by Mark Tabb
Throughout the day, reporters crawled all over Parkersburg, each one looking for some sort of scoop. Vans from stations across Iowa had set up shop in the school parking lot. Camera crews interviewed anyone and everyone they could. Reporters nearly went into a feeding frenzy when cars transporting family members pulled up to the elementary school.
Ed’s brother, Greg, and his wife, Michelle, accompanied Aaron and Ellie to the press conference. DCI agents, along with local police officers and sheriff’s deputies, filled the room. As they walked into the portable classroom, a woman came in right behind them. Aaron turned around and noticed her walking right behind Greg. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m with him,” she said and pointed to Aaron’s uncle, Greg.
“No you’re not,” Aaron said. “He has a wife, and you’re not it.”
The woman was speechless. Apparently, she had come to town looking for a story. Now she was one. A DCI agent promptly escorted her out of the building.
Once order was restored, Aaron walked up to a podium. Television cameras from across the state and the country were in front of him. “Obviously with the shocking events today, nothing can prepare you for what our family and community are going through,” Aaron began. “Many of you knew my father as a teacher and as a coach. I think the part that gets overlooked and the thing that he was most proud of was his involvement in the church as an elder at First Congregational Church in Parkersburg. He was a man of deep faith who touched many lives not just on the football field. But the thing he talked about most was making people better young men. And also with all the students he had. So I guess that is one thing that as a family we would really like to come out.
“I know on behalf of my brother and myself, my wife, all my dad’s brothers and sisters, my mom’s brothers and sisters as well, our family thanks everyone for the thoughts, the prayers, the concern for our family. We especially thank the people of Parkersburg for their devotion to our family, for all the overwhelming support during this tragedy, for the many phone calls and visits we have already received. In the midst of our grief, we are greatly appreciative of our friends and neighbors and the community of Parkersburg and the school of A-P for all they’ve done for us.”
Then Aaron said something that shocked the reporters covering the story. He said, “We also want to make sure we express our concern and our compassion for the Becker family. We ask that people pray for them as well and that people take time to comfort and be with them through this as they are also going through a lot.”
He concluded by talking about the impact his father made on his own life and the entire community. “God always has a reason,” he said. “At this time it is very tough for us to understand that.”
After asking the press to respect his family’s privacy, Aaron brought his remarks to an end without taking any questions.*
When Jan arrived home from the hospital, she found that city workers had blocked off her street. Work crews had popped off all the manhole covers, and a city truck and trailer set up barricades to make it appear as though they were working on the city sewers. Aaron stopped his car at the barricade, and Jan called out, “Do I have water?”
The worker smiled. “Of course. Don’t worry. This isn’t real. We just didn’t want any reporters or anyone else to be able to get too close to you.”
Even so, a crowd was waiting at home for her. Never in her wildest dreams could Jan have imagined something like this happening to her family.
*For video of the June 24, 2009, press conference, go to www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqONlFliaNo.
CHAPTER 18
GRIEF AND GRACE
Whatever you do in life echoes thru eternity.
ED THOMAS
PARKERSBURG WAS DARK AND QUIET WHEN TODD AND CANDICE pulled into town a little after 2:00 a.m.—that is, with the exception of one house. Everyone in the Thomas household was awake, waiting for them. No one would have been able to go to sleep anyway. Awaiting Todd and Candice’s return gave the family something to think about besides funeral preparation and answering questions from the police conducting a murder investigation. Once Todd and Candice arrived home, Todd was ready to stretch his legs. At least that’s the excuse he gave. He wanted some time alone with his brother, just the two of them.
Aaron and Todd walked outside and headed straight for the Sacred Acre. A few hours earlier, an estimated two thousand people had filled the stadium for a prayer vigil for their father. The news media called it an impromptu gathering, but that wasn’t exactly true. The local clergy pulled it together right after word spread that morning of Ed’s murder. People from as far away as Des Moines filled the stands, covered the track, and sat on the hillsides around the field. Choirs sang, preachers spoke, and the town wept. During the vigil, Aaron and Ellie walked over near the Methodist church that overlooks the field, just to have a look. They did not attend the vigil itself. They went out of their way to escape notice. No one in the family was ready to walk into the middle of a crowd and start answering questions.
Aaron and Todd didn’t say much as they made the short walk from their parents’ house to the school. In some ways, it reminded both of them of the day they made the same walk with their father right after the tornado. People in town had already started comparing the two disasters. More than one person said something like, “We were able to rebuild our house, but we’ll never be able to replace Coach.”
As they walked along, Aaron said, “I knew who did it the moment Mom told me Dad had been shot.” “How?” Todd asked.
