The fallout from a deadly police shooting still ripples through Wyoming

The bowl is there, along with a few other concrete additions to the park, in part because of Robbie Ramirez. He was there when the park first opened in 2000, while he was in high school, and came back to skate again years later, as his mental health was improving.

Josh Kaffer takes a break from skating and perches on a ledge rimming Robbie’s Pocket, pointing around the park at other ledges and ramps and rails that Ramirez helped get built.

“I think he was here for every pour but one,” Kaffer says.

Ramirez was killed in 2018, when an Albany County sheriff’s deputy shot him following a traffic stop. His death sparked conversations about police reform and hiring practices, prompted turnover among county officials and highlighted the need for accessible mental health services.

At the skate park, his death left a void.

“I gave a eulogy at his funeral that basically said, like, I don’t know how we’re going to do this without him,” Kaffer says.

When Robbie’s Pocket was poured, one of the final pieces of the updated park, Ramirez’s ashes were mixed in with the concrete.

A few blocks down, a bright-colored mural commemorating Ramirez’s life covers a storage shed near the Ranger, a bar and liquor store that his mom owned and ran for years. One of Ramirez’s friends from high school, artist Travis Ivey, just finished the mural this summer after six weeks of work.

On the other side of downtown Laramie, Ramirez’s mom, Debbie Hinkel, keeps dozens of pieces of her son’s pottery displayed around the building where she recently opened a nonprofit in his name.

Robbie’s House, which she plans to eventually move to a dedicated home elsewhere in town, will eventually provide housing and stability for people with mental illness. For now, Hinkel hosts art workshops and other community-building events in the Custer Street space.

“Since Robbie has died, I looked at what other ways can we deal with mental health besides just giving them medication,” Hinkel said. “A lot of the problem is, if you’re isolating, you feel like you have no value.”

It’s been four years since Ramirez was killed, and two since Hinkel filed a federal lawsuit against the county and sheriff’s office alleging wrongful death. The case ended in June after a confidential settlement was reached.

But still, four years out, advocates say there is still a lot to do.

“It’s not just about Robbie’s life being taken,” Hinkel said, “it’s about the system being broken.”

On Nov. 4, 2018, Albany County Sheriff’s Deputy Derek Colling turned on his lights to pull Robbie Ramirez over for not using a signal to turn left.

When Colling approached the car, Ramirez did not roll down his window and drove away to his home, an apartment about 150 feet away from where he was pulled over.

After he got out of the car, there was a confrontation between the two men, and Colling used his taser. The officer then shot Ramirez, who was unarmed, once near his armpit and twice in his back after Ramirez fell to the ground, killing him.

Many in the community were angered by the shooting, maintaining Colling did nothing to deescalate a situation that involved a person who lived with mental illness. Ramirez had been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, and had once spent time at an inpatient treatment facility.

Others raised questions about Colling’s past and the decision to hire him. By the time Colling joined the Albany County Sheriff’s Office, he had killed two people while on duty as a police officer in Las Vegas. He was fired after being accused of beating a person filming police.

Two days after the shooting, Sheriff Dave O’Malley won reelection to his third term. The day after that, Karlee Provenza, then a Ph.D. student and instructor at the University of Wyoming, started Albany County for Proper Policing (ACoPP) as a local watchdog group.

As with any police shooting in the state, the investigation into Ramirez’s death was taken over by the Wyoming Division of Criminal Investigation — an independent agency, though many of its investigators previously worked in law enforcement offices around Wyoming.

“I do not believe you can put your faith in police to investigate police,” Hinkel said. “They might be really good at investigating other crimes, but it’s just like asking a family member to be the one to root out what their child has done.”

In the days after the shooting, Hinkel and the skate park crew organized a vigil at the park. The community showed up to mourn Ramirez at one of his favorite places.

“The anger was so real,” Kaffer said. “I had old Wyoming dudes coming up to me, being like, ‘I’ll kill that guy (Colling),’ … real visceral. Just people that knew Robbie and were not aligned with defund the police or anything like that. Just really, really pissed.”

Conor Mullen, another original member of the Friends of the Laramie Skate Park, recalled bumper stickers popping up around town — “Fire Colling” or “Justice for Robbie.”

Ramirez’s shooting brought the “good old boys” of Albany County to light, reform advocates say, and likely prompted many of them to leave their posts.

Many officials involved in the shooting and investigation are now out of office.

Dave O’Malley, the sheriff at the time and who’d previously earned national praise for his role in investigating Matthew Shepard’s murder, announced his retirement in late 2020, after being notified of an impending lawsuit from Ramirez’s mother.

Peggy Trent, the county attorney who convened a grand jury that declined to indict Colling for Ramirez’s death, left for a job in Kansas in 2021.

And Colling, the officer who returned to his hometown sheriff’s office after killing two people while on duty (coroner’s juries ruled both were justified) and then being fired as an officer, also left his post in 2021. He is now a real estate agent and landlord in Laramie.

