AP was present: shock, then terror in the face of Columbine's attack

LITTLETON, Colorado – On April 20, 1999, two teenagers dressed in black trench coats were murdered at Columbine High School, a suburb of Denver. They shot dead 12 classmates and a teacher, and wounded two dozen before committing suicide.

Twenty years later, the Associated Press is republishing this article on the attack, produced by more than a dozen AP reporters who conducted interviews in the hours that followed. The article first appeared on April 22, 1999.

___

A moment of surprise, then hours of terror

By TED ANTHONY

AP national writer

LITTLETON, Colorado – Her favorite meal for lunch was ready – "my only meal," jokes Sarah DeBoer. Then, with nachos in her hand, she headed for the common area of ​​the Columbine High School cafeteria.

It was a sunny Tuesday morning, maybe 60 degrees, only 17 days of school before graduation, and a spring mentality was announced – one that says that summer is on the horizon.

Outside, two disgruntled young men knew what their classmates did not know. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris had the final phase in mind.

DeBoer, who knew the pair by the way, spoke to them on Friday. True, they liked talking about guns, revenge and Adolf Hitler. But they seemed – for them, at least – well.

On the upper floor of the school library, four dozen students were studying their way through the lunch period.

Down the hall, Dave Sanders, an instructor and popular coach, was teaching a science class. Stephanie Williams, 16, was singing in the concert hall.

Then, around 11:15, a sound coming from the outside: pop-pop-pop-BANG.

In the cafeteria, they thought it was a joke for lunch. Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

Sarah DeBoer, a 16-year-old sophomore, arrived with her lunch companions. As the realization overwhelmed her, she said one thing. Whether it is aloud or just for herself, she does not remember it very well.

"I think I'm going to die."

___

In moments of chaos and hours of confusion, memories can blur. But, through a myriad of interviews and briefings, an intelligible, albeit still imprecise, portrait of what has unfolded behind the pale brown walls of a suburban school is emerging.

Just after lunch, two young men in black trench open fire on the parking lot. Senior Frank Wade, 18, outside the parking lot, next to a picnic area, hears popping noises and sees a girl lying against a sidewalk, a bullet in her leg. As he looks, another youngster is hit by a bullet in the back and falls forward.

Then an armed man throws a bomb into the parking lot and heads inland.

"He walked casually, he was in no hurry," Frank said.

Sophomore Denny Rowe, 15, is having lunch with friends. "These guys opened fire on everything that looked human," says Rowe. The balls are bouncing everywhere.

"A boy ran and suddenly his ankle swelled with blood," said Don Arnold, a 16-year-old teenager. "A girl was running and her head was open."

As armed men enter the school, two students died dead. Still being filmed, both go to the cafeteria, where waiter Karen Nielsen hears someone screaming: "Get off!"

Klebold, 17, and Harris, 18, are heavily armed – an assault rifle, sawed-off shotguns, handguns. In the cafeteria, you take off your trench coat to reveal homemade pomegranates. He launches a homemade bomb.

The shots sound. Students fall. We get up to run and the others follow.

The news spreads: the "mafia trenchcoat" went crazy. Many of the 900 students in the building are hiding in closets and bathrooms, under tables and chairs. A couple calls 911 with a cell phone. Dozens of people are fleeing the building and hiding in brush around the school.

Nick Foss, 18, and a friend push two teachers, a cook and another woman into a bathroom. "I've heard people praying for their husbands and children," says Foss. The attackers slam the doors, shouting, "We know you're inside."

Casey Brackley, 15, is in the gym when an administrator trains the kids in the equipment room.

"I hit my knees and prayed," Ms. Brackley said. They stay 15 minutes before the administrator directs them to the outside.

Neil Gardner, the Jefferson County sheriff's deputy assigned to the full-time school, hears shots and spots one of the gunmen in a first-floor hallway. He makes a backup and returns the fire when the bullets ricochet in the lockers. Within minutes, seven officers arrive and start firing students, including some gunshot victims, from the building.

In the choir room, above the commons, Stephanie Williams and her friends hear the sounds.

Someone comes to the door and, with an inch-index gesture, gives them a warning: gun.

His teacher tells everyone to sit down. But in moments, the two-level auditorium of the school next door seems a safer place, so some go there; then, after about 10 minutes, they run into the main hall.

