Columbine

by Jeff Kass

  “The Klebolds aren’t going to go out every night; there’s too much shame,” Marxhausen says. He adds, “When you put down a credit card with the name Klebold on it, you always look for a response. It’s not exactly Smith.”

  Marxhausen refers to the Klebolds as victims. He says Susan is “gracious” and Tom “reads books you may not understand the title of.” Tom questions how Dylan got ahold of the guns, and Marxhausen recounts a meeting with Tom Mauser, who took up gun control after his son Daniel was killed at Columbine. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if Tom Klebold would join your crusade?” Marxhausen offered. But they couldn’t figure out if it would hurt or help.

  “I really do love them,” Marxhausen says of the Klebolds. “These are good people. A meteor fell on their house. Why did the meteor fall on their house? I don’t know.”

  The Klebolds sometimes read the newspapers, but not always. That would be too painful. Moving out of the community was not a strong alternative, Marxhausen says. “You’re still going to have a history.”

  The support of friends, their lawyer, and “the confidence they didn’t know what the hell happened” also helped keep them in Littleton. And despite the vilification, there was also sympathy. “They got over four thousand letters of support. I mean they got gifts; you know, teddy bears, all kinds of stuff from people who had the chaos in their lives,” Marxhausen says. “You know, one letter I remember: ‘My son killed his beloved sister and grandfather when he was twelve or fourteen, or whatever it was, and we don’t know why, so we understand. My son fell against the fireplace, the police arrested us for letting him. We do no harm to our son, and yet, this kind of thing happens.’

  “There were people who brought gifts to the church that we would, I mean, just take out there. We’d screen them initially, and Lozow’s office screened a hell of a lot more than we did at the church. Most of the stuff that came from the church, and I say the large percentage of it, was support and warmth, as opposed to ‘You’re crazy.’”

  Some letters and other items would simply be addressed to “Klebolds, Littleton,” or “Klebolds, St. Philip’s Lutheran Church, Littleton.” A small number of letters were antagonistic. “I took about three or four letters: Those of you who work with scum are scum, and blah blah blah, around the country. We pitched them. I’d say it was less than five percent,” Marxhausen says.

  Some months after the shootings, Marxhausen says his congregation indicated they would welcome the Klebolds. “The majority of the congregation stood up and applauded that they’d be willing to do that.” But in August 2000, almost eighteen months after Columbine and ten years after becoming pastor at St. Philip Lutheran, Marxhausen delivered his last sermon there. He and his congregants differ about his departure, but it appears he was forced out, at least in part, because of his work with the Klebolds.

  “He [Tom Klebold] just feels a certain responsibility that what has happened to me was part of this whole Columbine thing,” Marxhausen says. “And so he feels bad about that.” But Marxhausen says it was the best time of his life going “into the darkness.” “It’s been a good thing,” he adds. “It’s just chaos is scary as hell.”

  Marxhausen deadpans that the favorite topic with Tom and Susan is pain. “We talk about ‘it.’ Anybody who is in grief, that’s what you talk about is ‘it,’” he says. “The whole subject. You may start off talking about, ‘The Yankees are going to pull it off again.’ But then it’s ‘it.’”

  He recounts a visit with the Klebolds in October 2000. “It was a relief yesterday just to see the tears start to run. She [Susan] cried initially. And all I had to do was repeat the line, ‘You loved your son very much,’ which is what I said on NBC television and now that’s just pourin’ out, pourin’ out, pourin’ out, which is good, because then the grief can start to work. But they’re just hurtin’ just so damn horrible.”

  Another perennial for the Klebolds, and the topic for the public and the victims’ families is how could the parents have not known? Or, to borrow from Marxhausen, why did a meteor fall upon the home of the Klebolds? Didn’t they see it coming?

  They didn’t, Marxhausen says, and cites the mental Rolodex they go through. “Well, they just try different theories. What are they? What were the clues? Did we miss anything?”

