It wasn’t Amadou Diallo’s fault that New York police officers shot him to death, but if he’d done one thing differently, they would not have shot him.
  A New York jury ruled that, under New York law, it wasn’t the officers’ fault, either.
  I have never been a police officer, so I can only imagine the stress of confronting strangers of unknown disposition day after day and night after night. Although police officers are less likely to be killed on the job than airplane pilots, their level and constancy of stress must be much higher than mine.
  I’m neither excusing nor blaming the officers for killing the unarmed man in the doorway of his home. That’s not my job. I don’t understand why they were so on edge that they thought Diallo’s wallet was a gun and poured 41 bullets into that doorway, but that may be something only police officers can understand.
  What made the difference between a routine ID check and a shooting was that, when confronted by the officers, Amadou Diallo did an unwise thing.
  It was not a wrong thing to reach for his wallet, presumably to show the officers his identification, but it was unwise.
  My father spent several years as a civilian employee of a police department before I was born. From the police stories he told me when I was a boy, one thing I’ve never forgotten is what to do when stopped by a cop: Be still.
  I once read some bad advice from a psychologist who advised getting out of your car immediately and going to the officer’s car before he can come to yours. The reasoning was that the cop would be more comfortable dealing with you on his turf—at his car. Bad idea.
  We have no way of knowing why a police officer pulls us over. It may be that a taillight is out, or it may be that someone of our description and driving a similar car just shot someone.
  My father told me of a driver who jumped out of his car and reached inside his coat. He wasn’t reaching for a gun, but the police officer who’d pulled him over had every reason to think he was, and he shot him.
  Once when I was a teenager, riding around with friends who’d had a few beers, we were having fun on a long downhill in town making the car backfire through the exhaust. If you turn off the key for a few seconds and let the engine pump unburned gasoline into the exhaust system of older cars, when you turn the ignition on again, the result is a satisfying blast. It sounds like a shotgun. We did it several times.
  When the lights came on behind us and we pulled over, we assumed we’d been nabbed for coasting too fast down the hill. The driver reached for the door handle. He was going to go back to talk to the police because he was afraid they’d smell beer if they came to the car.
  I insisted he sit still with his hands on top of the steering wheel and wait.
  The officers ordered us out, stood us against a bridge railing, and frisked us while others searched the car. We were so concerned about beer, we didn’t understand why we were being treated so roughly until they told us why we’d been stopped. 
  The officers weren’t interested in speeding or beer. Someone had reported we were shooting. The cops were looking for guns.
  We explained the ignition trick. I don’t remember whether the driver got a ticket, but I do remember the chill I felt when I thought of what might have happened had he jumped out and hurried back toward the police car.
  Life would be less dangerous for us and less stressful for police officers if we were all taught one simple rule: When an officer stops you, be still. If you’re in a car, put your hands where the officer can see them as he walks up to your window. The officer will tell you when he wants you to reach for your wallet.
  All other factors aside, it’s too bad for him, and for the police officers who shot him, that Amadou Diallo didn’t know that.