“Study My Brain”: The Tragic Final Message Behind a Manhattan Massacre
The scene inside 345 Park Avenue was one of utter chaos—but it was what authorities found after the bloodshed that chilled them most.
A torn, handwritten letter. Multiple pages, ink smudged with sweat—or tears. A message, raw and desperate, left behind by the man who had just unleashed terror inside a New York City skyscraper. It wasn’t just a suicide note. It was a manifesto. A cry. A warning.
The Shooter: A Cross-Country Journey to Violence
The gunman, identified as 27-year-old Shane Tamura, had made the long journey from Las Vegas to Manhattan—over 2,500 miles by car—with apparent purpose.
On Monday evening, July 28, just before 6:30 p.m., he walked into the high-rise headquarters of the NFL and opened fire.
Within minutes, four people lay dead—including a security officer hailed as a hero. Several others were injured. Tamura then rode the elevator to the 33rd floor, fired once more, and finally turned the gun on himself.
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A Note Filled with Obsession and Despair
In the aftermath, police recovered a chilling letter scrawled in Tamura’s handwriting. Sources say it painted a disturbing portrait of a man obsessed with the long-term neurological damage caused by football—particularly Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, or CTE.
“You don’t go after the NFL. They’ll bury you,” one passage reportedly reads. “Terry Long football gave me CTE… I drank a gallon of antifreeze.”
It ends with an eerie request:
“CTE. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Study my brain. I’m sorry. Tell Rick I’m sorry for everything.”
The Victims: Lives Cut Short, a City in Mourning
Among the dead was 36-year-old Didarul Islam, a father of two with a third child on the way. He had taken a temporary security post at the Park Avenue skyscraper. He never made it home.
“He gave his life to protect others,” said NYPD Commissioner Jessica Tisch. “He died a hero.”
Mayor Eric Adams honored Islam’s memory in an emotional press conference, calling him a “model New Yorker” who embodied the city’s resilience, faith, and compassion.
Others injured in the attack included an NFL employee who remains hospitalized in critical condition.
The Past of Shane Tamura: Promise Turned Pain
Once a promising high school running back from Golden Valley High in California, Tamura had been scouted for his athleticism and drive. Coaches once spoke of his potential; classmates called him quiet but determined. Somewhere along the way, that bright future dimmed.
In the years that followed graduation, Tamura moved to Las Vegas, worked as a casino security guard, and became a registered firearm owner in Nevada. Friends lost contact. There were no public outbursts, no prior arrests. Just distance, detachment—and silence.
Unanswered Questions, Lingering Fears
Authorities say Tamura acted alone and are continuing to piece together his mental health history. Investigators are also reviewing surveillance, digital communications, and his social media history to understand what triggered this violent unraveling.
His car, double-parked outside the skyscraper, contained more ammunition.
🟣 Final Reflection: A Warning Too Late?
The rampage at 345 Park Avenue is already being remembered as one of Manhattan’s most shocking acts of violence in recent memory. But beyond the headlines lies a deeper tragedy—a life lost to inner torment long before any trigger was pulled.
Tamura’s note may have been meant as explanation. A demand. A desperate appeal for someone—anyone—to listen before it’s too late next time.
In honoring the victims, especially Officer Islam, New York City must also confront the deeper issue: How many signs do we miss? How many cries for help do we dismiss as noise?
The answers won’t bring back those lost. But they might prevent the next note from ever being written.