CHAPTER18:LOSINGEVERYTHINGthecrossingstory.com/chapters/images/part18/docs/print18.pdf ·...
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THE CROSSING By Kevin Vaughan n Photos by Chris Schneider n Rocky Mountain News CHAPTER 18: LOSING EVERYTHING About this series In just seconds, 20 children died, and a community was devastated. At 7:59 a.m. on Dec. 14, 1961, a high-speed passenger train smashed into a school bus carrying 36 students in the farm country of Weld County. It was the worst traffic accident in Colorado history. Only 16 children and the bus driver survived. We cannot know how today’s tragedies — Columbine, Oklahoma City, Sept. 11 — will ripple over a lifetime. But 45 years after that bitter morning outside Greeley, we can see — if not fully understand — how a single moment has the power to uncoil through decades, shaping people for the rest of their lives. Online at RockyMountainNews.com n Slide show: Family photos chronicle the short, young lives of Jan and Marilyn Paxton, who loved to dance, and Kathy and Pam Heimbuck, who loved their animals. n Discuss: Share your thoughts on the series and read others’ comments at RockyTalk Live. n Sources: Read an annotated version of the story with sources of information listed. n Earlier chapters: See previous installments in the 33-part series at RockyMountainNews.com /theCrossing. n Contact reporter Kevin Vaughan: vaughank@RockyMountain News.com or 303-954-5019 n Contact photographer Chris Schneider: schneiderc@RockyMountain News.com or 303-954-2270 n Crossing memorial: A fund has been established to erect a stone marker near the spot where 20 children died on Dec. 14, 1961. Contributions to the Auburn Bus Memorial Fund can be made in care of Timothy Geisick at Compass Bank, 3501 West 12th St., Greeley, CO 80634, or at any Compass Bank location in Colorado. For more information, call 1-970-356-3760. Ed and Betty Heimbuck and Jim and Alice Paxton didn’t know each other well as the winter of 1961 approached, but their lives were mirror images. Both couples farmed. Both cherished their two daughters. COURTESY ALICE PAXTON Close family: Jim and Alice Paxton snuggle with their daughters, Jan, left, and Marilyn. The Heimbucks had Kathy and Pam. The Paxtons had Marilyn and Jan. In each family, the girls were wild- ly different. Kathy Heimbuck loved dresses and jewelry. Pam Heim- buck didn’t need much more than a pair of jeans and boots and a cow- boy hat. Marilyn Paxton ap- proached everything as though it was a major project. Jan Paxton floated through life, never too workedup aboutanything. The Heimbuck girls named their Pekingese “Little Pete.” The Paxton girls named their Pekingese “Toyling.” Both had another dog, a mutt, they’d adopted. Then, on Dec. 14, 1961, all four girls died when a Union Pacific train tore through the last few feet of their school bus. In the years that followed, through the struggle to find a new life, the Heimbucks and the Pax- tons found each other. ‘In my mind constantly’ So much time has passed. And so little. “I feel close to the girls always,” Betty Heimbuck says, sitting on one side of the couch in the immac- ulate LaSalle home where she and Ed have lived since they left the farm two decades ago. “They’re in my mind constantly.” “I know some people would think, ‘My God, it’s been 45 years, get a grip,’ but it doesn’t seem that long.” And so, always, the girls are only a memory away. Like the day Pam chattered away at her mother’s feet until Betty could no longer take it. “Pam, my ears hurt,” she said that day. “Please be quiet.” And Pam looked up and said, “Yes, but my mouth likes to talk.” Or the days when Betty would divide up the chores, assigning some to Kathy, some to Pam and some to herself. On those days, pretty soon she’d hear Kathy’s ex- asperated voice: “Mom, where’s Pam at?” She’d look out, and the barn door would be open, and Pam would be off someplace on her Shetland pony, Dopey. Little Pam loved Dopey, and she took him a treat every day — a carrot, an apple, a cookie. They remember how different the girls were. Kathy was a little lady. Nice per- fume. Cooking and sewing with her 4-H club — the “Auburnettes.” Pam was a tomboy. Toy pistols. Jeans. Standing next to Ed and saying, “Daddy, saddle my pony.” Learning, one day, to do it herself. Bronzed shoes Alice Paxton’s girls are nearby, in her heart, too. She lives alone now — Jim died in November 2005 after a short, dif- ficult illness brought on by a stom- ach infection. But the memories of their girls are on display in the glass case just off the kitchen in her tidy home on the east side of Pierce, north of Greeley. On one shelf rest seven pairs of shoes, all of them bronzed. A pair of baby shoes for each girl. And dancing shoes — two pairs of Marilyn’s, three pairs that belonged to Jan. Around them sit dance trophies, music awards, colorized school por- traits. Jan was the first