Return to Blacksburg

This story contains some personal information that only friend and family would really grasp. At the moment, I'm not going to go into detail about it all.

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"Virginia Tech, Exit 118B" It is hard to describe the feelings I experienced as I read that sign while driving north on Interstate 81. Innumerable emotions welled up inside me as I neared the Virginia Tech campus: sorrow, anger, fear. Sorrow for those lives that were lost on April 16th, 2007. Anger that the events had happened at all. But mostly I was afraid. I was afraid of what I would find after Exit 118B; I was afraid of what may have happened to the small college town of Blacksburg, Virginia.

The morning of April 16th, 2007, dawned clear and cool in Charlotte, North Carolina. Arriving at 9am on the Microsoft campus for a training class I would be attending that week, I was oblivious to what was occurring two hundred miles to the north. At around 10:30am, I received a text message on my phone from my friend Ed, who still lived and worked in Blacksburg. It read, "One or more people shot on campus. Its a mess here." Having no internet access in the classroom at Microsoft, I could only resort to using my cell phone to check CNN's mobile web site. Sure enough, it had a story about a shooting - one dead, one wounded - in Ambler-Johnston Hall, a dorm on campus. At this point, I passed it off as just a very unfortunate occurrence that wouldn't amount to anything more then a sad dispute between two students. It was only during lunch that the full impact of what was happening reached me.

"Twenty people are dead," one of my co-workers told me. Twenty?

"No," I told him earnestly, "it's only two people."

Within a few moments, I was staring at the plasma screen hanging in the cafeteria, dumbstruck. Twenty people have been shot and killed on the Virginia Tech campus. I didn't believe it. Something was wrong. That wasn't Blacksburg. That wasn't my campus. It couldn't be!

Through the lunch hour, the count quickly rose as more of the events unfolded to the news audience. My stomach sank. My mind raced. This couldn't be happening. The rest of the day, I constantly checked the CNN website from my phone, barely paying any attention to what was being taught in the class. The count finally reached 32. Thirty-two were dead on the Virginia Tech campus, nearly thirty more wounded. The full realization of what had happened took a while to sink into my mind. That night, I was barely able to watch the news as it went over and over the day's events. My mind refused to wrap itself around the heinous, damnable act that had occurred. Every time I started to grasp the full import of the murders, a heart-wrenching pain overwhelmed me and I shrank back from the knowledge. My God, not Blacksburg. Not my town. Not my campus. But the feeling that overwhelmed all others was an intense need to be in Blacksburg. An intense need to be back home. Originally I had planned on making the trip north to Blacksburg for the football team's "spring game" on April 21st. This "spring game" is essentially a glorified football practice that is open to the public in Lane Stadium. For all intents and purposes to the Hokie nation, the game is a chance to tailgate and see friends, some, such as myself, who make the trip from out of town. After the events of April 16th, the game was canceled or postponed; I didn't know which. Yet I felt a need to return to the town to which I had devoted nine years of my life, the town in which I had met some of the greatest friends I have, both during college and my working years after I had graduated. I needed to be there as the town cried, as it bled, and as it healed. This was my town and would always be a part of my life, regardless of where I lived. And so, on the evening of April 20th, 2007, I found myself driving down 460 west, headed towards Blacksburg and the campus of the Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University.

The lights of Christiansburg streamed past me on the left as the cool evening air flowed into the sunroof of the car. The Hampton Inn sign glowed a bright red, much as it always had in years past. On the radio, K92.3 FM sounded no different then it had months ago - constantly replaying uninteresting, overplayed songs in between obnoxiously long commercial breaks filled with car ads. Yet the fear of what lay ahead remained.

To the left, the lights of Montgomery Regional Hospital, location of many of the shooting victims, shone into the night. Above, the big, green "South Main St." sign hovered silently over the roadway. I was now in Blacksburg. Soon after, I stared towards the brick and glass buildings of the Virginia Tech Corporate Research Center - the business park where I used to work which had little to do with researching anything corporate, despite its name. The CRC was where many of my friends had found themselves locked in as the tragedy unfolded a scant couple miles away on campus. The building closest to the highway had a small pond and fountain outside, now still and silent after business hours. I had always wanted a fountain in front of the building in which I worked.

