Newtown: An American Tragedy (21 page)

The Newtown police, still struggling with their own internal trauma from what many of them had witnessed that day, were now in a constant rotation of being dispatched to remove reporters from areas of private property that were being overrun by news crews. The small shops in the Sandy Hook center were particularly affected by this crush of media. For many businesses, the ten days before Christmas were the most important time of the year, possibly making the financial difference between economic life and death, but the stagnant traffic of Church Hill Road kept business away.

Those who waited in the traffic jam to shop in Newtown soon found that all the parking spots had been overtaken by media and curious well-wishers. Inside the hair salons, liquor store, toy store, and antiques shop, merchants waited for customers, but every time the door opened it was another reporter. One local resident’s fence was broken by a news truck that just drove on. Some crews left garbage piled near the overflowing trash cans.

The local weekly paper the
Newtown Bee
had seen enough. Since Friday morning, the small-town paper with its deep community roots and wealth of local sources made the decision to abandon the more conventional journalistic mission of bringing the facts of
the story to its readership, and instead set its sights on helping the town heal.

On December 17, the
Bee
posted an open plea to fellow journalists on its Facebook page: “On behalf of the entire staff of
The Bee
—we are imploring ALL our colleagues and journalists to PLEASE STAY AWAY FROM THE VICTIMS. We acknowledge it is your right to try and make contact, but we beg you to do what is right and let them grieve and ready their funeral plans in peace.”

The post quickly went viral.

Local politicians had also gotten into the act, encouraging the media to leave town. “The story is over. The families are burying their loved ones. Please leave our towns,” said State Representative DebraLee Hovey during a capital memorial service.

However, the public’s appetite for more information in the wake of the biggest story of the year would prove too much to resist as reporters from all around the world continued to flock to Newtown. The media had also descended on Stamford, Connecticut, where Peter Lanza lived. On Saturday he issued a statement sending his condolences to the families of victims: “Our family is grieving along with all those who have been affected by this enormous tragedy. No words can truly express how heartbroken we are. We are in a state of disbelief and trying to find whatever answers we can.”

The media also swooped into the small town of Kingston, New Hampshire, where Adam Lanza was born and where Nancy Lanza had also been born and was raised. Her family released a statement expressing shock and sadness at the tragedy: “On behalf of Nancy’s mother and siblings we reach out to the community of Newtown
and express our heartfelt sorrow for the incomprehensible and profound loss of innocence that has affected so many.”

With the national media spotlight shining on Newtown, sick pranksters saw an opportunity to send shock waves through the grieving community. Dozens of death threats were being called in to the police stations and churches where mourners were seeking solace.

On Sunday night at the rehearsal for the Newtown Christmas pageant that was supposed to memorialize Olivia Engel, a collective gasp went through the packed church when Monsignor Robert Weiss took to the lectern to announce that he needed to evacuate the church.

“We have just been threatened,” Father Weiss told the shocked parishioners. “Mass has ended.”

Along with those gathered to practice for the pageant, more than four hundred already shattered mourners were forced to evacuate to a nearby chapel because of the depraved caller. Most managed to stay calm during the five-minute evacuation, but some children began crying and asking for comfort and reassurance from their shaken moms and dads.

“Who would do such a thing? It was a real breaking point for me,” Weiss recalled.

That was only the beginning of a week of death threats that plagued the small town. Earlier that morning authorities warned that people posing as killer Adam Lanza were posting threatening messages on Facebook and Twitter. Lieutenant Paul Vance of the Connecticut State Police also warned that they “will crack down hard on any jokers who add to Newtown’s misery” and were actively
searching for the person whose death threats forced the evacuation of a local Catholic church Sunday in the middle of a noontime Mass. “It’s not funny. It’s not a joke. It’s not acceptable for anyone to make any kind of inner threat or statement relative to the security. It’s just sick and it won’t be tolerated,” said an emotional Vance.

The town was on high alert, looking at any out-of-place box or outsider with suspicion. Reports of a man dressed in black carrying a gun in the nearby town of Ridgefield sparked a police mobilization—and sent chills down the spines of many in Newtown.

“The gun turned out to be an umbrella,” said Captain Tom Comstock of the Ridgefield police. “A lot of people are on edge, just because of Friday.”

In Newtown, it appeared that the families wouldn’t even be able to bury their loved ones in peace.

C
olorful holiday decorations of red and green had disappeared and been replaced by somber black bunting. One by one by one by one, hearses crisscrossed the narrow streets of Newtown and its neighboring communities in a seemingly never-ending series of funeral processions.

The first two funerals happened on Monday. Two students who sat three desks apart in Lauren Rousseau’s class, Noah Pozner and Jack Pinto, were laid to rest within hours of each other. It would become an all too familiar routine that stretched out over the next six days.

As little Noah Pozner was buried, security was tight. Death
threats were coming from all around. Law enforcement didn’t believe any were credible but weren’t about to take any chances. A total of thirty local police officers along with several additional cops from the Connecticut State Police were assigned to the service to look for anything out of the ordinary. Nearby parking lots, the grounds, and even the flowers sent to the home were carefully checked and double-checked by local law enforcement for irregularities.

Inside the Abraham L. Green and Son Funeral Home in Fairfield, Connecticut, all eyes were on Veronique Pozner, whose beautiful eulogy to the overflowing crowd celebrating her six-year-old son Noah’s imprint on the world moved many to tears.

