Читать книгу Boy With A Knife - Jean Trounstine - Страница 12

3. HOW IT HAPPENED

By their very nature, news headlines are designed to do little more than skim the surface of the truth. But, in their few words, they also can construct a perspective or nudge us towards a particular position.

Take, for example, how Trayvon Martin was represented in 2012. Martin was the unarmed black Florida teen killed in a high-profile case that led to the acquittal of white neighborhood watchman George Zimmerman, in the process adding to the firestorm about racial profiling in the US.¹ NBC News chose the following headline to run during its coverage of the case: “Trayvon Martin Was Suspended Three Times from School.”² Not only have studies shown that black crime suspects are presented in more threatening contexts than white ones, but also that “news coverage can endorse the invisibility of certain groups and can enhance the visibility of other groups.”³ Headlines have the power to shape our thoughts before we even dig into the text of the article.

The first mention of Karter Reed’s crime that I came across during my research touched on how infrequently violent crime visited the town of Dartmouth, Massachusetts. The headline from the April 21, 1993, issue of the New York Times, “Model School Tries to Cope with Killing in a Classroom,” set up Dartmouth as a world away from urban violence, and Karter as far as possible from being a “model” student.⁴

In 1993, suburban schools were just beginning to face the challenges well known to schools in urban areas such as New Bedford, where many residents lived on incomes well below the poverty line, were part of single parent-households, and relied on social services to provide healthcare, childcare, and other necessities.⁵ Dartmouth was only a ten-minute drive from New Bedford, but the residents in the former thought of themselves as far, far away. According to one-time Dartmouth high school teacher Tom Cadieux, “There was an elitist element to the town.”⁶ Back then, Dartmouth was home to approximately 27,000 people—97 percent of them Caucasian—with a median income of $45,000, which in 1990 dollars was higher than the Massachusetts state average and almost twice that of New Bedford.⁷ In 1989, 5.7 percent of Dartmouth residents lived below the poverty level; by 1999, it was 4.6 percent.⁸ The town boasted four golf courses, three country clubs, one yacht club, and the exclusive enclave of Nonquitt, where oceanfront homes are still passed down from generation to generation. Dartmouth’s neighborhoods, with names such as Smith Mills, Apponagansett, and Bliss Corner, replete with old clapboard houses, sprawling landscaped yards, and pristine beaches, had always defined traditional New England charm. While the town had its share of middle-class and blue-collar residents, crime was not part of the picture typically painted of Dartmouth.⁹

The town had always prided itself on its famous marching band, sports teams (several professional baseball and football players were among Dartmouth High alumni), and the quality of its schools.¹⁰ Not everything was as it was portrayed to be, however. Although Dartmouth High was considered the best school in the area, it ranked in the middle of the state’s public high school schools in terms of achievement scores.¹¹ The school’s graduation rate was only 66.9 percent, compared to the state average of 88 percent.¹² The school had recently enrolled more children of fishermen and construction workers from some of Dartmouth’s less affluent areas.¹³ Some residents feared that these new arrivals, including a few who had moved from New Bedford, might lower the quality of the school and deter its aim of sending more students to college.¹⁴ Approximately 95 percent of Dartmouth High’s students were white in 1993—not surprising, given the population of the town.¹⁵ Although it was not spoken publicly, there were fears that welcoming students who did not fit the typical Dartmouth profile—i.e. “inner-city students,” (code for poor kids and children of color)—into the town’s schools was a mistake.¹⁶

Although the attitude in Dartmouth was that “violence doesn’t happen here,” the years 1992 and 1993 had seen a spike in violent crimes committed by students nationwide.¹⁷ Between 1980 and 1993, the number of teens killed in schools grew, and the juvenile arrest rate for murder more than doubled.¹⁸ Between 1989 and 1993, the number of adolescents sent to criminal court increased 41 percent; and if those juveniles were convicted of violent crimes, they were sent to adult prisons.¹⁹ More boys than girls, more blacks than whites, and more adolescents sixteen or older faced adult courts.²⁰ This was the era in which William J. Bennett, John J. Dilulio, and John P. Walters would promote their theory of the coming of superpredators, warning that teenage boys from “morally impoverished families,” were bound to “murder, assault, rape, rob, burglarize, deal deadly drugs, join gun-toting gangs, and create serious communal disorders.”²¹ “Kids who kill” would be all over the news in the mid 1990’s, terrifying the country into believing that a “tidal wave of crime” was on the horizon.”²² While this horrifying and racially coded message would ultimately be proven wrong, it would cause forty-four states, including Massachusetts and the District of Columbia, to change their laws, making it easier to try juveniles as adults.²³ As Dilulio himself would say years later, while the superpredator theory never came to fruition, it affected the climate of the country: “It was out there.”²⁴

