10 years later, memories of San Bernardino terrorist attack still fresh

"Gary Schuelke looked in the mirror. What looked like a pimple stared back. He squeezed. To his surprise, a tiny piece of bullet fell out. Another half inch higher and he might have lost an eyeball. The fragment struck Schuelke, then a San Bernardino police sergeant, during a firefight weeks earlier between police including Schuelke's son and a married couple who murdered 14 people and wounded 22 at a holiday-themed meeting of San Bernardino County workers on Dec. 2, 2015."

"Ten years later, the same can't be said for memories and places associated with the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil since 9/11. The salmon-colored Inland Regional Center where the attack took place remains. But across the street, the golf course where victims gathered is now an Amazon warehouse. Cars and trucks whisk by the IRC home then and now to a nonprofit helping the developmentally disabled on South Waterman Avenue. A decade earlier, a makeshift field hospital filled the street."

"For most Americans, Dec. 2 became another notch on a long, bloody and seemingly endless timeline of gun violence that includes more recent massacres in Las Vegas and Uvalde, Texas. Measured by body count, San Bernardino ranks 13th among America's deadliest mass shootings. But closer to home, the attack's tragic echo lingers through memorials, traumatic memories and empty chairs at family gatherings."

On Dec. 2, 2015, a married couple attacked a holiday-themed meeting at the Inland Regional Center in San Bernardino, killing 14 and wounding 22. A firefight involving police, including the son of Sergeant Gary Schuelke, followed; Schuelke later found a tiny bullet fragment lodged in his face. The salmon-colored Inland Regional Center still stands while nearby locations changed, including a golf course turned Amazon warehouse. Streets once filled by a makeshift field hospital now carry traffic past nonprofits and memorials. The attack ranks 13th in U.S. mass shooting body counts and continues to shape local memories, trauma and community spaces.

Read at www.sbsun.com