"The group I was in went directly to the door and shot us," Stephanie said. "All we knew was to run."

While they run away, a door behind them explodes under the gunfire.

Sarah DeBoer, separated from her friend who had run in the weight room, is lying on the floor of the cafeteria until she hears the explosion of a car at the same time. 39; outside. Then she enters the auditorium and folds between the seats.

There she stays awhile. My classmates – 15 or 20 – cry softly. Teachers warn them to shut up. In the distance, they hear reports and muffled explosions. Finally, a concierge came in and told them: Go!

They run and shots follow.

"I turned around and saw that Dylan was the one who turned and shot me," says Sarah. "He did not know it was me, we were just leaving the auditorium."

The armed men go to the library.

___

"All the jocks get up, we'll kill you all," shouts an armed man in the library.

The student Aaron Cohn, baseball player, is spared because a girl jumps on his back while he is lying on the floor, covering up the baseball slogan on his shirt.

"They laughed after shooting," says Cohn. "It was like they had the time of their lives."

Some students are killed at their desks, one with a pencil still in their hands. The gunmen play "peek-a-boo" with others, finding them shaking under their desks and opening fire. Isaiah Shoels, who is black and has already been in trouble with armed men, is one of those who will fall.

An assailant said, "Oh, my God, look at the brain of this black kid, great guy!"

Some children play dead. At the end, 12 do not play anymore.

Klebold and Harris leave behind broken windows, bloody floors and a calm that is unlike anything the library has ever heard. Sanders, the teacher, has been shot in the chest twice, but manages to put the students in a hallway away from danger. He falls into a science room, bleeds and coughs up blood.

Outside, the first SWAT team is on site 20 minutes after the first calls to 911, joining the sheriff's deputies. He finds several explosive devices around the school and walks cautiously.

"We immediately welcomed some initial people, but we could not get in," said Jefferson County Sheriff John Stone. "We were well done."

About 45 minutes after the start of the shooting, at noon, the ambulances drive the first wounded students – those who managed to get to the outside – in hospitals. Teams of bombers, fire trucks, other SWAT units and paramedics arrive

Nick Foss and other students manage to crawl in a space between the ceiling and acoustic slabs. Foss falls through a tile and crushes it on the floor of the teacher's living room. He is running.

Kammi Vest, 18, hides in the closet of the choir room with up to 60 other students. Others try to crawl into the heating vents to get in safety.

In the science room, Dave Sanders is dying. Students cover the 47-year-old teacher with their shirt and blanket and make him talk. But his pulse slows down and he gets cold.

The shots are heard until almost 12:30 pm. At about the same time, Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris are returning to the library, but no one will be sure of this for hours.

At 12:30, after several minutes without echo, the SWAT teams began to scan the building building by room. It's literally a minefield: abandoned backpacks are everywhere, each constituting a potential bomb. In the coming days, bombs will appear in different shapes and sizes. They include two 35-pound propane bombs hidden in the school kitchen.

Around 2:30, the SWAT teams begin to free those who are hiding. In small groups, hands behind their heads, they run from school to an area waiting. They are interviewed, questioned, received medical attention and were transported to Leawood Elementary School to be reunited with their parents.

Now, the whole world sees all this on television. Escaped students hang on to each other. Tears flow freely for some; for others, it will take time. Even the tough guys, those with the baseball caps back and the baggy camo pants, cry.

At 4:30 pm, the bodies of the gunmen found, the authorities declare that the school is under control. Dr. Chris Colwell was summoned for a medical summary. In the silent, sun-spotted library is the worst vision he has ever seen.

"You go in with the hope that there may be someone who is still alive and still safe," Colwell said. "It did not take long to see that this was not the case."

He declares them all dead – 10 students and two alienated schoolmates who let their anger devour them.

The bodies will stay there all day, until the known bombs are cleaned.

___

The following afternoon, Clement Park became a place of mourning. Students, teachers and onlookers, they come to complain, talk about faith and perseverance, attend the show and talk to the press.

Among the pilgrims: Sarah DeBoer, wearing her Columbine soccer jersey, and Stephanie Williams, accompanied by a friend to comfort her. They stand together, a few meters from the place of the greatest terror of their life, and they try to treat the scenes that cross them.

"Yesterday, I was so scared," said DeBoer, her voice low.

"They ruined the school, but I think we should definitely go back," she says. "If you do not come back, they will win."