The quiet suburb of Edmond, Oklahoma, with its tree-lined streets and population of 60,000, was forever altered when the echoes of gunfire faded on a warm summer morning in 1986.
Patrick Henry Sherrill, a 44-year-old postal worker, had turned the Edmond post office into a scene of unimaginable horror, leaving 14 coworkers dead and six wounded before taking his own life. The nation recoiled, and the phrase "going postal" was born--a haunting label for workplace violence that lingers nearly four decades later.
The massacre, then the deadliest of its kind in U.S. history, sparked debates on gun laws, mental health, and workplace safety, while Edmond erected a memorial: a sculpture of a man and woman clutching a yellow ribbon, encircled by 14 fountains for the fallen. Yet, the question lingered: Who was Patrick Sherrill, the man behind this devastating act?
In the days following the bloodshed, investigators combed through Sherrill’s life for clues, finding no manifesto--just a cluttered home filled with electronics projects, guns, and military keepsakes.
Mental health experts speculated about untreated depression or paranoia, perhaps worsened by isolation and job stress, though his brief Marine Corps service offered no clear link to his actions.
The victims’ names--Patricia Ann Chambers, Judy Stephens Denney, Richard C. Esser Jr.,
Patricia A. Gabbard, Jonna Ruth Gragert, Patty Jean Husband, Betty Ann Jared, William F. Miller, Kenneth W. Morey, Leroy Orrin Phillips, Jerry Ralph Pyle, Paul Michael Rockne, Thomas Wade Shader Jr., and Patti Lou Welch--were etched into the town’s memory, their loss a wound that, as one resident later said, "never fully closes."
Sherrill remained a mystery, a solitary figure whose rage erupted without warning.
Born November 13, 1941, in Watonga, Oklahoma, 70 miles northwest of Oklahoma City, Sherrill’s roots were humble. His father, Robert Sherrill, struggled with a severe mental illness--possibly Alzheimer’s, a condition Patrick reportedly feared inheriting--before his death, which occurred sometime prior to 1986.
Robert had divorced Patrick’s mother and moved away during Patrick’s high school years. His mother, whose first name eludes most records, passed away before the shooting, her will probated in the late 1970s by an attorney named Janet Cox, according to a 1986 Washington Post report.
Sherrill was later buried beside their graves in Watonga IOOF Cemetery, a quiet resting place for a family marked by disconnection.
Growing up, Patrick was a reserved child—neither a star nor a delinquent, just a boy who faded into the background. After high school, he enlisted in the Marines, serving briefly before an honorable discharge brought him back to civilian life.
He enrolled at the University of Oklahoma to study electronics but left without a degree, remembered by peers as socially awkward yet harmless--a loner drifting through his twenties.
Adulthood offered little direction. Sherrill bounced between jobs—--substitute teacher, radio repairman, bicycle mechanic—--none lasting long. In Edmond, where he lived alone in a small house, neighbors dubbed him "Crazy Pat" for odd habits like peeking through windows or cycling at strange hours.
Still, nothing hinted at the violence to come--just a man lost, unable to anchor himself.
In 1985, the United States Postal Service seemed to promise stability. As a part-time letter carrier in Edmond, Sherrill delivered mail to a close-knit community. But coworkers saw a different side: erratic, temperamental, clashing with supervisors over tardiness and sloppy work.
On August 19, 1986, Richard Esser Jr. and Bill Bland reprimanded him, prompting muttered threats no one heeded--a tragic oversight.
The next day, August 20, dawned warm and unassuming. Around 7 a.m., Sherrill arrived at the post office, earlier than usual, clad in his familiar postal uniform. His mailbag, a routine sight, hid two .45-caliber pistols, a .22-caliber pistol, and over 100 rounds of ammunition.
Locking the back door behind him, he began his rampage. A coworker near the sorting area fell first, followed by others, including Esser, whom he targeted deliberately. Bland, his other intended victim, narrowly escaped, delayed by oversleeping.
In under fifteen minutes, Sherrill fired relentlessly, then barricaded himself as police closed in. Amid sirens and SWAT teams, he ended it with a bullet to his own head.
The Edmond massacre reshaped a town and a nation’s view of workplace safety, leaving survivors scarred and a community grappling with loss. Patrick Henry Sherrill’s life--solitary from his fractured family to his final act--offers no easy answers, only a stark reminder of the quiet breaking points that can shatter peace.
