A teacher stood on a chair in a crowded high school cafeteria, pointed toward the exits, and started screaming for teenagers to run. His name was Dave Sanders. He was 47 years old and had spent nearly twenty-five years teaching business and computer classes at Columbine High School. He also coached the girls' basketball and softball teams. He had a wife, four daughters, and grandchildren. To the kids at school, he was the kind of teacher who stayed late, noticed when someone was sitting alone, and cared more about how you were doing than whether your homework was turned in on time. On the morning of April 20, 1999, hundreds of students were eating lunch in the cafeteria when the first gunshots rang out in the parking lot. Panic spread fast, but many students froze, unsure of what to do. Dave understood what was happening immediately. He jumped up onto a chair so everyone could see him, shouting at the students to get down and then to get out. He pointed them toward the side exits, the kitchen doors, and the stairwell. Kids who were paralyzed with fear started moving because a teacher they trusted was telling them where to go. His quick actions in those frantic minutes helped save as many as 200 lives. He could have followed them out the door. He didn't. Instead of running for safety, Dave turned around and ran upstairs toward the second-floor classrooms and the library. He knew the students and staff up there had no idea what was happening below. He moved through the hallway, warning people and ushering students into safe rooms. He was still in the hall, pushing others into classrooms, when a gunman shot him from behind. He was hit in the torso, neck, and head. Bleeding heavily, Dave managed to pull himself into a science classroom. Inside, terrified students did what they could to keep him alive. They pulled off their shirts and jackets, pressing them against his wounds. They made a sign and held it against the window for emergency responders outside: "1 bleeding to death." They stayed by his side for hours, holding his hand, talking to him, and telling him help was on the way. Over the phone, dispatchers assured them that help was coming. It didn't arrive in time. Dave Sanders died that afternoon from blood loss. He was forty-seven years old, the only teacher killed alongside twelve students. His final words to the students holding his hand were messages of love for his family. In the years since, Colorado named a highway after him. Columbine High School named its softball field in his honor, and a national scholarship was created for students pursuing information technology, the subject he had taught for two decades. Yet the core of his story rests in a decision that took less than ten seconds to make. Standing on that cafeteria chair, Dave understood the math. He knew where the exits were. He knew that if he ran with the crowd, he would almost certainly walk out alive. And he knew that if he ran upstairs toward the gunfire, he might never see his family again. He went upstairs anyway. #TrueCrime #CrimeTok #CCTVFootage #TrueCrimeTok #FYP - @centralcoastarchives