Fifteen Minutes of Terror: Massacre at the Edmond Oklahoma Post Office

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Destiny Led Me to the

Postal Service

Chapter 2

A New Rural Route Mail Carrier

Chapter 3

August 20, 1986: Inside Danger

Chapter 4

August 20, 1986: Outside to Safety

Chapter 5

The Interviews

Chapter 6

Fear and Flight

Chapter 7

Escape and Compassion

Chapter 8

Ole Baldy is Dead.

Chapter 9

The Wounded

Chapter 10

Medical Examiner’s Report

Chapter 11

August 21, 1986

Chapter 12

Words of Comfort

Chapter 13

The Postmaster

Chapter 14

Who was Patrick Sherrill?

Chapter 15

Part Time Flexible (PTF)

Mail Carrier

Chapter 16

Aftermath

Chapter 17

Congressional Hearing:

The Employees

Chapter 18

The Postal Service’s Reply

Chapter 19

Those Involved

Chapter 20

What Went Wrong?

Chapter 21

Changes Made

Chapter 22

From Rural Carrier to Retirement

Epilogue

Sources

Dedicated to the men and women of the

United States Postal Service

Preface

The events of August 20, 1986, changed the lives of many. It hurt an entire state as well as the nation. It also changed the course of one of the nation’s largest agencies, the United States Postal Service. Although these changes have taken place, one thing remains constant. There has not been a complete and accurate explanation of what happened on that fateful day. Perhaps time has lessened the interest in the matter, or maybe there is a reason that the story should not be told. To the press and the public, the events and the date may now be nothing more than a benchmark in history. However, to those who were involved, it is etched in their memories forever.

Since the murders at the Edmond, Oklahoma, Post Office on August 20, 1986, there have been several stories written about the events of that day. Many of those accounts are absolutely without merit and are figments of the writers’ imaginations. Some have been written by those who wish to push their own agendas, while others have written pure fiction. Nevertheless, there have been a very small number of accounts that contain some facts, but those accounts are not enough to tell the complete and factual story.

To write on this subject is difficult for several reasons. It may awaken the hurt that sleeps deeply in the hearts of many of those directly involved. There is also a risk of protest by other witnesses who may feel that the information provided in this story conflicts with what they remember. Some may wrongly misjudge the loyalties of the writer toward the United States Postal Service and believe he is promoting and protecting the Postal Service. To present all of the known facts about the events pertaining to the murders may be considered by some as taking steps into forbidden territory, and any writer who attempts such a challenge might be better off to leave the task to others. However, no others have come forward. The story should not remain just a benchmark in history. It involves more than just a day and an event in the lives of those affected.

My aim is to present to the reader the actual events as they were lived and witnessed by the employees of the United States Postal Service at the Edmond Post Office as well as other persons involved. It is also my story. All of the information in this document is based on actual experiences and confirmed by official records, newspaper articles, and personal interviews. Because there were several sources available to use, you will find some repetition of information presented in the different parts. Because the Postal Service changes designations of areas of responsibility periodically you will also find different names for basically the same places or areas, such as Main Processing Center and Main Sectional Center or Division and District. All refer to the Oklahoma City main office. Only the passing of time has made the names change.

To tell this story, it seems fitting to include some of my personal history. It may help the reader understand why I chose to become a postal employee and my experience with the Postal Service. I have had eighteen years of exposure to the records and to most of the people who were touched by the events of August 20, 1986, as well as the days, months, and years that followed. Because many of the persons’ names have been redacted (blacked out) on official records, their names will not be disclosed. However, if a person’s name has been published elsewhere or has been made available to the general public through other sources, those persons will be identified by name. When relating my own experiences, I do include the names of fellow employees with whom I have talked or with whom I have interacted. I have total respect for my fellow postal employees and will try to do all that is within my power to present a factual report about the events which have had a lasting effect on each of us.

My knees still flex and my head still automatically drops when I hear an unexpected loud sound. Perhaps writing this story will give me the closure I desperately need.

Dale Justus

Chapter 1

Destiny Led Me to the

Postal Service

The time was 7:03 a.m. I heard what sounded like small firecrackers exploding. Such noise was not particularly unusual. During my short time at the Edmond, Oklahoma, Post Office, I had heard plastic letter trays slammed down onto the floor as a prank. I was not concerned, but I was a bit annoyed. I turned and walked a few steps south down the aisle between the rows of cases to see what was happening. One of the mail clerks was standing at the end of the row of cases looking toward the middle of the work area.She had a look of shock on her face. I heard another firecracker pop. Between the open legs of city letter case 18, I saw a uniformed city carrier fall to the floor as if someone had knocked his feet out from under him. The fall was hard enough to tell that what was happening was not horse play.

