A Stones Throw: Day 2 After

It’s late. As the second day draws to a close, and the seconds slip silently away in the night, I’m taking a moment to reflect on my day. I’m fortunate in that I live out in the country, farther away from the tragedy that is draped over Uvalde like a heavy, black tablecloth. But I find I can’t stay away from Uvalde even if the sorrow is suffocating. 

So I got up as usual today and drove into town to work at the Library. I could readily see that the news reporters, if possible, finally seem to be outnumbering the law enforcement, and maybe even all the politicians and celebrities. I passed by the plaza, which is located on the northside of downtown and is always beautiful in the early light.  Today, though, there were newly planted 21 white crosses encircling the fountain.  Evidently, makeshift shrines of 21 crosses are springing up throughout town adorned with flowers, stuffed animals, and balloons. Different news stations have their preferences I later noticed. ABC News with David Muir preferred the Robb Elementary shrine, but Meghan Markle (yes!) paid her respects to the one at the downtown plaza.  But it was the ambulances, fire trucks, hearses, and personal vehicles gathered around Rushing-Estes-Knowles Mortuary on the southside that sent the chills down my spine.  It was especially painful to glance that direction. That’s where the REAL heartache lies. 

Once at the El Progreso Memorial Library, where I write grants, I was greeted by the overwhelming gracious offers of help.  Everyone wants to help in every way possible, to give … books, children’s books, books on grieving, money, offers to raise money, on their way with money …. the list is long.  Our Library Director, Mendell Morgan, rushed to create an account for the incoming donations.  “Los Angelitos Robb Memorial Fund” — Little Angels.  It will fund summer activities, programs, performances (music, magic shows) and buy books for our children to help them heal and recover their childhood sense of wonder.  

Our time was mostly spent fielding calls and helping news reporters (NBC, Insider Edition, CNN). They were coming in and grabbing staff for interviews, information, town history or using our WiFi. One station was from Monterrey, Mexico.  They stayed all day. Ironically, the violence of a small Southwest Texas town surpassed the violence across the Rio Grande. It felt for a moment as if even the cartels were in shock at our loss. Surely, I am being naive.  I shake off the thought, but I do know that families in Uvalde have many relatives still in Mexico.  They are hurting too.  

Leti, our Library clerk of 42 years (the dedicated staff here have many, many years of service), is a beacon of info.  She knows everyone, and her phone dings constantly with updates from family and friends.  I found staff huddled around her before noon, speaking in hushed Spanish tones. Joe Garcia, the husband of Miss Irma, one of the fourth-grade teachers who died shielding her students Tuesday, was admitted to ER with chest pains.  Minutes later Leti’s phone rang again. Her voice broke as she informed us Joe had passed … we were shocked.  Heartbroken.  It was as if the world tilted a few more harrowing degrees. Our thoughts were immediately for the Garcia’s four children, ages 23 to 13.  Collateral damage. An entire family torn apart by evil in a mere 48 hours.  

And then before we could catch our breaths, a ding on Leti’s phone.  It was a video of the 60 minutes of terror at Robb on May 24th where parents demanded the police go in and stop the gunman.  At the very least let them — the moms and dads — go in and get their kids. The police argued the parents would be hurt, but one mother shouted that she didn’t care what happened to her, she had to save her baby. A father can be heard pleading, “But they are just little children.  They don’t know how to protect themselves from the bullets.”  But the police pushed them back, pepper-sprayed some of them, even temporarily handcuffed a few … and well, we know what happened after.  

We know because Leti got another video texted to her.  Again, we clustered around her to listen as a young boy tells his incredible story to a reporter.  His voice is strong and bold as he explains that he and three of his classmates hid under a table covered with a heavy, black tablecloth.  They saw their teachers and classmates go down, shot by shot.  The boy recognized the cops outside — he could see their pants through a crack in the door — and heard them say, “Yell ‘help’ if you need help!” One young girl in his class did — it was the last thing she ever said. 

We were stunned: Joe’s sudden death. Law enforcements refusal to rush the shooter. The parents’ desperate attempts to save their children. The boy witnessing the carnage (“The cops came into the room and couldn’t believe all the bodies and blood.”), the little girl killed when she cried for help….

The world has tilted until it’s upside down. And as we try to right it again, we are now the “go-to” for the gun control proponents.  “We don’t want another Uvalde to happen” the politician stated when I glanced at MSNBC this afternoon.  To them I say, no, we are not defined by this! Uvalde is NOT the byword for a massacre! Not a word to grab the attention of your listeners and viewers! We are much more than that! 

Sick to my stomach and angry, I shut down my computer and left for home.   But as I drove by the plaza, the crosses called to me.  I had to stop.  As I walked among the crowd, mourners and reporters, the photographer in me began to take pictures of the scene.  There was a peacefulness surrounding us as we came together to pay our respects.  You could tell the strangers to our town felt it too.  I found myself next to a Crisis Relief team, an Anglo man and woman, who had a big friendly rescue dog, a Rottweiler, with them.  We stood in the cool shade under the large pecan trees and watched families — yes, moms and dads with their children (big and little) — walking up with flowers in their hands. Many knelt and wrote heartfelt sentiments on the white crosses, which had pens dangling on strings for such. 

