Not Columbine, but Columbine Lite

So I'm killing time in my Learning Cottage (we're not supposed to call our portable classrooms double-wides, trailers, or anything else that detracts from the school's professional image) during 2nd period today. It's my planning time, and as usual, I was blowing off some steam with a friendly game of Half Life: Opposing Force. Yeah, I know it's like a decade old, but I like it. Anyway, Mr. Jones, one of the security people, sticks his head in my door and says, "Come on. We need you. There's a crisis."

Crisis? What kind of crisis? He's already out the door, going to the next portable to tell my colleague to batten down the hatches, and not to let anyone in or out of his class room. I catch up with Jones who has just heard something on the walkie-talkie and has taken off at a jog. I jog along behind him, more curious than anything else. He tells me to go to the main office where they'll tell me what's going on, but they don't. They order me to go stand by the middle door by the football field, and to not let anyone in or out of the school.

So I'm a good sport, I do what I'm told, especially after hearing a general announcement on the PA that we're going to hold the 3rd period bell for a while, and to not let anyone in or out of the classrooms. Another teacher joins me at the door, and we stand there wondering what the hell is going on. Armed school district security officers are now roving the halls, and she and I make cracks about rent-a-cops with Glocks and terrorist drills. A little later, I see fully armed Dallas Police officers are making stops room by room to speak with the teachers.

Now we're concerned. This isn't a drill.

I stop the officer from Dallas' Gang Unit to ask what's going on. He looks at us and says, "No one's told you yet, and you're guarding the door?" He hands me a piece of paper that says:

"This is NOT a practice.
STAY CALM.
We Have Lots of Help Here.
DO NOT SHARE INFO WITH STUDENTS.
We Need Staff Help Now.

We are looking for a student who fits this description:
African American Male
6 feet 3 or 4
Black jeans or shorts
White jersey with black or multicolored sleeves
Short afro about 1 inch

IF you have knowledge about this person, contact the front office. Security will be roaming.
Do NOT share this info with students.

Otherwise,
Keep your students in 2nd period.
Do not release until we give instructions.
We are looking for the above student.

Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for keeping things calm.
Keep students working. Keep them on task.
Tell them a drill is taking place--we know they will be suspicious.

DO NOTHING TO CREATE PANIC.
DO NOT ALLOW STUDENTS TO CALL HOME WITH WORRY. JUST A DRILL."

A gun has been brought on campus. Some freshman did the right thing and told his teacher, who told the front office. The police officer then tells us that the suspect has most likely left campus already, but they have to check. Just hold tight. And that's just what the other teacher and I do.

Well, this drill-not-really-a-drill has been going on for more than an hour now. We're out of 3rd period and about to launch into 4th, and that means that lunch is going to be interrupted, man, I really hate having my lunch schedule screwed up like this, hey, what's that noise, some kind of a commotion upstairs.

"Young man, come back here... Young man!... Suspect fleeing, east side stair case by the football field!"

Hey! I'm at the bottom of that staircase!

I glance over at the other teacher, and her eyes are about as wide as mine must have been, and we do what any sensible person would do in a situation like that: we stepped back from the stairs.

It was at that moment that a plan hatched in my head. Hey, here's your chance. Just a quick leg whip as he's coming downstairs, then give him one of these while he's on the ground, and sit on him 'til the cops come. You'll be hero-guy, and everyone will love you. You'll be a bad-assed-mother-fu...

The kid hit the landing above me, charging downstairs at top speed, clutching some kind of large L-shaped object under his sweatshirt. Very large L-shaped object. Like: big mother-fucking high-assed caliber take-your-head-cleeean-off L-shaped object. And I said to myself, Aw, hell naw.

I stepped aside.

The kid ran out the door. The police came tumbling after. They ran him across the football field, past the Learning Cottages, past the batting cage behind my portable, over the back fence, down the block, and finally took him down by the old railroad tracks. Along the way, the kid had chucked the gun on top of the batting cage. Later, as I returned to class, the police were climbing on top of the cage to retrieve it. It was a frickin' huge revolver (I found out at the end of the day that it was a .357 magnum, unloaded), and I gave the police an oversized manilla envelope to to put it in.

I knew the kid. He broke his leg (thigh bone) during the first football game of the year three years ago. It was my first game as an assistant coach, and I rode in the back of the ambulance with him and talked to him while the morphine took effect. I don't coach anymore--not because of the ambulance ride; I simply hated coaching football.

At the end of the day, all of the faculty were assembled, congratulated on their professionalism, reminded not to talk to the media, and told to have a nice, restfull weekend after an otherwise smooth first week of school. Oh yeah, and don't talk to the media.