I wheeled around and started running north, the direction from which I had come. As I came to the end of the row of letter cases where a friend worked, I didn’t notice if he was still at his case or had already left. I turned left toward the front of the building. I noticed the door to the walk-in vault on my right was open and gave a quick thought about going into it. No, don’t go in there, a voice inside me said. I continued past the vault and down a short hall that led to the postmaster’s office. I hit the solid oak door to the postmaster’s office at full speed and bounced back. The door was locked. Then I really became concerned. I was in a dead end hall with no way out except back towards the trouble that was taking place in the work area. Luck was with me. In the hall was another door that opened into the customers’ service lobby. It was unlocked. As I entered the lobby, I saw my fellow postal employees jumping or climbing over the customers’ service counter. They headed for the double glass doors on the south side of the lobby. I followed. After making a turn to the right and few more steps, I would be outside the front doors of the building.

It was the morning of August 20, 1986. Just thirty minutes earlier, postal worker Patrick Sherrill had prepared a breakfast of scrambled eggs. He placed in his mailbag two Remington .45 caliber semi-automatic pistols and ammunition that were issued to him as a member of the National Guard pistol team, and he added a Ruger .22 caliber pistol he owned. He then placed some of his rain gear in the bag and departed for the Edmond Post Office.

During my time on this earth, I have had many memorable experiences, some good and some not so great. After a tour with the United States Navy, I spent four years at the University of Oklahoma and graduated with a degree in Business Administration only to find myself going to a job in Houston, Texas, that I did not like. After leaving there, I moved back to Oklahoma and worked for a finance company until I accepted a transfer to their office in Omaha, Nebraska. There I met my first wife who gave birth to our son. A few years later I accepted a position with a nationally known vending company.

We then moved to Farmers Branch, Texas, and I became that company’s operations manager, but only a few years later they replaced the management at that office with new management from the top down. Upon the suggestion and financing from my father-in-law, we purchased a retail hardware store in Carthage, Missouri. After spending seven years operating that store and thirteen years of marriage, my wife decided she didn’t want to be married. The store was sold, and the judge awarded me custody of our son.

The parent company of the company that franchised our store hired me as a district manager, and my son and I moved to Harrisonville, Missouri. While we were living in Harrisonville and working for the parent company of the hardware store, the sales managers had a meeting in Springfield, Missouri. One night during the meeting period I met a woman by the name of Georgia who four years later became my wife. After a couple years the company decided to consolidate their operation by closing the Kansas City office where I worked and move it to South Dakota. Another district manager and I decided we preferred to stay in a warmer climate. He purchased a store in Guthrie, Oklahoma, and I was to be the managing partner. Meanwhile, as I was managing the store in Guthrie, Georgia moved from Springfield and took a job at the Oklahoma Safety Council in Oklahoma City. Again fate dealt me a low blow: the new owner of the store I was managing ran out of funds, and the previous owner foreclosed on the store.

After the foreclosure of the hardware store in Guthrie, I decided to start looking for a job that had some security. Believing that the private sector didn’t offer that, I started searching for a job with a governmental agency. One of those agencies was the United States Postal Service. They were giving tests for rural mail carrier jobs in Guthrie and in Edmond, Oklahoma. I took both tests in July of 1983 and scored ninety-eight out of one hundred on both tests. That score included my raw score of ninety-three and five points for being a veteran. No offer for employment came.

One day while job hunting, I stopped by the Oklahoma Safety Council to visit with my future wife. I noticed that one of the women in the office was having difficulty matching addressed letters to addressed envelopes. I asked if I could help, and she agreed. In a short time we had all of the envelopes matched with the letters and ready for mailing. Evidently the president of the council recognized what I had done; and after returning to my home in Guthrie, I got a call from Georgia asking me if I was interested in working for the Oklahoma Safety Council. Of course, I was interested! I was unemployed. The next day the president interviewed me, and I was offered the position of Office Administrator.

During the three years I worked for the Oklahoma Safety Council, I tried to learn all that I could about being a safety professional. Besides doing the administration work, I also wrote safety programs and was an instructor in several fields of safety. During my time there, Georgia became my wife.

Again, things started to go in the wrong direction for me. The president of