by Jayne Allen
“When you find Officer Mallory, tell him that Tabitha Walker, Senior Reporter at KVTV wants to interview him about an officer-involved shooting. He should remember who I am. He stopped me once…and let me go.” If all went as I wanted, before the end of my interview with Daequan and his family, I’d have a contact on Officer Mallory so that I could interview him as well.
When we pulled up to the hospital, we arrived just in time to set up the camera and for me to scribble some final notes on the questions that I would ask. No matter how much reporting I’d done in the past, I never failed to get a little nervous before a big moment, and especially an interview. A properly worded question could make the story, but the wrongly worded question could ruin it.
Coming out of the hospital door, Daequan and his family were not what I expected. I found a five-foot-eight gangly boy, who looked no older than 16, maybe 17, with the hair in his juvenile mustache looking still like darkened peach fuzz. He was neatly dressed, in jeans and a baggy black t-shirt, wearing clunky gym shoes that didn’t seem at all fashionable. His right arm was in a sling, the bandages and cast evident and in obvious contrast to the black cotton short sleeve of his clothing. The woman to Daequan’s right, who I presumed to be his mother, was still wearing her nurse’s scrubs. The other woman, who I assumed was his grandmother, had her arm protectively around his waist on the left side, even as he had her slightly beat on height. A teenager walked in front of them with a cell phone, giving instructions for how they would go live on Facebook. I approached them, alone, to introduce myself and to request the interview. We were the only news team.
“Hi!” I said holding my hand out. “I’m Tabitha Walker, I’m a reporter with KVTV?” They all looked at me with surprise. “Are you familiar with our station?” It was the mother who spoke first.
“Yes! We watch you all the time. Ma!” She turned to her mother standing on the other side of her grandson. “This is Tabitha Walker—you’ve seen her right?”
“Yes, I think I have,” the older woman said. “But I usually turn on KTLA for my news,” she said dismissively. Well, it’s KVTV covering your grandson today, I thought to myself.
“I’ve been following the story of what happened with Daequan,” I continued. “I thought that it was important to cover this moment of him leaving the hospital, and to have the opportunity for him to tell his story to our viewers. Would that be ok?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Daequan, you ok with that?” His mother turned to face him to ask. This was the first time that I heard Daequan speak. His voice was surprisingly soft for his height. He was well-spoken and exceedingly well-mannered.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said.
“May I ask your last name? Ms….” I asked.
“Jenkins,” Daequan’s mother said.
“And?” I pointed to Daequan’s grandmother.
“Wilson. Gloria Wilson, and that’s my daughter, Felicia Jenkins and grandson, Daequan Jenkins—he’s a straight A student, by the way. Gonna be a doctor. Thank God we can say, still gonna be a doctor,” she said proudly. Grandmothers, I thought with a slight smile.
“Nice to meet all of you,” I said. “Daequan, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about what happened last night, is that ok?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said.
“Great. And then, I’m just going to ask you a few more questions to give our viewers a sense of who you are, is that ok?” He nodded. “Excellent. I heard that you want to be a surgeon, is that right?”
“Yes Ma’am.” he said. And then, he paused like he had something else to say. I gave him the moment to let him finish the thought. “I do want to be a doctor. I will be, I mean. Especially after this…Dr. Wesley, he took real good care of me. Saved my arm. So, I know I want to be a vascular surgeon.”
“Excellent, Daequan. We’re going to give you a chance to tell all of our viewers that as part of your story. Is everybody ready?” I motioned for my reporting team to come up and join us. Barry was manning the camera, and already behind me to start taping. Tina was on the phone and Jim ran up behind Barry with his notepad ready for show notes.
“Hold up!” said the kid with the camera phone. “We’re supposed to be doing a Facebook Live session for the folks in the neighborhood. How we gonna…”
“Boy, if you don’t get your silly behind out of the way…excuse me…” said Mrs. Wilson, finally realizing that she was in mixed company. “If you don’t go over there with that phone. You best just record us being on television,” she said in the way that you know you’d better comply.
