It doesn’t seem a week passes without a tragedy at a school or business in our country. The difference is that this time, it happened in our own backyard.
As a parent of a student at Episcopal School of Jacksonville and a board member of the school of 850 students, my 5-minute drive there Tuesday became an exercise of emotion after hearing the devastating news of the slaying of our beloved head of school.
Dale Regan was more than a Head of School to so many.
My parents became friends with her mother and father when our family moved in the mid-1960s into the same neighborhood as Dale and her parents.
It was kind of a “Leave It To Beaver”-type neighborhood, where youngsters believed we had several sets of parents looking over us as we ran around our community.
I remain friends with Dale’s mother and father today. The two live in the same retirement community as my parents, so seeing Dale and her son having dinner with her parents on a weekly basis was not unusual.
The staff even had an internal wager as to who visited the most.
Neither of us ever cared who was leading and we would often let each other know we were going in case anything was needed by the other’s parents.
After hearing the news Tuesday, the drive over the Hart Bridge was surreal. A multitude of thoughts ran through my mind. It was impossible to reach people at always dependable and reliable telephone numbers. So during the drive, I was relying on spotty radio coverage and my imagination.
Then the call came. My 16-year old-daughter, a sophomore, was locked in the library. Of my six daughters, she is the one I always thought in an emergency would be masterminding an escape to safety.
But Tuesday was different. It made me realize she is a 16-year-old inexperienced child. Her call was one no parent ever wants to hear, but so many do.
“What’s going on?”
“We are locked in the library. I love you.”
I said I was on campus and was on my way to get her. Her response surprised me. “Don’t come here.”
Not knowing what was going on, she worried about my safety. However, I knew the outcome by then.
Besides providing leadership and direction as a trustee, there is a huge responsibility that goes along with being a board member of a high school.
At times like this you realize you have 850 children that are scared, confused and afraid. The atmosphere you hope to provide collapsed, but just for a few moments.
By the time faculty and staff understood the depth of the situation, they dove into action. Although they wore emotions on their faces, they seemed to have one thought: How do we get these kids into the arms of their loved ones?
As I walked through the courtyard, tears flowed, but there was a sense of calm and organization.
I can’t tell you how many officers with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office were on campus, or who was in charge, but all of them were on the same page.
Obviously, they had to deal with different emotions and concerns. It was as if all of them had a child on campus.
They were calm, caring and helpful, not only directing traffic but answering questions and assisting parents.
Although their presence was startling, they provided immediate calm to the situation.
You then begin thinking, what could have been done? How could anyone anticipate this kind of bizarre behavior?
Dale had become a master at what she did. She had gained the love and respect of her staff and her students, as well as the parents.
The board took a chance on having one of their own as head of school, and no one has ever accepted the position with as much passion and care for everyone involved as Dale did.
She exceeded expectations. She had become an icon in the business community and recently won the EVE Award for Education.
Her father has been ill and had to spend time in the hospital. After knowing there was nothing I could do at the school, I went to the hospital to sit with Dale’s father until the family arrived.
We talked, we laughed and, for being 91, he was incredibly keen.
We talked about many things, but he always circled back to the pride he had in his family.
He talked about Dale and her younger sister. He talked about his wife. He said several times how blessed he had been.
When he learned the news, the emotions were raw. He had so many questions, but all of us did.
“Why?”
I returned home late to be with my family. My daughter had attended a vigil already and many of her friends met for a bonfire in honor of Dale.
Her older sister shared her sister’s trauma, but also had a revelation. She realized how short life can be. She expressed her respect and the value of a loving family and community, coming together to protect each other and work through the many emotions.
I had calls from friends I hadn’t heard from in years. Anyone from here who had moved away was touched in some way and wanted to talk about it. Although I could have listened for hours, at midnight I shut down and tried to feel.
My thoughts always returned to not only the Episcopal children, but every child in Duval County. Sure, parents grieve, teachers are devastated, but if we found anything positive, and I think Dale would want us to be positive, it’s how our children grow from this horrible tragedy.
Our board leadership never stopped working and still hasn’t. There is much to do and we have so many people looking for leadership.
One of the grief counselors said it’s OK for a grown man to cry. It gives others the validation to feel, because you do.
That’s “grief leadership.”
Now, more than ever, we as a community need to lead. We need to step up and show our children that nothing can stop us from making progress.
Would we have wanted it different? Of course.
Will it stop us from getting better and closer? Never.
356-2466
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