It was a Friday. Rainy. When I think of that day, I see rain, darkness. I hear shots fired. I hear cries of anguish.

The rain had been coming off and on for a week; a week the calendar says was years ago, but it still seems like just yesterday.

I knew this time was coming ... the 15th anniversary of Tommy's death at the hands of a murderer at the Prince of Orange Mall. I wondered what we'd do at the paper. To be very honest, I was hoping I wouldn't be assigned to do that story.

At that point in time, when it happened, I wasn't working for the newspaper, searching for a family member for comment, looking for a police officer for information. I was living it.

Sgt. Tommy Harrison of the Orangeburg Police Department was my brother-in-law, having married my sister, Shaye, about seven years before. While custom has Tommy as an in-law, he was as close to me as a real brother.

I met Tommy some 25 years ago. Doesn't seem like it. But I guess it was that long ago now. I remember him asking me if I wanted to go out for a beer. I didn't drink and neither did he, really. He just wanted to make friends. So we went to get a cup of coffee. Turned out to be a tradition we'd carry on for the next 10 years.

In fact, several of us, including Shaye, Jerry Martin, Randy Hughes and others, would head for the door when we heard Tommy's "Let's go get a cup!" Didn't matter if we were in the middle of a movie or at another restaurant; we'd all pack up and go to Shoney's.

Thinking back, I guess you could say we were a close little group, none of us doing much without the others tagging along.

Randy and I were going to yard sales one Saturday, but Tommy had to work. I guess I can tell it now; it doesn't matter. While Randy and I would race from yard to yard to find that mythical "bargain," Tommy sped about in the police cruiser to shop along with us.

There was the time on a July 4th we were shooting bottle rockets at one another over on Horger Street, where Shaye and Tommy lived. While Tommy and Jerry were shooting the little bottle rockets at us, Randy and I slipped into our arsenal a few missiles big enough to bring down a 747. After firing a few more little ones, unbeknownst to them, we brought out the Big Boys ("WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU SHOOTING?!").

'Course, transportation is everything, and I had none back then. And, at a time I needed wheels for a date while home from college, too. Tommy came to the rescue, offering me the use of his Lincoln Mark IV, which was about as long as that 747. I felt like I was driving a bus. It seated about 25 comfortably.

When I bought my property in Calhoun County right across the street from theirs, Tommy was up there almost daily asking what he could help with -- what tree could he cut, what could he move.

At one point, he hooked up a chain to a stump in my yard and the bumper on his truck. I thought I'd be buying a new tailgate and bumper for a 1967 Chevrolet truck. At the very least.

He'd hit the gas and that chain would snatch so hard it yanked the rear of the truck into the air by 2 feet. When the stump did come out, it slammed into the back of the truck so hard I thought we were going to have a stump taco made up of the tailgate and the stump.

For several months, Tommy had been looking for an older car to "fix up," he said. Over coffee, we'd talk about replacing interior carpets, door panels and so forth. I'd worked with car restoration so I had an idea as to what he wanted to do. We just needed the car to work with.

That day finally came on Jan. 12. Tommy and Shaye drove past my place with their new-old car. It was raining, so I called over to ask Tommy where it came from, how much, what will you work on first. Man! I was ready for the rain to stop so I could see this thing and the planning could begin.

Then came Friday.

The rain had slowed to a mist that day so I walked over to see Tommy and get my first look at the car. It wasn't in bad shape, but Tommy wanted it "Prem-o," as he'd say. We talked for a while, planning the inside carpet as the first stage of restoration before it started drizzling again. "I'm going to get a nap before work," Tommy said. "I'll see you later."

Even 15 years later, it is difficult to think of Tommy for long. Oh, I treasure the memories. For some reason my mind won't let go of the six shots.

I was "just" Tommy's brother-in-law. Being closer, I can't imagine what Shaye saw when she closed her eyes. But now those blue eyes of hers are closed forever and God kisses away her tears. She passed six years later of a failed heart. She was 34.

I don't look at Tommy as a hero. That word, in my opinion, is tossed about too freely these days. But I do look at Tommy as someone who stood in the line of fire, took six shots, so that you and I wouldn't have to. Maybe if there's a reason for you to remember him today, that would be it.

I do each day because he was my friend.

T&D Staff Writer Richard Walker can be reached at rwalker@timesanddemocrat.com and 803-533-5516. Discuss this and other stories online at www.TheTandD.com.

You must be logged in to comment.