by Rinker Buck
There were other reasons for the strong bond with Jessi and Jonna, which grew as they entered their teenage and college years and Shane continued to visit, now as a very engaging and fun marine. Jessi, spunky-bright and effortlessly witty, the artist of the family, and Jonna, pensive and soulful, were lovely sisters together, pretty, well-read, and ambitious. While the others Childers cousins were moving in one direction—remaining in West Virginia—they were moving in another, dreaming of escaping the state and its limited social and economic horizons. And Jessi and Jonna were fun, loads of fun. They didn’t consider it scandalous, after a day of study or work, or just goofing off across the mountains with Shane, to head for a bar in Huntington or across the river in Ohio for a drink.
“That was the connection, the reason for us all being together,” Jessi said. “We were the three cousins who had problems with the family religion, went out drinking, and wanted to get out of West Virginia. It’s what we shared at first, and then a lot more. And Shane, you know, he was this interesting marine who was always coming back to West Virginia from somewhere new, Europe or Africa. It wasn’t simply that he was exotic and so much fun. He could support what Jonna and I wanted to do with our lives.”
And that support was both enormous and touching, going both ways. When she was nineteen, Jessi became pregnant, got married, and then divorced, and then did a remarkable job raising her son as a single mother, working to provide, getting her B.F.A. at Marshall University, and finally moving on to a new, successful marriage and settling in Columbus, Ohio. With long letters and late-night phone calls, Shane nursed her through the vicissitudes of her tough, early motherhood and then the decision of choosing a major in college. She nursed him back, understanding that Shane was someone for whom talk was therapy, and that he required a constant debriefing of life’s challenges and events. One of Jessi’s earliest fears was that young motherhood would trap her in the female stereotype that she saw all around her in West Virginia—women who never followed their dreams or achieved independence because they married too early and started a family before they were ready. While she was pregnant with her son, Jessi went canoeing one day with Shane along Symmes Creek in southern Ohio, just across the river from West Virginia, where her father had bought a new farm.
“Shane was great that day because I was nineteen, pregnant, terrified that my situation was going to prevent me from doing what I wanted with my life,” Jessi said. “But Shane said, ‘No, don’t think that way.’ This does not have to mean giving up your dreams. Lots of people, he said, had recovered from worse situations, and he wasn’t going to let me forget my goal of becoming an artist.”
As a personal enabler, Shane seemed to have intuitively understood something important about providing support. Talk is cheap, and thoroughly forgettable if it occurs in a context where being sympathetic is pro forma, something a relative or close friend is expected to say. Of course, on the canoe ride, Shane said the right thing—Jessi could have her baby and become an artist. But that was the expected thing to say. What was remarkable about Shane was how he would assiduously follow up and reinforce what he said through letters, gifts, thoughtful postcards, other kinds of attention.
“Wherever he was with the marines or his Citadel groups after that, it might have been London or Europe, wherever, Shane would scoop up all the brochures from galleries he visited, buy me art books, whatever, and send them with a note,” Jessi said. “I don’t think he even realized half the time how supportive and inspiring it was. But he was always saying, Jess, I’m not letting you forget your dreams about becoming an artist. He made it clear that this was his expectation for me.”
Jonna, the younger sister, faced her own set of issues. It was a long struggle for her to leave the family farm, get started with the right job and move beyond West Virginia and southern Ohio. After studying environmental prelaw at Ohio University and then changing her college major to communications, she worked at an insurance agency across the Ohio River in Kentucky and then as a clerical employee at Marshall University Medical School in Huntington. But both were dead-end jobs, and she wasn’t meeting very many interesting new friends or finding reliable men to date. The high point of her week was mowing the lawn, which she actually did enjoy. Shane saw all this and just wouldn’t accept it for Jonna.
