The story of Craig Carlson

Jan. 20, 2008

When Jackie Smith and Bob Carlson called 911 on the evening of November 9, they were desperate for deputies to check on their brother, Craig Carlson. He was fearful he couldn’t survive the night alone. He wanted someone to talk to and asked Jackie to call a police officer.
His sister and brother, in separate calls to police, reported their concern that Craig would take his life. At the same time, they cautioned police that Craig might provoke police to shoot him by pointing a gun. They thought they were being good citizens. They thought they were saving Craig from himself.
Instead, their calls triggered a SWAT team response of some 60 officers – a standoff that would plunge their brother into an even deeper despair and, ultimately, lead to his death. After a 12-hour stand-off at Craig’s rural Interlochen home, a police sniper mortally wounded Carlson with a single shot to the head.
The Carlson family feels betrayed and wracked with regret. “If I had it to do over again, I would never have called 911, absolutely not,” said Jackie Smith, who spent hours on the phone with her brother that night, from her home in Indiana. “I would have made every attempt to reach his family doctor to get his psychologist’s name, and to get professional advice on what to do.”
The family, represented by attorney Grant Parsons, intends to file a wrongful death lawsuit against the sheriff’s department. They feel they have a mission. “I hope this lawsuit will forever change how the sheriff’s department treats mentally ill people. They can’t do this. We just want to make sure this never happens again,” said Craig’s mother, Joanne Carlson.
Last week, the Carlson family gathered in Bob’s living room in Manistee for an exclusive interview with Northern Express. They spoke about the police stand-off with Craig that began on a frigid, clear night on November 9.
Also last week, Kalkaska County Prosecutor Brian Donnelly issued a report exonerating the law enforcement agencies. Donnelly’s report described Craig Carlson’s death as a “necessary and unavoidable” killing. The family agonized over the report.
This article will report on the standoff from the family’s viewpoint. Donnelly and Michigan State Police Detective Sergeant Mark Harris, of Traverse City, help provide the perspective of law enforcement. (An audiotape of comments made by Sheriff Fewins in a WIAA radio interview after the shooting was also used for this article; Fewins did not return a phone call request for an interview.)

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY
Craig Carlson grew up a typical kid in the country outside of Manistee in a close-knit family. His dad worked as a machine tool builder and his mother was a hospital billings clerk. He was always up for a hug, said his dad, Jack. He preferred riding horses to school where he was an average student, but he excelled mechanically. As an adult, he was renowned for his remarkable ability to operate heavy equipment; he even helped design the Pinecroft golf course, Bob said.
Carlson married in his mid-20s, worked with his father-in-law planting and harvesting Christmas trees, and developed a reputation for hard work and neatness—he couldn’t stand things out of place. He and Bob collected military rifles and ammunition and often went target shooting, hunting, and fishing.
In 1996, Craig bought the home a few miles south of the Interlochen Arts Academy where he would later die. His neighbor, retired Michigan State Police Trooper George Lobdell, recalled Carlson was the best neighbor anyone could ever hope to have. Craig worked for a local excavator, married, divorced two years ago, and lived a quiet life.
Descent into a Private Hell
In August 2007, three months before his shooting death, things went sour for Craig Carlson. He had fallen in love with a woman in March, but the relationship was rocky and ended one Friday night in August with a fight. Carlson was hospitalized that night for a prescription drug overdose (he accidentally swallowed a powerful anti-psychotic placed near his own prescription pills). He spent two days on a mechanical respirator in Munson Hospital. He was discharged on Monday, but perhaps too soon. He blacked out on an errand in the early afternoon and drove his new truck into a tree at 45 mph. He was found unconscious with a broken sternum.
Craig was never the same after that and began a path down an emotional blind alley. He withdrew and confided to Jackie and Bob that he wanted to die. He began seeing a psychologist. He felt terrorized by a charge of domestic assault stemming from the August fight. He believed strongly that he was innocent, but was fixated on the delusion that an assistant prosecutor, who specialized in domestic abuse, was “coming after him” to put him behind bars. He would skip his prescribed anti-depressant, which would dump him into a suicidal slump. He fantasized a way out. “I’m just going to cash everything out, go to Alaska,” he told brother Bob. He lost 40 pounds from his 5’11 frame. His work slipped at the excavating company where he was employed as a supervisor.
In early November, Craig argued with his boss over his sudden lack of attention to detail. His boss offered to keep him if he would step down from his supervisory position. Carlson refused and was fired after seven years on the job.

