From unimaginable grief, a hope for change
By Aline Mendelsohn
Sentinel Staff Writer
March 17, 2004
The father watches the grainy videotape over and over. Each time he watches the
tape, he watches his daughter die.
Early in the morning, around 1 a.m., police have pulled over Shamir Suber, a
man suspected of shooting into an East Orlando apartment. As the deputy exits
his patrol car, Suber swerves around him and flees, pumping the accelerator up
to 70 mph, flying over speed bumps. Police chase him.
Some lights appear ahead in the distance, where another officer has set up
tire-deflation devices. There's another car there, too -- a barely discernible
green Ford Escort.
Suddenly, a crash. A flash of red and white. The suspect has slammed into the
Escort, crushing the trunk into the back seat. Inside the Escort is Sarah, Jim
Phillips' 20-year-old daughter.
In the months after the December 2001 night Sarah died, Phillips watched the
police videotape incessantly, pored over nearly 100 pages of police reports, and
examined pictures of Sarah's crumpled car.
He needed to understand how his daughter became an innocent fatality in a police
chase. Grief led this quiet man to do something he never would have imagined: to
become an activist for better police-pursuit policies.
Phillips, 55, has no background in law enforcement. He isn't a politician or a
lobbyist. He's an ordinary citizen who owns an Ace Hardware store in Altamonte
Springs and wears the Ace uniform of a red polo shirt and navy pants.
Yet, Phillips says, "Somehow, I've been assigned this mission."
Dreams of a future
Phillips never understood how college kids could start their nights so late.
Sarah lived with her parents in Winter Park, and sometimes she would tip-toe in
the house at her curfew of 2 a.m. as Phillips dozed. Sarah would hold his hand
to tell him she was home, and if she massaged her thumb against the back of his
hand, he would know she needed to talk.
They talked often about her career aspirations. Phillips told her to find her
passion and stay in school at the University of Central Florida as long as she
liked.
In January 2001, Phillips was hospitalized after a heart attack. The nurses who
cared for him impressed him, particularly one who traveled around the country
for work. He thought the profession might offer his independent daughter some
good opportunities.
Sarah agreed and applied to UCF's school of nursing. She was still waiting to
hear from the school's admissions department on the night she went to see
Ocean's Eleven with three friends. After the movie, she dropped them
off. But Sarah never made it home.
When the doorbell rang around 2 a.m., Phillips and his wife, Patti, answered the
door and met a Florida Highway Patrolman who asked if they were Sarah Phillips'
parents.
"She was in an accident," the patrolman told them.
Sarah died while Jim Phillips was on his way to the hospital. A few days later,
some of Sarah's belongings were recovered from her car, including a
blood-stained baseball trivia book she had bought her father for Christmas.
A few weeks later, a UCF letter addressed to Sarah arrived in the mail.
It was an acceptance letter from the school of nursing.
Pushing for change
Six months after Sarah's death, Phillips sued the Orange County Sheriff's Office
for negligence. In March 2003, Phillips received $200,000 in a wrongful-death
settlement, though the sheriff's office contended the fleeing motorist, not the
deputies, caused the crash.
Still, settling "was the right thing to do," says Steve Jones, chief of media
relations for the sheriff's office, because the officers didn't move Sarah out
of the way in time.
For Phillips, the money was beside the point. That's why he insisted that the
department address his questions and suggestions regarding its policy.
Phillips studied the policy, which stated that a pursuit is justified when the
fleeing suspect poses a danger to the community. The policy was too vague,
Phillips argued. Officers should follow a procedure that guides their
decision-making before they turn on their lights.
In March of 2003 he started pursuitwatch.org, a Web site promoting safer
policies.
A few weeks later, AM radio show host Bud Hedinger invited Phillips to appear on
his program. Phillips challenged Sheriff Kevin Beary to meet with him.
To Phillips' surprise, Beary agreed to do so, along with Jones.
"I fully intended to be a thorn in the side of Orange County," Phillips says.
He was indeed prickly. "The first time we met, I wanted to jump across the table
and strangle him," Jones recalls. "It was like two male lions that haven't eaten
in a 2-foot-by-2-foot cage. It turned into the beginning of a great friendship."
Scheduled for 30 minutes, the meeting lasted two hours. "I went in there wanting
to punch (Beary) and left respecting him," Phillips says.
Beary didn't take Phillips' surliness personally. "This was part of the grieving
process," Beary says.
After that contentious meeting, Beary appointed Phillips to a new pursuit-policy
review committee. Phillips' new role helped him channel his grief into something
productive. He wanted his work on the committee to give meaning to Sarah's
death.
Six months later, in October, the sheriff's office announced its new policy:
Only violent crimes would warrant a chase.
Around the same time, Phillips was appointed to serve on a panel reviewing the
Orlando Police Department's policy.
At times, fellow committee member Wendy Mia Pardew challenged him to make sure
his reasoning wasn't based entirely on emotion. She found that, despite his
personal stake in the matter, he managed to provide a balanced viewpoint
supported by his research.
"He pushed very hard for the issues," Pardew says. "He suffered a tragedy that
no one should ever have to endure -- the loss of a child."
In February 2004, the Orlando Police Department unveiled its policy. Both sets
of guidelines now encourage officers to consider alternative means of capturing
a suspect.
"Jim's been really instrumental in developing sensitivity toward the problem,"
says Geoffrey Alpert, a professor of criminal justice at the University of South
Carolina and an expert on pursuit policy.
Sarah's presence
Phillips' wife, Patti, is not an activist. She grieves differently, more
quietly. She has taken on some of his duties at the hardware store and shuttles
their 12-year-old daughter, Mary, to dance and music lessons.
"You can't imagine the depth of the sadness," Jim Phillips says. "We still
grieve terribly."
And their wounds might be reopened this spring when Shamir Suber -- charged with
second-degree murder and vehicular homicide -- goes to trial. Until then, Suber
waits in the Orange County Jail.
On the first anniversary of Sarah's death, Phillips drove to the crash site,
near Rouse Road, and looked at the sky. He hoped to see a sign that she was with
him, maybe a shooting star. But he didn't feel her presence.
A few months later, when he started Pursuitwatch, Phillips began to feel Sarah's
presence. Now, her memory infuses everything he does. The determined father
hopes to broaden his mission soon. He wants to persuade law-enforcement agencies
all across the country to revise their pursuit policies. His goal remains the
same:
"We're going to save lives."
Aline Mendelsohn can be reached at amendelsohn@orlandosentinel.com
or 407-420-5352.
