Remembering a Horrible Day

August 1, 1966 was one of the those Austin days when there isn't a cloud in the sky and the heat seizes your skin and blasts through to your bones. I was a 20-year-old junior at The University of Texas, taking two courses in summer school. At 11:55 a.m. I had just gotten through having lunch with two of my Longhorn Band pals at Renfro's Drug Store across from campus and we were paying for our burgers. The cashier warned us that "a guy is out there shooting a gun." We blew her off and went outside anyway.

We stood there for a minute or so, trying to figure out what was happening and then I decided to go on to class. As I turned to my right, it was like a giant invisible hand pushed me back and I stood rooted to the sidewalk, feeling strangely queasy for some reason. About ten seconds later, a rifle shot whizzed past my right ear and hit a man -- a 38-year-old with six kids to support -- standing four feet from me. He died two hours later at a local hospital.

That of course, was the opening phase of the Charles Whitman siege. (If you want to read more, go here.)

Forty-one years later, about forty people, myself included, gathered at the small memorial The University of Texas finally erected in 1999, just north of the Tower, to remember the 16 dead and 31 wounded from that day. (The lack of memorial recognition about the incident by UT until 33 years later is another story.)

This was the first time ALL the brave officers who participated in subduing Whitman that day have been recognized and several of them, including one widow, were there to talk, remember, befriend each other, and try to heal. (There are a lot of side stories here that go way beyond what I should put on this forum.)

This photo I happened to take is especially meaningful. The two pretty ladies in the foreground are the daughter and granddaughter of Austin Police Officer Billy Speed, the only law enforcement officer killed during the rampage. Becky, the daughter, was all of 18 months old that fateful day. She never got to know her dad. Billy had been talking that morning about wanting to get out of police work and how he'd like to start his own photography business.

The children swinging in the tree are grandkids of Houston McCoy, the man who actually shot and killed Whitman, but has never been given proper credit for it in the news media. (A very long story, not appropriate for this forum.)

Somehow, this photo said a lot to me-- about the living and the dead.