**EDIT** Robby has been moved from the ICU! I cannot thank all of you enough for the support and positive vibes. I’ll keep you all updated as the updates come in.-Chris
If you’re reading this, you already know who I am and what I’m about. But, if you don’t know me, my name is Chris Swinney. I’m a deputy sheriff with the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office with a soft spot for the men and women in blue. These gofundme accounts are happening far too much across our great country, but this one hit me right in the gut and knocked the wind out of me. I’ve been compelled, along with others,to take immediate action.
My academy mate and friend, SSFPD Officer Robby Chon, was attacked in South San Francisco yesterday. Robbie was struck in the head with a skateboard and as a result, he’s in intensive care. It’s too early to know what the outcome of this tragic event will be, but I know we can help him and his family through this terrible ordeal if we work together and show our support. Obviously, as I receive updates of his condition, I will share them with all of you.
Whatever money raised will go directly, in it’s entirety, to Robbie and his wonderful family. The money will be used to help off-set any medical costs or unexpected bills that will pop up during this difficult time. Robbie is the kind of man who’d give you the shirt off his back, it’s time we return the favor.
Robbie doesn’t know this because I never shared it with him, but he was one of the few guys who inspired me at the police academy. Without him, I might not have finished. He would run our PT (physical training) and often did his famous, “Chon Kickers.” That exercise kicked my butt, but it was well worth it. His view and take on life, with friends, family, and complete strangers, has always been top-notch and pleasant. His career has been example of what it means to be a “go to” officer, leader, and teammate. Raising any amount of money for Robbie and his family won’t make things entirely right again in the short-term, but it would help.
I feel a great sense of pain and sadness knowing he’s fighting for his life in a hospital right now, but I will not quit on him now, or ever. Robbie would not be happy that I started this gofundme thing, it’s not the type of thing he would like because he’s the most unselfish person you’d ever meet. But, he’s the kind of guy you can’t help but want to help, and he needs our help now.
This effort is not me alone. SSFPD Officer Chris Devan and the entire SSFPD Administration is pulling for one of it’s finest officers to make a full recovery and survive this malicious attack. I can tell you that the entire San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office, Daly City Police Department, Colma Police Department, Broadmoor Police Department, California Highway Patrol, Burlingame Police Department, San Mateo Police Department, San Bruno Police Department, BART PD, and the remaining law enforcement agencies along the Peninsula and throughout the state are pulling for him to make it through this. With your help, we might be able to turn this tragedy into something a little better. I’m not asking that you break your bank, and I know the Holiday Season is among us, but any amount would be greatly appreciated.
Please consider donating to this cause for SSFPD Officer Robbie Chon and his family. The entire law enforcement community would be grateful for any support you can show his way.
**IF you would like to donate a check or offline, you can do so by sending a check made out to “South San Francisco Police Association” with “Injured Officer Chon Fund” on the memo line to:
Sgt. Sean Curmi
SSF Police Association
33 Arroyo Drive
South San Francisco, CA 94080
Chris Swinney (SMCSO Deputy Sheriff)
Chris Devan (SSFPD Officer)
SO WHERE WILL THE MONEY GO?
Hey everyone. Folks have been asking me about where the money that is being donated to this cause will go or what the money will be used for. I applaud these questions.
It’s important to understand that I started this cause to help my friend and his family while he fights for his life. This is not the first gofundme account for an officer and sadly, it won’t be the last. I’m praying, as are many of you, that Robbie survives this senseless attack. None of us know what will happen as of right now.
I don’t want to consider this option, but there is a chance Robbie won’t survive. If he recovers, he might not be able to return to duty. He might also return to duty, but on a limited basis. The road to recovery for him is long and arduous. All we can do is hope and pray.
All the donated money will be used for various things such as: medical bills and expenses that are not covered by his medical overage (not everything is always covered), his wife obviously cannot work right now and neither can Robbie, they have bills like a mortgage, utilities, food, costs for their kids, car payments, etc that this money can help off-set, if Robbie can’t return to work, any money donated will help the family transition to a much different lifestyle and way of life, insurance policies and life insurance plans take months to sort through and to get money to the beneficiary, this money will be used for any unexpected bills that might come up while this chaotic time unfolds, some of the money could be used for college funds for his two children, and lastly, for stuff I cannot think about right now. I assure you, no one is being forced to donate and this cause is valid.
As it stands, the money will be moved from the gofundme account to the SSFPD POA and delivered to Robbie or his beneficiary. I hope this answers some of your questions.
HERE IS THE LINK TO THE GOFUNDME:
THANK YOU EVERYONE.
Perched above the light radiating anger he stalks, clenching fists and grinding his jaw muscles fiercely. A man in blue wearing a star, oblivious to the ticking time bomb, coasts to a stop preoccupied by time slipping by.
The tormented man hears a voice, “Yes, do it!”
Another of his voices says, “You can’t, you mustn’t!”
