The Wreck

Do the names Jennifer Longfellow, Julia Alcala, Victoria Dowell, Myranda Mason, or Veronika McDaniel mean anything to you? They were five young 15 and 16-year old high school girls. Friends, they grew up together. Two of them were involved in high school sports, two of them were cousins and for the most part all of them were inseparable.
The girls had mothers, fathers, grandparents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles. Like most young kids, they had friends, a lot of them. They had hopes and dreams. They probably had boyfriends, and were looking forward to some upcoming dance or something. They talked non-stop on the phone and they knew things about each other no one else would ever know. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. They were young and had their whole lives ahead of them.
The five of them left Ulysses high school in Jennifer’s car for lunch a couple weeks ago. It turned out to be the last thing they‘d ever do.
I don’t know what happened that horrible day. I don’t know if the sun was shining in Jennifer’s eyes. I don’t know if she was distracted and just didn’t see the tractor-trailer coming.
What I do know is this was the last time they’d ever see each other. Jennifer, the driver, was horribly injured but somehow managed to survive. Her friends, Julia, Victoria, Myranda, and Veronika weren’t so lucky. They didn’t make it.
The deaths of these young girls will effect so many people. Never again will their moms hear those beautiful words “mom, I’m home.” Their dads will never get the chance to watch the little girls they used to bounce on their knee grow up. And the brothers and sisters won’t be able to say they’re sorry for snooping through their stuff. There’ll be no more high school football games. There’ll never be another test to take. No more high school proms to worry about. No more boyfriends or weekend plans to make. In the blink of an eye none of that mattered anymore, they were gone.
As a dad, I can’t imagine how bad the day of the memorial service was. No matter what, life will never be the same. The thing the families needed most that day was respect. People needed to respect their right to privacy and give them the space they needed to cope with the loss they were suffering. They needed the support of family, friends, and the community of Ulysses, which they received without condition.
The last thing they needed that day was to come out of the Ulysses community center to find the freaks from Topeka’s Westboro Baptist Church with their sickening signs thanking god for dead kids. I guess in their twisted view, because God hates fags he also hates Kansas, the unholy, ungrateful land of the sodomite and sent the semi to kill the girls for our sins. Whatever.
If we’re going to thank God for anything, we should thank him for sending the brave men and women of the Patriot Guard. This group of about 150 motorcycle riders came from all over southwest Kansas to act as a human shield to stand between the protesters and the grieving families . They rev up their engines to drown out the name calling the Phelps’ are so famous for. And once the protesters move on so does the Patriot Guard, allowing the families to grieve in peace. Is this too much to ask for?
The only reason we even know the names of the girls is because of the wreck in Ulysses that day. I wish we’d never heard of them. And to the families and friends of the girls, I’m sorry for the horrible loss you’ve suffered and I’m sorry you had to witness the worst Topeka has to offer.
Kevin McGinty can be reached at: kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net