“We had a lot of other elected officials leave too,” Sheriff Aaron Appelhans, who replaced O’Malley, said. “Everybody that was kind of involved in that situation is no longer working in the positions that they were working in when that incident occurred.”

The aftermath of the shooting also seemed to divide residents in Laramie, between those who supported the sheriff’s office and those calling for justice for Ramirez.

“I think there was a line drawn in the sand,” said Linda Devine, a local criminal defense attorney who became involved in calls for reform following the shooting.

Provenza, the now-state representative who started ACoPP days after Ramirez’s death, said that few in Laramie — a relatively progressive part of Wyoming — would have thought to question law enforcement before the shooting.

Though language from nationwide calls to defund or abolish police has made its way to Albany County, most local organizers say they’re mainly focused on working within existing systems of law enforcement.

Devine, for example, believes starting within the system means turning inward — hiring good officers and supervisors, for one. While college students and younger organizers might push for more radical reforms, she said her years as an attorney in Laramie — and the connections she’s made on both sides of the criminal justice system — has helped her make inroads with law enforcement and reformers alike.

“When ACoPP started, between 60 and 70% of our base were Republicans,” Provenza said. “It wasn’t a progressive cause … it was the people who think that the government should not have the power to infringe on your rights in such a way where they get to execute you.

“It was, I think, this sentiment of — we’re not going to tolerate the good old boys. We’re not going to let them do what they want and get away with it.”

Two years after starting ACoPP, Provenza ran for and won a Laramie seat in the Wyoming Legislature as a Democrat. In her first year, she sponsored bills aimed at making body camera footage and personnel records for law enforcement more accessible and shortening the wait time to expunge criminal records.

She attributes her political win to her very visible policing reform work.

“I don’t think I could have won my election in 2020 had I not been known as the person who will cross party lines to demand transparency and accountability,” she said. “People saw that as a universal thing.”

Ramirez’s death sent shockwaves through the Laramie community, prompting conversations about policing and mental health.

But by the time Laramie’s streets flooded in protest after George Floyd was murdered by police nearly 900 miles away, Ramirez’s story wasn’t making headlines anymore.

Provenza went to the first protest that May. As demonstrators chanted Floyd’s name, she thought about Ramirez, and how many in the crowd didn’t seem to remember the police shooting that had happened in their own city less than two years before.

“I left in tears,” Provenza said, “because I felt like I failed my community and I failed Robbie, because nobody was saying Robbie’s name.”

With Hinkel’s blessing, demonstrations led by the Laramie Human Rights Network and ACoPP came to incorporate Ramirez in their calls for justice. Protests in Laramie lasted longer than any other place in the state, with hundreds taking to the streets daily at their start.

Because demonstrators were filling Laramie streets, Laramie police were tasked with overseeing those protests. Many protesters bristled at the armed officers’ presence.

“Somehow or another, the conversation was shifted to the Laramie Police Department — I don’t even know if it was a conversation as much as a target,” Devine said. “And then it became about transparency, and the citizen oversight board and things like that.”

An ad hoc working group was eventually formed to make recommendations to the city about policing. The top priority coming out of that group was the creation of a community oversight board for the department, a concept other communities have adopted in recent years and one heavily pushed by ACoPP.

That still hasn’t happened. There are some statutory issues with creating a board like that, which gave city council members pause. Those include a law that forbids agencies from sharing personnel files — including disciplinary records and investigations — with a citizen board.

In March, a vote to keep exploring how to implement an oversight board failed in Laramie City Council. That vote came under scrutiny, since council member Pat Gabriel changed his yes vote to a no following a private conversation with fellow council member Fred Schmechel.

Provenza said that installing an oversight board is still No. 1 on her list.

“It would be all community members, elected by their community, who have access to complaints, body cameras, their own investigator, separate from law enforcement,” she said, “and subpoena power. And they would all be paid.”

The police chief at the time of Ramirez’s shooting, Dale Stalder, retired in September. His replacement, Brian Browne, was sworn into office Thursday.

“The shooting death of Robbie Ramirez was not a catalyst for police reform, oversight, or review, at least for LPD,” Robert Terry, the interim chief, said in an email declining a request for an interview with the Star-Tribune. “What it did do was exemplify the hiring and training practices of the LPD.”

In Sheriff Aaron Appelhans’ office, a multi-panel whiteboard on the wall shows a few lists — names in all-caps handwriting written at a slight left tilt.

The red names are deputies that have left, the blue are current and new hires and the green are candidates that failed or withdrew following a background check. One of the red names, at the top of a list on the center panel, is Colling’s.

Since taking office, Appelhans says he’s noticed a shift in how the public perceives his office.

“It was definitely more contentious,” he said. “Now, it’s definitely much more collaborative.”

