Give a Boy a Gun
Contents
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Part of Gary Searle’s Suicide Note
Introduction
About Gary
Part of Brendan Lawlor’s Suicide Note
About Brendan
Seventh Grade
Eighth Grade
Part of Gary’s Suicide Note
More of Eighth Grade
Ninth Grade
Part of Brendan’s Suicide Note
More of Ninth Grade
Part of Gary’s Suicide Note
The End of Ninth Grade
Tenth Grade
The Day It Happened
Gary’s Suicide Note
The Dance
Brendan’s Suicide Note
The End
Postscript
While This Book Was Being Written
A Partial List of School Shootings
Final Thoughts
Todd Strasser
Dedication
To ending youth violence.
To every young person who has ever been killed or wounded by a gun.
To Kayla Rolland, age six, who was shot to death on February 29, 2000, in her first-grade classroom by a six-year-old schoolmate. The death of this innocent child will serve notice that we live in a country where gun use and gun availability is horribly, insanely out of control.
Acknowledgments
My sincerest thanks to my editor, David Gale, and his assistant, John Rudolph, for their insight and encouragement; and to everyone else at Simon & Schuster for giving me the opportunity to write this book; to Joanna Lewis Cole for her inspiration, suggestions, and guidance; to Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone, and Tom Diaz, for their dedication to fighting youth gun violence and for their generosity; to Dr. Barry Brenner of the Brooklyn Hospital/Cornell University Department of Emergency Medicine for his helpful information; to Sophie Ryan for her diligent research assistance; to Erica Stahler for her excellent copyediting; and to my family and friends for their constant interest and support. ••••••••
Author’s Note
One of the things I used to like about writing books for young people was that it wasn’t necessary to deal with murder, adultery, and various other immoral or criminal activities that seem mandatory in adult novels these days. I find it sad and frightening that this is no longer the case.
One of the things I dislike most about guns in our society is that, like violence and sex in the media, they rob children of what we used to think of as a childhood.
The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Nothing—and everything—about it is real.
“The hallways erupted in screaming, terror-stricken pandemonium as students realized this was . . . another, increasingly familiar scene: a student with a gun.”
—USA TODAY, 5/21/99
Part of Gary Searle’s Suicide Note
Dear Mom,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I just want you to know that there’s nothing you could have done to stop this. I know you always tried your best for me, and if anyone doubts you, just show them this letter.
I don’t know if I can really explain why I did this. I guess it’s because I know that I’ll never be happy. I know that every day of my life will hurt and be a lot more bad than good. It’s entirely a matter of, What’s the point of living?
Introduction
Around 10 P.M. on Friday, February 27, Gary Searle died in the gymnasium at Middletown High School. After the bullet smashed through the left side of his skull and tore into his brain, he probably lived for ten to fifteen seconds.
The brain is a fragile organ suspended in a liquid environment. Not only does a bullet destroy whatever brain tissue is in its path, but the shock waves from the impact severely jar the entire organ, ripping apart millions of delicate structures and connections. In the seconds that follow, the brain swells with blood and other fluids. The parts of the brain that control breathing and heartbeat stop. One doctor described it to me as “an earthquake in the head.”
At the moment of Gary’s death I was in the library at the state university, where I was a sophomore studying journalism. As soon as I heard the news, I went home to Middletown, determined not to leave until I understood what had happened there.
Returning to Middletown was like stepping into a thick fog of bewilderment, fury, agony, and despair. For weeks I staggered through it, searching out other lost, wandering souls. Some were willing to talk to me. Others spoke because they felt a need to defend themselves even though no one had pointed an accusing finger at them. Some even sought me out because they wanted to talk. As if speaking about it was a way of trying to figure it out, of beginning the long, painful process of grieving and moving ahead.
Some refused to speak because it must have been too painful. For others, I suspect it was because they had learned something about themselves that they were still struggling to accept—or to conceal.
I spoke to everyone who would speak to me. In addition I studied everything I could find on the many similar incidents that have occurred in other schools around our country in the past thirty years.
The story you are about to read is really two stories. One is about what happened here in Middletown. The other is the broader tale of what is happening all around our country—in a world of schools and guns and violence that has forever changed the place I once called home. The quotes and facts from other incidents are in a different-style print. What happened in Middletown is in plain print.
This, then, is the story of what I learned. It is told in many voices, in words far more eloquent and raw than any I could have thought of on my own. It is a story of heartbreak and fear and regret. But mostly it is a warning. Violence comes in many forms—guns, fists, and words of hate and contempt. Unless we change the way we treat others in school and out, there will only be more — and more horrible—tragedies.
—Denise Shipley
About Gary
Mrs. Searle and Gary moved into the house next to ours the day before second grade began. So the first time I actually saw him was at the bus stop. He was kind of quiet, but friendly enough. Some of the kids at the bus stop would play soccer in the street in the morning. I was glad when Gary came along, because I wasn’t into that, and with Gary there it gave me something to do. We’d mostly talk about stuff like Magic cards and video games and what we saw on TV.