A REASSURING POLICE VISIT
Carlson was distraught by the double loss of his job and his girlfriend. In early November, he called his co-workers to say good-bye and that he’d never see them again. His boss, alarmed, asked Jackie to call 911. She did, then called her brother Bob, who picked his mother up and drove to Interlochen where they found Craig sleeping on the couch. “He had just had a steak dinner and was lying down,” Bob said. “So my mom was in the house when the deputies arrived, and they insisted on seeing him. I told them, ‘He’s not going to be happy if you walk in this house, he’ll be irate.’ But they insisted; so they went in, he woke up. He said, ‘What’s going on? I take a nap, and three sheriff’s deputies are standing here. I’m fine, I’m okay.’”
It was a false alarm, although Craig felt reassured by the deputies’ concern. The next day, Craig told Bob that he wanted to spend a few days in the Upper Peninsula with a friend. But he stayed in town. “Come Friday, he was very, very depressed,” Bob said. “He said, ‘All I want to do is sit and talk to someone, Bob. I need to talk to a professional. I might end my life. I don’t know what I want to do anymore.’ He said he just figured he couldn’t make it through the night, and that this was going to be the end. He called again and said he was just very sad and needed help.”

“NO ONE CARES”
At about 8:30 p.m. on November 9, Craig Carlson called 911 and was connected to the Michigan State Police. He asked if an officer would come and sit down and talk to him. The answer was no; that was not the work of police.
Craig next called his sister Jackie and told her, “They’re blowing me off. No one cares. All I want to do is talk to someone. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Jackie reassured him and then called 911 herself.
Minutes passed; Craig called Jackie again, more agitated. Jackie phoned 911 for a second time. She told them: “’Look, I know that you weren’t sending anyone over. But now I’m very concerned for Craig’s well-being, and I know he could be a danger to himself. I believe he will actually try to kill himself tonight. I need to get someone there.’ The officer said, ‘Okay, we’ll see what we can do here. I’ll call Craig to tell him someone is coming over.’”
Bob Carlson also called 911. Both he and Jackie knew their brother liked a deputy by the name of Hamilton who had visited him the week before; they hoped he would be dispatched.
They believed help was on the way, but their phone calls were received with great alarm by the Grand Traverse County Sheriff’s Department, which reacted this time much differently than the week before.
Kalkaska County Prosecutor Brian Donnelly said in an interview last week that the sheriff’s deputies believed that Craig was intent on luring law enforcement officers into a deadly trap. “I listened to taped telephone calls from his sister and his brother – Jacquline and Robert. I listened to calls from Craig, lying to police about what he was up to. ‘I’m feeling blue, can you send an officer? I’ve made a pot of coffee, I’ll leave the door open.’ But he had also said [to Jacquline] he’s prepared to shoot a policeman in the arm or leg in order to get the police to kill him.
“At the same time, Bob said, ‘My brother prepaid a funeral a week ago, and he’s got loaded guns all over the house and he’s highly irrational.’ So Craig calls and we ask, ‘Craig, do you have weapons in your house?’ He said, ‘No, no, I don’t.’ He calls a second time. ‘It’s been awhile and I really need to talk.’ He wants someone to walk in his house and he’s armed to the teeth.” (The audiotapes were unavailable as this went to press.)

