Danny Nguyen, 13 years old, the son of an American Airman and the grandson of refugees stopped pedaling his bike. Across the street in front of a ubiquitous apartment complex in this part of Hampton, Virginia, a police officer had pulled over a late 1990’s black Honda Civic. Danny readied his smartphone and started recording. After the officer yelled for the driver to exit the vehicle with his hands in the air, Danny zoomed in on the driver, a young black man who couldn’t have been much more than 18. In what amounted to no more than a few seconds after Danny zoomed in, he heard the loud crack of the officer’s service pistol. And right there on his smartphone, etched in its digital memory, Danny witnessed a young man die.

And for another minute, Danny kept recording; he was simply too numb to push stop. Without truly appreciating the magnitude of his next action, Danny uploaded the video across multiple social media networks; he did so anonymously, because Danny, perhaps rightly so, feared that his dad would never let him leave the house again if he knew that Danny had just witnessed a man die. Danny had time to think about what had just happened as he walked his bike home.

In less than 24 hours, the video of this police shooting of an unarmed black man, an incident far too common in our present 21st Century American moment, went viral across the spectrum of social media. As a consequence on the following day, the video was picked up by every major, and minor, news channel and media outlet as a headlines news story. Too many of us routinely underestimated the power and scope of social media, but not 13 year old Danny Nguyen, a military brat and the grandson of refugees who fled a violent and vicious war; in less than 24 hours, a million tears would be shed and a million pairs of feet would march because of Danny’s viral video.

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Dante Jordan, 19 years old, the son of a shipbuilder and an apprentice in his own right didn’t realize that his taillight had burned out sometime during his commute from the shipyard to his modest Hampton apartment. He was less than a mile from home when he looked in the rearview mirror of his old but mostly faithful black Honda Civic and saw the flashing blue lights of the Hampton police cruiser. Dante couldn’t figure out which traffic violation had earned him this encounter with the law but he figured it was probably just a very minor offense. He pulled over into an nondescript apartment complex expecting a quick ticket and he’d be on his merry way. Little did Dante know that his car matched the description of a vehicle seen fleeing an armed home invasion.

Dante put his car in parked and rolled down his car window. Through the reflection in his driver side mirror, Dante watched the officer take up position behind his opened car door with his gun drawn. What he heard next sounded alarm bells racing through his mind. The officer screamed, “Driver, put both of your hands out the window! Slowly, where I can see them!” Dante complied without question. The officer, a bit more calmly but authoritatively, ordered, “With your left hand slowly open your car door from the outside. Keep your hands where I can see them!” And again without question, Dante complied. “Slowly step out of the vehicle facing away from me. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Dante did as he was ordered.

With an ever slight motion of his left arm, Dante motioned toward his back pocket. And within the split second before the words, “My wallet with license and registration is in my back pocket,” left his mouth and the barely registered word, GUN!,” belted the top of the officer’s lungs, Dante heard the loud crack of the officer’s service pistol roar to life. And then the darkness of nothingness greeted the end of the Being of yet another beautiful unarmed black man.

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Having been born and grown up in the city of Hampton, Brent Rhodes knew from an early age that he wanted to be a police officer and give back to his community. The City of Hampton has a storied history dating back to early 1600’s with Old Point Comfort, the present home of Fort Monroe, being settled shortly after Jamestown. With pivotal roles in every major American war since the American Revolution, Hampton has remained at or near the center of American history. But its history has also been plagued by evilest of human intentions from the very beginning of the United States’ role in the enslavement of Africans; in the early 1600’s, the very first African slaves to arrive in the United States disembarked at Old Point Comfort. From these early days to Emancipation and the founding of Hampton University to the Civil Rights Movement, Hampton has been at the forefront of the often strained relationship between White and Black America. It’s against this immense historical backdrop that Brent has spent his life navigating as a white man living in a majority black community.

