Ten Years

Brother Landen dropped me off that morning after seminary. I remember walking up the front walkway towards the main entrance to the high school, just off to another day of school. As I approached the gate, with the office on my right, I suddenly saw students begin running out of the cafeteria through the side door, coming my direction.

I was very confused and not sure how to take it. I tried to find out by saying, “What’s going on?” “What happened?” A kid I’d never seen before (and never have again) exclaimed, as he moved along with the crowd, “Someone’s shooting!”

I don’t think it sunk in right then – it didn’t seem real. But then I heard a loud gunshot, and I turned around and ran with the crowd toward the street. We stood beyond the school gates, a huge mass huddled together, until a teacher beckoned us to come back. He ushered us through the main gate and to the right, past the main office and across the quad from the cafeteria to the library. Dozens of students were in there, and we were all confused as to what was going on. My friend Ben’s girlfriend Shy came up to me with tears running down her face, saying she’d heard that Ben was shot in the head. Nothing was real to me – I tried just to comfort her, telling her I was sure he’d be okay. He wasn’t – he died in the hospital later.

No one really had cell phones back then. The school officials in the library with us let us use a phone at the back of the library if we wanted. When it wasn’t so crowded, I made my way toward it and used it to call my family, but the line wasn’t working. I realized that the lines around this area were likely very crowded with phone calls, so after several attempts, I called my dad at work. My dad’s secretary answered and said he wasn’t there. I told her it was me, and told her that I was okay. I realized later that that was the best thing I could do for all of my extended family, because when they couldn’t get through to my house, they called my dad’s office, and his secretary would tell them I was fine.

My parents probably had to wait longer to know that. They were taking my little sister to middle school when they saw everything near the high school. They drove her to school and dropped her off, then headed back to the school. They parked somewhere and stood across the street from the school at the church with other parents. At some point, a police officer read a list of names, and asked for the parents of those children to come talk to him afterwards. My dad told me he was standing with my seminary teacher’s husband when they read the list, and neither mine, Taylor’s, nor Lacy’s names were read. Brother Stockwell put his arm around Dad as they both cried.

After what seemed like forever, we were finally informed we were going to be leaving. We exited the library through the back door instead of the door that faced the cafeteria, and joined with hundreds of other students who were being let out of their classrooms where they had also been locked down. I wondered if my parents would be there. We walked the entire length of the hallway before we got to the parking lot on the other end of the school. Right when we got to the opening, I saw my parents standing there. I only remember their faces being so relieved, and my dad crying as he swept me up in his arms. I’d never seen him cry before, and I knew then that I would never in my life need to doubt his love for me. My mom was crying too, of course. She hugged me too, and we walked to the car and drove home. I don’t even remember where they parked it.

In the aftermath, I watched the news, I read the newspaper – things I had never really done before. I listened to national news anchors mispronounce words like Willamette, and I read about how my friend, Ben Walker, had died. I learned of how people I knew, and people I eventually met and became friends with in the years that followed, had been injured or killed. I went to Ben’s funeral. I visited the wall of flowers that, until the shootings, had just been the fence in front of the school. I watched my father help one of my friend’s dad give a blessing to her. I talked in my seminary class with a reporter from the New Era. And I continued on with my life. 

I finished high school. My family moved – to Washington, then six years later to Portland. I served an LDS mission to the south of England for two years. I went to college. I graduated from college. And now I’m 25 years old, living in Utah and working for a market research firm. But in the last 10 years, I haven’t forgotten what happened on that day – and it is still one of my most vivid memories.

Please remember the families of Ben Walker and Mikael Nicholauson, as well as Kristin Kinkel (Kip killed their parents), in your prayers. And good luck to all the survivors of the Thurston High School shootings. But not just those injured – the community members of Springfield, Ore. are also survivors.