“There was no sugar-coating with Shane, no bullshit, which was one of the things I liked about him so much,” Jonna said. “He would just directly confront and say, ‘Why is this such a problem, Jonna? Why can’t you get away? There’s a big world waiting out there and other people have done this.’ He was very, very big on Jessi and me escaping West Virginia, seeing a larger world and pursuing careers.”
For Jonna, Shane cruised the self-help and résumé-writing shelves of bookstores. For Christmas in 2001 he sent her a title called Résumé Magic. While he was at The Citadel, Shane kept up the pressure, and every few weeks a new packet of personal growth books or articles, with a note attached, would arrive for Jonna.
“Jonna. Here are some books that might help. Semper Fi, Shane.”
Shane’s West Virginia visits could be even more manic than his Charleston life, and for good reason. As the uncontested star of the family now, he felt under pressure to visit as many relatives as possible during a long weekend, so that no one was insulted. But he complained to Jessi and Jonna about his heavy family obligations and had trouble fitting everyone in. Generally he stayed at either Jessi or Jonna’s apartment, rising at dawn and clunking around in his cowboy boots so loudly that the tenant downstairs would complain, and in any case Jessi was now awake. It was so early that, when they got to Shoney’s for breakfast, the restaurant wasn’t even open yet. Then Shane would take his long run over the mountains visiting relatives, frequently dead-reckoning straight across the hollows and peaks when a route through the woods was more direct than the roads. In the afternoon they’d go kayaking or hiking, or just caterwauling over the mountains in Shane’s pickup, Jessi and Jonna telling Shane to shut up about his latest book report, and then screaming at the top of their lungs at the AC/DC tape on, or because of Shane’s crazy driving, sometimes they didn’t know which.
By the end of the day Shane’s overcommitted schedule was all backed up and he was late, again, sometimes for very odd reasons. He was notorious for this. Over Christmas 1999, all the Childerses were waiting for him at the Church Fellowship Hall in Salt Rock for dinner, and began to worry when Shane was two hours late. On slick roads, he’d been driving too fast, took out a mailbox, and felt so guilty about it that he drove all the way out to the interstate in Huntington, found a Home Depot open, and then returned to Salt Rock to install a new mailbox. When he finally arrived at the dinner, everyone was relieved to see him, and impressed that he’d replaced a stranger’s mailbox when he could have easily just driven away. He was completely forgiven for keeping the family waiting—typical dispensation for Shane.
Shane’s own attempts at cosmetic self-improvement could be comical. In the spring of 2001, as his commissioning as an officer approached, Shane felt he needed better casual wear for the kind of events he would now be invited to on weekends—barbecues at fellow officer’s houses, informal cocktail parties, and the like. “I need khakis and polo shirts, something like that,” he told Jessi and Jonna while he was in West Virginia for the weekend. “Maybe you two should help me shop.”
“It was an important request,” Jonna said. “Shane’s unfailing weekend attire was cowboy boots, blue jeans, a T-shirt in summer and a plaid workshirt in winter. Now he was asking for fashion tips because he was moving up in the world.”
So the Childers-Walker trio hopped into the red pickup, screamed to the music as they raced down the interstate, and then turned off at the exit for the Huntington Mall.
Shane prided himself on being a speed shopper. Get into the Men’s Department, push the buttons, get out of there within fifteen minutes and then race to the next event. But Jessi and Jonna had other ideas. He was their Ken doll today and they
were going to stretch it out, savor the shop, really provide Shane an excellent fashion education.
When they got to the first department store, Jessi found an elegant pair of Perry Ellis wool trousers with just the right look—a kind of suburban Connecticut off-green, herringbone twill, with a pleated front. She’d seen the same trousers in Esquire and GQ and considered them fantastic for Shane.
“No way, Jess, I’m not wearing those things,” Shane said. “It’s got a pattern on it. Men don’t have patterns on their pants.”
“Shane. It’s called herringbone, okay?” Jessi said. “It’s the look now. A little dressy, but it takes a real guy to wear them because you’re not afraid to be stylish. They’re perfect for you.”
