At the subsequent trial, Breivik expanded on the video game’s usefulness in his preparations for the slaughter. The thirty-three-year-old said he practiced his shot using a “holographic aiming device” on the war-simulation game, which he said is used by armies around the world for training.
“You develop target acquisition,” he said. “It consists of many hundreds of different tasks and some of these tasks can be compared with an attack, for real. That’s why it’s used by many armies throughout the world. It’s very good for acquiring experience related to sights systems.”
Breivik added: “If you are familiar with a holographic sight, it’s built up in such a way that you could have given it to your grandmother and she would have been a super marksman. It’s designed to be used by anyone. In reality it requires very little training to use it in an optimal way. But of course it does help if you’ve practiced using a simulator.”
Inside the Lanza’s Colonial-style home investigators also discovered a stockpile of disparate weaponry: several firearms, ammunition, and knives, along with macabre pictures. In addition to the rifle found at the foot of Nancy’s bed, investigators also discovered an Enfield bolt-action rifle, a WW II–era rifle long obsolete for military purposes because of its slow rate of fire; another rifle; a BB gun; a starter pistol; and 1,600 rounds of ammunition scattered around the house, some of them housed in a Planters peanut can and a Nike shoe box in different closet spaces. There was no sign that the gun locker, which was open when investigators arrived, had been broken into or tampered with.
Along with the firearms, they also discovered a cache of bladed weapons inside the house, including a Panther brand brown-handled folding knife with a 3.75-inch blade, a 6-foot 10-inch wood-handled two-sided pole with a blade on one side and a spear on the opposite side, a samurai sword with a canvas-wrapped handle and a 28-inch blade with a sheath, a samurai sword with a canvas-wrapped handle and a 21-inch blade with a sheath, and a samurai sword with a canvas-wrapped handle and a 13-inch blade with a sheath.
As they sorted through Adam’s belongings in his upstairs bedrooms, they made several more disturbing discoveries. A photograph of Adam holding a gun to his head along with three photographs of what appeared to be dead bodies covered in plastic and blood. They also recovered seven personal memoirs; notes and drawings by Adam, several with violent images; a military uniform; and his first-grade report card from Sandy Hook Elementary.
Other items law enforcement bagged as evidence included an NRA certificate for Nancy and Adam Lanza; paper and cardboard targets; school records; medical prescriptions; psychiatric records; and subscriptions, along with a holiday card made out to Adam Lanza from his mother, Nancy, that contained a Bank of America check that specified that the money was to buy a “C183,” which investigators believe was for the purchase of a handgun.
Along with all the mass-killer study sheets, violent images, and the weaponry found inside the home, investigators also came across two books, both connected to autism: Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger’s written by John Elder Robison, a first-person account of a man living with Asperger’s who wasn’t diagnosed until the age of forty; and Born on a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant written by Daniel Tammet, who, according to the publisher, “is virtually unique among people who have severe autistic disorders in that he is capable of living a fully independent life and able to explain what is happening inside his head. He sees numbers as shapes, colors, and textures, and he can perform extraordinary calculations in his head. He can learn to speak new languages fluently, from scratch, in a week. In 2004, he memorized and recited more than 22,000 digits of pi, setting a record. He has savant syndrome, an extremely rare condition that gives him the most unimaginable mental powers, much like those portrayed by Dustin Hoffman in the film Rain Man.”
A third book, Train Your Brain to Get Happy, had pages tabbed off and the subtitle promised readers “joy, optimism, and serenity.”
CHAPTER 14
THE THREE DAYS AFTER
At 8:37 P.M. on December 17, President Barack Obama stepped up to the podium at the Newtown High School auditorium—the same stage where only seventy-two hours earlier the fourth-graders had performed the Winter Concert—in an attempt to provide comfort for a community and nation still searching for answers.
“We gather here in memory of twenty beautiful children and six remarkable adults. They lost their lives in a school that could have been any school; in a quiet town full of good and decent people that could be any town in America,” the president began.
The room was packed. A hundred more crowded near speakers in the school’s gym, while others huddled outside in a cold drizzle, holding candles and weeping at times. The president went on to speak of the acts of bravery and heroism from the teachers and first responders and of how the community had pulled together as one during these trying times before making a broader call on the country as a whole to meet our collective obligation to protect our children.
And by that measure, can we truly say, as a nation, that we are meeting our obligations? Can we honestly say that we’re doing enough to keep our children—all of them—safe from harm? Can we claim, as a nation, that we’re all together there, letting them know that they are loved, and teaching them to love in return? Can we say that we’re truly doing enough to give all the children of this country the chance they deserve to live out their lives in happiness and with purpose?
I’ve been reflecting on this the last few days, and if we’re honest with ourselves, the answer is no. We’re not doing enough. And we will have to change.
Since I’ve been president, this is the fourth time we have come together to comfort a grieving community torn apart by a mass shooting. The fourth time we’ve hugged survivors. The fourth time we’ve consoled the families of victims. And in between, there have been an endless series of deadly shootings across the country, almost daily reports of victims, many of them children, in small towns and big cities all across America—victims whose, much of the time, their only fault was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
We can’t tolerate this anymore. These tragedies must end. And to end them, we must change. We will be told that the causes of such violence are complex, and that is true. No single law, no set of laws can eliminate evil from the world, or prevent every senseless act of violence in our society.
But that can’t be an excuse for inaction. Surely, we can do better than this. If there is even one step we can take to save another child, or another parent, or another town, from the grief that has visited Tucson, and Aurora, and Oak Creek, and Newtown, and communities from Columbine to Blacksburg before that—then surely we have an obligation to try.
He ended the speech by reading the names of the twenty children whose lives were lost. Before leaving the podium to a standing ovation, he added: “Let us make this country worthy of their memory.”
In the hour before his speech, the president had gathered inside the school with the families of the victims and first responders. At several points, he became overwhelmed with emotion. His eyes filled with moisture and a single tear trickled down his cheek as he repeatedly offered his prayers.
After meeting with the families, he went to a classroom set up as his staging area where he spotted a message on the whiteboard from Steve George, a Newtown High School teacher and football coach, and Bobby Pattison, a teacher: “The Newtown community is so thankful that you are coming to help us heal,” the two teachers had written. “In times of adversity it is reassuring to know that we have a strong leader to help us recover.”
The president picked up a marker and wrote, “You’re in our thoughts and prayers.”
As Barack Obama left town, many locals began to wish he would take all the tourists and out-of-town media along with him. Tensions were beginning to boil over.
“Go home!” locals could be heard shouting at television trucks or anyone seen holding a notepad.
The Newtown police, s
till 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.
CHAPTER 15
TWENTY-SIX FUNERALS
Colorful 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.
MONDAY:
Noah Pozner and Jack Pinto
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.
Back 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 re
sting 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.
TUESDAY:
James Mattioli, Jessica Rekos, Madeline Hsu, and Avielle Richman
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.
The 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.
Newtown: An American Tragedy Page 15