“Ok, Auntie,” the boy said, defeated. He left the group to go stand behind Barry and our television camera. I watched as he started talking to the screen in front of him, I presumed, explaining the situation.
With my handheld mic in order, and the tape rolling, I started the interview with a walking introduction to lead the camera to Daequan and his family, who were standing in a group to my left. I steadied myself, summoned my most professional and polished reporter voice, and began.
“Hello, I’m Tabitha Walker, reporting for KVTV LA. You may have heard that yesterday there was an officer-involved shooting in the View Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. A young man, 19-year-old Daequan Jenkins, was identified as an African-American burglary suspect by a white neighbor to police. In reality, Daequan was simply trying to help his grandmother move out of her newly sold home.” I moved in closer to the family as I spoke, trying to minimize the sound of my heels clacking on the sidewalk. Barry followed me with the camera. “First to arrive on the scene was an off-duty officer who was in the neighborhood, apparently visiting with friends who had recently moved in. What happened next, landed Daequan here at Lynwood’s St. Francis Medical Center Trauma Unit. Daequan was admitted yesterday with a bullet wound. He had been shot by the officer, who has now been placed on administrative leave.” I arrived in front of the family, and allowed Barry some time to align all of us in the camera’s view.
“I am here now, with Daequan and his family—his mother and grandmother, as they prepare to leave St. Francis, thankfully with Daequan’s arm intact, but I’m sure still healing from the impact of what must have been an incredibly traumatic police confrontation.” I turned to Daequan. “Daequan, we’ve all heard the official reports of yesterday’s events. Could you please tell me and the KVTV viewers, what happened in your own words?” I pivoted the microphone in Daequan’s direction as he shifted uncomfortably and leaned down slightly to speak, like a thin reed bending down in the breeze.
“Yes, Ma’am. I went to my grandmother’s house after work to help her move. She told me that she needed to get some things out of the way before the moving truck came in the morning. I had to work that evening, but I got there just after. I was tired, so I was moving kind of slow, getting things into the car that she asked me to bring over to the new place. Next thing I know, somebody rolled up on me, said he was a police officer, pointing his gun at me. I got real scared and tried to tell him I was gonna call my mom to explain everything.” As he spoke, Daequan pointed to his mother with unencumbered left hand. “She was at work. So I tried to get my phone out of my pocket, and next thing I know, I heard the gunshot and I was on the ground bleeding. I thought I was going to lose my arm. That’s all I could think about. That, and calling my mother.” Hearing his words brought tears to my eyes. I thought of my father, my cousins, little Lexington and Rob Jr., I even thought of Rob and Marc. I had to force the tears back and compose myself to continue in my best emotionless professional tone.
“Unbelievable to think that this would be what resulted last night,” I said looking at him. “Tell me, had you met any of the neighbors on your grandmother’s street?” Daequan started to speak, but his grandmother stepped in front of him, to address the mic.
“What I will say about that is that none of those people that moved in ever bothered to speak to me with so much as a ‘hello’ befor
e they called the police on my grandson. Never. I don’t even know if they know what I look like, let alone Daequan, who was in school…getting straight A’s. I just have to say that—straight A student right here. Always has been.” I didn’t want to cut her off, but I had to move the mic back to Daequan.
“Thank you Mrs….” She pulled the mic back in her direction.
“Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Gloria Wilson…Daequan Jenkins’ grandmother.” she said proudly. I smiled at her. Grandmothers.
“Daequan, do you have anything that you want to say to the neighbors that called the police, or to the officer that shot you?” Daequan scratched his head with his left hand, and made a brief scrunched up face, which released, just as he began to speak again.