“Jess, we’re deviating from the mission here. The objective was khakis and polos. Now you’re changing the objective.”
Disappointed, Jessi gave up on the trousers, but then Jonna came over from the shirt department with her picks for Shane, also the new look. Solid cotton dress shirts with a matching solid silk tie, no pattern, black-on-black, blue-on-blue, and so forth. Shane would be Brad Pitt or George Clooney heading off for dinner in L.A. or New York.
“What is this, a conspiracy or something?” Shane said. “I mean you’ve got this kind of like green shirt here with a freaking tie that’s the same freaking color. Who wears this stuff?”
Jessi and Jonna gave up on the shirts, too, and badgered Shane to take them to Olive Garden for a nice lunch instead. On the way out of the Lazarus department store Shane quickly pushed the buttons on khakis and polo shirts, and then agreed to buy a blue blazer and gray wool pants—the old Becky Moore default.
“We were demoralized, but laughing about it,” Jonna said. “It was classic Shane. He would ask for your help, and then tell you how to help him. The controlling instinct was always there in some way.”
The family Baptists had their designs on Shane too. It was completely unacceptable to them that the star of the Childers clan, about to be a Citadel graduate no less, remained unbaptized. Just think about it. Shane, born again. That dynamo of obsessive-compulsive genes, all that energy and capacity for hard work, reading, explicating the text, now in the service of the Bible. It had to be accomplished. This would be a huge gain for Jesus.
At weekend church socials down at Smith Creek Baptist, or family parties around Salt Rock, the Childerses assiduously worked on their marine agnostic. Several Childers aunts and uncles were in on it, and there was a fierce competition to “get” Shane for the Missionary United Baptists. Jessi and Jonna would smile to themselves and make up excuses to get Shane out of there when they saw him cornered by a member of the older generation. Shane was very good at rebuffing the conversion talk, one of the few examples anyone could remember of him suppressing his personality or views to get along with people. He smiled at them, told his uncle or aunt that he was living cleanly, and promised to consider their thoughts about his future.
When they got out to the pickup, Jessi, Jonna, and Shane would wait until they were out of sight down the hollow before they roared with laughter.
“God, I wish they would stop pulling this shit,” Shane said. “We talked about eternity today. Freaking eternity, you know? I can never be saved and never know Jesus without eternity.”
The relatives had also mentioned another painful subject. Drinking. They’d heard through the gossip mill that Shane consumed alcohol from time to time. Shane reassured the relatives that he would think hard about this problem, too.
Then, just to be fair to the family Baptists, they all went out for a drink. Shane turned the pickup left out of the hollow and they headed west on Route 10 and into Huntington, where there are some decent sleazeball bars down along the waterfront on both sides of the river. They played pool, drank stout, and enjoyed a respectable goof-off for a couple of hours before heading off to dinner. It was a major annoyance every time he visited Salt Rock, being evangelized by the relatives, but it was a reliable bonding agent for Shane, Jessi, and Jonna. They always had to go somewhere afterward and laugh it off.
Shane was generous with his money and sent Jessi or Jonna airline tickets if they couldn’t pay for their next junket to Charleston, and the trips held a lot of meaning for them. Jonna’s first trip to see Shane at The Citadel, just before Christmas in 1999, was the first time she had been away from home alone, the first time she’d flown in an airplane. For Jessi, the Charleston runs were a welcome respite from her routine of child care, work, and college. She always had a wonderful time with Shane, they debriefed their issues together, and Charleston might not be the art capital of the world, but it certainly had better galleries and museums than Huntington, West Virginia.
Jessi had majored in photography in college and was planning on going to graduate school for a fine arts M.A., so she could teach while practicing her art. She had the personality that comes with being the artist of the family and was known for showing up at picnics and dinners with spiked hair, funky clothes, and all kinds of outrageous dreams about her future. Shane goaded her mercilessly about her lifestyle and looks, and she teased him right back about being so square.