Aaron proceeded to tell Todd about how Mark Becker used a tire iron and baseball bat to smash the windows and doors of a house in Cedar Falls while trying to get to the people inside, and the subsequent high-speed chase that came through town on Saturday. “Chris told me that since Becker had been arrested on a Class D felony, the hospital was supposed to notify either his office or the county sheriff before they let him out of the psych ward,” Aaron said. “If they had, none of this would have happened. Dad would still be alive.” Anger and grief filled his voice. “I mean, how can a hospital let someone dangerous back out on the street like that and not have to let anyone know? Chris said they claimed HIPAA* laws kept them from notifying his office. That’s ridiculous. I don’t know how, but we need to make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
Todd didn’t say much in return at first. Mostly he took it all in, trying to sort through the grief and anger that swept over him. Todd is far more emotional, like his father, while Aaron is like his mother. Finally, Todd asked, “Do they know why he did it?”
Aaron shook his head. “I don’t know. None of this makes any sense. All dad ever tried to do was help him out. And this is how Mark repays him.”
Eventually the two came to the practice field that sat on a hill above the Sacred Acre. Students had taken red cups and shoved them into the chain-link fence. The sign read, “Coach T,” followed by a heart. Below the sign, numerous people had left flowers, cards, and photographs in a makeshift memorial. The two brothers stood and stared at the memorial for a long time. The moment felt incredibly surreal.
“Did you get to see him before he died?” Todd asked.
Aaron shook his head. “No. I was in Ames on my way to Des Moines when it happened.” In fact, the last time Aaron saw his father was three days before the shooting, on Father’s Day. The two of them had gone out and done what they loved to do together more than anything else—play golf. Yet their round that day was very different, and not just because Aaron drained a birdie putt on the last hole and beat his father for the first time in a long time. Throughout the round, Ed had talked about what remained to be done at the school’s athletic facilities. He gave Aaron very specific details about things no one else knew, including his plans to add a set of steps on the east side of the football field and his vision for what the unfinished ticket booths would look like. Ed gave Aaron a laundry list of projects and told him which fund to use for each project. At the time Aaron
didn’t think anything of it. Every time he came to Parkersburg his father gave him a tour of the under-construction school, pointing out details on the gym and weight room that he’d already pointed out a hundred times before. But now, looking back on the conversation after his father’s death, to Aaron it seemed his dad knew his time on earth was short, and he wanted to make sure Aaron knew how to finish what Ed had started.
“When did you talk to him last?” Aaron asked Todd.
“Saturday night, before Candice and I left for Jamaica the next morning. I called to wish him a happy Father’s Day. I played golf that morning and shot a pretty good score, so I wanted to let him know I would’ve bumped him pretty good if I had been home and played with the two of you.” Todd paused for a moment. “The last thing I said to him was that I loved him. He said, ‘I love you too, pal,’ and hung up the way he always did without saying good-bye.”
“Yeah, Dad never did have the best phone manners. Of course, I do the same thing.” Neither one said much of anything after that. They walked from the practice field over to the high school parking lot. Their father’s little red truck still sat exactly where he had left it when he arrived at school a little before 7:00 the previous morning. An Aplington police officer saw them approaching and jumped out of his car to stop them. However, he immediately recognized them and climbed back in his car without saying a word.
Aaron and Todd weren’t sure what time they returned to their parents’ house. By then, almost everyone had gone to bed. The house was quiet and dark. Aaron headed off to bed, while Todd walked the short distance to his in-laws’ house, where Candice was already asleep.
The sky had just turned light when Jan gave up on sleep. From the moment she learned Ed had been shot, she had not had one second alone. Everyone meant well, and she needed her family nearby, but she woke up feeling an intense need to be completely alone. She needed time to think and to process what had just happened.
More than anything, she needed time alone with God to pray. Not that she wasn’t praying already. Over the previous twenty-one hours, she had stayed in a continual state of prayer. God’s grace and strength were the only things that kept her from collapsing under the weight of grief, anger, and disbelief. Yet her prayers had been more cries for help than real conversations with God. Now she needed the latter. She needed to talk to God as she tried to come to grips with an act of cold-blooded evil that had robbed her of her husband and best friend.
She dressed quickly and quietly so as not to awaken Aaron and Ellie, who were sleeping in the next room, and slipped outside. The city trucks remained in the middle of her street, barricades up, manhole covers off. The throng of reporters would return later in the day, but no one was standing outside with a camera and microphone at 5:00 in the morning.
Jan walked down her street and headed straight for the high school. No one was outside. For the most part, Parkersburg was still asleep. If this had been a normal Thursday, the football players would be up soon for their morning run. Ed had the team lift weights on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and run on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. But this Thursday was anything but normal. For Jan, normal no longer existed.
Why, God? she prayed. Why? Why? Why? How does a man who never hurt a soul, a man who never even had a fistfight in his entire life, end up gunned down? All Ed ever wanted to do was help young people grow into the best men and women they could possibly be, and one of those young men into whom Ed poured his life ends up brutally murdering him right in front of the very kids he is trying to help? God, it doesn’t make any sense.
It is all too cruel.
