May 9 (edited) in Chris Anderson Security
The Night I Was Shot: A Deputy's Tale of Survival and Integrity
It was a crisp March evening in 1990, and I reluctantly drove to an off-duty training party in my brother's beat-up 1972 yellow Pinto runabout. My own prized Firebird had been stolen, and my supervisor had convinced me to attend the party despite my lack of transportation. Little did I know that this night would become a defining moment in my career as a deputy sheriff.
As I cruised down the 605 freeway in the early morning hours, I noticed a Chevy Impala full of what appeared to be four Hispanic gang members eyeing me suspiciously. With their shaved heads, white t-shirts, and visible tattoos, it was clear they were part of a gang. Realizing I was outnumbered and driving a car that could barely hit 100 miles per hour, I tried to change lanes and speed away, but they kept pace with me.
Panic set in as I remembered my .38 revolver was tucked away in my duffle bag in the backseat, out of reach. I had to think fast. I slammed on the brakes, hoping to get behind them and exit the freeway, but that's when I saw it – a passenger in the back seat pointing a gun directly at me. Shots rang out, exploding both the driver and passenger windows, sending glass flying everywhere.
Adrenaline pumping, I swerved and weaved, trying to get the attention of other vehicles or the Highway Patrol. Blood was everywhere, but I didn't feel any pain. I just knew I had to get off the freeway and to safety. As I exited onto Alondra Blvd., I realized I had been shot in the hand, the bullet tearing through my palm and exploding the tip of my right ring finger.
Dazed and bleeding, I pulled into a nearby gas station, desperate to call for help. But the pay phone was useless, and the attendant, seeing my blood-soaked face, locked the door in fear. I fumbled for my badge, the pain in my hand hitting me like a freight train. I wrapped my hand in my T-shirt and waited for help to arrive.
The response from my fellow deputies was overwhelming. They rushed me to the hospital, where I was prepped for micro-neural surgery. The media, my commander, and my captain ensured I was okay. But it was my father's reaction that stuck with me the most. A no-nonsense man, he asked me two questions: "Are you okay?" and "Did you do anything to embarrass us this evening?" I assured him I had followed protocol and done everything to keep myself and others safe.
Ultimately, they found the gang members responsible, and my fellow deputies sought revenge on my behalf. But for me, the real victory was knowing that I had done the right thing. I had stayed calm under pressure and followed my training, despite the temptation to act like a hero from a movie. That night taught me that true strength comes from integrity and doing what's right, even in the face of danger. And for that, I was proud of myself.
5
2 comments
The Night I Was Shot: A Deputy's Tale of Survival and Integrity
skool.com/security-insider-strategies-4585
" I spent 30 years as a private security operator, coach, mentor, teacher. I cofounded Silvertrac Software. I will be sharing everything with you!
powered by