  The upshot is empty. “The parents have no idea,” Marxhausen says. “I gotta tell you that. They have no idea. They try to go down theory lane, and it only goes so far.”

  ∞

  The truth is that the truth according to the Klebolds was emerging. And the Klebolds figured they were not the culprits. Glimpses of that theory began to emerge more than a year after the shootings: The Klebolds told Marxhausen that Dylan was infused with idealism and righteousness that led him to rebel against the injustices and imperfections of the world, such as the social tiers he experienced at school. “This did not happen in a vacuum,” Marxhausen recounts. “There were some external causes that [Tom Klebold] would like the community to address. For lack of a better word, bullying, or segregating, or whatever.”

  The Klebolds wanted to write a book, according to Marxhausen, and sought anecdotes about bullying at the school from Marxhausen’s daughter, who herself attended Columbine. “I think it’s up here yet,” Marxhausen said of any publication, pointing to his head. “And I think they want to tell their story, honest, they want to tell their story. They would love to go out and talk to somebody, or go on television, or whatever. Their lawyers just won’t let them.”

  By April 2001 the Klebolds were on their way to keeping silent if that was what they wanted. They and the Harrises announced a $1.6 million payout of insurance money to settle all but six out of sixteen lawsuits brought by victim families. “Mr. and Mrs. Klebold continue to hope and pray that we can continue negotiations that are ongoing with the remaining claimants, put an end to the lawsuits that exist, and at some point they can tell their story,” said one of their attorneys, Frank Patterson.

  In fact, the Klebolds had already talked to James Garbarino, a professor of human development at Cornell University who publishes pop psychology books and had doubled as a consultant to the Klebold attorneys. He published a book in September 2001, Parents Under Siege, and was prohibited from quoting the Klebolds because of his legal obligations. But their sort of cooperation fed a wave of publicity for the book, which excused the parents for any role in the shootings.

  The book was dedicated to Tom, Sue, and Byron. The message was, “Bad things happen to good parents,” as Garbarino wrote in the preface.

  The Klebolds, according to Garbarino, were “attentive, involved and loving,” and “good parents.” The family was “battered by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Dylan, in one of the mentions Garbarino is apparently allowed to make, “successfully hid his inner turmoil from his loving parents. He put up a false front of normality.”

  Just as the Klebolds put the onus on Eric in their intent to sue notice, Garbarino did the same in his book. “From what we know, it appears that Dylan Klebold was not a killer on his own,” Garbarino concludes. “It took his relationship with Eric Harris to make it happen.”

  He might in fact be right. He just doesn’t prove it.

  Klebold PR supported the book. “Dr. Garbarino is a well-recognized expert on parenting skills, and the book is a serious work that supports the fact that caring, responsible and well-intentioned parents may have children who commit unexplainable acts,” Klebold spokeswoman Lisa Simon told the Denver Post. “The experiences of the parents represented in this book are instructive, and if the book helps one parent better understand their child, then it will have achieved their goal.”

  Garbarino was scheduled to speak in Denver one day after Dylan’s 20th birthday: September 12, 2001. He was overshadowed by September 11, but it didn’t matter. The book was a superficial absolution. Not an investigation.

  Tom and Sue would not repeat their speaking
feat until 2004, but it was again noteworthy—not for the few morsels of information, but for how the interviewer again cleared them of any wrongdoing in just a few words. The writer was New York Times columnist David Brooks, who made a splash in 2000 with his book Bobos in Paradise (“bobos” meaning “bourgeois bohemians”), about America’s rising, monied class of decision-makers and influence peddlers who cultivated scented candles, espresso, and a bohemian ethos while maintaining establishment jobs. The style was called “comic sociology” (the Klebolds seem to favor pseudo-scientific authors wrapped in an aura of seriousness and academia). Brooks’ 2004 book On Paradise Drive explores suburban life, although the fact that most school shootings occur in the suburbs seems to have escaped Brooks in his columns on the Klebolds.