Tears rolled down Jan’s face as she walked. Soon she found herself in front of the practice field fence and the ever-expanding memorial there. Flowers covered the ground, along with cards, letters, and photographs. She picked up a few cards. One read, “Coach Thomas will be remembered as a man of great faith in God.” Another read simply, “We love you, Coach.” From the day she first agreed to go out on a date with Ed, she had always shared him with his work. But it wasn’t really his job that took up so much of his time; that she never could have put up with. Reading these cards she was reminded again that what drove Ed was not his work but his mission and calling. All he wanted to do was make a difference in the lives of young people, and the notes on the cards were evidence that he had done just that. But why did it have to end like this? she prayed.
She leaned over and placed the cards back on the ground, back on the memorial. The next thing she knew, she was across the street, sitting in the stands of the football field. Like Ed, Jan never called this the Sacred Acre. A sign on the other side of the field read “Ed Thomas Field.” She remembered how Ed had put up a fuss when the school told him they wanted to name the field after him. Now, sitting here, staring out at the field, his absence pressed on her, inflicting physical pain. Why, God? she prayed softly. Why?
God did not respond in an audible voice, yet he answered. Jan did not hear an answer to the question of why; yet in her spirit she heard God whisper the words of Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” In all things … in all things … in all things—even in a senseless murder.
I am at work here, she sensed God say.
Looking out at the field, she began to realize that God had already been at work through all of Ed’s years of coaching and teaching here. No one outside of the Aplington and Parkersburg areas should have ever heard of Ed Thomas. Yet on this field, God gave Ed the opportunity to coach four players who went on to play in the NFL, which led to Ed’s receiving national attention and being named NFL High School Coach of the Year. Then, when the tornado hit, even more national media flooded into town to cover the story. The football team and Ed’s leadership of the team became a centerpiece of the story line of the town’s recovery. That gave Ed a platform both in the state of Iowa and around the country, where he was able to share his faith and talk about the grace of God and the power to choose that he gives us.
And now this, she prayed. Can this possibly be part of the all things you work in? As these thoughts swirled in Jan’s head, Romans 8:28 grew louder and louder.
No act of evil can destroy my purpose and my plan, God whispered. I’m still on my throne. I’m still God. This did not take me by surprise. Please trust me.
Tears flowed down Jan’s cheeks. Is it as simple as that, God? Is that all I have to do—trust you—and everything will be all right? But you did not say everything would be all right. You said you would work in all things for the good of those who love you and are called according to your purpose. Oh, Lord, it hurts so bad, but I believe you will do what you say you will do. God, please take this act of evil and use it for something good.
Jan stood up and looked back up the hill to the sign made out of red plastic cups stuck in the chain-link fence. A peace came over her, a peace that reassured her that Ed’s work and influence had not come to an end at 8:00 a.m. the day before.
This realization did not answer her question of why Ed’s life had to end so horrifically. Nor did it cause her pain and anger to suddenly disappear. Yet she knew she did not have to carry this burden herself.
The sun rose up over the horizon. A few cars moved down the street in front of the high school. Jan decided to return home before anyone noticed her. The house was starting to stir when she walked in the door. She and Aaron and Todd had so much to do today, making arrangements at the funeral home and planning the funeral itself. Oh, God, I can’t do this, but I know your grace and your strength are sufficient.
Later that day, she went into her bedroom and closed her door behind her. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number her pastor had given her when the family met with him in the Thomases’ home. The call went straight to voice mail. “Hi, Joan. It’s Jan. I know we’re both going through a really tough time right now. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that it was Mark. I’m praying for you. Please call me
when you get a chance.”
*Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act.
CHAPTER 19
THE HARDEST PART
As a father, there is nothing more important than to see your family walking with God.
ED THOMAS
JEFF JACOBSON HAD WORKED AS A POLICEMAN FOR A LONG time, but this was without a doubt the hardest duty he had ever pulled. Shortly after 8:00 on the morning of the shooting, the Butler County sheriff called Jeff as the special agent in charge of the Northeast Iowa Division of DCI. “I have Mark Becker at gunpoint,” the sheriff said. “What do you want me to do with him?” From that moment on, Jeff was the officer in charge of the murder investigation, yet his connection to the case went much deeper. He wasn’t just a special agent for the DCI who supervised difficult cases; he lived a few houses down from the Thomases in Parkersburg. Jeff and Ed had been friends for years, a friendship that grew when Jeff’s sons played football for the A-P Falcons.
Jeff’s personal connection to the Thomas family made his meeting with the family to explain what had happened to Ed the hardest thing he had ever had to do since becoming a policeman. Yet, because of his friendship with Ed, he felt like he needed to be the one to help break those details to Jan and Aaron and Todd.
On Friday afternoon, two days after Mark Becker shot Ed Thomas, Jeff sat down in a conference room at city hall with the family. “I want to say first off that our deepest sympathies are with you through this tragedy,” he started off. “I thought the world of Ed and will miss him deeply.” He paused to gather himself. If he allowed himself to think like a friend rather than a policeman, he would never get through this briefing.
