was sitting
quietly at the press table in the front of City Council Chamber just
waiting for the meeting to begin. Instead, all hell broke loose.
I
was startled by a loud bang. I didn't know what it was or where it came
from, but it was frightening.
I don't know if someone yelled "balcony!" or if I just happened to
look up, but I saw a man in a suit, a little to the left of center in
the balcony firing a silver gun at what I thought was probably a
person on the floor directly to his left. My attention riveted on the
gun, but I was aware of people scrambling to flee the balcony.
After seeing what looked like an execution taking place and then
hearing the sound of many more shots reverberating off the chamber
walls, I thought, "Oh my God, can this really be happening!?" All
kinds of things, like the Columbine shootings, came flooding into my
mind.
I thought this man - and maybe several others - was good and mad
about something and had decided to make a statement by coming to the
City Council meeting and opening fire. Since he was shooting someone in
the gallery instead of firing down on the Council Members, I thought he
must be a random shooter who was starting with the person who happened
to be next to him and then would simply continue picking off anyone he
happened to aim at.
I also quickly became aware of a Black man in a nice suit standing,
maybe 10 ten feet away from me, near the door to the committee room that
opened off the main chamber. I thought he was probably a plainclothes
police officer because I'd noticed earlier that he was wearing an
earphone with a curly wire. I was astounded that instead of taking cover
behind a desk nearby and firing from there, he was standing right up
there, an open target, as big and bold as you please, firing at
the gunman in the gallery. He was so cool and controlled - maybe the
only person who was - and shooting with amazing accuracy it turns out.
As I later learned, he was Officer - now Detective - Richard Burt of the
New York City Police Department. His awesome courage and excellent
marksmanship probably saved lives.
As my mind was registering these things, I was attempting to
understand what was going on, and at the same time to figure out
what to do so I wouldn't get killed.
I think I heard someone shout "Get down!" so I dove for the floor
under the middle row of press tables. I kicked off my shoes, thinking
this was no time to be wearing high heels.
As the shots continued to ring out, I tried to see if my body was
really covered by the table and also - without sticking my head out to
look around - whether there were more gunmen on the main chamber floor
who might come down to the front, find me there and shoot me. I could
see there were other people crawling to the committee room door and I
tried to think of which would be safer: to remain where I was or make a
break for the door myself.
One of the things going through my mind was that to get through the
door I would have to run near the officer. The shooter (or shooters)
might turn in his direction to take him out, and if I was running past
him, they might decide to shoot me, or else a stray bullet could hit me.
As I strained to make sense of what I was hearing, I didn't think I
heard any bullets hitting near our area. I decided to crawl under the
press tables to the position closest to the door and then make a dash
for it.
The distance to the door was only about 9 feet and it took mere
seconds to traverse it, but as I sprinted, I was petrified. I
felt totally vulnerable and my legs seemed so weak I wasn't sure I could
make it.
I
did make it though, and Council Member Charles Barron was standing right
inside the entrance. He probably recognized a look of terror in my eyes,
so very kindly he sort of caught me by the arms and quietly warned me
against panicking and running. I said I wouldn't.
I came all the way inside the room, but instead of being assured that
now I was safe, I still felt that at any moment something else could
happen - like more gunmen bursting into the room and starting to cut us
all down. I looked around for something to hide behind. I found a chair
in front of a window with floor length drapes and crouched down behind
it, thinking I was small enough that I could also try hiding behind them
if necessary.
As I crouched, I noticed for the first time that I was shaking like a
leaf and panting. Within a very short time, however, I began to feel
much less frightened because it was becoming apparent that it was a lone
gunman and that the shooting had stopped.
In the room with me, there were between 60 and 70 Council Members,
City Council staffers and a few members of the general public, most of
them on their cell phones. We didn't know what had happened or what was
being done, so as time passed, we kept asking each other what we knew.
The first I had any idea that Council Member James Davis had lost his
life was when a young woman said she thought one of the officers had
said something about a person named Davies being shot. I said that there
is a Council Member Davis. She responded that that could be the name.
I was heartbroken to hear this, for I thought right away that it was
likely true. I knew James Davis was a retired police officer, and I
could very easily imagine him trying to stop the gunman and being gunned
down himself.
As rumor turned into definite knowledge that James Davis had indeed
been killed, I was shaken and grief stricken. I was friendly with James
Davis and often quoted him in my articles - including my last one on the
City Council budget. Also, as a former instructor at the New York City
Police Academy, he had offered to take me with him to an appointment
with Deputy Commissioner James Fyfe so I could tell him about the anti
racism workshop I teach, "Examining White Privilege: What Is It and How
Does It Show Itself?" We wanted to see if I could be invited to conduct
this workshop at the academy as a means of combating racism in the
police department.
After being detained in the room for about 2 hours, like everyone
else, I made my statement to a police officer. Then I was free to go.
Once outside, I learned for sure that the person who had shot James
Davis was a political rival, Othniel Askew, whom Davis had brought with
him into City Hall. Then it began to dawn on me that not only had I
taken what was probably the last photo of Council Member Davis alive, I
had done so along with the man who had killed him! Here's what happened:
While the proclamation ceremonies were going on before the actual
council meeting, I left the chamber with my camera in search of a
Council Member whom I wanted to photograph for another article.
As I was coming down the stairwell in the rotunda, I saw Rev. Lucille
Chambers Hill, who had just been awarded a proclamation in recognition
of her outstanding career as a minister, educator, and choreographer of
liturgical dance. She and several friends were posing on the landing,
and James Davis was photographing them.
I automatically assumed that Davis must be taking the photo because
Rev. Hill was a constituent or a personal friend of his. Therefore, I
said to him, "Why don't you get in and I'll take a picture of all of you
together?" He answered,
"Oh,
they wouldn't want me in their picture." But the ladies assured him that
they would, so he handed me the little camera and went up to pose with
them.
I expected to take a photo first with the camera he had
been using and then with mine, but the man who was with Davis took the
camera from me. Therefore he and I stood there, literally shoulder to
shoulder, each taking a photo. It was chilling to realize later
that within 15 minutes, James Davis would be dead, and at the
hand of this same man who had been standing next to me.
