The tragic events at a midtown Manhattan office building, housing the NFL’s headquarters, brought to light the complex and deeply personal struggles of gunman Shane Tamura, whose life culminated in a devastating act of violence. Before the fatal shooting, Tamura, a Las Vegas casino worker, had endured years of debilitating chronic headaches, relentlessly seeking medical intervention and a diagnosis that remained elusive.
For years, Tamura pursued extensive medical help for his intense headaches, a condition that began during his high school football days in Southern California and persisted into adulthood. His medical journey included regular consultations with neurologists, yearly MRI examinations, and various treatments, including specific injections in his head, all in a desperate bid to alleviate the agonizing pain that profoundly impacted his daily life.
A critical, unconfirmed aspect of Tamura’s ordeal was his personal belief that he suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a degenerative brain disease linked to head trauma common in contact sports. While CTE can only be definitively diagnosed posthumously, Tamura’s conviction about his condition, expressed through notes found by authorities, underscored his perceived grievance against the NFL and his desire for his brain to be studied.
The shooting itself unfolded with chilling precision; Tamura, armed with an assault-style rifle, entered the building, targeting what investigators believe were the NFL offices. In the chaotic moments, four individuals, including an off-duty police officer, tragically lost their lives, and an NFL employee sustained serious injuries, highlighting the indiscriminate devastation of the gun violence.
Post-incident investigations revealed critical insights into Tamura’s mindset, with notes found in his possession expressing remorse and a plea for his brain to be examined for CTE. Authorities believed his target was the NFL due to a perceived long-standing grievance, though a source close to his family noted his concern for player safety rather than direct anger at the league.
Beyond his medical battles, Tamura’s life included a period as a casino surveillance worker in Las Vegas, an occupation often characterized by isolation. His roles, including at the Horseshoe Casino, provided a glimpse into his routine of overnight shifts, returning home to apply ice packs for his persistent headaches, and his recent attempts to secure a day shift, possibly to better manage his health.
His past also included a notable encounter at the Red Rock Resort, where a dispute over identification during a nearly $5,000 winnings collection escalated, leading to police involvement and an agitated Tamura being handcuffed for refusing to cooperate, underscoring a pattern of non-compliance when confronted.
The week leading up to the shooting saw Tamura drive from Las Vegas to New York, arriving with the weapon used in the attack. Details emerged regarding the legal acquisition of the rifle and the car he drove, which were sold to him by his supervisor, Rick Ackley, adding another layer to the narrative of his final days.
In the aftermath, the profound impact of the tragedy resonated deeply. Companies like KPMG, Blackstone, and the NFL temporarily closed their offices, urging employees to work remotely and seek support. NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell called the shooting “an attack on humanity,” emphasizing the collective grief and the broader implications of such a violent act on society.
