A few weeks before the fifth anniversary of the Columbine High School shootings, Principal Frank DeAngelis settled into his office chair to reflect on how his school has changed over the past five years.
Most of the teachers and administrators who staffed the school before the killings here have left. The building has undergone an internal makeover. New security cameras track the movements of people in the building. And there is a heightened awareness, among everyone, of the potential for violence.
Mr. DeAngelis, the only administrator who remains from five years ago, said he has tried to keep the school focused on the present and the future, not the past. Yet, the principal said, he still struggles with the memories of what happened at the Colorado school on April 20, 1999.
鈥淧eople don鈥檛 realize鈥攖here鈥檚 not a date it will return to normal,鈥 he said. 鈥淚t will never be the same at Columbine High School. I will never be the same.鈥
Much like 鈥9/11"鈥攖he shorthand for the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks against the United States鈥 鈥淐olumbine鈥 carries a chilling meaning that resonates across the country. That meaning runs even deeper here in the 85,000-student Jefferson County, Colo., school district.
But now, with a mostly different set of teachers, and an enrollment made up of students who were not at Columbine High the year of the shootings, the school鈥攁t least on the surface鈥攈as changed in some important ways since two student gunmen shot 24 people, killing 12 students and one teacher, before taking their own lives.
Education Week was allowed to visit the school during its March spring break. School officials said they did not want students present during the visit because they wanted to protect the teenagers from the intense media attention the school has continued to experience.
Internal Makeover
Columbine High School was one of three schools Jefferson County built in the early 1970s for about $9 million each. Mr. DeAngelis, a 49-year-old with short black hair and a weathered expression who has been on the school鈥檚 staff for 25 years, contrasts the building then and now. Initially, it had a very open floor plan, he says. The classrooms had no doors, and the walls could be opened into several rooms.
Then, in 1992, a bond paid for upgrades, and the building was gutted, leaving only the four outside walls, before being redesigned. By the time the renovations were completed in 1995, the school was two sweeping levels with wide hallways and a sea of dark-blue lockers.
In the immediate aftermath of the 1999 shootings, while Columbine students attended nearby Chatfield High School, workers removed the carpets in the main hallways, repaired the bullet- riddled walls, lockers, and classrooms, and moved the library to a trailer on school grounds.
In addition, the school installed a security system that Mr. DeAngelis described as 鈥渟econd to none.鈥 Now, more than 18 security cameras dot the hallways, an automated gate system can seal off sections of the school if an intruder enters, and a computerized identification-card system limits access to the building outside regular school hours.
Although many people also called for metal detectors, student-tracking systems, and security guards, district and school administrators resisted those measures. The officials said they didn鈥檛 want to make the school feel like a prison.
Still, the physical changes to the building didn鈥檛 go far enough for many parents.
In 2000, Healing of People Everywhere, or HOPE, a private, Denver-based organization formed by the families of the students and teachers who were killed or injured at Columbine, raised nearly $3.5 million and ripped up the old library floor, which was above the cafeteria. HOPE then built a vast atrium in that spot, with a mural on the ceiling depicting a swirl of trees underneath a beautiful blue sky.
鈥淭he parents felt [the library] needed to be opened up,鈥 Mr. DeAngelis said. 鈥淚t would have been too difficult for staff and students to go in鈥 the old library again. Ten of the student victims were killed in the library, and that is where the gunmen, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, committed suicide.
HOPE also covered the construction cost of a new 13,900-square-foot library, which opened in April 2001, on the southwest side of the building.
Columbine parents worked with an architect to design the new library, which displays low book stacks, glass-enclosed cubicles for special activities, a 400-gallon salt-water fish tank, and a 鈥渟mart classroom鈥 containing a big-screen plasma TV where students can gather to use videoconferencing technologies or make PowerPoint presentations.
One wall of the library, made up almost entirely of glass, makes the room feel as if it is spilling open beneath the black shadows of the Rocky Mountains in the distance.
