“He Didn’t Hesitate”: The Night a Kansas Deputy Gave Everything for His Community
Phillipsburg, Kansas — On most summer nights, the quiet stretches for miles across the wheat fields surrounding this rural town of 2,300. It’s a place where doors are still left unlocked, neighbors greet each other by name, and crime is something that happens elsewhere—until June 27, 2025.
That was the night everything changed.
What began as a routine call about illegal fireworks ended in the death of Deputy Brandon Gaede, a 30-year-old husband, father, and rising star in the Phillips County Sheriff’s Office. Months later, the town is still trying to make sense of how such a simple complaint could spiral into bloodshed—and whether the full truth of what happened has yet been told.
The Call That Changed Everything
It was just past 9 p.m. when Deputy Gaede was dispatched to a residential area on 1st Street after several complaints of loud fireworks. It wasn’t unusual—holiday weekends often bring a few noise violations—but Gaede had no reason to expect danger.
The house he approached belonged to the family of Kolton Griffith, 27, a local man known to law enforcement for previous minor infractions, but nothing violent. According to the sheriff’s office, Griffith was outside when Gaede arrived and was asked to stop setting off the fireworks. When Gaede attempted to detain him, a physical altercation broke out.
Witnesses say it was fast and violent.
Griffith allegedly pulled a concealed handgun during the struggle and fired several shots, striking Gaede. Despite his wounds, the deputy managed to return fire, fatally wounding Griffith before collapsing to the ground.
By the time backup arrived, both men were down. Griffith was declared dead at the scene. Gaede, clinging to life, was airlifted to a nearby hospital, but died from his injuries at 10:24 p.m.
Who Was Deputy Brandon Gaede?
For those who knew him, Brandon Gaede was more than just a badge. Born and raised in northwest Kansas, he grew up with small-town values and big dreams of serving his community. He graduated from Colby High School in 2013, earned a degree from Colby Community College, and began his law enforcement career as a jailer in Thomas County.
By 2017, he joined the Phillips County Sheriff’s Office, quickly gaining a reputation for fairness, integrity, and hard work. Colleagues say he had a calming presence—even in tense situations—and that his ambition was matched only by his compassion.
“He was one of those guys who didn’t need to talk tough,” said a fellow deputy who worked with him for over five years. “He had quiet strength. People respected him because he respected them.”
In July 2024, Gaede was promoted to undersheriff, the department’s second-in-command, though he was not serving in that capacity at the time of his death. He’d turned down an offer to relocate to a bigger city, preferring instead to stay close to home and raise his children in the same environment that shaped him.
A Family Torn Apart
Brandon left behind a wife and three young children, ages 2, 5, and 8. In the aftermath of the tragedy, the family has become the focus of an outpouring of support from neighbors, law enforcement across the state, and complete strangers who heard about the incident online.
A memorial fund established by Farmers State Bank quickly grew to over $250,000, and local businesses have hosted bake sales, auctions, and community dinners to help ease the financial burden facing the family.
But no amount of money can replace what they lost.
At the memorial service, Gaede’s wife, fighting through tears, described her husband as “the most dependable man I’ve ever known,” and told the crowd, “He didn’t just wear the uniform—he carried its weight with pride.”
Unanswered Questions
While the sheriff’s department has called the shooting “an unfortunate but clear case of self-defense,” not everyone is convinced the full story has been told.
Some residents quietly question how a simple fireworks call could escalate so quickly. Others ask how Griffith was able to carry a concealed weapon without being noticed, and whether the initial approach could have been handled differently.
Still others, including Griffith’s family, dispute elements of the official narrative, saying he had no history of violent behavior and was not the type to initiate a deadly confrontation.
“He wasn’t a saint,” said one relative. “But he wasn’t evil. We just want answers. And closure.”
The Kansas Bureau of Investigation (KBI) has confirmed that a full review is still ongoing, including ballistics, body cam footage (if available), and autopsy reports. No timeline has been given for the release of a final report.
A Town Struggling to Heal
In the months since the shooting, Phillipsburg has tried to return to normal—but the absence of Gaede is felt everywhere. His patrol vehicle has been turned into a mobile memorial, covered with flowers, flags, and hand-written notes from local children.
The city council held a special meeting to discuss ways to improve officer safety, and a scholarship fund in Gaede’s name has been launched at Colby Community College to support future criminal justice students.
But beneath the efforts at healing, there’s still a simmering unease. A sense that the rules changed that night—that even here, in a town where life moves slow and neighbors trust each other, violence can appear in a flash and leave devastation behind.
🔹 Conclusion: Remembering a Protector
Deputy Brandon Gaede did what he had sworn to do—serve and protect—right up until his final breath. His death was not just a tragedy, but a reminder of the unpredictable danger that every law enforcement officer faces. In responding to a call most would consider routine, he gave everything.
As the investigation continues, and the questions hang unanswered, one truth remains unshaken in the hearts of those who knew him: he didn’t run, he didn’t flinch, and he didn’t hesitate.
Phillipsburg will forever remember the night its quiet was shattered—not just by violence, but by the loss of one of its own. In that memory lives not only grief, but gratitude—for a man who stood between danger and the community he loved.
His watch has ended, but his legacy is only beginning.