‘Fight, man! Come on,’ officer pleads trying to save a dying man

This article is part of a package of stories and videos that illuminate the challenges extreme heat poses in Phoenix and the Valley to politicians, policymakers, frontline emergency workers, residents – and the people living on the streets who are most likely to die from it. It is written from the body camera footage of two Phoenix police officers and the audio recording of a 911 emergency call.

The man on the ground was acting exactly as the 911 callers had described. 

Phoenix police officer Danny Olmos found him at the Bank of America parking lot at N. 44th Street and Thomas Road.

“There’s a gentleman on the ground, rolling around kind of hitting himself,” a woman caller had told the 911 dispatcher on the afternoon of June 28. “He’s probably tweaking out, but I think he needs medical attention so he doesn’t injure himself.”

“He’s banging his head on the street too,” a man with her added.

The callers answered questions and described the scene: the man was getting up and down off the ground, rolling around, hitting his head, and flailing his arms.

“I really think he’s strung out,” the woman caller had said. 

Olmos got out of his car and walked towards the flailing man, later identified as 34-year-old Devin Julius Alford. He was lying in the shade of a tree on the pavement of the empty parking lot. Olmos encountered a jarring tableau.

“Hey brother, you alright?” he asked Alford.

Alford shrieked and flopped on the ground. He couldn’t answer. He continued to shriek and twist. Olmos walked up next to him and spoke gently. 

“It’s the police,” he said. “You okay?”

Olmos rolled Alford over onto his stomach. Then, he tried to maneuver his arms behind his back so he could handcuff him. Alford tensed. 

“Relax,” Olmos said. “Bring this other arm back, man.” 

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, snapping the handcuffs in place. “We’re going to get you some help.”

He rolled Alford on his side. The shrieking had stopped. Alford was silent. Olmos reached down to check his pulse. Then he pressed his radio. 

“Have fire start up for this if they’re not already staged,” he said in a hushed tone. “This guy’s definitely — possibly even not breathing anymore.”

He gently shook Alford. “Yo, man. You alright?” he said. Alford didn’t respond.

“I’m going to take these off him,” he muttered to himself while he pulled out the handcuff key. He uncuffed Alford and rolled him onto his back. 

“Hey dude,” he said. “Wake up.” 

He began chest compressions. After a few quick pushes on Alford’s chest he turned back to his radio. “This guy’s not breathing. Fire might want to step it up,” he said. 

He started applying the compressions again. After about a minute and a half he called out over the radio. “What’s the word on fire,” he said. “Grab an ETA. I’m doing chest compressions.” 

For nearly five minutes Olmos performed chest compressions on Alford alone in the parking lot. He pumped Alford’s chest furiously. He checked his pulse at regular intervals. Olmos breathlessly begged the man below him to stay alive.

“Come on, dude. You got it,” he said, his hands on his sternum. “Fight, man! Come on!” 

Finally, Phoenix police officer Karissa Kroblen arrived. 

“I’ve got Narcan in my car,” a panting Olmos told her while she took over the chest compressions. “Where the fuck is fire? Why the fuck aren’t they here?” 

He grabbed the Narcan, tearing open the packaging on his walk back from the car. 

“Fuck, I just have the one,” he told Kroblen. 

“I have one in my left pocket,” she said. 

“You have one in your left pocket? Grab it, grab it, grab it,” he replied. She pulled it out and handed it to him. He looked at the unwrapped one in his hand. 

“Wait, is it missing something? It is, right,” he asked.

He hands it over. It’s fine. She administers the dose and continues the chest compressions. He unwraps the second Narcan. About 30 seconds later, he gives Alford the second dose. 

“I put my cuffs on him because he was freaking out,” he told Kroblen out of breath. “I just wanted to get him under control. As soon as I saw he wasn’t breathing I took them off and then chest…” 

He didn’t finish the sentence. He listened to the fire engine sirens as the trucks approached. Then the sound receded. “They just passed,” he said.

“Didn’t Jackie specifically ask if they were staged?” he asked Kroblen. 

“Yup,” she replied, still performing the chest compressions. 

“They didn’t do it. So if this dude 901 Henry’s,” he said, using police code for a death investigation that is also used colloquially to say someone is dead or is going to die. “It’s 100% on them.”

“I just cracked a rib,” Kroblen said, panting. “Can you swap for me for a sec?” 

“Yup, yup, yup,” Olmos said. He took back over the chest compressions, repeating his words like a mantra: “Come on, brother,” he said. “Come on, dude.”

Seven and a half minutes after Olmos took off the handcuffs and began the chest compressions, the fire department arrived. One firefighter took over compressions for the officers while others hooked Alford up to IVs and prepped the stretcher. Olmos stayed at the scene while they worked. 

Meanwhile, Kroblen walked to the other side of the parking lot where the 911 callers sat waiting in their car. Could they tell her what they saw, she asked them. Alford was most likely going to die, the officer said. If so, there would be an investigation. 

A woman on a bike rode up to Kroblen. She’d seen Alford not that long ago. He’d asked her for a bottle of water and she’d given him one. But when she saw him, he was acting strangely: yelling, screaming. 

“He didn’t seem like himself,” she said. “It didn’t seem like he was on drugs.” 

She knew him from around the neighborhood, she told Kroblen. He would sit on the corner and panhandle. He would wave to her whenever he crossed the street. Today was different. He wasn’t acting normal. 

“He’s a very sweet person,” she said. “I don’t know if it was the heat.” 

The woman pointed out where Alford’s belongings were. Kroblen crossed the street and walked north on 44th Street to the spot, a short concrete wall attached to a nearby office building. She was hoping to find an ID. She had no luck. 

“No ID,” she said to herself as she arrived at the belongings.

Instead, she found a Carmex lip balm, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, a damp towel, and a package of Ritz Bits. There was one more thing. She slipped on latex gloves before picking it up. It was a silver metal thermos. She peered into it. It was impossible to tell from the video whether it was empty.