  Brooks first wrote an April 24, 2004 column about Columbine, taking issue with the idea that Harris and Klebold were victims of society and on the receiving end of bullying. He supported the idea that Harris undertook Columbine because he saw himself as superior to others. The column was more about Eric and tougher on Eric, calling him an “icy killer.” Klebold, in contrast, was “a depressed and troubled kid who could have been saved,” Brooks wrote.

  Brooks let Dylan off easy. For participating in what was then America’s deadliest school shooting, it wasn’t a bad obit. Yet Tom Klebold sent an email to Brooks and “objected” to the column, according to Brooks. Brooks does not make clear what Tom objected to, but a conversation ensued and Brooks wrote a follow-up column on May 15. Brooks noted that the Klebolds spoke with him because “the lawsuits against them are being settled, and they trust the New York Times, which is the paper they read every day.”

  But one might argue that a columnist, especially one who has had little if any involvement in a massive and complicated story like Columbine, was the perfect mark for the Klebolds to propagate their story. And again, the blame was put on Eric, as Brooks quickly pointed out in his column: “Their son, by the way, is widely seen as the follower, who was led by Eric Harris into this nightmare.”

  A la Garbarino, Brooks then cleared the Klebolds as “a well-educated, reflective, highly intelligent couple.” Susan still thinks about leaving the area, Brooks added, but Tom says, “I won’t let them win. You can’t run from something like this.” There is a “moment of discomfort” when handing over their credit card at a store, but Tom says, “Most people have been good-hearted.”

  Brooks does get to the reason we have all gathered: Why did Columbine happen? And was there anything in the family that triggered it?

  Brooks says the Klebolds “long for some authoritative study that will provide an answer.”

  Tom says, “People need to understand, this could have happened to them.”

  The Klebolds tell Brooks they think about the signs they missed—although Brooks does not name them. The Klebolds also say they pretty much don’t know the causes of Columbine, but it wasn’t the family. They maintain that “the ‘toxic culture’ of the school, the worship of jocks and the tolerance of bullying, is the primary force that set Dylan off.”

  Susan tells Brooks, “Dylan did not do this because of the way he was raised. He did it in contradiction to the way he was raised.”

  The most “infuriating incident” was when someone told Susan, “I forgive you for what you’ve done.” Susan’s thought was, “I haven’t done anything for which I need forgiveness.”

  Looking at the thirteen murdered and twenty-four injured, Tom and Susan emphasize that Dylan committed suicide. “I think he suffered horribly before he died,” Susan says. “For not seeing that, I will never forgive myself.”

  “He was hopeless,” Tom says. “We didn’t realize it until after the end.”

  Brooks also notes that, “While acknowledging the horrible crime his son had committed, Tom was still fiercely loyal toward him.”

  Brooks does not write about some of the most compelling passages attributed to the Klebolds: That Dylan was fascinated with guns and explosives. Or that he was sullen, angry, disrespectful, intolerant, and isolated.

  ∞

  The Klebolds themselves had a funny way of longing for an authoritative study: They were aggressively silent.

  In September 2000 I filed a public records request with the University of Arizona for Dylan’s college application. Thomas Thompson, an attorney for the university, said he believed the records were open, but felt a “moral and legal obligation” to inform the Klebolds. Klebold attorney Gary Lozow then asked for a month and a half “to review the Klebolds’ legal options under Arizona law.” Thompson granted the request.

  At 4:18 p.m. on the day of deadline, Lozow faxed a letter to Thompson. He wanted two more weeks “to see if we can obtain someone who will do what we are asking to get done.” Thompson and his boss gave the Klebolds nine more days. As the end of that day approached, Thompson had not heard back from the Klebolds and the material was released.

  In June 2001, I wrote a story in the Rocky Mountain News using confidential settlement documents disclosing details of gun supplier Robyn Anderson’s lawsuit settlement with victim families. Despite the bad blood, I called Lozow later that month.

  “Jeff ‘Chutzpah’ Kass,” is how he answered the phone.

  I told him I would take “chutzpah” as a sort of compliment.