Minutes later, I turned onto Southgate Drive, the main entrance to the Virginia Tech campus from the outside world. A small, temporary sign next to the road read "Visitor pass not needed," the first indication that this was not a normal time on the Virginia Tech campus. For some reason, I was surprised not to see anything else representing the tragedy before that small sign. Yet at this point campus looked like it always had. Driving down Southgate Drive, I saw the sight that should make any true Hokie smile and tingle with pride and delight. Looming up into the night sky, brilliant lighting detailing the monstrous castle-like structure, stood Lane Stadium, home of the Virginia Tech Hokie football team - a truly impressive sight, standing over Spring Road; a statement of our football might. Then came the curving roof of Cassel Collesium, home of the Virginia Tech Hokie basketball team - the site where we won over UNC and Duke, a great feat for any basketball team.

I reached the end of Spring Road and sat at the stop sign on Washington Street. Across Washington Street stood a tall building that looked much like any of the other buildings on that side of campus, constructed out of Hokie stone, many windows lit up against the darkness of the night. Ambler-Johnston Hall, location of the first shooting. If that night had been any other night, nothing would have been out of the ordinary. A small chill ran up my spine as I stared at that building, filled with college students even then. Silently, I drove down the street, away from the dorm, towards Ed's house on the other side of town. On the way, I took a detour around part of Drillfield Drive, the road surrounding the Drillfield. A couple spots around the perimeter will still flooded with light as reporters continued their stories. I drove past the entrance to the road that Norris is on, unable to bring myself to make that turn.

That night I spent among friends in a bar downtown known as Champs. Much like Cheers, it was a place where many people knew my name, where I could smile, laugh, and enjoy being among friends. I had a great night that night, drinking, talking, shooting pool. Yet through it all, there was always a sad undercurrent. No one asked me "so what brings you here this weekend?" That question wasn't needed. Every handshake was accompanied by an unspoken understanding of pain and sorrow. But at least for a short time, I could put aside the full emotions surrounding the senseless deaths that had occurred just down the street.

The next day Ed, Ellen, and I approached Squires Student Center. From the outside, the building didn't look any different then I remembered. However, just inside the doors stood the first memorials to the fallen. Banners covered with hundreds of notes and signatures hung from the railings of the floors above. Surrounded by flowers stood boards covered in sheets of paper that hundreds more Virginia Tech students and alumni had filled with their own thoughts and prayers. One of the first banners I spotted came from a small college in West Virginia known as Shepherd University. I spied notes from the University of Alaska in Fairbanks and from St. Mary's College of Maryland. Climbing the stairs, we found more banners and posters from Radford, local high schools, and even the UK. Later I would spot an Australian flag rippling in the breeze outside. Passing the Red Cross Disaster Relief tables, more boards spilled out into the hallways. I wanted to add my own note, but like Ed, I just didn't know what to write. Perhaps, "during your times of trial and suffering when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you," the same words that graced the memorial cards from my grandparents' funerals. In the end, I wrote nothing.

Leaving Squires, we strolled down Alumni Mall, approaching the bridge connecting Torgersen Hall with Newman Library. The day was sunny and warm, barely a cloud visible in the brilliant blue sky. As we passed under the bridge, a hint of perfume reached my nose. I shrugged it off as coming from one of the many other people wandering around campus that day. The smell grew stronger as we approached the pylons on top of War Memorial chapel at the head of the Drillfield. Upon reaching the chapel, we discovered the source of the fragrance. Flowers, candles, piled on top of the chapel on it's own stones remembering those who died in wars past. Prayers for the dead. Ahead of us, crowds flowed across the Drillfield, under maroon and white tents and surrounding a spot just below Burruss Hall, the main administration building. We strode down the steps next to the chapel and took a moment to silently view the flowers and candles set up within the chapel. That was the first time I had ever entered War Memorial Chapel. My friend Iris works at the chapel - she tells me one of the memories that will stand out the most to her is watching from the chapel doors as students, hands in the air, run across the Drillfield away from Norris as snow swirls around them.