Immediately after graduating from college, Brent signed up for the police academy. He dreamed of one day putting his criminology degree to use as a detective. But he knew that he had to put in his dues as a traffic cop before the department would even consider him. At the time of the fateful stop of Dante Jordan, Brent was just starting his fifth year as a traffic cop.

It was nearing the end of shift when Brent heard the all-points bulletin over the dispatch to be on the look out for a late 1990’s black Honda Civic seen fleeing the scene of an armed home invasion; the suspect was presumed armed and dangerous. As Brent pulled on North Armistead Avenue heading in the direction of Langley Air Force Base, he caught a glimpse of a black Honda Civic a few cars ahead. Brent radioed dispatch with the potential sighting of the suspect vehicle and turned on his patrol car’s blues.

In no time, Brent positioned his patrol car on the tail of the black Honda Civic. It was only a simple matter sounding the siren to get the driver’s attention. The Civic slowly turned into the apartment complex on the right, came to a stop, and its engine turned off. Brent radioed dispatch that he had stopped a suspect vehicle and going to make exploratory contact with the vehicles driver. Dispatch urged caution and indicated that back-up was on its way to Brent’s location.

With reason to suspect that the driver was potentially armed and dangerous, Brent exited his patrol car and took up position behind the driver-side door with his service pistol drawn. Brent ordered the drive to slowly roll down his window and keep both hands outside of the vehicle. Brent, then, ordered to driver to open his door from the outside and exit the vehicle facing away from him. Without questioning, the driver complied with Brent’s orders.

In a matter of seconds, the slightest movement of the driver’s left arm and the barest glimpse of a black object in the driver’s waist band sent Brent’s heart and mind racing. Only slightly cognizant of the word, “GUN!,” shouted from the depths of his lungs, Brent’s finger pulled the trigger of his service pistol. BANG! A single round fired at the suspect and he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Keeping his service pistol trained on the downed suspect, Brent radioed dispatch of the officer-involved shooting and requested a supervisor and an ambulance to his location immediately.

“Driver!” No response.

“Driver!” No response.

“Driver, keep your hands where I can see them!” No response.

With his service pistol still trained on the driver, Brent slowly approached the unresponsive man. And only when Brent stood hovering over the unresponsive man did he holster his weapon and handcuff the suspect’s hands behind his back. Only after he patted down the suspect and unfruitfully search for the gun he thought that he had sighted did Brent finally check the unresponsive man’s pulse. Nothing!

“Oh, Shit!”

Intrigued by the commotion, a small group of onlookers, residents of the apartment complex, stood chattering amongst themselves and, for the most part, shocked by the sight of a dead young black man before them. Brent briefly made eye contact with a young Asian kid standing on the other side of Armistead Avenue, who was holding his BMX bike with one hand and holding his cellphone up facing the scene. By the time Brent had turned his head back from observing the crowd, the young kid had departed the scene.

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“Hey Dad, you need to check out this Youtube video. I think it is Dante from church.”

The Reverend Emmanuel Jeffries of the Bethel AME Church looked up from his reading.

“What are talking about?”

“Have you not seen the news tonight?” John Jeffries handed his smartphone to his father. “Just push play. The video has already gone viral.”

The video played for Emmanuel, the same video shot by the young Danny Nguyen.

“Oh, God! Dante!” Emmanuel was visibly distraught over seeing one of his parishioners, and his godson, killed on film. He knew the Jordan family for going on 40 years; Emmanuel had grown up with Dante’s father.

“John, I have to go see the Jordans. They’ll need prays in these dark hours.”

“Can I go with you? Dante was my brother too.”

“Yeah, son. I think they would appreciate it.”

The only think that Emmanuel could think about while driving to the Jordans’ home in Newport News was the eulogy for his godson. Even though John was wearing headphones, Emmanuel knew that his son was replying the video over and over again. Both failed to notice the unusually large number of people milling about on the sidewalks and street corners at this late hour.

Next Chapter: Eulogy