Cruel, cold February
I don’t offer Sam’s harrowing perspective, just my own. I am an NIU alum, with plans to return, eventually. I once worked at the Northern Star, I, like most NIU students, have been in and out of Cole Hall for various reasons during my tenure here. I still live in DeKalb, close to campus. But, truthfully, I felt a little bit outside of the Huskie community until this happened.
The tragic events of February 14 made me feel like I will always be a Huskie, I think it made everyone in the area, and many nationwide, a Huskie at heart.
The day it happened, and the first couple days after that are best described as surreal (even though I think that word is overused). I watched the helicopters buzz over campus, decidedly out of place, and too reminiscent of vultures circling overhead for my tastes. The next morning I made my way over to the press conference at Altgeld Hall, where NIU Police Chief Don Grady announced the identity of the killer.
A full-scale “media blitz”, as Michael likes to call it, had ensued at Altgeld. Campus, though, was eerily deserted, a mobile FBI command center vehicle hung out in the visitor’s parking lot near Cole, a couple state police cars were parked in front of the scene of the crime, and a few police officers and reporters milled about. Other than that no one really roamed campus, just Michael and I, toting cameras and notebooks around on a frigid, 10 degree morning.
Bearing witness to the odd scenes of the 14th and 15th makes the Daily Chronicle’s repetitious editorial of the 24th resonate all the more. Almost all you could do was sit, jaw agape, and reflect on how unbelievable it was that it happened here.
Over the next couple weeks I have been on and off campus. I have taken in the many impromptu memorials around campus, noticed red and black ribbons adorning light posts along Hillcrest, seen businesses show their support, seen snowmen announce their allegiance to NIU, the outpouring of emotion goes on. I went to MLK Commons, a place that has become very solemn. I signed the wall, I looked at crosses and took it all in best I could.
I stood solid with dozens of other Huskies on the corner of Lucinda and Normal, awaiting the vile message of the Westboro Baptist Church. Thankfully, their message never arrived, but we were there. I’ve done what I could, where I could. Made some ribbons, wear a ribbon, what else can I do? I write this blog, if that helps one person through a tough time, it’s worth it.
February, oh so brutal and cold. Why do you mock us?
It’s a question I almost want to ask the month itself.
Again in the winter cold, and again solid with other Huskies, which makes it feel a little bit better. Though, it was too cold for even a half hour moment of silence, the wind was biting. I watched dozens of balloons ascend into the cloudy night sky, wrap their way around the Holmes Student Center and disappear forever as the sky spat snow back at us. Stark symbolism. Cruel, cold February.