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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 22, 1999)
Fhe Battali The Battalion Opinion Page 11 • November 22, 1999 # n I DAVID LEE r he emo tions I am experi- ejicing right 'npw are hard to put into words. There is no clear cut Heling, just a mishmash of rJge, frustration, anguish, help lessness and immeasurable grief. I Although 1 did not know any of the victims personally, I feel a impelling urge to do whatever I Cln to preserve their memory. That is why I attended the memorial service at Rudder Fountain. That is why I stood at the Polo Fields for hours in stunned silence. That is why I am writing this column. I The obligation 1 am feeling Has taught me a valuable lesson: Despite what everyone says, the llggie spirit is alive and well. know, it sounds incredibly iBealistic and downright corny of me to say that, but it is so true. Many of the out-of-town media outlets have referred to the Aggie spirit $mh amazement and skepticism, ow could these college stu nts have this ridiculous level pride and loyalty for their hool and their classmates? To an outsider, our actions have en out of the ordinary. To me, it is just another day in Aggieland. The compassion and support I [ave witnessed in the past sever- days has touched me beyond lief. You should be proud that l)ra brief moment, the world stopped and tried to understand what it means to be an Aggie. Al though they can never complete ly understand, the overflow of ^■te Aggie spirit here has warmed «their hearts and you should be ^■ commended for that. To the families of the vic- |ms, I offer my deepest sympa- liies and condolences. Please elieve me, your children did ot die in vain. They will serve s a permanent reminder of ow strong and unwavering the ggie spirit really is. No one 'ill doubt that ever again. David Lee is a junior ECONOMICS MAJOR. . I ifll ; .,'A; ( jj| c-L. ill Si! SvsJ s a fairly cynical ^college |udent, I have rays be- tved dissent- jg opinions, ten those crit- tzing the lost beloved editions, needed to be heard. an opinion writer, I have writ- |n more than a few columns that ■ere critical of Texas A&M Uni pity. But as an Aggie, I have per been so proud to be a stu- mt at such a supportive univer- [y and a member of this close pit family. J It has been inspiring that, during jis trying time, the cries of grief jid sobs of sorrow have not been Iterrupted by the harsh words of [iticism. In the hours and days fol- /ing the tragedy at the Bonfire |e, every student responded ap- lopriately with sympathy and sin- Irity. Eventually there will be talk ] blame and criticism about the tcident, but those kinds of [oughts are for a later time. In the immediate aftermath of kh a tragedy, there was no mod Ag” or “Bad Ag.” There Has no such thing as a two-per- Inter. One hundred percent of |e student body came together, Vi every Aggie has been a good i$gie, demonstrating all those \ofty ideals |e pin on ourselves year-round. It is one of the saddest and test cliches that it takes a tragedy I make you realize how petty your levious criticisms really are. Com- laints about hazing or offensive Vtavior at cut mean absolutely M)thing when lives have been lost |d even more are filled with grief. Wednesday, my thoughts |)out Bonfire were centered on investigation of hazing at cut Ssile. Thursday morning, as I stood ■anong the tears and the early yhorning chill, my thoughts were [ohly on the safety of those caught fWider stack. I Let the finger-pointing be put pft — right now we need those fin- p|rs to help wipe away the tears. I Eric Dickens is a junior English major. OUT BY GUY RO geRsT" O ne of the funda mental falsehoods all parents want to believe is that their children will outlive them. The anger and grief are compound ed when, instead, we find our selves having to go on without our children. Nature, and the or der of things, says our children will live long after we are dust. Twelve sets of parents are grap pling with this upside-down reality this week. Many of them may have sent their children here because of the traditions and because they felt safe having their children at a con servative school. They felt their children would not be in danger. The second fundamental false hood we believe, often unquestion- ingly, is that we can do something to make or keep our children safe. When those children arrived as helpless infants, it was clear we were supposed to do exactly that. But now comes an unimagin able tragedy, and twelve sets of parents must reconcile themselves not only to the loss of their chil dren, but to the fact that keeping a child safe is not always within a parent’s power. Some of them will likely blame themselves. We students owe it to the students who were killed to let their parents know they are blameless. We owe it to the Aggie parents to let them know their children will not be forgotten. We owe it to ourselves to con tinue to comfort these parents and each other. Life carries few guarantees. Few indeed are those who escape loss completely, but the experi ence of comforting another in a time of loss makes loss more bear able and prepares us for future losses that are greater and closer. The parents of the lost Aggies can take comfort in knowing no school could have loved their chil dren more, or grieved their loss more deeply, than Texas A&M. Ann Hart is a senior English major. I cannot de scribe in words how I felt when a friend called at 4 a.m. Thursday and informed me Jessica that stack had CRUTCHER fallen. 