| Biographical Non-Fiction posted February 13, 2021 | Chapters: |
...7 8 -9- 10... 
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April 5, 1973
A chapter in the book Ruminations from a Winding Career
Sometimes Math Doesn't Matter: 3
by Rdfrdmom2
| Background Ruminations from a long, educational career |
As hard as we all seemed to try, there was nothing about the homework that could keep our interest. I found myself having to repeat answers over and over to a group that was normally right on point.
“Okay, I get it. This is just not going to work today. You may talk quietly among yourselves until the end of the period.” On any other day, these sophomores and juniors would have had a lot to say. This day, they just huddled in small groups, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We were all startled when Mr. Miles began his announcement by first clearing his throat, something he rarely did. “Now students and teachers, I have a very important announcement to make so I need you to pay close attention. There have been rumors flying around the school that there was a train/car accident at one of the nearby railroad crossings. I now have confirmation that is true. I also have been informed that four of our students were in the car involved.”
Suddenly it was all I could do to breathe, knowing that it was likely that Troy and Jeff were also planning to be in that car this morning. It seemed Mr. Miles was having difficulty completing his announcement.
He took what seemed like a lifetime before he continued, “Three of the boys have been taken to the trauma center at Norfolk General Hospital, all in serious condition. Unfortunately, the fourth boy, Dick Thompson, was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident.”
The screams of sorrow from both males and females overtook the entire school. Students came to me for hugs that felt like lifelines to each of us. Students came running out of classrooms looking for the guys they thought might have been with Dick.
One student, Paquita, just stood outside my classroom sobbing her heart out. I motioned for her to come into my embrace and just held her until she could sob no more.
“Miss Brown, I feel like this is my fault,” said Paquita.
“How could this possibly be your fault, Paquita?”
“I don’t know, but every time something like this happens, I always believe there was something I could have done to keep it from happening,” she said.
“Paquita, when you get the power to control all that happens in the world, I’m going to be very afraid of you,” I said. “Only God has that kind of power. You’re going to give yourself a nervous breakdown if you keep doing this to yourself.”
“I’ll try to stop, Miss Brown.”
Soon the names of the other three boys were announced, possibly as a means to settle some of the students down. This was April 5, 1973 – no cell phones, no mass media, no quick way for kids to get their parents to pick them up from school. However, this was a very close-knit school, made up of farming communities and suburban neighborhoods. Once it became known that Dick Thompson, the premier athlete at the school (quarterback, point guard, pitcher - all-State in each category), had been killed in that crash, parents came in droves to get their students.
Needless to say, there was very little teaching of any content area for the remainder of the day. Instead, there was a great deal of listening, counseling, and simply being there for our students. Students actually seemed to be comforted most by those teachers who were willing to cry with them as it showed students their emotions were valid.
As I was leaving at the end of that very long day, I met Troy coming out of the guidance counselor’s office.
I put my arm around him and said, “Hey, buddy, how’re you holding up?”
Troy turned into my shoulder and began sobbing. “I shoulda died with Dick, Miss Brown, but I got chicken and got out of the car at the stoplight and walked back to the school, got a pass, and went back to your class.”
I extended Troy to arm’s length and looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Troy, there were three other boys in that car that didn’t die today. There’s no guarantee you would have died if you had been in the car. Do you understand me?”
Troy could only shake his head in the affirmative.
“Why did you get out of the car, anyway?”
“I just had this funny feeling I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I told them I was going back to school.”
“Troy, there’s a lesson there. You need to always trust your gut!”
“Okay, I get it. This is just not going to work today. You may talk quietly among yourselves until the end of the period.” On any other day, these sophomores and juniors would have had a lot to say. This day, they just huddled in small groups, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We were all startled when Mr. Miles began his announcement by first clearing his throat, something he rarely did. “Now students and teachers, I have a very important announcement to make so I need you to pay close attention. There have been rumors flying around the school that there was a train/car accident at one of the nearby railroad crossings. I now have confirmation that is true. I also have been informed that four of our students were in the car involved.”
Suddenly it was all I could do to breathe, knowing that it was likely that Troy and Jeff were also planning to be in that car this morning. It seemed Mr. Miles was having difficulty completing his announcement.
He took what seemed like a lifetime before he continued, “Three of the boys have been taken to the trauma center at Norfolk General Hospital, all in serious condition. Unfortunately, the fourth boy, Dick Thompson, was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident.”
The screams of sorrow from both males and females overtook the entire school. Students came to me for hugs that felt like lifelines to each of us. Students came running out of classrooms looking for the guys they thought might have been with Dick.
One student, Paquita, just stood outside my classroom sobbing her heart out. I motioned for her to come into my embrace and just held her until she could sob no more.
“Miss Brown, I feel like this is my fault,” said Paquita.
“How could this possibly be your fault, Paquita?”
“I don’t know, but every time something like this happens, I always believe there was something I could have done to keep it from happening,” she said.
“Paquita, when you get the power to control all that happens in the world, I’m going to be very afraid of you,” I said. “Only God has that kind of power. You’re going to give yourself a nervous breakdown if you keep doing this to yourself.”
“I’ll try to stop, Miss Brown.”
Soon the names of the other three boys were announced, possibly as a means to settle some of the students down. This was April 5, 1973 – no cell phones, no mass media, no quick way for kids to get their parents to pick them up from school. However, this was a very close-knit school, made up of farming communities and suburban neighborhoods. Once it became known that Dick Thompson, the premier athlete at the school (quarterback, point guard, pitcher - all-State in each category), had been killed in that crash, parents came in droves to get their students.
Needless to say, there was very little teaching of any content area for the remainder of the day. Instead, there was a great deal of listening, counseling, and simply being there for our students. Students actually seemed to be comforted most by those teachers who were willing to cry with them as it showed students their emotions were valid.
As I was leaving at the end of that very long day, I met Troy coming out of the guidance counselor’s office.
I put my arm around him and said, “Hey, buddy, how’re you holding up?”
Troy turned into my shoulder and began sobbing. “I shoulda died with Dick, Miss Brown, but I got chicken and got out of the car at the stoplight and walked back to the school, got a pass, and went back to your class.”
I extended Troy to arm’s length and looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Troy, there were three other boys in that car that didn’t die today. There’s no guarantee you would have died if you had been in the car. Do you understand me?”
Troy could only shake his head in the affirmative.
“Why did you get out of the car, anyway?”
“I just had this funny feeling I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I told them I was going back to school.”
“Troy, there’s a lesson there. You need to always trust your gut!”
 Recognized |
Things were very different in 1973. Our principal made his announcement on the advice of a parent who told him the names of the students were being released and they would reach our school shortly. Sure enough, that was beginning to happen no sooner than he got off the intercom.
The other three boys survived but had long rehabilitations. One served on our local police force for 30 years; one ran his father's auto repair shop, and the third one never quite found himself. Troy worked for a paper factory and died from brain cancer in his early 40s. Jeff moved away after he graduated from high school and I lost touch with him.
A special thanks to KellBellKing for the use of "Looking Back" to enhance this piece.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. The other three boys survived but had long rehabilitations. One served on our local police force for 30 years; one ran his father's auto repair shop, and the third one never quite found himself. Troy worked for a paper factory and died from brain cancer in his early 40s. Jeff moved away after he graduated from high school and I lost touch with him.
A special thanks to KellBellKing for the use of "Looking Back" to enhance this piece.
Artwork by KellBellKing at FanArtReview.com
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