A saga ended yesterday. It was a saga that began April 16, when a man named Kelton Trice – wanted by police on an armed robbery charge – fired at a police officer named Tom Peterson, hitting him twice in the kevlar vest. Sgt. Peterson fired back, hitting Mr. Trice four times. Mr. Trice didn’t stand a chance and died soon after.
Questions soon arose. Did Mr. Trice fire first? Did he have a gun at all? Why was he dead so soon after his 21st birthday?
An investigation began. Evidence was analyzed. Recordings were listened to. The events were recounted and the story told over and over. How do I know? Because I reported on it. I talked to cops. I talked to family members and friends of both parties involved. I know the narrative by heart.
The results of the investigation were announced Tuesday. The shooting was “justified” and Sgt. Peterson acted properly. Some people were happy. Some people were angry. Others didn’t know how to feel.
And that last group – those who don’t know how or what to feel – is where I fall. I was there at the beginning when the first few facts came. I was the first to confirm a cop had been shot. I was there later when people in the neighborhood got angry and almost rioted.
And I was there weeks later, when people, still hurting and sad, told me their memories of Mr. Trice. Most agreed that this was not a surprising end to his young life.
And I was there at the end – the narrative I’d heard 1,000 times before being told to me again. And again I listened like the first time. And again I listened to the angry, hurt and sad people and wrote about them.
After all that, I still don’t know how to feel. I didn’t know Mr. Trice or Sgt. Peterson. But they have both been a huge part of my life over the last three months.
And in the grand scheme, it was only three months. An instant, if you look at the bigger picture. And yet that short time has exposed me to things most people will never be exposed to. I’ve talked to people in more pain than I can imagine. It has redefined me as a reporter and forced me to accept that I am human, too.
So was it worth it? Absolutely. While there may not be any more newsprint or column-inches devoted to this saga, it will always affect me and how I do what I do. And those lessons, though they came from seeing people at their worst and absorbing some of that pain, have made me better – both as a reporter and a person.