Despite this environment of fear, trouble still rarely visited Dartmouth, a place that attracted those who wanted to escape urban problems.²⁵ Many in the town likely believed that violence only stalked schools in “bad” areas like New Bedford, or its sister city, Fall River.²⁶ And so it was not surprising that on April 12, 1993, the doors to Dartmouth High were unlocked and unsecured. The long, two-story building was unburdened by metal detectors or surveillance cameras. Recent cutbacks in funding had eliminated hallway monitors, and no resource officer patrolled the property or hovered at bus pickups.²⁷ Such measures seemed unnecessary—crime was low and the town police station usually received only a few calls a day.²⁸ It was thought that a simple “No Trespassing” sign near the school’s front door would be enough to keep out those who had no business there.²⁹

At 7:15 that morning, Gator, Nigel, and Karter were in Gator’s Hyundai on their way to Dartmouth High School. Snow was falling outside, and Karter was wearing a maroon and yellow hat, the one Nigel had worn the night before and disposed of after two girls teased him about it, saying it didn’t match his clothes. Karter also had on a blue shirt and jeans. His open knife was in his right pants pocket. He also had a piece of a wrench in his left pants pocket—a rod, similar to a metal pipe. He thought that if the other boys had weapons, these would protect him.

Gator cursed the cracked distributor cap on his car as snow pelted the windshield. Moisture from the rain and snow kept causing the car to stall, and the Hyundai hiccupped down Route 6 into Dartmouth. Karter later told me he was praying that one of them would say, “Let’s forget it.” But no one said anything as they turned onto Slocum Road, the street that led to Dartmouth High, and parked in a no-parking zone not far from a sign that read, “Buckle Up—It’s the Law.”

Inside Dartmouth High, the day had begun like any other normal Monday. Teachers were in their classrooms, getting ready for their students. Principal Donald King, who had been in charge for seven years, had not yet begun his affable daily stroll through the building, talking to teachers and students. Before rising to the top position, King had been a student, football coach, biology teacher, and director of guidance at the school, and he was in his office early that morning, before the homeroom bell rang at 7:30 a.m., preparing to meet with the vice principal, Albert Porter, and the chairman of the guidance department, Frederick Sylvia.³⁰

There were undoubtedly mixed aspirations for the 1,140 students who headed into the school building that day, gathering around lockers and gossiping with friends.³¹ Some were probably hoping to score A’s on tests or preparing to give presentations; some were likely worrying about their SATs. Others were possibly thinking of whom they might ask to the prom. Still others probably imagined getting out of school early, hurrying down the spotless hallways and past the glass cases packed with marching band trophies, piling into their cars and high-tailing it to the mall. A few were undoubtedly chatting up their exploits of the night before. No one imagined what would happen over the next few hours.

Karter, Nigel, and Gator entered the school building about 7:30 a.m. Karter said the three of them went in through the main corridor, looked around, and saw Shawn and his friends at the other end of the hallway, who did not notice them. Nigel led the way as he, Karter, and Gator headed upstairs to find their friends in the school; they wanted to find out what was churning in the rumor mill about a possible fight. Karter passed a couple of students who knew him; he took out his metal rod and brandished it, bragging about what he would do if anyone tried to jump his boy. At this point, Karter felt a kind of energy from showing off, acting as if he was accustomed to flaunting a weapon.

It was Karter who saw them first, coming down the hall, heading straight for Nigel. He recognized three faces: Shawn Pina, Duane Silva, and Jason Robinson. Duane was black, and over six feet tall; Karter wrote in 2008 that “he hadn’t been there the night before but he was Shawn’s boy and we knew he’d be coming.” He had seen Duane a few weeks earlier, when he was at the Stop and Shop in New Bedford’s South End where Gator worked. After Gator finished his shift, they gave Duane a ride home, along with Shawn. Duane joked about wanting to steal Gator’s car stereo. Jason, a thin, white, gangly basketball player, was a friend of Shawn’s and had, for a short time, been a student at the Voke. Karter felt that Jason was probably tagging along to watch Nigel get a beating.

