It was just after midnight on a Thursday. November 20, 2014. If you were on the Florida State University campus that night, you remember the shift in the air. One minute, students were hunkered down in the Strozier Library, fueled by Starbucks and the looming pressure of finals. The next, the building was a fortress of fear. People were hiding behind bookshelves. They were barricading doors with rolling whiteboards.
When the question comes up, did the fsu shooter die, the answer is immediate: Yes. He did. But the "how" and the "why" carry a weight that still hangs over Tallahassee more than a decade later.
The shooter was identified as Myron May. He was an FSU alumnus. He was an attorney. He was also a man spiraling into a deep, unchecked psychological crisis that ended in a hail of gunfire on the steps of the very library where he once studied.
The Chaos at Strozier: A Timeline of the Confrontation
Most people don't realize how fast it all went down. Myron May entered the lobby area of the library around 12:30 a.m. He didn't make it past the security turnstiles. Because he couldn't get into the main body of the library, he opened fire in the lobby and just outside the entrance.
Three people were hit. One student was paralyzed. Two others sustained injuries that, miraculously, they survived.
The police response was fast. Incredibly fast. Tallahassee Police Department officers and FSU PD were already in the vicinity. Within minutes, they had May surrounded near the entrance of the library. They ordered him to drop his weapon—a .380-caliber semi-automatic handgun.
He didn't.
Instead, he fired at the officers. They returned fire. Myron May was pronounced dead at the scene, right there on the brick walkway.
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Why the Question of Survival Lingers
You might wonder why people still search for the outcome of this event. Honestly, it's because the narrative of the "campus shooter" usually follows a few specific patterns. Either they are taken into custody for a high-profile trial, or they take their own life before police intervene.
In this case, it was "suicide by cop."
May didn't turn the gun on himself in a literal sense, but he forced a confrontation where he knew the outcome was inevitable. When we look at the facts of whether the FSU shooter died, we have to look at the intent. This wasn't a getaway plan gone wrong. He wasn't trying to escape.
The Troubling Background of Myron May
To understand his death, you have to look at his life. This wasn't some random stranger. May had been a successful prosecutor in New Mexico. He was a "Seminole" through and through. But in the months leading up to the shooting, his mental state had fractured.
He believed he was being targeted by "targeted individual" programs. He thought the government was using electronic waves to monitor him. He even tried to report these "attacks" to the police in the weeks before he drove back to Florida.
He sent packages to friends. He left journals.
These documents revealed a man who felt he had no exit strategy. By the time he stepped onto the FSU campus that night, he had already decided his life was over. The shooting was a desperate, violent plea for attention to his perceived persecution. It’s a grim reality that often gets lost in the headlines: the person who pulled the trigger was someone the community once viewed as a success story.
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The Impact on Campus Security and Law Enforcement
When a shooter dies at the scene, the legal "closure" of a trial is stripped away. There is no sentencing. There is no victim impact statement delivered directly to the perpetrator.
This leaves the university and the city to pick up the pieces through policy change instead.
FSU changed. They had to. The university ramped up its "See Something, Say Something" campaigns. They overhauled how they handle mental health alerts. They looked at the security of the library itself. You can't just walk into Strozier anymore without a specific set of credentials being verified at multiple points.
- Armed guards became a more visible presence.
- Alert systems were refined to be instantaneous.
- Mental health resources for students were drastically expanded to prevent the kind of isolation May experienced.
It's also worth noting the trauma of the officers involved. Even when a shooting is justified—as the grand jury later ruled this one was—the death of a suspect in a public space like Landis Green leaves a mark on the first responders. They were hailed as heroes for stopping the threat before he could get deeper into the library, where hundreds of students were trapped. If May had moved past those turnstiles, the death toll would have been catastrophic.
The Victims Who Lived
The conversation about whether the FSU shooter died often overshadows the people who had to live through it. Farhan "Ronny" Ahmed, for instance. He was the student who took the brunt of the violence. He was paralyzed from the chest down.
His story is the counter-narrative to May's death. While May's story ended on that sidewalk, Ahmed’s story became one of grueling recovery and incredible resilience. He eventually returned to FSU. He graduated. He spoke out about gun violence and disability.
When we talk about the death of the shooter, we should also talk about the life of the survivors. The bullet that killed May ended the immediate threat, but the ripples of his actions are still being felt by those who were just trying to study for a chemistry exam.
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Looking Back a Decade Later
It’s easy to get caught up in the "true crime" aspect of these events. But the FSU shooting is a case study in the intersection of mental health and campus safety. Myron May was a man who needed help and instead found a weapon.
The fact that the FSU shooter died at the hands of police is a matter of public record. The grand jury's 2015 report confirmed that the officers acted within the law. They had no choice. May had already shot three people and was actively firing at law enforcement.
If you are looking for the "why," you won't find it in a courtroom transcript because there never was a trial. You find it in the 10 packages he mailed to his friends right before the shooting, containing videos and journals detailing his paranoia. He wanted the world to see his "truth," even if that truth was a product of a broken mind.
Actionable Insights for Safety and Awareness
Understanding the history of campus shootings like the 2014 FSU incident provides more than just a history lesson. It offers a blueprint for modern situational awareness.
Recognize the Signs of a Crisis
The "targeted individual" conspiracy theory is a well-documented phenomenon in mental health circles. If someone in your circle begins expressing extreme paranoia about electronic surveillance or government stalking, these are high-level red flags that require professional intervention, not just a casual conversation.
Understand Campus Protocols
If you are a student or faculty member, know the "Run, Hide, Fight" protocol. At FSU, students survived because they didn't wait for instructions; they used the environment—bookshelves and heavy furniture—to create barriers immediately.
Support Mental Health Infrastructure
The legacy of the FSU shooting is a reminder that mental health care is a form of security. Expanding access to counseling and removing the stigma of seeking help are the most effective long-term strategies for preventing similar tragedies.
The shooter is gone, but the lessons learned on the steps of Strozier Library remain. Stay vigilant. Look out for your peers. Understand that the safety of a community depends on the well-being of its individual members.