Rob Stafford Correspondent • Profile

CLEVELAND, OHIO - Terror gripped an entire city on May 9, 2003. Violence had erupted without warning.

Scenes unfolded live on television as camera crews gathered outside one building.  Once world-famous for it’s distinctive architecture, the School of Management at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland Ohio was now becoming famous for something much more sinister  — something camera crews outside could not see — a shooting.

The day had started out so calmly.

George Klippel, school facilities manager: It was a beautiful summer day. The skies were blue. The sun was out. It was great.

Exams over. Commencement was around the corner. It was a quiet Friday afternoon at the end of the school-year

Klippel: Most of the students were gone, they were out doing things. 

George Klippel, the school’s facilities manager, was finishing up a classroom inspection on the fourth floor. 

Klippel: That was the last room of the day that I had to check.

Norman Wallace, a first year MBA student, was chatting with friends about internships. It was going to be a busy summer.

Sheila Young: He had a lot going on. He was talking about like the future. You know, he was excited

Shawn Miller, an administrator in the school’s computer lab, was heading out to a local bar.

Shawn Miller: We’re having a party at Jillian's that night. You know, a little pool. Some hors d’oeuvres.

But for these three men, just minutes away from leaving the management school, the sound of smashing glass and a volley of automatic gunfire signalled the beginning of a seven hour fight to stay alive.

Klippel: I really could not believe what I heard. It just didn’t make any sense at all.

3:57 p.m. Frantic callers bombarded the switchboard of the Cleveland police department.

Reporter Bill Safos was in the newsroom at television station WKYC when word arrived a shooter was on a rampage at Case Western.

Rob Stafford, Dateline correspondent: What goes through your mind?

Bill Safos: I start thinking about parents who have kids going there. You want to get there as soon as possible and show people what’s going on.

Safos and his team sped to the scene. Police had cordoned off the area surrounding the five-story building with police tape. No one could get in. No one could leave.

Stafford : What do you see?

Safos: A lot of confusion. A lot of police running different directions. A lot of students running different directions.

Another question haunting the crowd outside the building: how many people were trapped inside? Since it was the end of the school year maybe only a few people were around and potentially at risk. But no one knew for sure. For hours, the only information reaching the crowd was the sound of sporadic gunfire echoing in the streets 

Klippel: It was just like a crack—real loud.

4 p.m. Inside the building, the sound of gunfire was deafening. George Klippel, the facilities manager, ran down stairs to the third floor, heading for the fire exit and escape, but he stopped when he came to an office with a window overlooking the atrium. The former marine could see a gunman on the floor below him.

Klippel: The first thing I saw was a flack jacket. I thought for a minute I was looking at another marine that was in combat gear.

Klippel climbed onto the desk to get a better view and dialed 911, becoming one of the first people to give police a better idea of what was going on inside the building. 

Klippel (911 call):  We have a gunman in the building  who has opened fire.  He has a helmet on.  A green military helmet.

Then Klippel noticed what the gunman was looking at. He told the 911 operator a man was lying motionless on the ground floor.

Klippel:  There’s a man down.  A man down right outside the cafe.

911:  How many people are down, sir?

Klippel:  I can only see one but I think there’s more.... Oh, man. That guy hasn’t even moved one muscle....

911 operator: Oh, my God.

For the first time Klippel realized how vulnerable he was, pressed up against a window in plain sight of the shooter. He dove under the table he had been standing on.

Klippel:  Another shot fired.

911:  Another shot fired.

Three floors below him, in the basement, Shawn Miller, the computer lab administrator, was standing outside the computer lab with three colleagues. They’d heard gunfire but didn’t know what to do.

Shawn Miller: All of a sudden there’s this guy standing at the end of the hallway with a flak jacket. We see a gun being raised and we all just scatter.

Stafford: You think you’re gonna get shot?

Miller: Oh I’m waiting for it.

Miller ran back into the computer lab, a bullet tearing through the door right behind him.

Then everyone started running, knocking over chairs to get to  a room at the back of the lab only accessible by ID card. But Miller’s co-worker couldn’t get his card to work.

