It didn’t take long for Tracy Huyck to realize her friend was in serious trouble.
The text last Monday from Tony Hannon – who later that day was killed by law enforcement officers during an exchange of gunfire – was quite clear: “I’m sorry I’m not wanting to live anymore,” he told Huyck.
“I am so sorry Tony,” Huyck texted back. “I didn’t realize it was you and your house.”
It was 40 Lyford Hill Road in Pittsfield. Hannon’s place. The town had already heard a piece of the news, about a domestic dispute and a long standoff.
After 10 hours, Hannon was shot and killed by at least six members of the Specialized Weapons and Tactics Team, the Attorney General’s Office said in a statement.
The officers did not wear body or cruiser cameras, which are not required by law in New Hampshire, the Attorney General’s Office said. And that leaves people like Huyck, who owns a convenience store in downtown Pittsfield, wondering if they’ll ever know the real story.
“Any situation like, that they should have a body camera,” Huyck said. “I come from a law enforcement family. This is just to protect both sides, so an officer isn’t being accused of something they didn’t do.”
“And,” she continued, “unfortunately there are bad officers who are doing things they know they shouldn’t be doing.”
It’s early in the investigation, and information remains fuzzy. Why were shots fired? Who shot first? What was Hannon’s state of mind at the time? Who else was in the home? How many bullets were fired during the standoff and how many came from Hannon?
Later we’ll hear details from the AG’s office on what happened. Or at least some of the details. You can bet that a ruling will follow an investigation. A majority of the time, it’ll declare that the SWAT team’s actions were justifiable.
It may be true. But it’s a lot more difficult to convince someone like Huyck, who befriended Hannon and genuinely liked him.
“He would come in and talk to my daughter and talk with us,” Huyck said. “I absolutely trusted him. I don’t know what happened.”
Huyck said Hannon helped around the convenience store. “He was very good to us,” she said.
Something went wrong. Hannon had quit smoking recently. But then he came in the store and told Huyck he wanted to reunite with his old friends: menthol tobacco and rolling papers. Huyck kept menthol in stock especially for Hannon.
“I’m under a lot of stress lately,” Hannon told Huyck, explaining why he had started smoking again.
That was about a week before Hannon was killed. A press release issued by Attorney General John Formella and State Police Colonel Nathan Noyes said police were called to Lyford Hill Road to check on a domestic disturbance.
“Upon arriving, the Pittsfield Police called the Central New Hampshire Special Operations Unit, which is a regional SWAT Team, for assistance,” the statement read. “An armed male subject refused to leave the residence and submit to arrest.”
Gunfire was exchanged. Hannon was killed. You can read the release, but you can’t see what transpired.
In many other cases over the past decade, videos of police actions have surfaced showing them using rough, sometimes illegal tactics to end conflicts.
Many of them have shown Black people and their confrontation with the police, and it’s caused racial disharmony in recent years and taken up a large part of the American psyche.
Video convicted a Minnesota cop for killing George Floyd, a Black man. Other videos have been less conclusive.
This tragedy had nothing to do with race. It had to do with body cameras and their importance.
Concord native Mike Plaisted lived in Pittsfield for five years and was visiting his old hometown the day Hannon died. He said body cameras are simply common sense.
“Are you going to take anybody at their word?” Plaisted said. “Are you going to take a politician for their word? Look at all the things that have unfolded in the last couple of years.”
His friend, Kristen MacRae, grew up in Pittsfield and still lives there. She wanted to address the issue. It’s been on her mind since last Monday.
“I was just talking to someone that it’s very convenient that there’s no recording,” MaCrae told me. “It’s just not right. Why would something like this, especially a standoff, why would they not want the body camera on? I don’t get it. That’s weird.”
Nothing was weirder – or sadder – than what happened to Huyck the day of the shooting. There were cops and sirens and flashing lights and blocked streets. Residents knew something was cooking. They didn’t know what, though.
Huyck found out before most anyone else in town. Her friend texted her at 10:30 a.m. “I’m sorry I’m not wanting to live anymore,” it read.
“I’m in Pennsylvania right now but here to talk,” she wrote. Her next message said, “What’s going on, is there anything I can help with?”
Five hours later, shortly before news broke that someone had died in the standoff, Huyck reached out again. “Tony, please answer me and tell me what I’m hearing isn’t true.”
“I never heard from him again,” Huyck told me.