TERRIFIED
An Emergency Response Team (ERT), including as many as seven different law enforcement agencies arrived at Craig’s home at about 10 p.m. No one went to the door. The first officers cordoned off the road, evacuated neighbors, and formed an inner and outer perimeter around the house. The scene was secured.
In his WIAA radio interview, Fewins was asked whether his tactics could cause a mentally ill person to become fearful. He stated, “The suspect shouldn’t see any of our officers. It’s not like we’re coming with sirens ... We were under the impression he shouldn’t have seen hardly any of us.”
But Fewins was mistaken. Jackie said that after Craig waited awhile, he called her in a panic. “I know what they’re doing. They’re surrounding my house. They’ve got deputies in the trees. They’ll have me surrounded and they’re putting me in lockdown. That’s great. Now I know for sure, I’ll be dead. Fewins is not going to let me walk away from this alive.’ I said, ‘Craig, I don’t think they’re taking this that personally.’
“But he was very upset. He told me, ‘If this is how they’re going to handle it, it’s over. Oh my God, I will be dead. I called 911 for help. I get this?’”
As Jackie listened, her brother became ever more agitated. “He told me, ‘I see them, they’re out there; they’re sneaking around like this is war. Okay, if that’s what’s going to be, it’s war. If they come in and shoot me, I’ll shoot them. I know I will die.’ I kept saying, ‘Craig, just put your hands up and walk outside.’ He told me, ‘You don’t understand. They have me surrounded. They have guns. I don’t think they’re here to save me. They wouldn’t be hiding in neighbors’ yards, if they weren’t out to get me.’”
Statements from officers on the scene have not been released. The Donnelly report stated that one deputy saw Carlson step out onto his back porch and fire a gun shortly after the deputy arrived in his backyard. Other deputies are cited in Donnelly’s report as seeing Carlson pacing and “systematically” loading guns inside the house. Later, after Carlson was dead, a shell casing was found in the backyard.
Retired Michigan State Police Trooper George Lobdell, who lived next door and was at home until 10:30 p.m., said he heard no shot. Detective Sgt. Harris said he did not interview the neighbors for his investigation.
At 10:30 p.m, Grand Traverse County Prosecutor Al Schneider briefed command officers on the law regarding the legal use of lethal force, according to Donnelly’s report.
About the same time, Craig’s parents arrived, and were instructed to remain in a cordoned area. Bob, his brother, arrived an hour later – about 11:30 p.m.—with his girlfriend.
Bob Carlson is a compelling figure. He’s a large man and speaks with conviction. When he arrived at the scene, he was more assertive than his parents, insisting he be allowed to approach the house. He had talked to Craig by cell phone during the drive from Manistee. His brother was relieved Bob was coming. “I want you here with me. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Craig told Bob on his cell phone.
Bob and his girlfriend were put in the back of a police car, which rushed toward Craig’s home, parking near the command car at the end of Craig’s driveway. Deputies from neighboring counties were arriving, dressed in full tactical gear and helmets. Weapons with lights and scopes were being checked and loaded. “They were fully decked out, just like you see on TV,“ Bob said.
Bob was taken to Sheriff Fewins and Mike, who was introduced to him as “the negotiator.” Fewins told him: “We do not normally do this, this is totally out of protocol, but will you assist the negotiator in getting your brother out of the house?”
Bob felt relief, and said, “Yes, I’ll do anything you want.” Then the Sheriff said something that jarred him. “First off, if I allow you to go up to the house, if for any reason, you try to stay back again—I’ll take out Craig to get you out of there. We will go through him to get you out so he doesn’t make you a hostage.“ Bob tried to correct the sheriff. “My brother won’t make me a hostage. He is not going to do anything to me. Let’s walk up to the house, I’ll go in, and I’ll pick him up in a bear hug and carry his skinny ass outside, then your guys can tackle him and get him some help.”
Fewins asked Bob to check the diagram of Craig’s home that was sketched out on a white board, which he did. As they talked officers moved past them into the darkness. Mike called Craig while Bob listened. “All he did was argue with him on the phone,” Bob said. “He didn’t talk like a negotiator... My idea was a negotiator talks in a sympathetic way. ‘Hey I understand, let’s work on this.’
“Mike was very dominant. He would just tell Craig, ‘It ain’t going to happen, it ain’t going to happen. What part of this don’t you understand? You come out or else.’ I don’t know. Maybe this negotiator had never done this before.”
Bob, standing at Mike’s side, yelled in the phone: ‘Hey Craig, let’s grab a beer, shoot the shit.’ Craig said, ‘No, no.’
“Mike flipped the phone closed. ‘He ain’t coming out.’”
Mike and the Sheriff walked away. Bob didn’t see them again.