Zombie-like, he slowly grabs the luke-warm handle of his safety blanket, and cooler than the other side of a pillow, marches on to entertain the war that rages.
The traffic light remains red longer than normal, causing the unsuspecting man to curse and examine his surroundings. He peers left, and then right, noting nothing spectacular.
Again the voices scream, “Do it!”
“Do it you coward!”
The volley of pain finally consumes him. He lifts borrowed steel, aims, and fires. The crackle erupts, scattering feet drowned only by screams. The waiting cop never had a clue. At the foot of his cruiser, weathered life escapes the victim, while a mixture of gunpowder and smoke become one. Slowly they ascend to salvation seeking refuge for his soul.
Dying Set Me Free.
I was nine when I died.
I trembled while lying in bed,
wide awake, suddenly the door opened.
He slithered in, fueling his needs,
and did the unthinkable by taking
his son’s life. Once I felt
his touch, my soul fled from
my body. I tried, but could
not stop it. I watched as the
carcass of my body gasped for
oxygen as the demon left my
sanctuary. My mother, she knew nothing.
I dared not mention such things.
Awake, or asleep, it always persisted.
When it ended, unknown, but I
was reborn, more evil, more angry.
I’m thirty-nine now. My soul
sleeps with the fishes, while the
mental war rages, even a generation
could not save. I lie in
bed, awake and trembling, searching for
the nine year old helpless me.
Day I Die
The bullet grazed my temple searing the fine hair while leaving a thin blood trail trickling down my cheek. Instinctively I dove for cover behind a vehicle and reached for my handgun. What the hell just happened? I scanned the alley for the shooter and checked the wound. The ambient light from the street corner pole revealed fresh blood, my blood, and I decided at that very moment today was not the day I die. There was no image of my wife or kids flashing in my mind. I didn’t say a prayer or give up. Nope, all I saw was a poorly lit alley and all I wanted to do was kill the son of a bitch who’d just ambushed me. My heartbeat pounded in my chest and I exhaled after realizing I’d been holding my breath.
“Come on out ‘piggy!'” yelled the suspect. He fired off more rounds wildly in my direction. It was a catastrophic mistake for him. Now, based on his voice and the muzzle flash, I knew almost precisely where he was hiding. The only problem was I didn’t have a clear shot. I reached for my radio microphone to request cover units. My dive had crushed it, but the emergency button was lit indicating it still had power. I pressed it with my non-gun hand. My exact location was relayed to dispatch. Gotta love GPS, I thought.
“Listen buddy, the troops are coming! Give up and save yourself,” I answered back figuring there was no chance in hell this deranged lunatic would likely follow my lawful order. And, I felt secure in my hiding spot since I wasn’t getting hit by his sporadic gunfire.
“Fuck em’ all! I’ll get as many of you pricks as I can before I let you end it all for me!” Again he fired off more rounds at me. I cringed and fired back when my brain registered his statement. It’s a damn suicide by cop, and I have no way to warn my backup. I was instantly deflated because a lost soul was going to die.
“You don’t need to do this, put down the gun and we’ll work this out.” I felt a strong sense of trying to help him even though he was trying to kill me. Sounds weird, but it’s what we do. Plus, he had me pinned down and desperation forced me to try to negotiate. I was also trying to buy some time, albeit it I chose to try to rationalize with a man I knew clearly was not thinking straight. He responded with a flurry of bullets. Guess he’s not looking for help, he’s looking for death.
I peered under the vehicle I was hiding behind and could see he was basically trapped at the end of the alley. Solid structures surrounded him, except he could get free if he came right by me, and that wasn’t happening. This was going down in the industrial area of town, which meant my cover cars, even full lights and sirens would be a bit before they made it. As I contemplated my next move I felt a sharp burning pain in my shoulder as one of his careless rounds hit me. I yelled out in pain and rolled over on my back. Are you kidding me, a damn ricochet! The pain was unbearable, like a thousand needles gouging at an open wound, but I had to continue. I inched closer behind a wheel and squeezed the trigger slowly and methodically while aiming at the area his muzzle flashes were coming from. The sound was deafening while dust and debris flew into my eyes. Where the hell is my backup?
I combat reloaded my firearm with my last magazine and tried to listen. My ears ringed making it difficult to hear. The wound in my shoulder throbbed and I could see it was bleeding badly. I strained to hear something as I considered, only briefly, that I might not survive this ordeal. I counted rounds that I’d shot in my head and realized I was almost out. I glanced at my patrol vehicle. It was out in the open. If I made a move for it, the suspect would have a clear shot at me.
In a sadistic voice the suspect said, “Is that all you got? Boy, I served in the U. S. A. Marines!” He fired a couple of rounds, “you ain’t shit!” I rolled my eyes and was pissed because obviously I hadn’t hit him with my bullets and it seemed like all I was doing was making him more mad. Compounding the issue was he’d just said he was a marine. I’d read how these guys suffer from PTSD and no one in the government wants to acknowledge or talk about it. These guys feel helpless, many times they are, and now one of them wants me and all my friends dead. A sick mind is caustic.