  I asked once again if the Klebolds would be talking to anyone about Columbine.

  “The answer is no,” Lozow said, “Particularly not to you.”

  He added that my story mentioning a copy of Anderson’s $285,000 settlement check (probably from her mother’s homeowners insurance) was “absolutely abhorrent.” He added, “And it may have set back very delicate settlement discussions in the case.”

  “I appreciate you talking to me about it,” I said. “I appreciate you sharing it with me.”

  Then he said of the canceled check: “And whoever you got it from should have his hands cut off. So that’s what I think, and we’re not talking to you, ever. So thank you, Mr. Kass. Bye bye.”

  Lozow then hung up. But he and the other Klebold attorneys did not stop.

  ∞

  In July 2001 I made state Open Records Act requests for information on Susan Klebold given her employment with two public institutions: The Community Colleges of Colorado and Arapahoe Community College. The Colorado attorney general’s office, representing the colleges, approved the request and set a date of August 15 to inspect hundreds of pages. The Klebold attorneys did not oppose releasing Susan’s applications and résumé, but argued that the names and locations of prior employers and the schools she attended were confidential. The Attorney General disagreed, but gave the Klebolds one week, until the end of the day on August 22, to file suit and block release of those specific items.

  At 3:15 p.m. on the twenty-second, Klebold attorneys Gregg Kay and Frank Patterson called me. They requested five more days. “They [the Klebolds] are just really bugged by old people, old friends, being contacted. So I think any of us, when we find out that some stranger is digging into our background, it just feels uncomfortable,” Patterson said.

  Patterson said he was puzzled over what “social issue” the Klebolds could help unlock.

  “School shootings?” I hinted.

  “I think shootings, but that’s not the parents,” Patterson said.

  “According to their attorneys, according to you,” I said.

  “There’s nobody that thinks the parents actually knew anything,” Patterson replied.

  “Well, there’s still about a half-dozen lawsuits saying that,” I said. “That’s somebody.”

  “I don’t think anybody thinks that the Klebolds actually knew a damn thing,” Patterson said. “That’s just people who have had a horrible thing happen to them that are looking to, for answers where there might not be any.”

  I said the Klebolds might discuss any warning signs or psychological problems that may have
caused Columbine.

  “I understand that,” said Patterson. “Maybe someday we’ll get to talk about that.”

  The talk concluded with a compromise deadline: I gave them two more days—not five—until Friday at 5:00 p.m. to decide what they wanted to do.

  Friday afternoon rolled around. “Let me make a proposal to you,” Patterson began on the phone. “What do you say, instead of us filing something with the court, that the two of us agree to present it to a retired judge, or mediator?” Then he added: “We don’t want to turn it into a big, blown out litigation fight.”

  If we agreed to arbitration, there would be no recourse in the courts; the decision would be final. I said I would think about it. I called back around 4:15 p.m. and spoke with Kay.

  “Have you decided on this deal, or what are we doing?” Kay asked.

  “I’m not going to be able to do arbitration,” I said.

  “Well, that’s alright,” Kay said. “I’ll pass that on to everybody and see what we’re going to do.” They did nothing.

  ∞

  In a September 6, 2001 letter, Lozow admonished me for my open records requests, most of which were granted and approved by various attorneys representing governmental institutions in different states.

  “I am unalterably committed to the protection of First Amendment rights, as are my clients. Likewise, my clients and I also cherish the right to privacy,” he wrote.

  “You, unlike any other member of the print media, have repeatedly attempted to impinge upon my clients’ right to privacy,” Lozow maintained in the one and one-quarter page correspondence cc’d to Tom and Susan Klebold. “By exploiting open records laws, in Colorado, Arizona, and Wisconsin, you have accessed personal information concerning Tom and Susan Klebold.”

  Lozow wrote that the use of such information was “egregious.” He added, without providing any examples: “Your efforts have served to disrupt Ms. Klebold’s employment setting and the family’s emotional well-being.