A Long Night’s Journey
Evening darkened into frozen midnight. At about 1 a.m., three deputies came running past Bob. “Did you see that! Carlson shot himself with a gun. We saw him walking around with a gun in the house, put it to his head, and put it down. Then he went downstairs.” The deputies heard a muffled shot, but couldn’t see anything.
Shortly afterward, a sheriff’s deputy grabbed Bob and his girlfriend, loaded them into a police car and drove them away from Craig’s driveway to a roped off area near Youker Road. Bob’s parents joined them in the truck. Bob called Craig, who was now angry, accusing Bob of betrayal: “What the hell are you doing? Jesus! I got cops all over the goddamned place! What are they doing? I’m not going to put up with this. I just wanted to talk. Cops are here and you’re in on it with them! You’re trying to screw me over … Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
Bob was struck by an uneasy feeling. “I gave the sheriff every drop of information I could, with the assumption I was helping them to help my brother. This was not their intention. Their intention was to get as much information as they could. And then they told him I was with them, I was on their team, and that I wasn’t there for him.
“I was freaked. Craig wouldn’t talk to me, but he was calling my sister: ‘They‘re surrounding me. Next is tear gas, you just watch.’”
As the night ground toward dawn, the family huddled in Bob’s truck. Jody, Craig’s youngest brother, arrived to wait with them.
At about 3:30 a.m., a deputy ordered Bob not to make further cell phone calls to his brother. They called Jackie and gave her the same order. The deputy said officers intended to cut the electrical service to Craig’s house. Bob argued that cutting off the power would cut off all communication to the family. Craig’s dad, Jack, pleaded with the deputy to let him go see his son, but the deputy said it would put him in danger. Jack told him, “People, this is my son. Do you really feel he is going to take me hostage?”
Jack said if he had to do it over again, he would have found a way to get into the house. “You have to do what your heart tells you to do,” added Joanne, Craig’s mother.
Before walking away, the deputy asked Bob what kind of guns Craig had inside the house, and Bob told him again. He knew the guns well from their hunting together. Then he asked, again, to go in and talk to his brother.
Bob recalled the eerie silence of the frigid woods. Sometime around 4:30 a.m. they heard a shot, then a fusillade.
“He was in a war zone. It was pure living hell to hear that,” said Jody. “We all dropped to our knees crying. Then we found out it was tear gas.”
“Listening to the tear gas shots, I was sick to my stomach,” Bob said. “I was shaking, all I wanted to do was talk to my brother. I thought about getting out of my truck and jogging down there. But the minute we’d get out of the vehicle, they’d say get back in your vehicle. It was very authoritative. I didn’t know if they’d shoot me if I had broken the [police] line and run in there.”
Jackie believes her brother took refuge from the tear gas canisters in an upstairs bathroom where they later found a Bible and a half-bottle of wine.
In one of his last messages near 5 a.m., Jackie could hear a CD playing and Craig crying. “The thing I hate the most is that I did what they asked me to do because they said they were helping him. I stopped taking Craig’s calls, and it really pisses me off,” Jackie said.
She tried calling him for the last time at 6:58 a.m. just after the power was cut off.
At about 7:30 a.m., as morning light was breaking, the officers fired another barrage of tear gas canisters into the house, breaking every window except one.
Somehow, Craig withstood the tear gas. It was quiet for nearly two hours, and then Craig appeared in the window of his living room. It was about 9:15 a.m. and full light. Craig stood framed in a four-foot wide opening. A fractured, jagged pane of glass projected upward like a single tooth. One sniper, concealed 75 yards away across the road, said he could see through his scope that a handgun hung on a lanyard around Craig’s neck and that he held a loaded semi-automatic rifle taped with a second clip. He also had two handguns in his back pockets, out of sight from the sniper, Donnelly said.

LETHAL FORCE
Cordoned off 200 yards away, the Carlson family was unable to see Craig.
What happened next, as in every dramatic death, will be analyzed for years to come. (There was no audio or video taken at the scene; Donnelly said his comments relied largely on police reports and interviews, but they were unavailable for corroboration when this article went to press.)
Donnelly said that deputies reported that Craig screamed to them. “I can see you, I can shoot you right now, I can see your legs sticking out there, I could kill you right now.” Donnelly said that Antrim County Deputy Travis Chellis, less than 50 yards away behind a skinny pine tree to his right, called to Carlson to pick up the phone and talk. (The officers had pitched a special phone earlier into the house, most likely after they cut off the electricity.) Chellis was exposed, and Craig turned to him and yelled: “F*** you, I’m not talking to you, Sacajewa, I can kill you right now.”
At that point, Donnelly said that the sniper who was concealed 75 yards across the road saw through his scope that Craig leaned forward as if he was stepping into a shot. The sniper —Grand Traverse County Sheriff’s Deputy Charles Jetter—said Craig began to raise his rifle in the direction of Chellis with his finger curled around the trigger. (It was not clear whether Jetter could hear what Craig was saying from that distance, Donnelly said).
Jetter—with no order given—shot Craig in the head at 9:20 a.m. and killed him.
“Command officers had given the advance authorization for lethal force, if necessary to prevent serious injury or death, and they did that because the sniper or officer is in the only position to see exactly what is going on at that moment,” Donnelly said.
A second sniper was also squeezing his trigger, but backed off when he heard the first shot, Donnelly said.
The Carlson family heard the shot as it echoed through the woods. They held each other and wept. Forty-five minutes later, the sheriff approached the truck and told them Craig had been shot after putting his gun to his shoulder, which was at odds with later accounts.
The destruction during the stand-off caused an estimated $28,000 of damage to Craig Carlson’s residence. In the aftermath, the family had to clean up the house themselves.
“My sister, Jody and I had to clean the piles left on the carpet,” Bob said. “My brother’s brains were lying in clumps on the floor. Pieces of skull the size of silver dollars. Clumps of hair on the refrigerator, hanging from the ceiling and appliances. This stuff had to be cleaned pick up. It was just a horrible, horrible mess in there.”
Editor’s Note: Expect more updates in Northern Express as details unfold. Also, Third Level Crisis Center offers 24-Hour a day phone counseling for those in crisis.
Call 231-922-4800.