“Of all the luck,” I huffed under my breath. I gotta do something, I thought.
I pleaded, “Man, you don’t need to do this! We’ll get you help, just throw down the gun and come out with your hands up.” I felt awkward trying to reason with him, but I didn’t see another option. My training and overwhelming need to help people kicked in. I struggled with what I should do next. Then I wondered how I was going to pull it off. And then I heard it. Police sirens. About damn time, I thought as my eyes lit up.
“You don’t know shit! Sounds like my welcoming party is almost here! I’ll see you assholes in hell!” He fired a whole magazine toward me. Bullets slammed into the car that I was using as cover and the bricks to my right causing them to explode. I tried to return fire but felt helpless. Then the shooting stopped. I assumed he was reloading. In the eerie silence, two police cruisers skidded to a halt behind me and positioned their cars to block the alley.
“Suicide by cop! My radio’s busted, I need medics!” I yelled at the two guys jumping out from their patrol cars. It’s a situation in which shooting and killing someone is justified, but I thought if it were me, I would want to know the situation as well. “One shooter, far end on the left, heavily armed,” I wanted to say more, but the suspect began shooting at the two officers, pelting their cars with rounds. They had to return fire in an effort to stop the threat and find better cover. I looked at my arm and could see the bleeding had clotted and it had gone numb.
With the shooter concentrated on them, I finally had an opening. I tried to push myself up to get to my patrol car, but my wounded arm buckled. With my gun still aimed down the alley, I managed to sort of roll over and get up. I wrangled my keys from my duty pants and was able to get the car trunk open. I could see my less than lethal shotgun, but bypassed it for an assault rifle. We were taking rounds and I was injured. I grabbed and slung the shotgun, maybe, just maybe, I thought, this guy can be saved.
More police cars flooded the area. The suspect continued firing from behind a dumpster. He was shooting at me and the other two officers in what seemed like a never-ending supply of bullets. The SWAT team was summoned, but the fact the guy was shooting randomly, at cops, I figured he wouldn’t last another couple of minutes. We stopped to reload and I froze because I could see the man walking out from behind the dumpster. He’d stopped shooting and I noticed he was wearing a ballistic vest. Then I saw the handgun in his right hand. He ripped off the ballistic vest revealing military fatigues. We made eye contact. I thought I’d see fear and sadness, or maybe confusion in his eyes. I was wrong. All I could see was utter rage. He winked at me and raised his gun. I could see an officer to my left who was having trouble with his gun and the suspect had him dead to rights. In a split second the suspect was going to kill him. Then suddenly, without thought just a reaction, boom! It was all over in an instant. I shot him and shook my head. I collapsed and lay on the street looking straight up at the stars. Slowly the sirens and barking dogs and spinning helicopter blades faded away. Then it was over.
This is a picture of the “missing” socks at my house. Everyday I walk by the small white wicker basket we use to store these poor guys and wonder, what happened to the other sock? So, after months of neglect and laziness, I decided to figure out what was happening. I assumed this would be easy, I mean how hard can it be to find a stinking sock??
First, technology. I thought about using a small tracking system for an existing pair of socks thinking maybe I’d be able to track where the socks disappear to. Water doesn’t mix with electricity, so that was out. I thought about connecting a pair of socks, but I made a big hole in the socks and I got busted by my wife for ruining a pair of socks…
Second, brute strength, I hit the streets to locate the missing socks. I got crazy and pulled the washing machine and dryer away from the wall so I could thoroughly search. I actually found two socks, but I had to add them both to the basket of misfits. I did locate a baseball glove that my son swore was “missing” (tricking me into purchasing a new one..) and some wet cat food, which for my cat Jasper was a win.
Third, follow leads. I headed to the dreaded sock drawers in my house. I dumped all the socks on the table from all the rooms, and sure as heck, I was able to locate the second sock for three from the previous missing misfit pile. They all happened to belong to my youngest son. I’ll ask him to put them away when he gets home from school, but I’m pretty sure they will end up somewhere other than the sock drawer….
I got super crazy and went to the other clothes piles and closets in the house and shook them out and turned them inside out to see if a sock got stuck in a pant leg or shirt sleeve. I found two dryer sheets and a piece of bubblegum…and a crumpled up dollar bill (Cha-Ching!!).
I searched my bedroom, under the bed (I know, super creepy right?), and found something quite interesting. I found a small basket containing single socks! Eureka! Rejoice! Rejoice! Match after match was found until I was left with these two lonely socks.
Lastly, plead for help. And now the point of this silly story. I’m looking for the second sock for the two located above, a Lightning McQueen and Puma. If anyone has any leads on these missing socks, I would greatly appreciate the assistance. Of course, all “found” socks and tips will be anonymous.