Ty Snook was working behind the front desk at Wilmington’s DMV on a typical December afternoon. Before the holidays, he was putting in extra hours to help control the flow of people. The air was unremarkable. Routine is the task. Until it wasn’t. He was shot by a man who entered and moved behind the desk.
Snook reacted with trained instinct despite his wounds. He told a coworker to flee after pushing them out of the gunman’s line of sight. This was a purpose ingrained in his bones, not merely a reaction. His ten years of service had equipped him to put the safety of others before his own. The man was defined more by that choice, which was made in a moment that no one should ever have to deal with, than by his badge.
Ty, a native of Delaware, was raised surrounded by the community he would eventually serve. He left a legacy at Saint Mark’s High School that went well beyond academics, and he was a proud graduate. He was regarded as a humble, team-oriented individual who put forth a lot of effort in competition but never sought recognition. He was shaped by wrestling while attending the University of Maryland. He developed his ability to control pressure, maintain equilibrium, predict movements, and show respect for the mat and his opponent. These same qualities were remarkably consistent in his work as a police officer.
| Fact | Detail |
|---|---|
| Full Name | Matthew T. “Ty” Snook |
| Age | 34 |
| Hometown | Delaware |
| Occupation | Corporal Grade One, Delaware State Police |
| Service | 10 years with Delaware State Police |
| Education | Saint Mark’s High School; University of Maryland (wrestling team) |
| Incident | Killed while on duty at Wilmington DMV, December 23, 2025 |
| Survived By | Wife and one‑year‑old daughter |
| Credible Reference | Delaware State Police press release |
Snook had no desire to be in the spotlight. But his dependability is remembered by those who knew him. He frequently offered to work shifts that others declined, particularly those quiet overnight shifts that required more alertness than action. His superiors referred to him as trustworthy. He was referred to as steady by his fellow soldiers. His neighbors simply referred to him as Ty.
The community has demonstrated over the past week how important those little impressions are. The streets were lined with flags. Chalk messages such as “Thank you, Ty” and “You kept us safe” were written on the sidewalks close to his station. Black armbands were worn by former wrestlers at Saint Mark’s. Stories about late-night tournaments, shared bus rides, and Ty’s constant assistance with cleanup after others left were shared on social media by former teammates and classmates.
Details of that terrible Tuesday’s events revealed a picture of order amid mayhem. Rahman Rose, the shooter, did not open fire on the throng. He let the patrons go. However, the run-in with the law was unavoidable, and Snook’s composure under pressure helped keep the damage to a minimum. Rose was eventually shot and killed by responding officers through the window of the building. However, one life had already been lost, and others had been permanently altered.
The morning of his funeral, I was standing outside the Bob Carpenter Center when I saw the attendees, both civilians and first responders, clutching in silence like a person holding their breath during a national anthem. Loss wasn’t the only issue. Respect was at issue. It was about witnessing a man who constantly took the initiative when he could have stayed out of the way.
A name honored by action is now carried on by his wife and their one-year-old daughter. Fundraisers from the community have flocked to their aid, raising hundreds of thousands of dollars in a matter of days. Money is a sign of shared commitment that loudly declares, “We remember,” even though it cannot replace the silence left behind.
He was referred to by the Delaware State Police as “a beloved member of the force and the public, a respected colleague, and a trusted partner.” These weren’t merely ceremonial terms. They complemented everything he had demonstrated in his career. He was assigned to Troop 6 and performed all duties, including traffic enforcement and patrol. He had just taken up mentoring younger recruits, in part because he recalled the value of even minor advice during those initial weeks of uncertainty.
The University of Delaware’s funeral arrangements gave the public a chance to honor him. After the hours-long visitation, rows of uniformed officers from all over the area stood shoulder to shoulder at a memorial. The music was not dramatic. His name and the service years he proudly logged were read aloud.
There is more to Snook’s story than just service. It also discusses the transformative power of quiet leadership. He constantly gained people’s trust, but he never sought attention. His last deed saved someone who might have otherwise been overlooked in a footnote, but he never went viral. Such a legacy takes time to fade. From one roll call to the next, it is whispered.
Delaware’s institutions are reconsidering how to safeguard those who serve by paying tribute to him. His name is subtly changing policy, from enhanced security at public service facilities to mental health assessments in officer wellness initiatives. The most significant change, however, might not be structural; rather, it might be found in the way his coworkers now gaze at one another across the room and choose to be more vigilant, thoughtful, and present.
Tributes have spread well beyond Wilmington in recent days. A digital scrapbook containing old tournament photos and notes about his leadership was made by former Maryland wrestling teammates. Even people who have never met Ty but have heard about his actions have written letters outside police stations saying something shockingly honest and unvarnished: “We’re sorry he’s gone.” He was worthy of more time.
And that’s the lingering sensation. More time was what he deserved. More time to arrive at work. One day, he will have more time to coach his daughter’s team. More time to enter a room in silence and, simply by being there, give people a sense of security.
But he accomplished a great deal more than most in the time he had. That’s what makes his story so powerful. It wasn’t the title of the position. He carried it in that manner. calmly. In full. without having to be asked.
