Taking Back the School

By Richard Woodbury/Littleton

Steve Maples and his church youth group from Springfield, Mo., traipsed across the wet lawn of Columbine High School one evening last week. They peered into windows, stroking the metal siding and running their hands along the taupe brick walls. "Seeing the school puts a realization that it really happened," said Maples. "When I looked into the cafeteria, I could see the pain that those kids must have gone through."

Maples and his two vanloads of kids were hardly alone. Since the April 20 massacre, sightseers and sympathizers have streamed to the Denver suburb of Littleton, turning Columbine into a tourist attraction. The attention will only increase this week as the school prepares to open on Monday for the fall semester. Last week the press was finally allowed to tour the interior, repaired for $1.2 million. Says principal Frank DeAngelis: "The kids wanted a promise that they would be able to return. Now we are ready to take back the school."

Judging from tourist reaction, many may be shaken. "It never seemed real, even on TV," says Jordan Brown, 13, of Bakersfield, Calif., prowling the building's exterior crannies with her mother. The Browns used to live in the Littleton area, and Jordan's brother Garrett, 17, who had friends at Columbine, was too upset to make the visit. "I thought the school was much bigger," says Greg Owens, 36, a Chicagoan who routed himself here after taking in Pikes Peak and Colorado sites. "But it sure touched me. For two teenagers to have done something like that--wow."

Because the school has been off limits to all but official workers, the curious have had to be content with snapping pictures at the front entrance and taking in the makeshift memorial of flowers, teddy bears and keepsakes that for a time overflowed Robert F. Clement Park, adjacent to the school. Even Columbine's 1,978 students have been kept away from the complex as an army of construction workers rushed to repair damage, install security devices and make other changes that school officials hope will be comforting for parents and students.

Those arriving on opening day will find Columbine scoured of any remnants of the shootings. Bloody carpets have been replaced by an acre of vinyl tiles, some designed by students. Bullet holes have been caulked and patched, and on the cafeteria walls, bomb stains have been scrubbed and covered over with beige paint. The skylight punctured by flying shrapnel has been replaced. The outdoor stairway around which two students died and five were injured has been rebuilt, widened and landscaped with terraces. As for the library, the scene of most of the carnage, it no longer officially exists. Workmen gutted the area and then sealed the entryway with a wall and two rows of blue lockers. For the moment, until parents and school officials decide what to do, books and tables have been moved into four modular rooms alongside the school.

Among the new security measures, 16 color TV cameras have been installed to monitor activities indoors and out. Students will be issued identification badges, and access to locked entryways will be restricted to holders of electronic cards. A third uniformed guard will join a roving patrol that includes an armed Jefferson County deputy sheriff. Mental-health counselors and nurses will be on hand if needed. There will also be a designated "safe room" for those overcome by emotion. Jackson Katz, a California-based authority on male violence, is being brought in to lecture coaches and activities directors about tolerance and leadership and the excesses of the jock culture that allegedly helped trigger the rampage of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. School officials are concerned about the need to build a better climate of tolerance among all students.

Still, the mother of a victim, angry that security proposals are too lax, stormed out of a planning meeting. No one is certain how many students may not show up for school opening. Also unknown is the eventual fate of Harris' locker, No. 624, and Klebold's, No. 837. For the time being, they will remain locked and unused.

"The building is cold. No voices get in or get out. You can't hear anything," says tourist Joseph Lyman, gazing up at Columbine's brick facade and sealed windows. Lyman, a teacher from Viroqua, Wis., came by last week after attending an education conference in Boulder. He adds, "The town is so clean-cut and sterile. Did anyone ever wonder about the dark side? There are so many things you have to be out of touch with before something like this can happen." Lyman asks, "When do you notice? When it gets to your town?"

--With reporting by Maureen Harrington/Littleton

With reporting by Maureen Harrington/Littleton