The Crisis Relief team politely asked if I was from here.  “Born and raised,” I said proudly.  “I’ve been coming to the plaza since I was a little kid.  We have always gathered here as a community.  It is our place, designed this way from the very beginning.”  I then tell them the story of Hurricane Celia.  How the hurricane came inland in the 70’s and caught the birds unaware in the pecan trees over us.  “There were dead birds laying everywhere on the ground.  It was so sad.”  But not this sad, I thought to myself, looking at the crosses.  

The man cleared his throat, commented how dry it was.  Was it always this dry? I glanced at the fountain, droplets sparkling in the late sunshine, and explained that Uvalde was located between the plains, which are wetter, and the desert, but these days the desert was winning.  It’s encroaching – every year the droughts get worse.  And then I told them how the Hispanic culture believes that when it rains after a funeral, they know the loved one has made it home.  That is why everyone in Uvalde rejoiced when the storms struck the night of the tragedy and gave relief to the drought.  

“That is beautiful,” the woman said when I finished.  

I nodded and pointed at the white crosses, all 21, reflecting in the dark green waters of the plaza pool. I don’t know why I felt the need to explain this to this couple, but I did. “This is a Hispanic community.  The families will grieve deeply.  It will be loud and painful, but it will be real.  They won’t run from the pain. They will embrace it.  And they will heal from it.  Be stronger because they accept it.”  I paused as the words sank in, the sorrow.  The lady nodded. 

“But, “I began again, “they will never forget.  They will remember their loved ones on every anniversary, every special occasion, every celebration.  Forever.  They will never forget.  Uvalde will never forget.”

We stood silently together for a bit. I wished them well, and they thanked me for my time and offered a prayer.  Then I left.  Got in my hot car and headed out of Uvalde.  But my thoughts couldn’t let go of the day, and I mused to myself about Uvalde.  About how the world sees us now. They think they define us. That they will use us for their purposes.  But Uvalde is much more than that.  Bigger.  We’ve been here a long, long time. We’re a rich blend of cultures, nestled between the clear-flowing Nueces and Frio rivers, embraced by hills, brush country, ranches, and farmland.  WE KNOW WHO WE ARE. We will survive this.  

We are #UvaldeStrong.

  Irene Stone (the K stands for Karolyn) was born and raised in Uvalde.  Her parents were Herman “Bubba” and Karolyn Carlisle.  Her dad’s family ran Carlisle and Carlisle Construction, and her mother’s father, Cecil Reagan, owned the Reagan Ranch in Knippa.  In 1978, Irene graduated from Uvalde High School and went off to WTSU in Canyon, Texas, where she met her husband, Steve. Three children and twelve years later, Irene graduated from UTSA in 1990 with a BA in English and a teaching degree. 

  Steve and Irene moved to Bandera in 1991, where Irene taught English at Bandera High School until she transitioned into the world of nonprofit in 1995 by serving as the Executive Assistant to the CEO at Medina Children’s Home.  She worked in municipal government and public utilities as the Executive Assistant to the Kerrville City Manager and the General Manager/CEO of Kerrville Public Utilities Board.  In 2010, Irene moved into management by becoming the Executive Director of the Arthur Nagel Community Clinic in Bandera, a free community clinic.  Under her leadership, the clinic was awarded the Chamber of Commerce Business of the Year in 2012 and the RiskBusters Program received the Texas Rural Health Association 2012 Award for Outstanding Program. In 2014, Irene became Vice President of Development at the clinic, and then later Grant Manager and Data Administrator at Hill Country Daily Bread Ministries in Boerne, where she specialized in fundraising, donor development, and grant writing. She is also a licensed real estate agent.

  In September 2017, Stone returned to her Uvalde roots to help her husband with the family ranch, which is near Sabinal. After 28 years in nonprofit, Irene helps local nonprofits through Stone Nonprofit Consulting while Steve manages their real estate company, Stone Land & Cattle Co.  Irene’s current job, after a stint as the Executive Assistant to the President and CEO at First State Bank of Uvalde, is part-time grant writer for the El Progreso Memorial Library.  A firm believer in community involvement, Irene served on various Nonprofit Boards in Bandera and was nominated for Bandera Citizen of the Year twice.  Currently, she is past President and Secretary/Treasurer of the Sabinal Chamber of Commerce and manages her Facebook page, Surprisingly Sabinal. 

  Marking their 43rd Anniversary this year, Steve and Irene have a daughter, Somer, a lawyer, who is married to Randy Adkins – they are parents of her granddaughter, River, who is six years old.  Irene also has twin sons Matthew, a retired career Navy man, and Tye, a local musician and guitar instructor, who is married to Leeza Henderson – they are expecting their first child, a boy, on September 1. The Stone’s attend the Getty Street Church of Christ in Uvalde and recently built a new home, Stone Ridge, on the family ranch.