to pick up dance. She was 4 or 5 when she went to her first dance class, and pretty soon Marilyn joined her. They tap-danced. They danced “modern.”Jan even tried ballet. In dance, as in everything else, they were so different. Marilyn, the quiet, studious girl who was always involved in her work, took very precise steps. Jan, the carefree girl who didn’t let much bother her, pranced around. “She had tennis shoes,” Alice says, talking about Jan’s attempt at ballet. “She’d walk around on her tiptoes in her tennis shoes.” As she says this, Alice laughs, and lifts her hands up and walks through the air with her fingers. A terrible Christmas On Dec. 14, 1961, Kathy Heim- buck was 12, Marilyn Paxton was 13, and both were eighth-graders at Meeker Junior High. Pam Heim- buck was 9, a fifth-grader at Delta Elementary School. Jan Paxton was 11, a sixth-grader. In the few seconds it took for the thundering train to bash into the bus, all four were gone. Finding a way to exist after such loss was a struggle for both cou- ples. Eleven days after the acci- dent, they faced Christmas with- out their girls. The Heimbucks also had to steel themselves for Pam’s birth- day on Dec. 27, then Kathy’s on Dec. 30. The reminders were every- where. Each afternoon, Blackey, the landlord’s puppy who’d been adopted by Kathy and Pam, wan- dered out to the road around 3:30, waiting for the school bus and the girls who never came home. Ed went back to work in the fields where he grew beets, beans, grain, corn and hay. When Betty felt the walls closing in, she sought consolationfrom Katherine Brant- ner, another mother who lost two children in the crash. After the accident, the Heim- bucks remained on the farm where they’d lived all their mar- riage, down the road from the Au- burn school. In 1963, Ed took a job in nearby LaSalle with a company that manufactured fertilizer. It was, he acknowledges now, an ef- fort to get away from the accident and the sadness. But in 1964, he went back to farming the 80-acre plot where Kathy and Pam had romped with their animals. Then in 1968, he and Betty moved to a farm closer to LaSalle and began growing po- tatoes. They retired in the mid-1980s and moved into town. For the Paxtons, the journey was no easier. “We had a terrible time after the girls were killed,” Alice Paxton says. “We didn’t know what we wanted to do. We took it awful hard. It just ruined our whole lives. “Nothing was ever the same af- ter that.” Each afternoon, Chip, the Ger- man shepherd mix who’d been adopted by Marilyn and Jan, did the same thing Blackey did at the Heimbucks’ house. He wandered out to the road around 3:30, wait- ing for the school bus. Friendship In the months after the acci- dent, the Paxtons sold the farm near Auburn. Jim drove a truck for a year, then went back to farm- ing. Alice couldn’t just sit around the house, so she went to town to work. She took a job at Cook’s Drug Store, then at Denver Dry, then at Hested’s Department Store, then at State Bank. She took night courses in ac- counting. Eventually she got a job in the accounts receivable department at the Monfort meatpacking plant, where she worked for 10 years before retiring. “I just had to make something of myself,” she says. “I just had to do something.” Jim eventually returned to trucking, driving his rig until the day he got sick in August 2005. Neither couple ever had any more children. Along the way, the Heimbucks and the Paxtons found each oth- er. They were barely acquainted before Dec. 14, 1961. After that day, they understood each other better than anyone else could. They spent holidays togetherfor decades. Thanksgiving at the Heim- bucks. Christmas at the Paxtons. Together, they relished the memories of their girls. They freely expressed their hard feelings for bus driver Du- ane Harms, the man they all be- lieve took their girls from them. And they share something else — disdain for that psychological term so often tossed around after tragedies: “closure.” For them, there was no magic moment, no line in their lives where they said, “I’m OK now.” Their wounds still hurt. “There’s never closure,” Betty says. “They say time heals, and it does. But it takes a long time and it’s gradual.” “It’s always there,” Alice says. “It never goes away.” It’s been 45 years, and it’s still Dec. 14, 1961. They’re still at the crossing. TUESDAY: Dec. 14 Memorials: Betty Heimbuck rests her hands on studio photographs of her daughters, Pam and Kathy. Below the photographs is a shadow box containing play pistols and a gun belt that belonged to Pam. Betty and her husband, Ed, draw comfort from the memories of the two daughters they lost at the crossing. Marilyn Paxton Pam Heimbuck Jan Paxton Kathy Heimbuck 20 NEWS ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS MONDAY 2/12/07 NEWS 21
Transcript of CHAPTER18:LOSINGEVERYTHINGthecrossingstory.com/chapters/images/part18/docs/print18.pdf ·...
