15 Years After Preventing a School Shooting, A Former Principal Reflects on the Power of Connection

On the morning of Nov. 10, 2009, students at Stissing Mountain Junior/Senior High School expected routine announcements over the PA system. Instead, a chilling message came over the speakers: The school was in lockdown.

At 7:35 a.m., 42-year-old Chris Craft entered the school and asked the receptionist if he could use the restroom. He then disappeared into the boys’ room, where he assembled a long gun from parts hidden in the sleeves of his bulky winter coat. Craft crossed the hall to the dean’s office and finding it empty, lowered the blinds, stood behind the desk, cradled his gun and called out a single name: “Robert Hess.” 

Hess, then the junior high principal, recognized the voice as that of a former student he had counseled for years. He stepped into the room and faced Craft. “I never hesitated. I had to go in,” Hess told the Herald, reflecting on the standoff 15 years later. “He came to me because he knew I would listen.” 

For the next two hours, Hess used his training as a school psychologist and his rapport with Craft to defuse the situation, guiding the man to surrender to authorities without harm. The event, a moment of extraordinary bravery, serves as a powerful illustration of how compassion can alter the course of a crisis. “It was our connection that saved him and me,” Hess said.

“I remember quite well turning to shut the door behind me and seeing my colleague, Mike Remsburger, closing all the doors to the offices so no one would walk in by mistake,” Hess said. “A smart move on his part.”

Hess took a seat opposite Craft, who had settled on the floor under the window, gripping his weapon behind the desk. Though Hess had supported Craft and his siblings in the past, he seemed unrecognizable.

“This is not the person I know,” Hess recalled thinking. “I’ve probably never been more afraid in my life.”

Craft was agitated, yelling grievances that ranged from personal struggles to systemic injustices. He expressed outrage over the recent treatment of Army Maj. Nidal Hasan, who had fatally shot 13 people at Fort Hood days earlier, and frustrations with the VA, which he claimed mishandled his son’s medical records. He wanted help getting his own medication for bipolar disorder.

Amid the tension, Hess leaned on his training and instincts. “I tried to listen more than I talked,” he said. “I needed him to know he was heard.”

Outside the office, local and state police set up barricades at each end of town to keep parents and media at bay. Helicopters circled overhead, adding to the tension. 

Then Pine Plains Fire Chief Robert Decker was watching from Route 199 as troopers planned for mass casualties and a semi-tractor trailer arrived and offloaded a U.S. Army tank. SWAT snipers drove it onto school grounds. “That was the worst day in Pine Plains ever,” Decker said. 

Inside, Hess said he maintained a delicate balance of empathy and strategy. When Craft demanded to speak to the FBI and Fox News, Hess relayed his requests through 911 calls. Each denial from law enforcement heightened Craft’s agitation.

At one point, Craft handed Hess the phone, instructing him to call his fiancée, a school cafeteria worker. “He left her a message: ‘You don’t have to come to work today. You’ll understand later. I love you,’” Hess recalled.

As the standoff wore on, Hess used small gestures to gauge Craft’s state of mind, such as repeatedly asking for water. “It was a litmus test for where we were in the situation,” Hess said.

When Craft said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this to you, Mr. Hess,” Hess saw a glimmer of hope. But the tension remained palpable.

During one heated moment, Craft shouted into the phone, “I’m a good father! I’m doing this for my son!” Hess stood, crossed the room, and raised his voice: “You can’t be a good father if you are dead, so what’s it gonna be?”

And that, Hess believes, is when the dynamic shifted. Craft acknowledged the strain his weapon imposed. “This gun is probably making you nervous,” he said. He unloaded it, spilling a dozen shells onto the desk. Moments later, he stood up and started to cry. Hess offered him a tissue, then a hug, and they both wept.

Finally, Craft agreed to let Hess call 911 and inform the state troopers they were ready to come out. But law enforcement officers delayed their entry, leaving Hess and Craft alone in the room as the minutes stretched on.

When officers finally entered at around 9:30, they swiftly handcuffed Craft and ended the ordeal. Shaken, Hess made his way to the cafeteria, where he broke down in tears.

By afternoon, Hess returned to the school and though many of the students had been evacuated, he wanted to check on those that remained in the building. “I needed them to see that I was OK,” he said.

The following day was Veterans Day, giving the school time off to regroup. When students returned, Hess spent hours visiting classrooms, answering questions and providing reassurance. Craft’s fiancée paid him a visit two weeks later and told Hess that he had prevented Craft from killing himself. Hess recalled, “If he had talked to the FBI, Fox, checked all the boxes, that would have been his plan.”

“I thought maybe if he told his story and his demands were addressed maybe he would just walk out,” said Hess. “If there was any shot fired in that school, the school would have been changed forever. You can’t wash that off.”

In the aftermath of the incident, the FBI invited Hess to participate in national hostage negotiation workshops. Since then, Hess, who retired in 2012, has continued to give presentations, sharing his experience and insights on school safety and the importance of connecting with troubled students from an early age. 

Hess emphasizes the importance of proactive mental health support in schools. “Is your district proactive or reactive?” he asked. “Being proactive means building connections with kids from elementary school on up.” 

“Are your substitutes trained? Do you have a suicide response protocol? The person holding the gun is most likely to be associated with the school and therefore gains access easily. In areas like ours, kids get guns at home.” 

Hess believes that identifying those who need support early on could prevent future incidents, noting that troubled students often feel unseen within the education system. 

When Craft was a student at the school, he was placed in a special education program. Hess suspected that he had been misdiagnosed, placed in special ed for a learning disability because there was no other option at the time. 

“The system can make assumptions based on test scores, missing what kids may be experiencing at home,” Hess said. He added that Craft and his siblings had a difficult home life. Such students, Hess said, were the ones you had to connect with from the earliest moments “to let them know that they are safe.” 

At his arraignment, Craft insisted to Town Justice Louis Imperato that he needed psychiatric care. “Jail is not the place I need to be,” he said. Imperato did not address his plea for mental health support. At trial, Craft faced up to 25 years imprisonment if convicted of kidnapping. However, Hess testified that he had entered the office voluntarily, and consequently Craft was convicted of hostage-taking alone. He served five years in prison, where he was able to get back on his medication. 

In Pine Plains 15 years ago, communication and compassion overpowered a weapon to prevent a tragedy.