Television

I am not the biggest fan of sitcoms. I hate that the plots are so weak, and that all they go for is the cheap laugh. It seems sitcoms are actually getting worse nowadays, if that’s even possible. The comedy is so lowbrow that it makes you feel disgusted with yourself when you finally manage to peel yourself off the couch and jumpstart your brain. You wonder where the evening went, and why you didn’t engage yourself in something more worthwhile.

I recently read an article recently about sitcoms, and how they are wasting America’s time. But not only their time, but their brain power. The article goes on to say that Americans spend 200 billion hours a year just watching TV. It also mentions in comparison, that Wikipedia took approximately 100 million hours to get to where it is now. Think about all that ingenuity and intelligence and research (come on – some of Wikipedia is reputable) that went in to making that glorious, informative web site. And at only a tiny fraction of the time we waste mindlessly watching TV (0.05%, to be exact).

Now on a personal note, I enjoy watching Law & Order. This likely comes as no surprise to my girlfriend, my family, or close associates. This show is different from most shows – it makes you think, it engages you. And yes, it may be a little dramatic, but at least the situations are somewhat more realistic than shows such as CSI.

Is it predictable? Yes. Is it the same format every time? Yes. But is it more interesting and entertaining than a sitcom? Also, yes.

I think that I also relate to the main character – most often, my ideas and thoughts are the same or similar to Jack McCoy’s. I cheer for him every time he gets the bad guy, or argues with his boss over ethics, or disagrees time and time again with his incredibly liberal (and apparently homosexual – as taken from her last episode on the show, although that kind of came as a shocker to everyone else) one-time partner. I can’t even remember her name – she was the blond chick who was always freaking out about something.

But you become connected to the issues. My girlfriend says I get really involved in it. But how can you not? The show is charged with issues: political, ethical, moral, legal. You can’t help but get involved in them.

Anyway, my suggestion to all of you? Stop watching sitcoms and watch Law & Order reruns.

Josef Frizl - Truly a Monster

Oh – poor baby. Josef Fritzl, the Austrian man who imprisoned his daughter and several of their children in his cellar for 24 years, feels the media coverage has been too one-sided about him.

“Without me [she] would not be alive anymore... I was the one who made sure that she was taken to a hospital,” Mr. Fritzl said. “I could have killed all of them – then nothing would have happened. No one would have ever known about it,” he added. “I'm no monster.”

Let’s see here. You lock up your daughter in a cellar and tell people she’s run away, rape her who knows how many times, have seven children with her, keeping three of them locked up in the cellar with her and incinerating the body of one who died so as to destroy any evidence, threaten to gas them if they try anything, and live a two-faced double life.

You were a sex-offender already – convicted of rape. You frequented a brothel, where all of the prostitutes were afraid of you, because you wanted them to pretend to be corpses when you had sex with them. And your daughter, Elisabeth, whom you locked up when she was 18, says you began to sexually abuse her when she was only 11 years old.

Yet you say that at least you didn’t kill them – and you’re not a monster, because you brought your daughter flowers, and you brought your children, the products of your incest, books and stuffed animals.

Now, your lawyer claims you’re insane, and is trying to get a certificate of insanity for you. Now I’m not a psychologist, but someone who has the presence of mind to know what they’re doing is wrong is not insane. “I constantly knew, over the entire 24 years, that what I did was not right,” Fritzl was quoted as saying. He also said he had an addiction – but having an addiction does not excuse one’s actions.

Here is my response to you, Josef Frizl: “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”

You will burn for this, Mr. Fritzl. I hope that God grants you mercy, but only after you endure horrible pains for your sins. Of all sins, rape is the most abhorrent to me, and it is my opinion that you should receive capital punishment. Rapists, especially those that sexually abuse children, should be castrated and/or sentenced to death. You’ve not only raped once, but countless times, and there is undeniable proof that you did. You also sexually abused a child – and not just any child, but one whose trust you should have guarded – your own. In some criminal cases there are gray areas, but not in yours. Yours is open and shut. You deserve to die, and you need to, to begin paying for your crimes, you evil, evil man.