“Yes, Ma’am. I guess I would say to the officer and the neighbors the same thing. You can’t always judge a book by its cover. I learned that a long time ago in school. I understand that you think you’re trying to protect somebody’s house, my grandmother’s house—so actually, I thank you for looking out. I have to assume that you thought you were doing the right thing. But, I could have died. I could have lost everything I’ve been working for my whole life to become a surgeon.”
“I could have lost my son!” Ms. Jenkins said, now in tears. I wanted so badly to comfort her but, I needed to finish the interview and make sure that Daequan had the full opportunity to say his piece. Daequan tried to move his arm to put it around his mom, but the cast and sling made that impossible. Instead, Mrs. Wilson came around to the other side of his mom and put her own arms around her to comfort her now sobbing daughter, moving them off camera. Now, it was only Daequan in the frame. He bent himself back down to the microphone to finish.
“I was a part of P.A.L. when I was younger. I’m not holding a grudge and honestly, I still look up to a lot of police officers. But, I guess, all I have to say is, what would you want an officer to do if it was your son? That’s how I wish I could have been treated.”
“Thank you Daequan. You certainly deserved better. Thank God that you’re here to tell your story and on behalf of our viewers and the entire KVTV news team, I’d like to thank you for sharing your story with us. We wish you a speedy recovery.” Daequan nodded and walked off to join his mother and grandmother, still in a sobbing huddle, leaving me to close things out with Barry and the camera.
“I’m Tabitha Walker, reporting for KVTV Los Angeles. Now, back to you in the newsroom.”
Barry gave me the signal that the recording had stopped. All that was left was to thank Daequan and his family and then rush to get the package ready for the news. We would have to head straight to the newsroom and all piled quickly into the van. Tina was still on the phone, but once we got seated, she handed me a sheet of paper with scribbled writing on it. It read: Officer James Mallory (323) 555-0108.
Chapter 34
Once we arrived at the station, we had time only to give a quick edit to the interview and format the segment for the 6 p.m. news. It aired successfully, so all there was to do was wait. Chris liked the piece so much that he wanted to continue to follow up on it, which meant that I had to get Officer Mallory on the record. Our strange encounter had never fully left my mind, but on this day, if perspective was going to be what mattered, I never saw more of a reason for it. I made a note to work the call with him into my swelling to-do list for the story. I already had a paper ream worth of notes to review from my research team and if the ratings were good, Chris would want the follow up ready for Monday. If the other stations caught on to the news, then there would be even more pressure to stay ahead with the leading developments. We’d have to follow up on all angles, on the surgeon, Dr. Jonathan Wesley, who saved Daequan’s arm, inspiring the evolution of his career plans to become a surgeon. It made the perfect human-interest angle, a shooting victim following in the steps of the man who treated him. We’d also have to follow up on the responding officer, the department’s response, the changing landscape of the neighborhood and interviews with any of the neighbors who would be willing. My work was cut out for me.
Even before I left the station that evening, my phone was busier than a bee hive—buzzing, chirping, ringing and making all kinds of indications that people were trying to get in touch. I saw a few text messages of congratulations and people letting me know that they saw my segment. There was even a text from Marc saying that he was proud of me. As soon as I got home, I decided to try Officer Mallory and see if I could make arrangements for an interview. It was strange to be calling him and I wasn’t sure that he’d answer. I pushed myself past the nervousness to not hang up prematurely. I needed to talk to him. The story required it. Sure enough, he finally picked up.
“Hello, this is James,” I heard his still recognizable voice say.
“Um, hi, Officer Mallory? This is Tabitha, Tabitha Walker from KVTV LA. Tina from my research team reached out to you?”
“Hi, yes, Tabitha. I’ve been expecting your call.” He had been expecting my call?
“Oh, good thing I didn’t wait then,” I said awkwardly, with an even more uncomfortable laugh.
“Yes, it’s somewhat strange to be speaking to you, I have to admit. I’m not accustomed to speaking to the media.”
