Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.

Q: The violent ambush that killed five Dallas police officers and wounded seven more could have been a lot worse, the city's police chief says.
Dallas Chief of Police David Brown told CNN Sunday that the slain gunman told police negotiators he wanted to "kill white people, especially white officers."
Bomb making materials and a journal were found at Johnson's home during a search Friday.
"The material were such that it was large enough to have devastating effects throughout our city and our North Texas area," Brown said.
Micah Xavier Johnson, 25, was killed by police in the deadly attack Thursday night during a protest against police killings of African American men.
Since the shooting deaths of two black men by white police officers over two days last week, protests have been held across the country. Scores of demonstrators have been arrested, with one flash point being the southern city of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where DeRay McKesson, one of the most prominent activists linked to the police reform protest movement Black Lives Matter, live streamed his own arrest.
Police defended his arrest as a matter of public safety, but demonstrators told U.S. news outlets they believe McKesson was targeted.
McKesson was freed on bond Sunday afternoon after being charged with obstructing a highway. "I remain disappointed in the Baton Rouge police, who continue to provoke protesters for peacefully protesting. There's a lot of work to be done, with this police department specifically,'' he said.
But Louisiana Governor John Bel Edwards disagreed with McKesson's assessment. The governor told a news conference Sunday that he is proud of the state's law enforcement officers, calling their response to the protests "moderate."
In the northern city of St. Paul, Minnesota, where a second man, Philando Castile, was shot to death last week by a policeman after a traffic stop for a broken tail light, hundreds of protesters hurled firecrackers, rocks and bottles at police on Saturday.
The heavily armed officers used smoke grenades and pepper spray to break up the demonstration, with about 100 arrests. Authorities said 27 police officers were injured in the clashes.

A: Who said he wanted to 'kill white people, especially white officers.'
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Q: It's axiomatic that all cultures reserve a special place for food in their daily and social lives. For something as simple as a cuppa joe, we schedule and juggle our time to meet at predetermined locations to share conversation and libation. Meals require even more effort and the social ramifications increase. One is expected to show up on time, sometimes dress to certain standards and bring one or many bottles of wine as a thoughtful gift to the hosts. And of course, the food is just an excuse to get together with friends to enjoy a meal, share stories, to discuss or seduce, to seal an agreement or act as a prelude to a severance of relations (frequently unintentionally). I was first introduced to dining for pleasure as opposed to sustenance while at the University of New Brunswick. I lived in Bridges House, one of the men's residences. The young, eager, bright-eyed students in each residence were kept more or less in check by a Don. Each residence had its share of maniacs and troublemakers who were at university to get some form of education, alcohol poisoning or a social disease; sometimes all three. The Don's job was to act as a mentor and prison warden. Imagine a building housing up to 100 young adult men. It doesn't take much to start a riot. In our case, the Don was Locutus. When we met him, he must have been in his forties but looked to us adolescents to be older than Father Time. He was immediately dubbed 'Grandpa Munster'. With the tender sensitivity of males of our age, we didn't bother to hide this from him and he took it in good humour. In point of fact, Locutus was a great Don; firm when he needed to be and understanding and helpful as appropriate. You crossed this guy at your peril, but he was generally pretty tolerant.

A: Who acted as a mentor at Bridges House?
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Q: He had a 12" Sony black-and-white, tuned to MTV, sitting on a chair at the end of the bed. He could barely hear it over the fan in the window. He sat in the middle of the bed because of the sag, drumming along absently to Steve Winwood's "Higher Love."
The sticks were Regal Tip 5Bs. They were thinner than 2Bs--marching band sticks--but almost as long. Over the years Stan had moved farther out over the ends. Now the butts of the sticks fit into the heels of his palms, about an inch up from the wrist. He flipped the right stick away when the phone rang.
"Stan, dude! You want to work tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably. What have you got, Darryl? You don't sound right."
"Does the name Keven Stacey mean anything to you?"
"Wait a minute." Stan switched the phone to his other ear. "Did you say Keven Stacey? As in Foolsgold, Kevin Stacey? She's going to record at CSR?"
"You heard me." Stan could see Darryl sitting in the control room, feet up on the console, wearing double-knit slacks and a T-shirt, sweat coming up on his balding forehead.
"This is some kind of bullshit, right? She's coming in for a jingle or a PSA."
"No bullshit, Stanley. She's cutting a track for a solo album she's going to pitch to Warner's. Not a demo, but a real, honest-to-Christ track. Probably a single. Now if you're not interested, there's plenty of other drummers in LA..."
"I'm interested. I just don't understand why she wants to fuck with a rinky-dink studio like yours. No offense."
"Don't harsh me, bud. She's hot. She's got a song and she wants to put it in the can. Everybody else is booked. You try to get into Record One or Sunset Sound. Not for six months you won't get in. Even if you're Keven Stacey. You listening, Stan?" He heard Darryl hitting the phone on the edge of the console. "That's the Big Time, dude. Knocking on your door."

A:
Who was listening to the TV
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