Teacher Turnover
In Mr. DeAngelis鈥 office, the eyes in a trim little picture frame seem to stare around the room, following those who enter. The face of the man in the picture is serene, delicately detailed in pastels that highlight his full, appraising expression鈥 a small smile, receding grayish-brown hair, and black-rimmed glasses.
Dave Sanders, the 48-year-old business and computer teacher who died from a gunshot wound in the 1999 shootings, is always on Mr. DeAngelis鈥 mind.
鈥淚 was talking to a staff member [the day it happened],鈥 the principal recalls. 鈥淢y secretary ran in and said that there was gunfire downstairs. As I walked out [of the main office] I saw [one of the students] firing.鈥
Suddenly, Mr. DeAngelis was in a rain of gunfire. The glass windows of the administrative wing shattered behind him and sprayed shards. His secretary, who dived for cover, thought he was dead.
All that saved him from standing there paralyzed by shock, Mr. DeAngelis said, were two girls who were getting ready to walk out into the hall. 鈥淚 stopped them and went to another part of the building,鈥 he said. At the time, he wasn鈥檛 sure why the gunmen didn鈥檛 hunt him down.
But when local police released a huge body of evidence to the public on Feb. 26 of this year, Mr. DeAngelis found out why. Among the piles of paperwork, shotgun shells, and gruesome physical evidence from the shootings, he saw a still video picture taken by one of the school鈥檚 security cameras. It showed Mr. Sanders running up a stairwell. The time stamp on the video picture read 11:26 a.m., just a few minutes after Mr. DeAngelis and the girls ducked out of the main hall to safety.
鈥淒ave distracted their attention,鈥 he says softly. 鈥淚f Dave had not come up the stairs 鈥"
Mr. DeAngelis suggests that memories such as this, in large part, are the reason many staff members eventually chose to leave Columbine behind them.
While nearly 75 percent of the teaching staff returned to the high school for the 1999-2000 school year, fewer than 30 of the 158 faculty members of spring 1999 remain in 2004, representing an 80 percent turnover in five years.
鈥淲e all struggle with why we survived,鈥 said Mr. DeAngelis, who doesn鈥檛 fault anyone for deciding to leave. 鈥淭hey needed change,鈥 he said of the staff members who have left. 鈥淚t was very difficult to walk into this building without thinking鈥 about the shootings.
鈥楻ebuild or Leave鈥
Mental-health experts agree that returning to a school after a traumatic experience there involving violence can be difficult. Who returns and who leaves depends on a variety of factors, including where individuals were in the building when the violence occurred, what they saw, their past experiences, and individual backgrounds.
鈥淭heir sense of safety is shattered,鈥 said Marleen Wong, the director of school crisis and intervention at the National Center for Child Traumatic Stress at the University of California, Los Angeles, and Duke University. She worked at Columbine in the aftermath of the shootings as a mental-health consultant.
According to district officials, because the staff at Columbine was largely a veteran group, many teachers who left simply opted for early retirement. Others moved to other schools in the Jefferson County district, and many of them chose middle schools where they could be close to their own children.
Only a few actually left the state for different teaching jobs, and a just a handful quit the teaching profession, district officials said.
Some teachers, like Lee Andres, still call Columbine home. Mr. Andres, a 41-year-old music teacher and a 1980 Columbine graduate, hid with his class in the school auditorium for 20 minutes during the shootings before leading the teenagers to safety.
He chose to stay at Columbine despite the strain of the experience. 鈥淲hen your house burns down, you can either rebuild or leave,鈥 he said in an interview in March. 鈥淚 decided to rebuild.鈥
He says, however, that the stress was too great for some, such as a colleague who was trapped in a closet while the gunmen wreaked havoc in an area nearby.
For the administrative staff, the upheaval also took a toll. Seven of the eight administrators who were here in 1999 have left the school.
Mark Townsend, the president of the Colorado PTA and a veteran high school teacher, isn鈥檛 surprised at the administrative turnover.