“Yes, I understand. Our first encounter was…certainly memorable,” I said, trying to be diplomatic. “I remembered what you said, and, I thought that you might be interested in providing an officer’s perspective on the officer-involved shooting that occurred in View Park this past week. Have you been following the story?”
“Yes, after Tina contacted me, I made it a point to watch the 6 p.m. airing of KVTV news. I thought that you did a good job with the interview.” He did?
“Excellent. Well I always look to provide as much of a story as I possibly can. It’s my job to lend perspective.”
“Ms. Walker, how can I help you?”
“Well, I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing an interview—on-the-record, providing your particular perspective on the shooting.” To this, Officer Mallory was silent, other than the sound of clearing his throat.
“Tabitha…Ms. Walker,”
“Tabitha is fine.”
“Ok, Tabitha, can we speak off-the-record?”
“Of course. You have my word,” I said.
“As much as I do have my own thoughts about what happened between that young man and the responding officer, there’s no way that I can speak on-the-record as an individual or in my official capacity as a police officer. We have strict rules as a precinct and as a force—with a designated spokesperson for each matter.”
“I see…” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
“That said, what I want you to know is that as officers, we do get scared, just like anybody else; and angry, just like anybody else; and can be in need of resources and training, just like anybody else. There are ways to manage all of this. It’s just that everything that needs to be done, doesn’t always get done.” He paused abruptly. His voice became much more tentative as he continued. “Even with that… I’m probably saying too much.”
“Officer Mallory, don’t worry, I promise that we’re off-the-record.”
“Still, I don’t have any business talking to a reporter, you know? Not if I want to keep my job. Listen, Tabitha, I’ll just say this, ok? If, with your reporting, you can somehow help the department, alongside everybody else, it would be welcome. In our world, everybody just wants to get home to their family at the end of their shift. And believe me, there is no good and decent officer on the force who wants to go home on any night knowing that he shot a 19-year-old kid.”
I thanked Officer Mallory for his candor and reassured him that I would keep our conversation off-the-record. It was left up to me to figure out what could be done with the information that he gave. Sure enough, he did provide perspective, but unfortunately, it was nothing that I could use publicly—for now.
As I worke
d through the evening, my phone continued to ring and buzz with congratulations and messages. Around 10 p.m., I decided to take a look; there were messages from my mom, my dad and Crestmire. I figured that Granny Tab must have watched the 6 p.m. news and cued up the voicemail message.
“Ms. Walker, this is Dr. Johnson at Crestmire. The message is fairly urgent. I am also calling your father, Mr. Paul Walker. Please call us back as soon as you get this at 818-555-9672.” What? I was confused hearing her voice. Dr. Johnson would never call me…unless… I cued up the next message from my dad.
“Tabby, its Dad…um…I need to speak to you sweetheart. Call me right away, ok? Ok, it’s Dad.” This isn’t good. This cannot be good. I called Granny Tab’s direct number. The phone rang, and rang, and rang and eventually went to voice mail. I started to feel the drop of panic in my gut and the quickening of my pulse. My hands felt clammy and started to shake as I dialed back the main number to Crestmire.
“Hello, this is Tabitha Walker calling. Tabitha Walker my grandmother, I’m named after her, she is a resident there. Doctor Johnson called me. She called me and left a message. An urgent message. Can I please speak to her? Or, can you get my grandmother? Tabitha Walker. She’s not answering her phone.” Please God, please don’t let this be what I think this is. I held the phone in silence praying, waiting for the doctor to tell me that something other than what I thought was happening was happening. Finally, she came to the phone.
“Tabitha?” she said softly.
“Yes, Dr. Johnson, this is Tabitha, Tabby. Is my grandmother alright? Please tell me she’s alright. She’s not answering her phone. Is she alright?” I begged.
“Tabitha, I called earlier and left a message. An aide went to perform our usual night checks on the residents and your grandmother was, she was non-responsive.” Non-responsive?
