At about 7 p.m. on the night in question, I called 911 to report a suspicious person in the gated community called the Retreat at Twin Lakes. I live there and serve as neighborhood watch captain, although I was not on duty that night. I gave the dispatcher a description of the person, and I mentioned his race, but only after the dispatcher asked me for it as part of the description. I mention this now because at least one media source, the Today Show, broadcast a tape of the call that they edited to make it appear I was saying the individual looked suspicious because he was black. I only included his race as a description, and only because the dispatcher asked.
As the dispatcher said the police were en route,the individual began to move, and I was afraid he would get away before the police arrived. I started to follow him. The dispatcher realized I was following him and asked me not to. I think the words used were “We don’t need you to do that.” And I thought, sure, they don’t need me, they don’t have to live with more break-ins. But I was sick of calling the cops, they take their sweet time, and the prowler gets away.
I lost sight of the individual about halfway down the block and I realized I had been watching for him and talking to the police and had gotten turned around in my head; I didn’t know which end of the road I was at and in the dark the houses all look the same. I got out of my vehicle to check the street sign because the light wasn’t good enough to see it from my car, especially in the rain. While I was out of the car I saw movement in between the houses, and then the young man I now know was Treyvon Martin came into view.
I walked towards him and he turned and looked at me, and I said to him, I think it was, “Hey – what do you think you’re doing?”
He stepped up towards me and said to me, “Why the fuck you following me?”
He then punches me, right in the nose, and thatshoved me backwards. As I fell I sort of grabbed at his head and felt something fall away from his ear. I think I hurt his ear because he yelled “Fucker!” at me and kicked at my ribs. I tried to roll away from the kick and he followed me. On the second or third kick I caught his leg and swept him down, thinking I could get him down, and I did. I started running, I couldn’t tell exactly where, and I didn’t get very far before I got hit by a running field tackle like they teach football players how to do. I ended up on my back with Treyvon on top of me. I started yelling for help.
He was straddling me, and I was trying to shove him off, but I couldn’t. He hit my head into something really hard, and I sort of saw stars for a second, and it was then I thought that I could end up dead or drooling for the rest of my life from brain damage.
I had a gun in a concealed carry holster, not visible. It was in my waistband. I tried shoving him off again, continuing to yell for help, but this time as I bucked up, instead of trying to get him off me, I just tried to draw my weapon, and I did. I kept hoping, praying, that the police would get there or that some neighbor would come out and intervene but no one did. I kept yelling for that help until the gun cleared the holster and, believing myself in danger of serious bodily injury if I did not use it, I fired a shot. It struck Treyvon.
I never shot anyone before.
It wasn’t like TV. He actually hit my head once more after being shot, then got up. There was almost no blood on his front where the bullet hit. He said, “That’s for you then,” to me, and took several steps away, then sort of tripped and fell.
I got to my feet and went over to look at him. I had a little mini flashlight and I shined it on him. His eyes were open but he wasn’t breathing. It seemed wrong that his eyes were open, so I reached down and closed them, just like they do on TV.
Then the police got there. The paramedics too. I told them exactly what happened. The paramedics fixed up my head. They said they were using Krazy Glue on my head! It all seemed like a bad dream. They said I should go to the hospital and get checked out, but I said no. I wanted to explain what happened, why it wasn’t my fault. One of the neighbors took a picture of my head with his phone camera.
They cuffed me and took me to the station, and made me tell my story over and over and over. I did.
I think some of them didn’t believe me. One detective even said something like, “Your head doesn’t look so bad to me.” but I told him it looked a lot worse before they fixed me up, the paramedics, I mean. And the officers on scene saw me bleeding, for God’s sake.