Starting out across the green grass of the Drillfield, we silently climbed the hill to the right. Initially, we made our way around to the back of the buildings, walking past McBryde Hall, where a large majority of my classes had been held. Arriving on Old Turner Street, we found it lined with police cars, keeping watch over the building ahead of us. The building was surrounded by yellow crime scene tape - something that should never had been seen on that campus, or any college campus. With the tall, narrow windows on this side shut and dark against the warm spring air, the building rose above us for three floors. This was one of the older buildings on campus, built from rough, weathered limestone with an almost Gothic appearance. This was Norris Hall. The few other people, including several state troopers and campus security officials, talked silently - any loud noises seemed jarring and unnerving. We stood with them, approximately where the infamous cell phone video was taken at the corner of the building - the video that showed police approaching the doors, guns drawn as gunshots are heard in the background. Even then, I don't think I fully grasped that I was standing next to the spot where the worst mass shooting in U.S. history had taken place. Because something like that could never happen on the campus of Virginia Tech. Right? This was were I remember smiling and laughing with friends, or remember being bundled up against the cold as I started a winter trek across the Drillfield. Across the street from Norris stood Randolph Hall where I took Professionalism in Computing, one of the more pointless classes in a Computer Scientist's college career.

We made our way back around the building toward the front - or at least as close to it as we could get. The other people lining the sidewalks along the side of the crime scene were silent as they stared at the building. I couldn't quite tell if any of the windows were open - trees obscured my view. Rounding the corner of Patton Hall, we finally stood on the sidewalk just down from Burruss Hall and looked up at the front of Norris. Here were the doors that had been chained shut, as discovered by my friend's brother who was in Norris that fateful day. Thankfully, he never saw the gunman, though he heard the gunshots and the screams. Above the doors, we saw open windows - windows where students had tried to jump to safety and escape the killer loose within the walls. Outside the doors of Norris sat a van, backed up the the entrance of the building, probably having something to do with the grisly crime scene within. I stood at that spot for several moments, trying to imagine what experiencing the Hell within those walls must have been like for those college students. To stare Death in the face, helpless, as it took your friends and classmates around you.

Across the street from Burruss, below a small stone landing were piled hundreds more flowers, candles and letters. The warm air was filled with their perfume. Long lines of people filed past the display, mostly silent, some in tears. Under the maroon and white tents erected on the Drillfield were yet more notes. Thousands upon thousands of people expressing their sadness, their strength, and their love. On Virginia Tech's website, I even see a picture of Niagra Falls bathed in orange and maroon light. Never before have I been witness to such a sight. And a part of me hopes I never will see a sight like that again, because of what inspired it.

Elsewhere on the Drillfield , speakers were set up, playing upbeat, festive music. Located at various spots across the open grass field were boxes filled with sports equipment, donated for free use by the VT Fitness organization. Later in the afternoon, perhaps twenty restaurants from the Blacksburg area took time to set up additional tents and distribute free food and drink to the thousands of people now crowding the Drillfield. Even as reminders of the tragic events stood close by, people were smiling and laughing. Frisbees and footballs sailed through the air. It was a beautiful day that Saturday in Blacksburg: the beautiful, clear, warm spring weather, the incredible amount of support the University, its students, and the town were receiving from around the world, and the signs that Virginia Tech and Blacksburg were already rebuilding.

I left town with a heavy heart that Sunday. While I don't regret my move to Charlotte, a large part of me is still very attached to the town of Blacksburg and the people I know there. That same part of me wishes to be there now as the town rebuilds itself and struggles forward in the midst of this tragedy. Never have I felt more loyalty to that town or to that university. Never have a felt more a part of Virginia Tech, in this, its time of need. Never have I been more proud to be a Hokie. We are the Hokies. We are Virginia Tech. And we will prevail.


- Virginia Tech alumnus, class of 2000