In the spring of 2000, during his second year at The Citadel, Shane called Jessi one night and explained that he didn’t have a date for the big social event coming up—The Citadel’s spring Marine Corps ball. Would she come as his escort?
“Oh, it was so comic,” Jessi said. “He wanted me there, he knew that we would absolutely have a great time together, but he was terrified that I would embarrass him in front of the marines with how I looked. I immediately told him I would go, just to box him in, you know?”
Shane sounded happy, but an hour later he called back.
“Ah, say, look, Jess, what color is your hair now?”
“Red, Shane.”
“Okay, red. Now is that artsy-fartsy red? Or just red?”
“Red, Shane. My hair is red now. Is that okay with you?”
“Okay! Okay. Red. Now look, about the dress. Can you just pick out something plain, like black? I mean, you know. We don’t need to be shocking people or anything.”
Jessi got him back good for that one. She picked a shimmering, hot purple gown.
When she got to Charleston for the weekend, all the marines beamed to see her and Shane together at the ball. Shane was dashing in his dress blues and effortlessly courteous and fun, and Jessi enjoyed the marine atmosphere—all the hunky guys in their crew cuts, their manners, their lingo, their striped trousers, and brightly polished shoes. It was obvious that they all considered Shane a star and would do anything for her. If she needed her drink refreshed, a marine ran to the bar. If Shane wouldn’t dance a fast number, there was always a younger, even hunkier marine good to go for the floor. She had a wonderful time. That night became one of their strongest shared memories and she just loved doing The Citadel up right with Cousin Shane.
Shane’s love life—except for one final and climactic relationship—was mostly a mystery to his family, and by the time he was in his late twenties they had all concluded that his manic schedule and devotion as a marine ended most relationships. One Charleston romance, with a woman named Robbin whom he met at his French roundtable dinners downtown, ended after she found his controlling instincts and frantic schedule just too much. She told friends that it was just too difficult maintaining a relationship with “Sergeant Carter.”
“We never saw Shane with girls, but that was partly because he was in such a league that was way different from all of us,” said his aunt Mary Bias of Salt Rock. “The girlfriend would be an Israeli that he met in Kenya, and he was flying off to Europe to see her. We heard about them but never met them. But it was all very contradictory information because it was obvious to us that he just didn’t have time for relationships. He was so busy.”
Over the winter of 2000–2001, as he was approaching his last semester at The Citadel and his departure as a commissioned officer, Shane dove headlong into his last great love affair. This, too, was classi
c Shane, for the love affair was impulsive, 100 percent of effort and even somewhat naïve.
Leo Kelly, a beautiful single mother, lived in the apartment above Jonna in Ironton, Ohio. She was tall, willowy, and blond, with a Hollywood-quality face and a model’s fit body—an exercise buff, she did two hundred sit-ups and ran five miles every day. A teacher originally from across the river in Kentucky, she supported herself and her daughter, Olive, by substitute-teaching jobs in southern Ohio and had also worked as a case worker in a foster care agency. There was an air of mystery and wild girl about her. She had once driven to Alaska and back in her Jeep, washing her daughter along the way in the streams beside the Alcan highway.
Just before Christmas, Jonna had been planning a West Virginia skiing vacation with Leo and Olive and then Shane said that he would come along too because he would be traveling back to West Virginia anyway for his long Christmas break. Typically, Shane handled it like a marine mission. He obtained a nice suite of rooms on his military discount at the Glade Springs Resort near the WinterPlace ski area and organized maps, an itinerary, and even radio walkie-talkies borrowed from The Citadel’s ROTC unit, so that the party could communicate and organize “reconnoiters” while on the slopes. After driving through a heavy snowstorm to get there, Jonna, Leo, and Olive arrived at their suite to find everything meticulously arranged by Shane, right down to the mugs of hot chocolate he had waiting when they carried their skis and bags through the door.
