I found myself in the role of the latter when I
read of Kate Rooney
, a Vernon, Conn., police officer who recognized a reported stolen Chevy Avalanche while off-duty and commuting with her family in her personal vehicle. Dialing 911 on her cell phone, Rooney advised local police that she'd spotted the GTA and gave updates of its location as she followed it on surface streets. Normally, this would have been enough.
But when she saw a single marked patrol car arrive and begin effecting a traffic stop of the Avalanche, Rooney joined in the felony takedown, grabbing her own long gun and taking aim on the driver and passenger in the Chevy. The two men were subsequently arrested and taken into custody without incident.
By the time I finished reading an online account of Rooney's actions, I found myself in the unfamiliar position of straddling an ideological fence. Said perch is largely terra incognita for me as my opinions tend to be no less decisive than Rosie O'Donnell's, and a helluva lot more edified as they tend to be supported by logic, data, and my uncanny ability to discriminate between fact and fiction.
However, my overwhelming emotional response in evaluating Rooney's actions was one of being conflicted. For while I found her courage unimpeachable, the story's elliptical gloss-overs left me less sure of her judgment. Over and over again I wondered why she found it necessary to do what she did.
My prejudice stemmed partially from a posture that shies from the prospect of taking off-duty action if my family is in tow, a belief itself influenced by a tragedy that I first heard of nearly 30 years ago. I suspect that the tragedy in question continues to be part of the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department's officer safety training to this day.