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... he coroner's report stated her death was slow and torturous. I can still see her pleading and needing eyes staring at me from behind her bruises and welts all those times I arrested her father. To this day I agonize that I should have done more to help her, but I could not do anymore. My position would not allow any additional jurisprudence than what had already been evinced. I felt nothing but sickness and contempt for her father, but I could do nothing about it.
It would be up to the courts yet again to determine his fate. Sheila Baker's fate had already been determined. Nothing was going to change that now. I went to see the department counselor to talk about my feelings, but all I could do was cry. I wept continuously for what seemed like hours, feeling sorry for that little girl -- and myself. I am haunted by the way her eyes penetrated to my soul.
I have often wished I could forget her as the academy instructors so emphasized. I can not. My breaking point came shortly after I was compelled to use deadly force in order to protect myself. Of all the times I had wanted the world rid of its infection of human deviants, I never would have believed that on August 4, 1991, I would actually be involved in killing someone. My partner and I were the second and third arriving officers to the scene of a domestic dispute. I joined the first officer on the porch while my partner stayed in the cruiser to catch up on some paperwork.
Everything looked calm as I approached the porch. The first officer was engaged in a fact gathering conversation with a woman in her mid to late thirties. She had been struck in the jaw with enough force to cause some serious bleeding. I listened intently as she continued with her side of the story. My stomach would turn in gurgling protest each time she would spit a new arcing mouthful of sticky blood, but I tried to pay attention.
At some point my mind began to drift away from the conversation. To keep my dinner off the walk, I tried to create recognizable shapes out of the brilliant red splatters she was creating in contrast to the whitewashed porch. Since her story was not much more entertaining, I was enjoying my newly discovered fascination. Suddenly, a rather large man appeared in the doorway holding a large hunting knife. I drew my weapon and ordered him to relinquish the blade. He grumbled something incoherently and then closed and locked the door.
My partner called for back up and then removed the woman to a safe distance. While the first officer took up a flanking position at the front of the house, I ran around to the back to seal off the exits. I was wrestling myself free from the clutches of an overgrown thorn bush when I heard the back door open. I then realized I could not see well in the darkness of the backyard.
I drew my weapon and my flashlight and in the process, dropped my radio. I was scared, alone, and still tangled in that damn bush. My Maglight lit up the darkened alcove like it was daytime. I still could not see anyone, but the back door was in fact opened. I finally got free of the thorns right about the time the man appeared in the doorway. I started to order him around in a manner typical when a suspect is brandishing a weapon against a police officer.
As he came down the stairs with the knife in his hand, I told him to stop. He kept coming. "I'm gonna cut you a new censored , " he said with little emotion. I again told him to stop or I would shoot him. He just kept coming. I froze.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. My mind went blank as I became almost paralyzed with fear. My legs felt numb and my mouth went dry. I almost went into a panic because I desperately needed to swallow but could not. I thought I was going to choke.
I do not know at what point my finger slipped off the slide and onto the trigger. The sound of gunfire jolted me back into reality as two bright white flashes erupted from the muzzle of my Glock pistol. I blinked several times to readjust my night vision. Before me, sprawled backwards across the stairs, was the man who just moments before was determined to take my life. The knife slid lazily from his fingertips as he began to urinate.
I knew that he was dead. I have never felt any remorse or questioned my actions on that night. A formal review board called it a justifiable use of deadly force. The man was a scumbag who was willing to murder to preserve his wickedness He would have killed me. I realized that the world was infested with people like that. For a while I was encouraged to continue being a police officer, but slowly the effects of society's ills wore me down again.
I constantly wondered about the future and how my luck might change for the worse. Apparently, everyone who cared about me knew that my job was killing me anyway. It was time to cut the umbilical cord. With the support of friends and family, I resigned just after Christmas in 1992. I witnessed so much abuse while performing my duties. It did not take long before I believed that much of society was basically rotten.
People abused each other, themselves, the environment, the system, and the officers charged with enforcing its ideals. I now understand why so many police officer's marriages end in divorce. So much stress was coming down on me all the time. My personal life became a hopeless struggle I found impossible to enjoy. Temptation to drink away the pain or take bribes to combat an extremely slow promotional rate consistently took its toll on me. So many officers eventually fell victim to the negativity and frustrations.
These were solid individuals; good people just like me only now they have been reduced to empty shells by ghosts that plague their souls. I am very fortunate that I escaped that career in time to heal and find some redemption. I still have the opportunity to hold some faith in the goodness of humanity. Bibliography:
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Research essay sample on Police Officer Deadly Force