Miller: And we’re pushing on that door. And finally he gets it and the door opens and we just spill into the room.

As the door locked behind them, the group scrambled for cover in cubicles, behind chairs and under desks. 

Miller: He shoots through the wall. I mean these are particle board walls. Bullets went right through them.

Caller: We heard another shot a moment ago.

Someone in the computer lab with Miller called 911.  The operator told the group to hide the best they could.

Caller:  There’s a window out to the lab.

911: OK... get down below that window.

Caller:  We are.

Then Miller says he heard the gunman try the door handle. It didn’t budge and suddenly everything fell quiet.

4.20 p.m. Just twenty minutes after the shooting had started, an eight man-SWAT team from Cleveland’s police department arrived.

Bill Safos: They’re jumping out of their cars. Right away they’re putting on their body armor, I’ve never seen that many SWAT officers ever.

Not really sure what was going on inside the building or even if there was more than one gunman,  the SWAT team advanced inside, under the gaze of an entire city. Onlookers standing on the street, families at home glued to their televisions waited to see what would happen and what the final cost of this bloody rampage would be.

7 p.m.Three hours after the ordeal began, a sign of hope.

People watching live coverage at home saw a dramatic rescue. Two women were rushed to safety.

But there was no sign the shooter had been cornered. The police made a plea on television, asking the gunman to pick up the phone.

George Klippel, the facilities manager, was still feeding information to police. He told the 911 operator he could hear gunshots right outside his door.

Klippel:  More shots.

911 operator:  More shots fired.

Klippel:  Oh, God.

And the 911 operator told Klippel what he could not see. Police had pieced together a frightening picture from other 911 calls. Nearly 100 hostages like him were dotted around the building hiding for their lives.

911: We still have no idea why this guy’s doing this. We don’t know if he’s a student or a —

Klippel:  Yeah. I think he looked young.

911: Sure seems like he’s got an unending supply of ammunition.

Three floors below George Klippel: complete silence in the computer lab  where Shawn Miller, was hiding. No one wanted to attract the attention of the gunman.

Miller’s mind started racing. Who would do something like this? Who could the gunman be? One person came to mind—but he quickly dismissed the thought.

Miller: That’s kind of crazy, I mean to go shoot up a building.

As time went on, Miller started thinking about death

Miller: I’m wondering you know, this is the basement? Are they setting up  explosives down here so they can blow the building? I’m thinking, “Well we’re probably pretty close to the center of it. So it’ll be fast.”

George Klippel, the school’s facilities manager was still hiding in a third floor office. He couldn’t hear shooting anymore and feared the SWAT team had forgotten to come rescue him.

Klippel: They’re going to make it up to the third floor eventually, right?

911: Yes they will.

Klippel:  You promise?

911:  I promise you. I would not lie to you.

George Klippel: You do feel isolated. You feel alone. Most of my thoughts were about family and friends. And just want to see my wife and my children again.

10 p.m. Hours after the shooting began, Klippel heard the SWAT team pound on his door.

Klippel: First thing is “Hands on your head.” There’s a gun right in your face. But you know, it was great to see them.

Less fortunate was the family of the man who Klippel had seen lying on the floor.

It was 30-year old Norman Wallace—the first year MBA student.

Sheila Young: I actually got the call on my cellphone. I don’t know if I screamed or I just broke down.

Norman’s family crowded around their television in disbelief hoping there’d been some terrible mistake until they saw it for themselves—their brother’s body being carried out of the building.

David Wallace: We didn’t know it was Norman until we saw the shoe.

Corrie Wallace: Shoe and his pants. I lost it.

Norman’s younger brother collapsed, flashbacks of his childhood playmate rushing before his eyes.

Corrie Wallace: I kept telling my brothers… I can’t get this pain outta my head. I can’t, I don’t know what to do.

Norman’s killer was finally cornered by the SWAT team more than seven hours after he’d first opened fire. He’d taken one life, seriously wounded two others and held 90 people hostage. And this was the face of the man who had caused so much pain.

Klippel: I was shocked. I mean he looked really timid. He looked really shy.

Bill Safos: His appearance. He didn’t look like the type of person that could do this.

And what exactly did he do?

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