TESTIMONIES
by Lt. Rick Albee, Retired
Riverside Police Department
The man fired another shot at me over the roof of his yellow Pinto before jumping inside. "He's going to get away!" I muttered. I dropped the magazine out of my pistol and quickly reloaded. When I looked up, the man was sitting in his car, taking careful aim across the seat at me. I shot first.
The wounded suspect fell out of his car. He lay sprawled out and still on the asphalt; his .38 revolver scooted several feet in front of him.
I grabbed the microphone and radioed for an ambulance. "Traffic-1, I need Goodhew, Code-3!"
The dispatcher's voice crackled, "Your 10-20? Ninth and Lime?"
I couldn't answer her, the man was on his hands and knees, crawling for the gun. He clutched the weapon, pointing it at me. I dropped the microphone, took aim over my motorcycle's windshield and fired two shots. The suspect slumped to the ground, his gun again skidding away from him. As I rushed forward to give him first aid, I saw my partner, Larry Walters, laying in front of the Pinto. That shook me. I didn't know Larry was injured.
I ran back for the radio. "Traffic-1, officer shot!"
The dispatcher's response was a squawked officer-needs-help call: "Officer shot! All units 10-33! All units 10-8, Ninth and Lime, 11-99!"
I pressed the handset's button again, "Traffic-1, officer shot, suspect shot and in custody."
I looked up to see the suspect, again on his hands and knees, crawling for the gun. He grabbed it and slumped to his side, moving slowly, swinging the muzzle toward me.
I ran forward, kicked the gun out of his hand, heard it clatter across the asphalt.
And I looked into his eyes.
My mind stopped time. My foot halted mid-stride, suspended in air. The moments clicked by as our eyes locked. His jaw hung slack. Black eyes, flat and deadly, came from under his eyebrows and glittered with terror, eyes reflecting a horror that words cannot describe. The glitter faded, his eyes clouded, his head dropped to the asphalt and I continued toward Larry.
I only saw what appeared to be a minor scalp wound on the right side of Larry's head. It was actually the exit wound; the unseen entry wound was above Larry's hairline near his left ear.
My father, just leaving the post office less than a block away, had viewed the shooting from across a parking lot. He heard the hammering gunfire, and saw a helmeted police officer returning fire on a suspect. About twenty minutes later, the sergeant who was driving me to the station stopped Dad's car from leaving the area. I wanted Dad to make sure my family was all right. Seeing Larry's blood on my hands, he knew then it was me that he'd seen involved in the shooting. "I'll take care of them," was all he said, and he pulled away.
Larry Walters died at the hospital a short time later.
That incident set off a chain of events that would culminate in my entire family forming a lasting relationship with Jesus Christ.
My son was three, and my daughter was only ten months old at the time. Mary and I had been married for five years. I was the department reveler, the life of every party. I worked hard, lived hard, and boozed hard. But after the shooting, nothing seemed to satisfy.
I remembered the look in the eyes of the man I killed.
I was awarded the Medal of Valor, the cop's highest accolade. Then came the Attorney General's Certificate For Valor. They both sat in a box in the garage.
Mary put it best: "You seem to have lost your joy." It was an observation I could not easily accept, but I knew she was right. I had trouble sleeping. I had no appetite. I was easily angered. I'd awake during the night and "channel-surf" while I had another drink. Nobody saw that side of me. To the outside world I was the same old Rick. I saved my worst behavior for those I loved the most, my wife and my kids.
The following summer, during one of my sleepless channel-surfing nights, I landed on a televised Billy Graham crusade. He said, "The Bible says" I changed the channel. I figured I knew what the Bible said; I was brought up religious. But I was miserable, plagued, convicted.
The Bible says and I remembered the suspect's eyes.
The following September, friends invited us to a Police Couples Conference at Hume Lake Christian Camps. "Not unless I can drink beer there," I joked. It was a bad joke, and I saw the hurt look exchanged between Gary and Shari.
I will never forget the evangelist's opening: "God does not plow a field He does not intend to sow. There is a reason for each of you being here. God brought you here for a purpose."
His message referenced the book of Revelation, and I realized that at my worst through all the jokes I never really wanted to go to hell. Heaven is good, hell is bad and I knew I was headed for hell on greased skids. I flashed back to a man's terrified eyes as he stared up at me during his last heartbeat, and I finally understood what that horror in his eyes meant the realization of a hopeless eternity. And I knew fear the fear of having that same look in my eyes when I neared death.
When the evangelist gave the call to come forward, my hands were clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I looked down at them, and had to make a conscious, intentional effort to unclench my fingers and raise my hand. Mary, at my side, released a sigh and raised her hand also. She had waited for me, knowing that if she raised her hand first I may have followed, and it would have been less of a decision.
I was a training officer by that time, and the first night back to work my sergeant asked me about the weekend.
"I made a decision," I said.
"Yeah?" he smirked.
If I back off now, I'll never be able to stand up for anything I believe. "Yeah," I said. "I made a decision to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. I'm going to turn my life around."
And I never looked back.
I was promoted to detective, then sergeant, and finally lieutenant. In each position God allowed me to serve Him through Bible studies in our home, personal ministry and counseling, and we saw many come to Christ. I was elected State Chaplain for the California Fraternal Order of Police, and for several years wrote the Chaplain's Corner for their quarterly magazine.
The Christian life isn't always easy, satisfying is more accurate. If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth much. But I've come to understand that we are three dimensional creations, and we have an innate need to satisfy each of these dimensions. We are physical beings; God gave us a physical body. We are intellectual; God gave us a brain and an intellect. And we have a spiritual dimension; God gave us a free will to chose heaven or hell. Heaven is good, hell is bad. It's that simple.
Now, after twenty-nine years of police service, I've hung up the badge for a career in writing Christian fiction. Mary is my editor. We're raising guide-dog puppies for the blind, and I took up fly-fishing. My son and daughter are both married to wonderful Christian mates, and are continuing in their own walk with the Lord. I have been truly blessed. I know that.
Why do I believe in God? Because I've seen the terror of heaven's alternative reflected in the eyes of someone on the threshold of eternity. And when my turn comes to leave this life, I would have had the same look in my eyes had it not been for a relationship with Jesus Christ.
Now, when I die, it will be with a gentle smile, for I know to Whom I will be going.
That's why I believe in God.
Lt. Rick Albee, Retired
Riverside Police Department |
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