鈥淭he administrators were the ones who had to deal with it,鈥 he said. 鈥淎s a teacher, you have your own little kingdom. Teachers are more insulated. The administrators aren鈥檛. It鈥檚 no surprise that they鈥檙e all gone.鈥
For faculty members who stayed, one change to come from the events five years ago has been improved communication among the staff. For example, a state law passed in 2000, spurred by the Columbine shootings, directs law enforcement to inform schools if any of their students have criminal records.
Before the shootings, information about criminal acts committed by students鈥攕uch as arson, assault, vandalism, and shoplifting鈥攚ere kept confidential to prevent a teacher from labeling a student.
Now, if a student is simply arrested for a crime, the police department automatically notifies the school. The two gunmen had a history of criminal activity.
Teachers, too, are a little more apt to look for red flags, Mr. Andres said. But he maintains that no one labels students, and that Columbine 鈥渋s an average high school, where kids say 鈥榯hank you鈥 and 鈥榩lease.鈥欌
In fact, he said he鈥檚 distressed by what he sees as myths about the school that he believes were generated by the news media, including the idea that bullying jocks, and teachers who looked the other way, contributed to the motivation of the two gunmen. Many news reports quoted students as saying that was the atmosphere at Columbine.
Mr. Andres disputes those claims. 鈥淵ou could count the number of fights [at the school] on one hand鈥攖hen and now,鈥 he said.
鈥楩eelings Are Very Raw鈥
Still, many students and people in the community remain deeply troubled by what happened at the school鈥攁lthough they don鈥檛 like to talk about it, some district officials suggested.
The heavy emphasis on moving on has fostered a subconscious resistance to discussing 鈥渨hat has been learned鈥 from Columbine, said Dexter Meyer, the director of communications for the 6,000- member Jefferson County Education Association and a former district middle school counselor.
Mr. Meyer was not surprised that students now attending the school, as well as Columbine teachers and parents, declined to speak to an Education Week reporter about the school.
The bigger problem, Mr. Meyer said, is that the community silence extends beyond media inquiries. Some district officials acknowledged that an element of denial has made conversations concerning student mental health and educational improvement difficult to engage in.
For example, the district doesn鈥檛 have an elementary school counseling program, an issue some district officials believe should be addressed.
All schools in Jefferson County have formal crisis-response booklets, and principals and staff members are trained in what to do if violent students or intruders enter a school.
But Mr. Meyer argued that the district made some miscalculations that have affected current attitudes. One big one, in his view, was not allowing people at Columbine and throughout the district time to mourn immediately after the shootings.
"[The district] kept schools open in the interest of continuity [for students]鈥 Mr. Meyer said. 鈥淎s a result, we didn鈥檛 spend enough time talking to the staff.鈥
Mr. Meyer said district officials provided additional mental- health personnel, but a formal memorial service wasn鈥檛 held until almost a year after the shootings. Attendance at the memorial was low, he said, and anger about the way the aftermath of the shootings was handled by the district still ripples through the community.
鈥淔eelings are very raw,鈥 he said. 鈥淎lmost everybody knew somebody who had taught in that school, 鈥 [so] even the new staff are very sensitive.鈥
Although school officials deny that a 鈥済ag order鈥 exists on discussing the shootings鈥攁s one former student has alleged in an interview with Education Week鈥擬r. Meyer suggested that there is an informal consensus not to discuss the events.
For instance, the school district issued a teacher guide in the fall of 2002 concerning the Showtime release of 鈥淏ang!Bang! You鈥檙e Dead!,鈥 a TV production of a play about Columbine-like violence. (鈥淎cting on Impulse,鈥 March 13, 2002.)
The cable channel also sent counselors to the school to discuss an advance screening of the show. But only four staff members, most of them mental-health professionals, and the principal attended.
鈥淚t鈥檚 the desire to put it behind them,鈥 Mr. Meyer said. 鈥淭here鈥檚 a resistance by teachers to talk about it. They just don鈥檛 want to.鈥
Enrollment Drops
Today, Columbine High School, along with many other schools in Jefferson County, is experiencing a decline in its enrollment and is struggling to maintain many electives and extracurricular programs and some full-time members of the teaching staff.
