Masthead header

Her Last Thought

View_of_Stamford,_New_York,_circa_1911I watched and heard the whole story unfold from closer than I wanted and when it was all over all I could think about was her last thought. When you live in a small town it is impossible to avoid other peoples’ business, and when there is a murder, especially one as tragic and gruesome as this one it touches everyone, even someone like me who hadn’t spent their entire life there.

Around 9:30 in the morning the retired guys started arriving at the Hungry Moon (my diner) bringing bits and pieces of news they’d picked up from the police scanners they spent their days glued to. Betty, Bob, their younger son Daniel and Betty’s father had all been found dead at their camp. The police were now searching for their 23 year old son Eban. I didn’t believe it, it didn’t seem possible, but of course it was and now the police were on the hunt for the killer. The day would drag on endlessly as people came and went sharing what they knew. It all ended at 5:00 when after a long standoff Eban rushed the police firing his gun, and he too was killed.

Bob was the president of the local bank and ate lunch at the Hungry Moon on weekdays. He was a quiet and taciturn man. While most of the town big shots sat in the back at a large round table holding court for each other, Bob would sit alone at the same stool at the counter and eat his tuna on whole wheat with a cup of black coffee. Each day he left a quarter tip. Betty would often stop by in the morning and visit with the coffee klatch of wives that met there daily. She was bright and cheerful, a perpetual volunteer. Until that morning I didn’t know they had two sons, I only knew of Daniel a sweet young man very much like his mother. No one spoke of Eban who had been institutionalized after becoming violent.

That night no one quite knew what to do, to say the entire town was in shock would not be an exaggeration. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t stay home, but I didn’t want to talk about it, or think about it. I went to the movies with friends. I remember we saw The Dead Poet’s Society and were grateful for the intensity of the film which gave us a short reprieve from the day’s events. All of us were from New York City and none of us had never experienced anything like this. I knew I would write about it one day.

It’s been more than 25 years since it happened. At random moments my mind still goes back to Betty. She was found in the pond, under the dock, her last thought, her last desire was to flee from her own child. Her final act was running from her son after he had killed her father, son, and husband. I believe she knew he would catch up with her, that she knew he would kill her too. Her last thought was knowing what had happened, and what was to come, and I think of her being brave and trying to survive.

These events took place June 23, 1989 in Stamford, New York.   

Facebook Share|Tweet Post|Pin Post|+1 Post
  • April 22, 2015 - 7:22 am

    Quirky Chrissy - how horrifying. This is such a heart wrenching story.ReplyCancel

    • April 24, 2015 - 9:02 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Chrissy, I don’t know if I managed to capture how strange and awful it really was…ReplyCancel

  • April 22, 2015 - 7:43 am

    Peggy Gilbey McMackin - Hello Nancy, what a well written description for a horrific experience. A real depth of sadness in such tragedy.ReplyCancel

    • April 24, 2015 - 9:01 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Peggy, thanks. Tragic indeed. The ravages of mental illness.ReplyCancel

  • April 23, 2015 - 6:58 pm

    Cyn K - It must have been shocking even though they were casual acquaintances.ReplyCancel

    • April 24, 2015 - 9:00 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Cyn, it was truly surreal.ReplyCancel

Your email is never published or shared. Required fields are marked *

*

*

CommentLuv badge

T w i t t e r