If you want to know the truth, I think Mrs. Searle was a little overprotective. I guess because she was the only parent. She always wanted to know where Gary was going, and would he be warm enough, and junk like that. Gary would just roll his eyes.
Each day people wielding guns kill 64 people, rape 33 women, rob 575 people, and assault 1,100 more.
Until Brendan came along, I think I was pretty much Gary’s best friend. The thing about Gary was that mysterious part of him that you never knew. It was like something he kept hidden and private. I can’t explain it, but I could feel it when I was with him. He’d just get quiet and you knew he was a dillion miles away. I always thought maybe it was something about his parents getting divorced.
— Ryan Clancy, a friend of both Gary’s and Brendan’s
Gary Searle was a very sweet little boy with slightly reddish brown hair and big, round eyes. He was polite and quiet and always did what he was told. I do recall that some of the children teased him about his weight. But you know how kids are at that age.
—Ruth Hollington, Gary’s fourth-grade teacher at Middletown Elementary School
I didn’t move to Middletown until fifth grade, so I didn’t know Gary before that. After we started hanging out, he’d sometimes talk about what it was like when he was younger. About the divorce and how completely nasty it was, and h
ow after it was over, his dad just left and never paid child support or called or anything. That was a huge thorn in Gary’s side. He just couldn’t get over that.
—Allison Findley, Gary’s on-and-off girlfriend at Middletown High School
It was an ugly divorce. All that yelling and fighting. Arguing over money. Gary was caught in the middle, and sometimes I guess I used him to get what I thought I needed. What we both needed. It’s a terrible thing to put a child through, but I didn’t know what else to do.
—Cynthia Searle, Gary’s mother
“As parents, teachers, and other adults look for ways to reach out to young people, some see a common thread in the disappointments and isolation students experience when they lose a sense of place, lose a parental figure, or lose a girlfriend.”
—Christian Science Monitor, 5/26/99
Gary was enormously bright. You wouldn’t know it, because he was one of the quiet ones; never raised his hand. I noticed it first in math. He almost always did perfectly on his quizzes, unless he made a careless mistake. But the computer was the real tip-off. I wanted to do a class Web page. Gary volunteered to do it. No matter what the problem, he seemed to know three ways to fix it.
—Stuart McEvoy, Gary’s sixth-grade teacher at Middletown Middle School
A lot of kids play computer games and junk, but it was different with Gary. The thing about him was he was on [the computer] all the time. I’d call his house and he’d answer with this faraway voice, and I’d know he was online. He’d sound weird because there’d be this split-second delay in his conversation, and those typing sounds. Like he was doing two things at once. Then one day I was over there, looking over his shoulder. He had three instant message screens open and was chatting with someone different in each one. And he was on the phone. That’s when I realized that when I called, he wasn’t doing two things at once. He was doing four.
—Ryan Clancy
I brought [Gary] to a psychologist. I hoped he’d let out a little of what he was feeling. She said he was guarded. I don’t think she ever got close to what was going on in his head. It’s obvious now that none of us did.
—Cynthia Searle
I’ll give you an example of how bright Gary was. After the first month of sixth grade I got a message one day to call his mother at work. I remember the phone call because she seemed reluctant to say exactly what was on her mind, but I finally got the impression that she was wondering why I didn’t give more homework. Apparently, Gary rarely spent more than half an hour a night doing it. The funny thing was half the parents in the class were complaining that I gave the kids too much homework.
—Stuart McEvoy
“The outcasts, obsessed with violent video games and intrigued by German rock music and Nazi culture, also had pastimes as wholesome as baseball; they were part of a tight circle of friends, earned top grades, held jobs and looked forward to life after graduation—factors that no doubt reassured their parents.”
—New York Times, 6/29/99
It’s easy to look back now and dissect the stuff you did for every little clue. Like one summer Gary and I had these magnifying glasses, and we’d burn bugs and caterpillars alive. It was kind of cool to watch them twist and squirm. Is that a clue? Or something a dillion other kids do too?
—Ryan Clancy
I still find it difficult to believe he was part of what happened. The guns and holding those poor children hostage in the gym like that. What they did to that football player. That wasn’t the Gary I knew. If you’re looking for answers, don’t look at him. Look at Brendan Lawlor.
—Ruth Hollington
Part of Brendan Lawlor’s Suicide Note
To the good people of Middletown:
I hope this gets printed in big, bold letters on the front page of the newspaper, because it’s something every single one of you should read. I’m gone now, and you want to know why I took your kids with me?
Here’s why. You made my friggin’ life miserable. How? By the way you raised your kids to all want to be the same and to hate anyone who dares to be a little different. Oh, no, you’re probably thinking, you didn’t do that.