The school, which once enrolled more than 2,000 students, has a projected 2004-05 enrollment of 1,680, and those figures are expected to continue to drop.
School leaders say the declining enrollment has nothing to do with the shootings. They say the area鈥攁n established, affluent suburb of Denver鈥攈as simply reached its maximum building capacity and is no longer a starter community for young families.
But the struggle for normality at the school and within the community has left many people wondering if the declining enrollment is a result of the shootings.
As lawsuit after lawsuit was filed in the wake of the incident, and the desire to assign blame grew stronger, dissension spread across the community.
Much of the blame was directed at the Jefferson County Sheriff鈥檚 Office, which was faced with 15 lawsuits. All were dismissed, with the exception of the action filed by Dave Sanders鈥 family, which argued that the teacher might have survived had the police department allowed paramedics to enter the building sooner. The family settled for $1 million.
Other families also eventually settled with the sheriff鈥檚 department for between $15,000 and $25,000 each.
Law-enforcement tactics have now changed. The 鈥渟urround and wait鈥 police tactics that were used at Columbine are now a thing of the past, said Stephen W. Wahlberg, a lawyer in Englewood, Colo., who represented injured students and their families.
鈥淪WAT teams will now go in [to schools] instead of screwing around,鈥 he said. 鈥淭he notion that gunmen will have free range to go through shooting people is over.鈥
But the heightened awareness about the potential for violence has also led to an atmosphere of overreaction, Mr. Wahlberg said.
鈥淎 kid got expelled two years ago at an elementary school [in a nearby county] for threatening to beat someone up,鈥 he said. 鈥淭hat wouldn鈥檛 have happened pre- Columbine.鈥 Now, he said, 鈥渋t鈥檚 like a one strike and you鈥檙e out at Columbine and other schools in Colorado.鈥
鈥淚鈥檓 not discounting that threats can be bad and lead to violence,鈥 Mr. Wahlberg continued, 鈥渂ut when you鈥檙e dealing with 5th and 6th graders?鈥
Divided PTA
Over the past five years, the school community has been divided by more than legal opinion.
The Colorado PTA found itself caught up in an angry tide of parents and community leaders associated with Columbine High School, who argued with each other over everything from how to run the school鈥檚 booster club to plans for fund- raisers. 鈥淵ou name it, they fought about,鈥 said Mr. Townsend, the current state PTA president.
鈥淚t鈥檚 been an interesting transition,鈥 he continued. 鈥淭he culture [of the Columbine PTA] developed into, at first, one of: 鈥極h, dear God. What are we gonna do? What will happen?鈥 A large number of people wanted to assign responsibility.鈥
As the months passed and questions remained unanswered, parents began to disagree. When a new class of freshmen entered Columbine in fall 1999, an adversarial culture developed among the school鈥檚 parents, Mr. Townsend said. The parents of senior students, whose families had been at the center of the crisis, discounted the viewpoints of the newcomers, and communications broke down.
The atmosphere deteriorated so much that the state PTA, in an unprecedented move, stepped in and took over the day-to-day operations of the Columbine PTA.
State PTA officers, with the aid of Principal DeAngelis, worked to revive the lines of communication and stabilize operations. Finally, during the 2001-02 school year, operations grew less strained, and state PTA officials returned control to local officials.
鈥楢 Place to Go鈥
For Frank DeAngelis, the decision to stay at Columbine was not an easy one. Over the past five years, he has witnessed the struggle鈥攂oth among students and his colleagues鈥攖o move on.
He recalled last month, with vivid detail, an incident when he and the Columbine students were still at Chatfield High School. Some balloons that were curved to form a decorative archway inside the building suddenly popped, and several students ducked for cover.
Like some teachers who have remained at the school, the principal said he still feels troubled sometimes when he walks down the hall, and he tries not to flinch at the sound of police sirens.
But since that day in 1999, he said, time has helped heal emotional wounds.
鈥淐olumbine served as a wake-up call for the nation,鈥 he said. 鈥淭he biggest thing that needs to be done nationwide is making sure that kids have a place to go鈥 to express themselves and seek help.
