Monday, October 1, 2007

HEALING. SLOWLY.

By CHRIS A. COUROGEN

Things seem normal as you drive the narrow country roads that wind through southern Lancaster County.

The tobacco hangs drying in barns, the way it has for generations. Horse-drawn mowers are cutting hay, and buggies are still spreading road apples.

If you didn't know that one year ago Tuesday a gunman stormed a one-room school on the side of White Oak Road and gunned down 10 girls, you'd think life in Bart Twp. was pretty much the same as it has been for years.

Things are not the same, though. They never will be, folks who live there say.

The West Nickel Mines Amish School, where Charles Roberts' invasion ended with him killing five of the girls, is no more. The schoolyard where one of the victims died in a state police trooper's arms is part of a nearby farm's pasture these days. Three of the five girls who survived the shooting attend classes in a new school, built a few hundred yards away.

Standing at the site of the old school, you can look up a small hill and see the New Hope School. To the untrained eye, the scene at the new school looks like it did at the old school before the shootings. The younger kids still gather under trees during recess to play house. Older children still play softball.

Look closer, and you will notice obvious differences, like the new location, set back from the road behind, protected by nearby homes. The doors stay closed during classes now, even on warm autumn days. Other differences are more subtle.

"You don't see them walking to school by themselves anymore. There is usually a parent tagging along," said Sam Fisher, the owner of the auction house that served as media headquarters after the shootings.

"It's about as normal as can be expected," said one Amish man. "It's never going to be completely the same."

The students who went through the ordeal still struggle with its aftermath, the man said. One, who suffered a severe head wound, is confined to a reclining wheelchair, fed by a tube and unable to speak. Another, also shot in the head, has vision problems. A third, shot in the shoulder, is recovering from reconstructive nerve surgery.

Beneath the surface

That is the visible aftermath. Other problems lie beneath the surface.

Some girls are still afraid to sleep in their own rooms, another Amish man said. The presence of strange men also causes anxiety. Survivor's guilt haunts the 15 boys Roberts allowed to leave the school. For at least one boy, it has been severe enough to require hospitalization, both men said.

"The casual observation is they are doing well given what happened to them," said Herman Bontranger, a spokesman for the Nickel Mines Accountability Committee, which administers the more than $4.3 million in donations that poured in after the shootings.

"You can drive through, it looks very normal,'' Bontranger said. When you talk to people, though, you discover the pain is very real. The pain is very real, and it is daily."

Much has been made of the strength of the Amish community's faith and its willingness to forgive Roberts. Bontranger said the Amish have not relied on faith alone. Most have also reached out for help from mental health professionals, including two organizations that specialize in dealing with the Amish.

"They are very much aware they need help, and they are seeking it," Bontranger said.

About one-third of the donated money has been spent on things such as medical care, transportation for the victims and their families, and renovations to make the home of the most severely wounded girl accessible to her. The remaining money will be put into a trust fund to cover ongoing expenses, including mental health care, Bontranger said.

"We need to think five, 10, even 20 years down the road. There is a great deal of awareness in the community that psychological issues come with something like this. Something like this is a lifetime thing," Bontranger said.

Emergency crews healing

State police and emergency first responders who were at the school have also had to deal with posttraumatic stress.

A watercolor painting of the school, its playground full of children, hangs in the lobby of the Lancaster barracks of the state police. Next to it is a photo of

a state police helicopter about to land in the schoolyard.

Both are constant reminders to the 10 troopers first at the school that day last October, none of whom was willing to be interviewed for this story.

"The troopers want to move on, too. Just as much as the Amish do. They know the anniversary is coming up, and they are going to have to deal with it all over again," said Cpl. Linette Quinn, a state police spokeswoman.

All 10 remain on the job. In June, they were awarded the state police's Medal of Honor.

A few weeks later, they joined other first responders, the students, their families and others at a picnic hosted by the Amish.

There they ate, played baseball and volleyball, and strengthened their bonds with the survivors and their families.

"It helped their grieving process. It was as if somebody had professionally designed it, in terms of therapy and dealing with grief counseling," said the Rev. Grover G. DeVault, the barracks chaplain.

The picnic was one of many steps in the healing process for the troopers involved, a process that began even as helicopters were flying the wounded to hospitals.

DeVault, part of the state police's Members Assistance program, was at the school within 45 minutes of the shootings.

"I gave them a hug and told them it's OK to cry. I just told them it will be OK," DeVault said.

All of the troopers who were at the school underwent a series of stress debriefings with professional counselors, DeVault said. Some sought more counseling. Some dealt with their stress on a pastoral level with DeVault. Others dealt with it privately.

DeVault said all the troopers suffered post-traumatic stress to different degrees, but none was debilitated by it.

None needed special leave. None is in ongoing therapy, although it remains available if they need it.

'Good times and bad times'

Paramedics and emergency medical technicians who were among the first responders underwent a similar process.

"Together we were able to work our way through these difficult times," said Curt Woerth, Bart Twp. fire chief.

Counseling sessions were held at the firehall for months after the shootings. About 95 percent of the firefighters and EMTs attended at least one session, Woerth said. Counseling remains available to any who need it.

"There are good times and bad times," said EMT Rich Ressel, "Just getting back into life and talking to friends has helped the most."

EMT Dennis Fromm was the first medical person to arrive at the school. "There are days you get to thinking about it and then you lean towards your faith and your family," he said.

No memorial services or other remembrances are planned for Tuesday.

The new school will not hold classes, but that is an effort to shield the children from unwanted media attention, not an observance of the anniversary.

"We are going to try to go on with as normal a day as possible," Woerth said.

But as Fromm pointed out, the definition of a normal day has changed forever in Nickel Mines.

"You have a new normal now," he said. "Everything is not quite the same."

CHRIS A. COUROGEN: 255-8112 ccourogen@patriot-news.com