disheartened by the invective hurled about in the wake of the Connecticut atrocity committed by a disturbed young man. I fear that in the justifiably horrified revulsion to the Sandy Hook massacre all pretense of civility will be abandoned, the polarization of this country will continue, and we will lose what I consider an essential right enjoyed by all Americans.
I am an NRA member (at least as of this writing), a supporter of the Second Amendment, a firearms instructor and the possessor of a permit to carry a concealed weapon. I live in a very rural area, but was raised in New York City and grew up under its restrictive gun laws. I still have a few friends back there (again at least as of this moment) and much of my family still lives there.
I am a retired FBI agent who, at 3:30 p.m. on March 21, 2005, arrived at Red Lake High School to take initial command of the charnel house left after a massacre perpetrated by a disturbed boy, aided passively by peers who knew at least that he was fascinated with school shootings and was talking about doing one, and stopped by the interdiction of my courageous compatriots in Red Lake law enforcement.
I would spend countless hours reviewing video, chat logs and interviews and later, for better or worse, would assist the U.S. Attorney's office in taking the case through the federal courts. In 2006, shortly after the resolution of the court case, I had a heart attack, joining a growing list of people physically and emotionally impacted by the massacre.
I can't help recalling, in detail, my arrival at the scene, the obscene images I saw and the cold actions I took. I learned that even children are capable of evil, but also that among us common people are heroes.
The first body I saw was that of a former compatriot, Derrick Brun, a gentle giant of a man who had recently left the Red Lake Police Department and was working as the school security guard. Though unarmed, Derek confronted the shooter and died a warrior's death. That first shot alerted the staff and enabled many teachers to secure their pupils, reducing the number of victims available.
A teacher, under fire, had calmly evacuated her children out the back door of a classroom. When the shooter tried to force his way through the door, she sat on the floor and braced her feet against the door as bullets flew above her.