In 1992 I hired Don Fletcher to research a community-wide crime prevention program we decided to call Community Watch rather than Neighborhood Watch because Community Watch had a much more universal appeal and could be applied to a wider range

I was also getting close on the drug film. The research I had done was pretty compelling and I knew that I could do something good with this film. Everything was going according to plan.  Then it all fell apart.

In April of 1992, I received a phone call and was told me that my 19-year-old son Matt had been killed the night before. He and his buddies were out having a good time and drinking beer at the beach. They drove home and the driver lost control of the pickup and slammed into a telephone pole. Matt was the only one killed.

There are no words that can describe how that felt. Looking back at that moment in time, it felt like I had been gutted. Everything that was important to me, everything I had worked for was gone – everything – my heart, my soul, my life, my God – everything. On that day, a big part of me died.  If you have gone through it, you know what I mean. If you haven't you'll never know and I truly hope and pray that you never, ever find out.

For the next few months, I really didn't do much of anything. I went to work. I worked on the Community Watch program. I buried myself in my work. I kept working in an empty sort of way. Sure I talked to people, and I helped them solve their crime problems but nothing else. Like I said, something inside of me had died.

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