Memories

My husband Bill still doesn't like to talk about it. It's been forty-one years, but I know it still seems fresh in his mind. His brother Jerry was twenty-two years old on February 16, 1970, the day he was murdered. Bill was eighteen.

Jerry was parking his car outside the building where he worked when a man apparently got into his car and forced him to drive to Mt. Adams, where he shot Jerry three times. One bullet hit his wrist, breaking his watch, which stopped at 7:21 a.m. He wasn't found until 8:10 a.m.

The man who murdered him, Otis Fairbanks, had shot another man, Leroy Vincent Johnson, seven hours earlier, and robbed him of two dollars. Johnson, also twenty-two, survived. Otis Fairbanks was nineteen.

It would be learned in the following weeks that Otis Fairbanks had also killed a UC co-ed, Carol Sander, on January 29 of the previous year. Sander Hall, a UC dormitory built in 1971 and imploded in 1991, was named and dedicated to Carol Sander.

At the time of his death, Jerry was married with a small daughter, and his wife was pregnant with their son. In a matter of seconds, a wife became a widow, a daughter lost her father, an unborn child would come into the world without ever seeing his father's face, two sisters and a brother were left with memories, and a mother and father lost the child they had loved and nurtured into adulthood. One young man dead, and eight family member's lives shattered, in one family. I don't know the impact on Carol Sander's family, but I'm certain it was equally devastating. Sad to say, probably Otis Fairbanks had family members whose lives were shattered, too.

As can be expected, the events of that day were imprinted on Bill's heart and mind, and he has had an antipathy for guns ever since. So when I say he reluctantly accompanied me to Target World (TW) a few days hence, I guess it is a testimony to how much he indulges me.

I've wanted to learn to shoot a gun for a long time. My father always had guns, and if he were still alive he would have taught me. But he went home in 1987, and there are many, many more things besides shooting a gun I could learn from him, if he were still with us. But he gave me a Smith and Wesson .32 revolver before he died, and I decided to, finally, learn to shoot it.

Imagine my surprise when the guy at TW told me they make very little ammo for that gun these days, and to purchase it, if I can find it, I would have to pay $40 for 50 bullets, er, cartridges. WHAT? He went on to say I can get .38 or 9mm cartridges (the most common) for $16-$18 for 50. WHAT? Suffice it to say I had to rethink the entire "learn to shoot a gun" thing. I know Bill breathed a heavy sigh of relief. But after a brief discussion I asked him to sign us up for beginner lessons. And he even did that with good grace. What a man.

Getting back to the original topic, I think it was a great thing that a dormitory was dedicated to Carol Sander. She should not be forgotten. There were no halls built for Jerry, but then, as long as there are family members to remember, I guess a hall isn't necessary. Forty-one years later, Jerry's brother and sisters haven't forgotten him. I still remember my father, and I miss him, twenty-four years later. Love isn't enhanced by a building dedication, and it doesn't diminish for lack of one. Death robs us, but memories comfort us.

God bless you. Have a great day.