Five Years Later

The Columbine massacre—five years ago this week—may have happened in Colorado, but its effects are felt here

Damon Hodge

Monday marks the fifth anniversary of Columbine. Five years since Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold turned a suburban Denver high school into a killing field. Maybe you've forgotten the details—bullied, disaffected kids stockpile weapons for a massacre. Or the death toll—15 in all, including 12 students, one teacher, the killers themselves (by suicide). You've doubtless not forgotten its lingering impact on the psyche. How could you? Its ghosts echo in every scary note intercepted, every gun found, every threat mouthed.


"I'm going to create another Columbine. I'm going to kill as many people as possible. I'm mad." This, on March 10, from a 13-year-old Fremont Middle School boy. Phoned into the school operator, the threat prompted a shutdown of the 1,400-student campus.


Thousands of parents kept their children home on Columbine's first anniversary; school police arrested 19 students for making false threats. The next year, campuses were half-full, and cops investigated 50 threatening rumors. Recent anniversaries have been much more calm. Still, every year at this time, school officials get fidgety.


"We have a higher vigilance near the anniversary because of potential for violence," says Bill Miller, director of school safety and crisis management for the Clark County School District. "Columbine has made everyone more acutely aware of students who may not feel accepted or have emotional outbursts and that we need to identify these types of kids and get them help."


Part of that help comes from mental-health professionals. Columbine prompted the school district to recruit psychologists. Another outgrowth: the threat-assessment team, comprising law enforcement, a psychologist, school counselor and administrators. As a result of Columbine, Clark County School District flak Darnell Couthen says school police share intelligence and training programs with other law-enforcement agencies—Valley schools are located in various police jurisdictions.


"We're fortunate that many of those anniversaries have fallen on a weekend," says Lt. Ken Young of the school police, noting that Columbine has also changed law enforcement's approach to handling tragedies.


Used to be that SWAT teams would have to secure a scene before other law enforcement were allowed in. Now, the first law enforcement officials on the scene have the authority to handle a situation.


On campus, the focus has been on intelligence gathering—cops clued into campus goings-on by administrators, teachers, even students. They want to know who's beefing with who, who the movers and shakers are.


"We don't just want to know about gang members, but normal kids, too. We've learned how to listen to kids when they are crying out," Young says. "We also want administrators and teachers to know that this is what to do when you encounter situations like kids drawing pictures of mass killings or joking about bombs and weapons. Most of the time, students are our biggest assets."


An ancillary effect of Columbine, Young says, has been implementing preventative strategies. Via a federal Cops in Schools grant, the district hired 31 officers to place in middle schools, which, he says, is the most critical time for children, the sixth grade in particular.


Of all Columbine's lingering aftereffects, Young posits that the most salient might've taken place in the homes. "It reinforced the fact that parents need to listen to their kids and arm them with strategies on how to address these types of situations."

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