There was a lot of commotion in the hallway as the two groups headed toward one another. Diane Tretton, an English teacher at the school, saw Duane and Jason walk purposefully past her classroom.³² They did not say hello, which was unusual, considering they had been her students. She attempted to follow the boys, but she could not manage to stay behind them as students began to fill the hallway to see what was going on.

Karter had promised himself that if it wasn’t a fair, one-on-one fight, he would jump in. But when Duane and Shawn passed in front of him and he realized they were heading for Nigel, he—and Gator—froze. They watched, paralyzed, as Duane made a few nasty comments and threw a punch, knocking Nigel to the floor. Karter said that Shawn then started kicking Nigel. Nigel tried to get up, but Shawn threw him against a locker while Jason cheered him on.

At this point, about twenty-five to thirty students had crowded into the hallway.³³ Diane Tretton, trying to stop the fight, ran up to Duane and put her hands against his chest, yelling, “Duane, you have to stop! You have to stop!”³⁴ He pushed her aside and she ducked into the teachers’ lunchroom to call for help on the intercom. Lisa DeCuna, another teacher, hearing her colleague’s voice, rushed into the hall. She saw that Nigel was bleeding and tried to grab Shawn, who was kicking Nigel repeatedly, by the shirt.³⁵ Gator then ran over, pulled Nigel up, and yelled at Karter to do something. But Karter could do nothing. More teachers appeared and tried to stop the fight. Shawn and Duane darted one way down the hall, while Gator, Nigel, and Karter went in another direction. The principal appeared, and teachers told him about the fight; he quickly rounded up Shawn and Duane and sent them to his office.³⁶

Karter was pushing and shoving people, furious and ashamed for not standing up for Nigel, as he and the other two boys ran out of the building. Nigel’s nose and lip were bleeding, and Karter thought Nigel had broken his elbow. Karter belted a mailbox as they headed for the car;³⁷ he heard Gator yell at the crossing guard to get out of his “fucking” way or he would run her down. In a whirlwind, the three boys sped away.³⁸ They headed to Fairhaven to get Shad, whom they felt would know what to do. For Karter, it was all about defending a friend, and he had failed.

At Shad’s house, Nigel went inside to wash off the blood. Shad quickly went to the car and said he could not believe they had allowed this to happen, meaning that they had let Shawn and his friends beat up Nigel without even taking a swing. Karter and Gator sat sheepishly. Neither could explain why they had been so afraid. They begged Shad to go back to the school with them to help make things right, but Shad refused. He had plans; the fight was theirs to finish. He told them to wait until after school.

The boys decided not to wait until the end of the school day—they would return to Dartmouth immediately. But a one-on-one, “fair” fight was no longer possible. Instead, Nigel and Gator would beat down Shawn and Duane, and Karter would keep anyone from interfering, and make certain they could all escape. They would bring Gator’s baseball bat and billy club, just to be sure. And, of course, Karter had his knife.

The first classes of the day were about to begin at Dartmouth High. James “Woody” Murphy, or Mr. Murphy to his freshmen American government class, was discussing the recent tragedies in Bosnia.³⁹ Murphy was a combat veteran of the Vietnam War and a former US Marine who had taught and coached sports for twenty-five years; he had been at Dartmouth for seven.⁴⁰ He loved to teach and had a reputation for investing himself in the classroom with the kind of humor and grit kids respond to.⁴¹ He had already heard about the early-morning fight and noticed that two of his students were missing from S57, his social studies room: Shawn Pina and Nigel Thomas.

Shortly after 8:15 a.m., Shawn sat waiting outside the principal’s office.⁴² Minutes before, he and Duane had been suspended for three days. Duane had already left the school grounds, but Shawn was still waiting to be picked up when from the window he saw two boys running toward the school. He recognized Gator and Nigel, and immediately told one of Principal King’s secretaries.⁴³ She told King that “intruders” had entered the school.⁴⁴

Exactly what was said over the next fifteen minutes was disputed during the public hearings and in the press; there is an element of “he said, she said” to all of it. Karter’s sentence was ultimately based not only on the facts of the case, but also on these stories, told in a time of shock by a community in crisis and by media outlets looking for news in a year of escalating school violence. His resulting punishment hardly makes sense unless seen in this context.

The three boys came through the same front entrance as they had earlier and walked down the same main corridor. Karter’s knife was open in his pocket; he still had the pipe as well. Nigel had the billy club, while Gator carried his metal bat and a double-edged knife; he was full of bravado, clanging the metal against the floor as he walked.

