Word: friendly
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...they called for anyone who could come and help get them out. Some could hear sounds of laughing in the hallways, as the shooters prowled through the smoke. They heard the jeering. "Oh, you f__ing nerd. Tonight's a good night to die." Senior Nick Foss and a friend ducked into a bathroom, punched through a ceiling panel and shimmied along the ventilation shaft. Suddenly one of the vents broke, and Foss fell 15 ft. down onto a table in the teachers' lounge. Somehow uninjured, he picked himself up and sprinted out a door to freedom as the shooting...
...table! Kids, stay on the floor! Oh, God. Oh, God--kids, just stay down!" At first, Craig Scott thought it was all a prank, maybe the teacher was in on it. But the noise was real, and the fear was real, and he ducked under a table with his friend Matt Kechter and one of Columbine's few black students, a senior named Isaiah Shoels. And they heard the gunmen come...
...laughing, excited. "Who's next?" they said, "Who's ready to die?" The two moved through the room, calling out: "All the jocks stand up. We're going to kill every one of you." Seth Houy had come to the library to hang out with his sister and a friend; they ducked under a table and he lay on top of them so he would be the one to be hit. "Honestly, I think that God made us invisible," he told the Denver Post. "We prayed the hardest we'd ever prayed, and God put an invisible shield around...
...live on a farm and own four long guns. I learned to shoot when I was 10 years old, under the tutelage of the N.R.A. It was not a flawless education: when I was 13, I nearly blew a friend's head off, by accident, with his father's .38 revolver. (I was lucky enough to be permitted to learn a lesson the hard way; my friend was plain lucky.) I find that I sympathize with both the gun culture and the anti-gun culture. I do wish the gun culture were a lot more intelligent...
...always been tough to picture him as a murderer, this tiny boy with the bright, quick smile and dimples the size of gumdrops. As he romps across the floor of his home on Chicago's South Side, he looks like one of Barney's little friends. Too early, though, this nine-year-old fully understands that when you're poor and black and accused, real friends can't be found in a purple dinosaur or anywhere else in TV land. Indeed, for the past year his best friend has been the stately gentleman sitting quietly in the living room wearing...