Most attend service to find, offer solace from tragedy that stole community's innocence

By Bartholomew Sullivan
Denver Rocky Mountain News Staff Writer

Seven-year-old Veronica Underwood dropped a purple-and-white carnation at the foot of the 5-foot-high snow angel Sunday , then prayed "for all the people who died and all the people who were scared."

The Lakewood girl and her parents, her cousin Kayla, and her grandmother joined tens of thousands at muddy Clement Park, which by virtue of tears and prayers has become hallowed ground.

Most who had come to hear the official memorial at Bowles Crossing also made an emotional pilgrimage past the snow angel with its cardboard wings, then on to the beauty of a huge, radiant national shrine to end school violence. Most carried flowers.

"We just wanted to feel connected with the people out here," said Veronica's grandmother, Barbara Meinke, 47, of Arvada. "Maybe some of us can get a clue. Being here makes it more real and more obvious what has to be done."

Pat Belisle, 34, of Charlottesville, Va., cashed in frequent flier miles so he could come to Colorado to hold a private vigil Saturday night in an open-air concrete pavilion at Robert F. Clement Park.

"I felt like I had to be here to add some positive, loving energy to the whole scene," he said.

Jane Haka, 35, of Sycamore, Ill., had already planned a trip to Colorado to visit John Tallitsch, 40, of Louisville. They decided to spend their Sunday listening to Vice President Al Gore speak at the memorial service and pondering the meaning of the Columbine tragedy.

As they stood against the steel barricades separating the park from the high school campus, they said the vast crowd gave them encouragement.

"I think everyone here wants it to stop," Haka said. "If this doesn't work," she added, with a sweeping gesture, "then there's really no hope.

"It's time to pay attention. Not just parents. Grandparents. You've got to nurture your children. Stop, and pay attention."

The messages at Clement Park were overwhelming. Amy DeLuzio, 20, of Westminster was touched by the Bible on the dashboard of victim John Tomlin's olive-drab Chevy pickup. The truck was festooned with messages, prayers -- even a $1.69 packet of columbine seeds.

Messages from schools throughout the country were taped or tacked amid the thousands of bouquets. One hand-painted card said simply, "I am so sorry."

At the end of the memorial ceremony, Vicki Owens, 38, saw four fighter planes shriek over Columbine High. When one separated and soared off alone, orange flame trailing, she fell into Suzanne Bowman's arms and cried.

Owens is a manager of the trauma intensive-care unit at Denver Health Medical Center. She had been dealing with wounded students all week. The airplane maneuver "just tugged at my heart," she said. "It just makes your whole being collapse."

When Coco Burget, 41, of Littleton, questioned the need for Michael Corey, 39, to parade with a placard denouncing the National Rifle Association amid Sunday's mourners, heads turned, and the solemnity was -- for a moment -- broken.

That's when a 16-year-old from Brighton struck up an impromptu hymn based on lines from John 3:16 ("For God so loved the world..."). A dozen others joined him and within a few minutes, 300 people were singing Amazing Grace. The debate over gun control had ended.

Many parents and some students Sunday expressed fear for the future of America's schools. Sherri Carr, 35, who has two teen-age daughters at Dakota Ridge High, said she and her children "are scared to death."

"It's hard for me to say they have to go to school when, as a mother, I'm afraid to send them," Carr said.

Marc Malezija, 17, of Heritage High, said his mother had told him to stay home from school today. "I'd never thought about being afraid to go to school before," he said.

Many who heard the vice president speak agreed with his admonition to take a more active interest in children's lives. But some questioned the reason he was even present, and others said they resented the high security afforded a politician amid the grieving.

Columbine freshman Don Arnold, wearing a Columbine wrestling T-shirt, said he didn't care about Gore, but he could not abide the remarks of the speaker, he didn't remember which one, who had exhorted the crowd to forgive shooters Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.

"He also said 'Love is stronger than death,' but I don't know what that means," Arnold said.

For Wayne Ramirez, 28, of Englewood, the speech making was too much, and he retreated to the relative peace and quiet of the makeshift memorials. He said he can't turn on the radio without bursting into tears.

"I get emotional just driving down the street," he said. "My wife's at home crying just watching it on TV."

Some hid behind dark sunglasses on a cloudy day to talk about how they explain the horror to young children.

"God needed angels," said Constance Acosta, 43. "That's what I'm telling my kids."