Next month, Clayton County’s roguishly lovable Sheriff Victor Hill will be allowed to enter a grand jury room in Gwinnett County and tell the jurors why he should not be indicted for shooting a friend.
In May, Hill accidentally shot Gwenevere McCord, a Realtor holding an open house. Hill came to visit and decided to teach her about the tactical use of weapons. She ended up with a critical torso wound and was hospitalized for weeks.
Hill largely clammed up after the mishap, as is his right, and faces a possible misdemeanor charge.
Gwinnett County District Attorney Danny Porter has sent a letter to Hill informing him of the grand jury and inviting him to speak before the panel. Georgia has a law that lets cops and a few other officials sit in on grand jury hearings and then end the proceedings with an unchallenged statement about why they should not be charged with a crime.
The special privilege makes it unlikely police will get indicted for shooting someone. For instance, my colleague Brad Schrade did an investigation looking at the 171 times a police officer killed someone in Georgia since 2010. Schrade found that not one officer ever stood trial. Many, maybe even most of those shootings were justified. But 171-0?
And while they sitting in the otherwise secret proceedings, officers can build camaraderie with jurors. And they can listen to the evidence and mold statements that are emotional, evasive and are powerfully one-sided. That’s because they are not cross-examined. So they could conceivably say just about anything they want. Sometimes the sessions end with everyone in tears and jurors hugging the officer, as they all bid farewell.
So, have at it, Mr. Sheriff, use your right and let the grand jurors know the real Victor Hill. I’ve prepared a few remarks that you can use or disregard at will:
I just kinda forgot a couple safety tips
Ladies and gentlemen of the grand jury, I mean well, God knows I do.
I have been accused of shooting my good friend. It was a mistake and I was just trying to help. I’m a Helper, a Giver. That sometimes gets me in trouble, but I can’t stop helping.
Miss McCord is a good friend and I was simply trying to school her on weaponry. Realtors, especially ladies, are sitting ducks when doing open houses, so it’s a good thing for them carry heat ‘cause no one will mess with them.
And let’s get something straight: even though I wasn’t a certified state instructor, I’ve been packin’ for a long time, so I know a thing or two about firepower. My training is simply outside the box. I like to say “outside the box” a lot because, well, I hate boxes. I like putting bad guys inside them, but I sure don’t like the idea of being inside one myself. That’s why I fought so hard to beat those trumped-up corruption charges a couple years ago. And that’s why I’m fighting this.
Anyways, back to my gun training methods. I just kinda forgot a couple safety tips — like the one about taking bullets out of the gun if you’re going to play around with it inside someone’s home.
My bad.
Gwen’s father was even in the news saying good things about me and why would someone’s daddy say good things about someone who shot his little girl unless it was true? Heck, Gwen even wrote a Twitter thing saying #bestsheriffever or something like that. I mean, if she’s willing to let it go, then who are we to judge?
In the Bat cave, we hate the media
Um, actually, you are here to judge, so let me roll it back a bit and tell you about the Real Victor Hill. I might sometimes speak of myself in the third person, and please don't hold it against me, that's what us mavericks sometimes do.
First, all that stuff about me firing political enemies and putting snipers on the jail’s roof as we marched them out and the lawsuit judgments against the department and me causing wrecks while driving around, well, that’s all media talk. And we can agree on one thing, right? We all hate the media?
I came to law enforcement reading Batman comic books, which ladies say is adorable. I kinda see myself as Bruce Wayne. Without the millions, of course. I had to file for bankruptcy once. But I see myself as a hard-nosed crime-fighting dude. Just flash the bat-signal and I’ll be screeching around the corner in one of my county vehicles to chase the bad guys.
Now, I understand I’ve gotten a bit of flack for having a highly motivated team of deputies on 24/7 call to back me up, and if need be, get me out of trouble. You might have heard Putnam County’s Sheriff Howard Sills call it an “extraction team,” that their job is to extract my behind out of trouble.
I’m not saying there is or there isn’t such a team, I think I’m under oath or we’re being recorded or something, but if there was such a team, there would be darn good reason: I just can’t get out of my way. No matter how I try, I just keep stepping in it. But it’s because I care so much.
And that, I suppose, is why we are here today.
A common-sense deficit? Guilty as charged!
A while back, a Georgia Public Safety Training Center director said that someone using a live round in a training exercise is guilty of a “flagrant violation of common sense.”
Of that charge, I am 110 percent guilty. Type up a citation saying I lack common sense and I will sign it, frame it and put on my office wall as a daily reminder to try to find some.
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.
Anybody want a hug?
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