Six months before he was born, Conor McDonald’s father, Steven McDonald, a New York City police officer, was shot three times by a 15-year-old, leaving him paralyzed from the neck down and unable to breathe without a ventilator.
The elder McDonald spent the next 30 years as a respirator-dependent quadriplegic and a constant reminder to his only child of the dangers that New York police officers face every day. This, however, didn’t stop Conor from joining the very department in which his father served.
Beginnings
The story begins in 1984, when Steven graduated from the NYPD academy. A year later, he married Patti Ann Norris and the couple rented a one-bedroom apartment in her hometown of Malverne, Long Island. Both came from large, Irish Catholic families and planned to create one of their own.
In April, the plan was in motion, with their first child due in January 1987.
All that changed on July 12, 1986, when Steven and his partner approached three teens in Central Park regarding some recent bicycle thefts. Shavod Jones, the eldest of the three, shot Steven with a handgun, leaving him not only paralyzed and on a ventilator, but unable to speak.
Patti gave birth to Conor on Jan. 29, 1987, at Mercy Hospital on Long Island, as Steven lay at Belleview Hospital in Manhattan.
At the time, “internet” and “FaceTime” weren’t even words yet. However, there was new technology available that enabled Steven to see an image of his son moments after he was born.
Forgiveness
After months of physical therapy in Colorado, Steven regained the ability to speak and soon after forgave his assailant.
“Over weeks and months before I was born, he began to realize that he was going to overcome this and he would have to be a father to me,” Conor told The Epoch Times. “To let go of any type of problems he had with his condition, he would have to forgive the young boy who shot him.”
“On his birthday—the day I was baptized—he forgave Shavod Jones.”
Sometime later, Jones phoned Steven to apologize for what he’d done.
“I was stunned, absolutely stunned,” Patti told The Epoch Times, as the call was completely unexpected.
Long before there was the Tunnel to Towers Foundation, there were Arthur Crames and Dick Fay, managing partners at Bear Stearns, who purchased a house for the McDonalds. Architect and contractor Lehrer McGovern Bovis donated its services and materials to make the residence wheelchair-friendly.
Steven Is Still a Dad
Steven explained to Conor what happened to him right from the start so, from an early age, he had an understanding of his unique situation.
“We were always surrounded by family and friends, so I understood there was something that was different for my immediate family,” Conor said.
Dads are expected to do things with their sons, such as play catch.
“We could not have that normal father-son interaction in regards to throwing a baseball,” Conor said. However, Steven’s severe injuries didn’t stop him from doing what he could in the dad department.
When Conor played roller hockey on their dead-end street, Steven wheeled himself in front of the net to act as goalie.
Since Steven needed around-the-clock care, in addition to friends and family, the McDonald household always had several officers from the NYPD around. Many of them took on the dad responsibilities Steven couldn’t perform.
“They became like uncles or older brothers to me,” said Conor.
It was during Conor’s formative years, interacting with all these cops, that he had the notion to become one.
Although Steven’s condition was a big obstacle that was the center of his family’s life, the McDonald household was also party central for family celebrations. There were often tons of cousins over, giving Conor plenty of playmates.
Keeping the Faith
Another big part of the McDonald household was faith, which Steven spoke of often.
“I’d say every 15, 20 minutes,” said Conor. “Any chance he could, my father would talk about his faith.”
Steven believed his survival was a miracle, and he would talk to people he’d meet about his views on it, even if the person was of a different religion.
In 1999, Steven co-founded Breaking the Cycle, a group of individuals who’ve overcome adversity through forgiveness. They speak at schools, often in underprivileged neighborhoods. For 13 years, Steven told his story both nationally and internationally, always with the moral being about forgiveness.
“He didn’t just forgive Shavod Jones once. He forgave Shavod Jones every single day,” said Conor.
After speaking at middle and high schools, Steven regularly received letters from young people, and Conor often read them.
They all said the same thing: These children had had gun violence disrupt their lives, but after hearing Steven tell his story of forgiveness, they were inspired to forgive their assailants as well.
“My father made everything look very easy,” said Conor regarding Steven’s public persona. But Conor witnessed firsthand what the general public didn’t see.
“Not many people were privy to the pain and suffering he went through. It was difficult sometimes to comprehend his faith.”
Conor credits Steven with “the foundation he laid” for his own faith, which has helped him in his struggle through the five years since Steven’s death.
NYPD
When Conor was 18, he left the house for the first time at length when he attended Boston College as a history major. He earned a bachelor’s degree in 2009 and spent the following year volunteering in Denver.
With encouragement from Steven, Conor took the civil service test for New York City’s police academy. During his last days in Denver, his list number came up, and it was now or never if he was going to pursue a career as a cop in the NYPD. He chose now.
Patti’s initial response was, “Are you kidding me?”—as was everyone else’s—but she knew forcing him into a career he didn’t want would be a mistake. And when Conor graduated from the academy in the top 10 percent of his class, she knew it was where he belonged.
Conor is the fourth generation of McDonalds to serve in the NYPD, and that’s only counting direct lineage. Including extended family, there’s over 700 years of service among them. A great aunt was one of the first patrolwomen in the early 20th century.
Steven’s Final Days
Five years ago, Steven was unresponsive as he lay in bed. He was brought to one hospital but was transferred to another, where he received a phone call from President-elect Donald Trump. Conor told Trump that Steven was unconscious, but Trump insisted he put the phone to his ear, which he did.
Steven died on Jan. 10, 2017.
Jones spent nine years in prison and died in a motorcycle accident in 1995, four days after being paroled.
Steven’s Legacy
Conor and Patti continue Steven’s legacy of public speaking about forgiveness, although Conor knows he’s not quite as captivating as his father was. Even so, after speaking at schools, they’re regularly approached by youths who react the same way to them as others did to Steven.
Conor is currently a lieutenant and is married with his first baby on the way, due next month.
“My dad and my mom, they’re exceptional human beings,” Conor said. And the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.
“As much as I can help people, I’ll try my best. ... That’s like the most important part that my father and my mother have instilled in me. ... When you help somebody, there’s nothing better than that.”