Jane Carreiro, a foreign-language teacher, had just come out of a classroom and was heading to the main office with her attendance sheet when she saw the trio and hurried behind them, thinking they were late for school.⁴⁵ Then she heard the clanging of the bat and called out, “Boys, what are you doing here? State your business.” They turned to face her, and Gator thumped the bat on the floor and said, “Go to hell.”⁴⁶ The three boys then charged up the stairs. Carreiro turned and ran to the main office.

In Karter’s recollection, the boys quickly made their way down the white-walled corridor and up the stairs, Nigel in the lead. They were heading to Nigel’s American government classroom, where they thought Shawn would be. When they reached room S57, Karter said he felt sick and was sure he would throw up. They had planned to go into the room in mid-lesson, but now they all realized their plan was ridiculous. They were unsure what to do. Karter said that Nigel suggested he jump Shawn when he came out of class. Suddenly, at the end of the hallway, Vice Principal Porter appeared. Gator said he couldn’t wait and asked Nigel and Karter if they were ready. Karter replied with some version of “Gator, I don’t want to do this, but I won’t leave you alone.”⁴⁷ Gator announced he was going in. As if on autopilot, Karter watched from the doorway as his friend walked into the classroom.

Things moved so quickly that it was hard for anyone to comprehend the sequence of events. The following details spilled out at the trial and from Karter’s letters:

Gator, bat in hand, looked around the room and asked aloud, “Where’s Shawn Pina?”⁴⁸

Mr. Murphy saw the bat and began unraveling with a “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s with the bat?”⁴⁹ He immediately went after Gator.

Nigel, almost tucked inside his black cap, backed away from the action and moved behind Karter, who was standing at the threshold of the room, watching as Jason Robinson, sitting in the back, loudly responded to Gator’s question with “Why?” Karter had always seen Jason as part of Shawn’s crew, a boy whom Gator had disliked ever since Jason had gotten into a fight with another friend of his a few years back. Karter did not know that Jason played football, soccer, and basketball, had a sister and a brother, and had just bought a Chevy with money he made as a busboy at the University of Massachusetts resident dining hall.⁵⁰ He did not know that Jason was the son of Elaine and Burt, stepson of Cherylann, all lifelong residents of Dartmouth.⁵¹

Gator started down the row of seats toward Jason, wielding the bat in the air, reportedly saying, “Oh, Robinson, you messed with my boy; you’re dead.”⁵² As Mr. Murphy told Gator to get out, Jason bolted from his seat. Suddenly, Karter felt someone come up behind him, and he held up his hands, then surrendered the pipe he had been holding to Vice Principal Porter, who had come running into the room.

By now, Gator was chasing Jason around the room, the two knocking against desks as if in a pinball game. Jason ran toward the windows, and Karter heard him yell back at Gator: “Fuck you. I didn’t touch your boy. I didn’t touch him.”

Vice Principal Porter pushed Karter aside, shoving him into an alcove in the room.⁵³ Believing that Karter was being restrained by others, Porter started after Gator. The class erupted. Students were out of their seats chasing Gator, yelling, making threats that Gator was about to be hurt, “wrecked,” “fucked up.”⁵⁴ Karter said he considered trying to leave the room through a different exit, but when he looked around, he saw that it was blocked by students. He just stood there and watched Jason’s pink shirt flash by. Mr. Murphy finally grabbed Gator, and the bat went flying into a corner. Along with his colleagues, Mr. Murphy wrestled Gator to the floor.

By now the tumult was intense. More teachers and students had entered the hallways. Karter began to panic. He said he felt that things were spinning out of control. He was again standing inert, desperately wanting to do something but desperately unable to. He felt an obligation to his friends. He had to act. He headed toward Jason, who was a few feet away.

As the blur of the past built up inside him, and as the shoulder of Jason Robinson pressed against his, Karter reached in his pocket for the knife. He never looked at Jason’s face. He did not think about seeking revenge. All he knew was that he must not back down. In one fell swoop, he pulled out the weapon and, as cleanly and swiftly as his sixteen-year-old hand could manage, stabbed Jason Robinson in the stomach.

Karter said he didn’t remember how the knife got back inside his pocket. In 2008 he wrote that in the next moment: “I was pinned against the wall with teachers kicking me, screaming, ‘Drop the knife,’ until they realized I didn’t have anything in my hands. I knew I was in trouble but I wasn’t thinking about courts or jail. . . . I was thinking that I’d be a hero to my friends.”