You sure did. I’ve seen you in your cars staring at me and my friends. Look at those creeps. Look at their clothes and the music they listen to. Why can’t they go out for sports or at least root for our team?
About Brendan
Brendan Lawlor and his family lived here [in Springfield] until the middle of seventh grade [when they moved to Middletown]. I’d say from second grade on I was about his best friend. There were times when we got into fights and wouldn’t talk for a while, but mostly we were friends. I always thought Brendan was a really cool kid. Popular, too.
He was smart and funny and a pretty good athlete for an average-size, thin kid. He was fast. He could really dis anyone to pieces, and he was one of those guys who would think up a cut-down right on the spot. I’ll never forget one time when we were goofing on this one kid because he had B.O., and Brendan said, “Your armpits smell so bad, the teacher gave you an A for not raising your hand.” That really cracked us up.
—Brett Betzig, a friend of Brendan’s from Springfield
Brendan was one of the more vocal boys in the class, but also a very good student. He always had his homework and projects in on time. He was very good at expressing himself on paper, although his grammar and spelling were atrocious, which is often the case with boys his age. He could be temperamental, but that’s also not unusual.
— Katherine Sullivan, Brendan’s sixth-grade teacher at Springfield Middle School
You couldn’t have asked for better neighbors than the Lawlors. Tom and Samantha Lawlor were so nice, always offering to help pick up a child or drive someone somewhere. They kept a neat house and a neat lawn, and I can count on one hand the number of times I heard either of them raise their voice to Brendan. I was very sorry when they moved away.
— Kit Conner, a neighbor of the Lawlors’ in Springfield
Brendan and I were on the same soccer teams because our dads were friends and they coached together. I was usually in a forward spot because I liked to score. Brendan was usually on defense. He was funny about soccer. Sometimes he’d race across the field and throw his body in front of the ball like his life depended on it, and other times he acted like he couldn’t care less. I always had the feeling his dad wished he’d play harder and take it more seriously.
—Brett Betzig
You know how some people seem really relaxed and at ease with themselves? Not Brendan. He never seemed comfortable. He was always a little on edge, a little wary. It was like his brain couldn’t stop, even when we were just having a good time.
—Julie Shore, a friend of Brendan’s from Springfield
“ ‘[Mr. and Mrs. Kinkel] were devoted parents in a tight-knit family. . . . Bill had tried everything with Kip.’ ”
—a friend of the Kinkels’, New York Times, 6/14/98
One thing about Brendan: He hated injustice. I remember there was this soccer game, and some kid on the other team should have been called for hands. It was really flagrant, but the ref didn’t see it. A couple of seconds later their team scored. Brendan went ballistic. He was right in the ref’s face, shouting and cursing like a madman. The rest of us were actually embarrassed. Mr. Lawlor had to come out on the field and take Brendan away. But Brendan just hated stuff like that.
—Brett Betzig
I was out in the front of the house when Samantha [Lawlor] drove into her driveway and got out of the car. She used to drive Brendan to school. This particular morning she looked like a wreck. Like she was going to cry. I asked if everything was okay, and she said Brendan had given her a particularly hard time that morning. I invited her in for coffee. I think she was hoping that because I’d raised two sons, I could give her some advice.
“ ‘Sue [Klebold] was more patient and gentle and kind with her kids than I was able to be.’”
—a friend of the Klebolds’, New York Times, 6/29/99
She actually cried a little and confided in me that Brendan could be very difficult. He wasn’t cooperative about doing chores, and he would blow up when he got upset. She said there were days when it was practically impossible to get him out of bed and dressed for school. It seemed so odd to me. His parents were both the opposite—even-tempered. Samantha especially was soft-spoken and gentle. Maybe he was too much for her.
—Kit Conner
We used to play video games a lot. One of our favorites was Need for Speed. The idea was to win the race, but we had just as much fun crashing into each other and trying to run each other off the course. Then Brendan got a demo of one of the Doom games. I remember we were totally blown away by it. For a couple of weeks it was all we did after school. And it was only a demo. I remember Mrs. Lawlor coming into his room one afternoon and wanting him to turn off the game and go out and play. And it was like Brendan didn’t even hear her, he was so into that game. She said it again, and Brendan told her to go away. He didn’t even look up. Mrs. Lawlor looked totally stunned that he’d said that. Of course, Brendan didn’t notice a thing. He was too busy playing. But that was the only time I ever heard him be fresh to her.
—Brett Betzig
The day [Brendan] found out he was moving he just looked terrible. I mean, at school he looked all pale and hollow and bent. I almost thought someone in his family had died. He really didn’t want to go.
—Julie Shore
Though violent movies, music, and video games are popular in many countries, few allow their citizens to own handguns. In 1996, handguns alone killed 15 people in Japan, 30 in Great Britain, 106 in Canada, and 9,390 in the United States. (Rolling Stone, 6/10/99)