“It’s a sad, sad day, and it’s also your day, Noah, my little man,” she said.

I will miss your forceful and purposeful little steps stomping through our house. I will miss your perpetual smile. The twinkle in your dark blue eyes framed by eyelashes that would be the envy of any lady in this room. Most of all, I will miss your visions of your future. You wanted to be a doctor, a soldier, and a taco factory manager. It was your favorite food and no doubt you wanted to ensure that the world kept producing tacos.

You are a little boy whose life force had all the gravitational pull of a celestial body. You are light, and love, mischief, and pranks. You adored your family with every fiber of your six-year-old being. We are all of us elevated in our humanity by having known you.

Our little maverick, who didn’t always want to do his
homework or clean up his toys but practicing his ninja moves or Super Mario on the Wii seemed far more important.

Noah, you will not pass through this way again. I can only believe that you were planted on earth to bloom in heaven.

B
ack in Newtown dozens of families who could not fit into the Honan Funeral Home stood outside in the cold and rain, waiting to pay their respects to six-year-old Jack Pinto. The brown-haired first-grader was laid to rest adorned in the number 80 jersey of his favorite player on the New York Giants, Victor Cruz. A small handwritten note was left beside the casket by his playmate John:

You are my best friend. We had fun together. I will miss you. I will talk to you in my prayers. I love you, Jack. Love, John.

Among the personal items tucked inside the coffin to travel with Jack to his final resting place were a small brown wooden cross, a plush blue shark, and a ceramic statue of an angel. Jack’s parents, Dean and Tricia Pinto, and both sets of grandparents choked back tears as clergy said prayers. Before leaving for the burial, his weeping parents, with tears streaming down their cheeks, took turns kissing their slain son’s forehead.

On Tuesday there were four more funerals, as families said goodbye to three students from Lauren Rousseau’s class: James Mattioli, Jessica Rekos, and Madeline Hsu, along with Victoria Soto’s student Avielle Richman.

Inside the St. Rose of Lima church, James Mattioli’s mother, Cindy, tearfully spoke in front of the five hundred mourners:

. . . I loved watching you, Dad, and Anna watch
America’s Funniest Home Videos
and laugh hysterically. I love that you loved school so much. You were a great swimmer, never tiring of the water and I was so proud of you. I love that you loved hamburgers. I do, too.

Thank you for being your dad’s little helper, thank you for being Anna’s best playmate and confidant. Thank you for letting me always curl on the couch with you and have a chat before bed about what we did today and what tomorrow would hold.

Thank you for lighting up the world with your smile. James, I want you to know we love you. We love you all.

T
he Mattioli funeral was immediately followed by the service for his six-year-old classmate Jessica Rekos inside the same Newtown church. As one set of grief-stricken mourners rapidly filed out, the
next group arrived. Jessica, who loved horses, was promised her own pony on her tenth birthday. It was a dream that would forever be unfulfilled. Much like her Christmas presents that would never be opened.

“She wanted cowgirl boots—real cowgirl boots, not ones from Target,” her mother, Krista, told the countless sets of people with misty eyes who had come to pay their respects.

And she wanted a cowgirl hat, and it had to be black. Santa was going to bring those things next week.

She was a great big sister. She was teaching Travis how to read . . . when her life was cut short. She was beyond excited when I had Shane in April. She begged for any chance to hold, feed, and play with her baby brother.

A
way from the glare of the national spotlight, two private services took place that day. Avielle Richman, known to her family as Avie, was a student in Victoria Soto’s class and was also remembered for her love of horses, the Harry Potter books, and the color red. The parents of Madeleine Hsu, a member of Lauren Rousseau’s class, said their slain little girl stood out for the affection she had for her two sisters, five-year-old Hannah and eight-year-old Rebecca.

Both were laid to rest at the Lakeview Cemetery in Bridgeport.

Six more services took place on Wednesday—four more students from Lauren Rousseau’s class: Daniel Barden, Caroline Previdi, Charlotte Bacon, and Chase Kowalski, as well as the funerals for teacher Victoria Soto and principal Dawn Hochsprung.

Victoria Leigh Soto was laid to rest in a wooden casket covered with white flowers, and to the strains of “The Sounds of Silence” inside the Lordship Community Church in Stratford, Connecticut. Midway through the funeral, singer Paul Simon, who knew the Soto family through his sister-in-law, picked up his acoustic guitar and began to sing the twenty-seven-year-old teacher’s favorite song without introduction, as her three siblings, Jillian, Carlee, and brother Carlos, wept. When Simon finished, there was no applause, just a reverent silence.

Mourners spoke of her bravery in trying to protect her students until her last moment of life.

Her sister Jillian shared a letter she had recently received that provided her with comfort:

Somebody wrote me a letter about the recent tragedy that I would like to share with you: In it, it said they had to sit down with three small children, explaining to them that monsters sadly do exist out there. But they felt relief that because of my sister, they were able to tell them that superheroes also are very real.

Jillian looked down at her sister.

You are my superhero.

B
ack in Newtown, little Daniel Barden was given a firefighter’s farewell. Hundreds of fire officials lined the street in a silent show of support, saluting Daniel’s coffin. Bagpipers played as the funeral procession approached the St. Rose of Lima Roman Catholic Church from the town’s main intersection. Many of the smoke eaters wore green and white ribbons, the Sandy Hook Elementary School colors, in solidarity with the victims.