
It was around 2:30 yesterday afternoon when I got a text from a friend, a group text with a bunch of guys in the neighborhood. I assumed it was just about the NFL Draft, but when I read that it involved a shooting nearby, I had to see what was going on. There was mention of an officer, at that point his name undisclosed, in critical condition after being shot earlier in the day at a relatively nearby Wawa. Now the alleged shooter was a couple of miles away, active. The now-named Cpl. Stephen J. Ballard died a true hero’s death, which was announced around 4:30 PM.
In the meantime, all schools in the local district were on lockdown. The shooter was barricaded inside his parents’ home just a little down the street from an elementary school and about a four-minute drive from the local high school. This neighborhood was not downtown Baltimore or Philly; it was an affluent neighborhood in which I could probably not afford to live. The sirens going by, the local Facebook group giving updates, the helicopters in the air. This wasn’t on the news; this was the news.
In the meantime, all schools in the local district were on lockdown. The shooter was barricaded inside his parents’ home just a little down the street from an elementary school and about a four-minute drive from the local high school. This neighborhood was not downtown Baltimore or Philly; it was an affluent neighborhood in which I could probably not afford to live. The sirens going by, the local Facebook group giving updates, the helicopters in the air. This wasn’t on the news; this was the news.