1 tried to describe my feelings yester day, and I could not. So, I am not going to try now. 1 knew of friends that were working out there that night. I knew even more people that were supposed to be out there, and by some act of God, were not. I know one person who left for 10 minutes, during which time the Bonfire stack fell. Un fortunately, not everyone was as lucky as he. I cannot comprehend how the friends and family of our fallen Aggies are dealing with this enormous loss, because my friends are dearer to me than anything on this earth. This incident has made me realize everything I would want to tell them if I sud denly found out I would never see them again. In this hectic college environ ment, it is so easy to lose touch with friends and family. Just to day, I realized I haven’t spoken to my best friend for nearly six weeks — so I called her. I urge everyone reading this to call a friend or family member they have fallen out of touch with and tell them how much they care for them. Someone else has already said better what I am attempting to say. In the words of Garth Brooks, “If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I loved her / is the love I gave her in the past gonna be enough to last, if tomor row never comes.” Tragically, tomorrow will never come for twelve Aggies. I hope their spirits will live on in the friendships we will continue to share with one another. Jessica Crutcher is a sophomore journalism major. T he Polo Fields have been wa tered with the tears of all Ag gies. Bonfire has fallen and this great tradition may be retired. Since Thurs day morning, everyone’s reac tions have flowed out and they have all been different. Some have found comforting arms. Some have found anything to blame. Everyone has looked for closure. In twenty years our children will look at the memorial, whatever form it will take, and ask the questions we are asking now. Why did this happen? Why us? We will carry these answers branded across our souls until we have passed them on for genera tions to come. We have no answers now. All we know is how important tradi tion is to the students who have spent their time, and now their lives, to construct Bonfire. We only know their deaths will be memorialized and our questions will be hard to answer. But we must answer them. Af ter the pain has slowly ebbed, an swer the questions that are defin ing our time. Now, the events are too large and jagged to hold with in our hearts. But before our chil dren ask those terrible questions, we must find our own answers and our own hope for tomorrow. Chris Huffines is a SENIOR SPEECH COMMUNICATION major. REFLEOIONS and remembrances Wi r\ Fa ELIZABETH KOHL r alking toward the Bonfire site on Thursday, my heart dropped with every step. A steady flow of people were silently and pur posefully headed in the same di rection, and disbelief seemed to fall on us all when the structure finally came into view. An air of helplessness was cov ering the several hundred mourn ers already surrounding the perimeter with a unity and sorrow yet to be lifted from the site. On Thursday, groups of peo ple huddled together for com fort, and individuals sat quietly watching the logs being re moved one at a time. Many prayed and a few brought musical instruments, but everyone was there to show support. Seemingly passing through the crowd, every man and woman who had ever worked on Bonfire was heading to the volunteer area. After hours of manually transporting logs from the crane to designated piles, rescue efforts progressed and volunteers were sent to the perimeter — left to watch as heavy machinery took over dismantling what they worked so hard to create. As darkness moved in, efforts continued and the temperature began to drop at the site. Aggies displayed initiative and even more support by bringing sweatshirts, and the community sent food and water for the hun dreds still anxiously waiting for the rescue teams to find everyone. Eventually the last log was re moved and the last Aggie ac counted for. Sorrowfully the crowd began to thin, but it has yet to dissipate. Despite how little is now left to see at the Bonfire site people continue to journey to it. An orange mesh fence was erected around the area. Touch ing notes, cards and flowers have been left and, after reading just a few, I found it hard to keep a dry eye. Though my heart has been crushed by the tragedy, it swells with pride when I consider the character displayed by all present at the site of Bonfire ’99. Elizabeth Kohl is a junior ACCOUNTING MAJOR. T he torrent of emotion came to me the moment everyone rose to stand at the memorial’s clos ing. As I looked down, wildly blinking tears from my eyes and swallowing all the hurt and sorrow down into one overwhelm ing knot, I saw University Presi dent Dr. Ray Bowen. He was down on the floor, hugging each person on the front row like a long-lost family member. With each clutch ing embrace he seemed to say, “I don’t know what to do either, but we’ll be in this together.” Bowen’s actions reflect the way the entire University has respond ed to this terrible tragedy. No matter how tired or strained the University officials have felt or looked, they handled themselves with dignity, showing the utmost concern for the students. Almost everyone involved has helped out in every way possible, from 2:28 a.m. on Nov. 18 to the present. University officials had a great deal to do with how well in formation was relayed from the site to mournful Aggies and their families at home, watching the news and