July 20, 2012,

my phone rings at 4:30 in the morning.

It's my son Alex's girlfriend, Amanda,

saying hysterically,

"Tom, Tom, there's been a shooting,

and they dragged me out of the theater.

They wouldn't let me stay.

I wanted to [stay], but they dragged me out."

I say to Amanda,

"Amanda, are you OK? Have you been hurt?"

And she said no, that she was fine,

that Alex had saved her life.

I then say,

"Amanda, where's Alex?"

And she says, sobbing,

"I don't know, we can't find him.

They dragged me out of the theater.

They made me leave.

He was shot.

I tried to wake him up, but I couldn't wake him up.

He wouldn't get up.

They dragged me away. I didn't want to leave him."

And I say to Amanda,

"The last time you saw Alex,

was he bleeding?

Did you have any of his blood on you?"

And she cries, "Yeah, a lot,"

and breaks down.

Alex loved Amanda.

And he was one of the most honorable men on earth,

and at the age of 24,

he had to make the decision to risk his life

in order to ensure she would live.

I knew in my heart if he couldn't get up,

he was dead.

I had just arrived

the night before

with my wife Caren

and my youngest son

for a week's vacation in Hawaii.

We were literally

3,300 miles away.

Caren and I frantically started calling his cell phone,

to no avail.

We left multiple messages.

We then turned to the media.

But all we could find

was information on the murderer

and his booby-trapped apartment.

We tried calling the Aurora police station,

but it was impossible to get an answer.

But in hindsight, it was understandable.

They were dealing with

12 dead, 70 injured,

the carnage so bad,

the police had to bring some of the victims to the hospitals

in the backs of their police cars,

because they had run out of ambulances.

It was a horrific and chaotic scene.

We would never see Alex again,

his injuries so severe

I had to shield even his mom

from looking upon him,

for fear that would be the lasting image of him in her mind.

But you know who we would see again and again?

The murderer.

His pictures were everywhere.

One article was six paragraphs long

and featured his name 41 times.

The media had made him famous.

But my firstborn son, Alex,

a hero,

was absent from those initial reports.

Caren and I immediately realized that there was something wrong

with the way the media responds to these random mass shootings

since Columbine.

We started doing research,

and we realized

that if we could change

the way the media reports,

we could reduce the amount of shootings

and save lives.

(Applause)

Let me explain.

Almost every single random mass shooter

has something in common.

Can anybody guess what that is?

They want notoriety.

They want to be famous.

In fact,

these murderers are telling us this themselves.

The Sandy Hook murderer

kept a spreadsheet

of previous mass murderers and their number of kills.

The Orlando Pulse nightclub murderer

called a local news station --

during his attack! --

and then stopped to check Facebook to see if he'd gone viral.

The Parkland murderer

recorded and posted

a video

stating,

"When you see me on the news, you'll know who I am."

The Aurora theater murderer told his psychiatrist

that he recognized he couldn't make an impact on the world in science,

but he could become famous

by blowing people up.

And most telling,

the Umpqua Community College murderer

wrote on his blog about a previous mass murderer,

saying,

"I've noticed that people like him

are all alone and unknown,

but when they spill a little blood,

the whole world knows who they are."

A man who was known by no one is now known by everyone,

his face splashed across every screen,

his name on the lips

of everyone on the planet,

all in one day.

It seems like the more people you kill,

the more you're in the limelight.

These are just a few examples.

I could go on and on.

These murderers are telling us they want to be famous

like the murderers before them,

and the media continues to give them exactly what they seek:

notoriety.

The gun debate is very emotional,

and our mental health issues are very complicated.

Both will take time to correct.

But to reduce the carnage,

we don't need an act of Congress.

What we need is an act of conscience

on the producers and consumers of mass media

to remove the reward of notoriety.

(Applause)

So to save lives,

Caren and I launched "No Notoriety,"

dedicated to challenging the media

to protect our communities

by adhering to these research-backed principles.

One: report all the facts

on the mindset,

demographics

and motivational profile of these shooters,

but minimize their names and images,

unless they're at large.

Two: limit the use of the shooter's name

to once per piece,

never in the headlines

and no pictures in prominent locations.

And three --

Three.

(Laughter)

I'm not good with numbers.

(Laughter)

Refuse to publish any self-serving material

provided by the shooters.

(Applause)

To be clear:

this is not an infringement

on anyone's First Amendment rights.

This is not censorship.

We are merely asking the media

to leverage guidelines they already have in place.

For example,

the media does not report

on journalists that have been kidnapped

in order to protect them.

The media does not report

the names and images

of victims of sexual assault or suicide.

These responsible journalistic practices

protect public safety

with zero impact

on the public's right to know.

Academic studies show

that the average news consumer