Appelhans, formerly a campus police officer at the university, was chosen as Albany County’s new sheriff at the end of 2020, after O’Malley announced his retirement. When he was sworn in, he became the first Black person to serve as a sheriff in Wyoming.

“Obviously, my transition is somewhat connected to (Ramirez’s death),” Appelhans said. “If there wasn’t a federal lawsuit that involved the sheriff’s office, I don’t think the previous sheriff would have left.”

When the position came open, Appelhans said, he was interested. But as the selection process moved forward, he said he realized it was a real opportunity to make change at the sheriff’s office.

First, he said, he wanted to diversify the force in an effort to make it a more accurate representation of the community. Around 40% of his new hires have been women, Appelhans said, 20% people of color and 25% veterans or active national guard. About half are locals.

A local advisory board worked with Appelhans when he took office. Their top priority was making sure new hires were qualified and properly vetted for the job.

“They wanted to make sure that some of the mistakes prior to my arrival weren’t going to be repeated,” Appelhans said. “It’s pretty easy not to repeat those same mistakes.”

The sheriff said that the office now takes a closer look at background checks, particularly when an applicant who was an officer somewhere else has “use of force,” or violence on the job, on their record. He points to the green names on the white board — some were “washed,” or disqualified, from a background check, while others withdrew themselves.

“It’s more based on, do you have what it takes to do the job?” Appelhans said. “Not necessarily, who do you know who already does the job, or who are you related to? … we don’t factor that stuff into our hiring process.”

Now, the office is slowly shifting to a community response approach, working with local social services and mental health providers to handle certain cases. Deputies and other uniformed officers are still the first ones to respond, Appelhans said, but now they can hand cases off to someone more qualified to provide care.

“We wanted to reach out and make those connections so we can make those referrals instead of that more traditional route of trying to arrest your way out of every problem,” Appelhans said. “We’ve seen time and time again over the years that that’s not a viable solution for much.”

He keeps a stack of thank-you cards and “nice” mail on his windowsill, next to a thinner pile of hate mail.

“Most people are thankful,” he said.

Appelhans said he’s open to an ongoing advisory board as a way for citizens to oversee what goes on in his office — but that may pose some of the same problems that are delaying a similar proposal for city police.

Though Appelhans wasn’t at the sheriff’s office at the time of Ramirez’s shooting, he said he still feels its impact.

“It’s definitely still on the minds of people here in town,” he said. “I’m the one that came in and really tried to transition the office … I don’t think you could ever go back to the way it was prior to Robbie’s death, but I’m trying to make it a version that people are more comfortable with moving forward.”

The mural on Lewis Street, just around the corner from the Ranger, incorporates some of Robbie’s favorite things.

There’s his favorite white truck, which his mom Debbie Hinkel says they kept dragging out of storage when it should have been left for parts. His dog is in the front seat.

On the alley side, there’s an homage to the barn where artist Travis Ivey and Ramirez used to skate on a couple of DIY ramps with their friends.

The other side is a rocky Wyoming landscape, a reference to nearby Vedauwoo. Ivey said some of his “fondest memories of hanging out with Robbie” come from days ripping down the newly paved road up the hill there, before it was opened to cars.

Tie-dye radiates from the center of the mural, backed by two crossed hockey sticks — one green for the Laramie Amateur Hockey Club, one brown and gold for the University of Wyoming. At the Laramie Skate Park, another mural on the side of a full-pipe also features a hockey stick with an “R” for Robbie on the grip.

“There’s a lot of ripples of grief here,” says Conor Mullen, who painted the full-pipe mural, sitting on the ground at the skate park. “But all these folks have taken just a horrible thing and transformed it into some really beautiful stuff.”

In the center of the Lewis Street mural, there’s the now-iconic image of Robbie skateboarding, airborne with his arms out. The silhouette has been used by activists, and also appears on the plaque marking Robbie’s Pocket at the Laramie Skate park.

Ivey was going to use another photo as a reference for the center image. But the tripod holding his projector broke, and it started to rain once he got the projector propped up on his car.

“I was like, well, either Robbie or the universe doesn’t want me to paint this image tonight,” Ivey said. “So I changed the image to something I think was better anyway.”

Hinkel says she knows it was Robbie. She can still communicate with him, she says. She could tell he didn’t want the first photo on the mural — it would make it too much about him.

She’s heard from Robbie for years, starting right after his death. Hinkel said she wouldn’t have filed the lawsuit without his blessing.

Long before Robbie died, Hinkel had been involved in mental health advocacy.  She’s president of the Laramie board for the National Alliance on Mental Illness, chaired the county mental health board and has run a holistic healing center for more than a decade.

“When it happened, I believed immediately that it had happened for a reason. And that there was something that needed to come out of it,” Hinkel said. “And Robbie said, ‘OK Mom, now you got to focus on making changes.’”