waiting by the phones for the latest update about their son or daughter. It was Bowen and his col leagues who kept refocusing everyone on the task at hand — finding the injured — rather than allowing press members to turn Thursday into a frenzied witch hunt for the cause of the accident. And it was the administration’s official decision to close the memorial, so that our Aggie family could mourn together without having to worry about be ing surrounded by members of the press corps. Nothing Bowen or any of the other University officials can say will alleviate the pain we are feeling or bring back the twelve we lost. But by keeping the focus on Ag gies, they have allowed us a start. Beverly Mireles IS A JUNIOR SOCIOLOGY MAJOR. I remember fondly first stepping onto campus in 1993. I was ac costed by strange people who continu ously hounded me with “Howdys.” After entering as an undergraduate transfer student in 1994, I soon found myself saying those same strange sounding words to everyone walking past. It was then I knew I was an Aggie. My first Silver Taps was amaz ing. I had heard about the tradi tion, but words cannot do justice to the emotion evoked by the powerful, moving event. Knowing that so many took the time to remember their Aggie brothers and sisters made me proud. And, somehow Muster topped Silver Taps. Knowing that all around the world Aggies were meeting to ful fill their sense of duty, devotion and love to one another still makes my heart swell. Truthfully, I’ve missed some Silver Taps since I’ve been here. I have even missed one Muster. Never again. I will always be there to re member. Every April 21 for the rest of my days, I will softly call the Muster. But more importantly, from today on, 1 will never let people forget how much I care. Events such as these leave us with the unfortunately needed reminder that words often go unspoken that can never be made up. So please, each of you, join me in telling each other how much you care. You may never again have the opportunity. To my friends and family, I love you dearly. Thank you for all you have been to me. Marc Grether is a MATHEMATICS GRADUATE STUDENT. F riday night it finally hit me. I re turned to my apartment after visiting the Bon fire site and found myself crying. Through my tears, one thought entered my mind — “turn to God.” I was not the only student who did. On Thursday, thousands of stu dents sought comfort from God at memorial services, prayer vigils on and off campus and through friends and family. Students asked for God’s help while they felt helpless, turning to the only one who could provide an anchor in the midst of the storm. Clay Humphreys, a junior aero space engineering major, spent much of this semester working on Bonfire and on Sunday mornings he held a “Cut Church” in the Al bertson’s parking lot. He and others offered a devo tional time for anyone who wanted to come, pray and learn about Je sus before going to Bonfire. One of his friends, Jerry Self, died when Bonfire fell Thursday. “Cut Church has prayed that the men and women of Bonfire would experience God,” Humphreys said. “Today they did. My friend Jerry Self would rejoice in the fact that people are experiencing God as a result of his tragic death.” Almost 2,000 years ago, Jesus Christ told his disciples, “Peace 1 leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). Jesus said these words know ing he was about to be arrested, beaten and crucified. He experi enced one of the most painful deaths possible. If anyone can un derstand the pain we are experi encing right now, it is He. My faith in Jesus has been comforting me through this ordeal. He pro vides the hope that death does not have to mean the end of life, but the beginning of eternity. •/>.<! Stephanie Dube, is- a JOURNALISM GRADUATE STUDENT. CC A m As mazing grace, low sweet the sound.” At that mo ment, the Aggie spirit became tangible. It was the heaviness in your heart, the tears rolling down your cheeks and the emotion that traveled through our linked arms. “This is why I go to school here,” a student said as he exited the memorial service. These bonds of Aggie spirit have remained amazingly strong on the Quadrangle, where the air of tragedy has been especially thick. Eight of the victims wore the Corps uniform. The sudden and unexpected loss of eight friends and others injured tested cadets’ ideals of camaraderie, unselfish service and loyalty to all Aggies. As soon as news reached the arches, the dorms began emptying out immediately. I saw cadets armed with pliers and pots sprint ing to the Polo Fields from the Corps of Cadets Guardroom, where I was taking phone calls. For the five hours I was there, I spoke with dozens, of sometimes hysterical parents, telling many that we had no infor mation on their child. I have never felt so helpless in my life. As the day continued, the more 1 learned, the sooner I wanted to wake up. I did not fully absorb the reality of the tragedy until the memorial, when I saw a group of cadets on the floor put their arms around each other, and then, watched the entire arena join them. At that moment, everything I took in that morning was purged in a heavy stream of tears. I looked around at the 20,000 students in attendance and re membered that I was surrounded by the brightest, bravest, most se lect college students in the nation. As the Rev. Larry Krueger said, it does not matter if you are a cadet or not, we’ve all come together and we all bleed maroon. Mariano Castillo is a SOPHOMORE INTERNATIONAL STUDIES MAJOR.