THE CROSSING By Kevin Vaughann Photos by Chris Schneidern Rocky Mountain News
CHAPTER 18: LOSING EVERYTHINGAboutthis series
In just seconds, 20 children died,and a community was devastated.
At 7:59 a.m. on Dec. 14, 1961, ahigh-speed passenger trainsmashed into a school buscarrying 36 students in the farmcountry of Weld County. It was theworst traffic accident in Coloradohistory. Only 16 children and thebus driver survived.
We cannot know how today’stragedies — Columbine, OklahomaCity, Sept. 11 — will ripple over alifetime.
But 45 years after that bittermorning outside Greeley, we cansee — if not fully understand —how a single moment has thepower to uncoil through decades,shaping people for the rest of theirlives.
Onlineat RockyMountainNews.com
n Slide show: Family photoschronicle the short, young lives ofJan and Marilyn Paxton, who lovedto dance, and Kathy and PamHeimbuck, who loved theiranimals.n Discuss: Share your thoughts onthe series and read others’comments at RockyTalk Live.n Sources: Read an annotatedversion of the story with sources ofinformation listed.n Earlier chapters: See previousinstallments in the 33-part seriesat RockyMountainNews.com/theCrossing.
n Contact reporterKevin Vaughan:[email protected] or 303-954-5019n Contact photographerChris Schneider:[email protected] or 303-954-2270
n Crossing memorial: A fund hasbeen established to erect a stonemarker near the spot where 20children died on Dec. 14, 1961.
Contributions to the Auburn BusMemorial Fund can be made incare of Timothy Geisick atCompass Bank, 3501 West 12th St.,Greeley, CO 80634, or at anyCompass Bank location inColorado. For more information,call 1-970-356-3760.
Ed and Betty Heimbuckand Jim and Alice Paxtondidn’t know each other wellas the winter of 1961 approached,but their lives were mirror images.Both couples farmed.Both cherished their two daughters.
COURTESY ALICE PAXTON
Close family: Jim and AlicePaxton snuggle with theirdaughters, Jan, left, andMarilyn.
The Heimbucks had Kathy andPam. The Paxtons had Marilynand Jan.
Ineachfamily,thegirlswerewild-ly different.Kathy Heimbuckloveddresses and jewelry. Pam Heim-buck didn’t need much more thana pairof jeansandbootsanda cow-boy hat. Marilyn Paxton ap-proached everything as though itwas a major project. Jan Paxtonfloated through life, never tooworkedupaboutanything.
The Heimbuck girls namedtheirPekingese“LittlePete.”
The Paxton girls named theirPekingese“Toyling.”
Both had another dog, a mutt,they’dadopted.
Then, on Dec. 14, 1961, all fourgirls died when a Union Pacifictrain torethroughthe last few feetof theirschoolbus.
In the years that followed,through the struggle to find a newlife, the Heimbucks and the Pax-tonsfoundeachother.
‘In my mind constantly’So much time has passed. And
so little.“I feel close to the girls always,”
Betty Heimbuck says, sitting ononesideof thecouchin theimmac-ulateLaSalle home whereshe andEd have lived since they left thefarm two decades ago. “They’re inmy mind constantly.”
“I know some people wouldthink, ‘My God, it’s been 45 years,get a grip,’ but it doesn’t seemthatlong.”
And so, always,thegirls are onlya memory away. Like the day Pamchattered away at her mother’sfeet until Betty could no longertake it.
“Pam, my ears hurt,” she saidthatday. “Pleasebequiet.”
And Pam looked up and said,“Yes,butmy mouthlikesto talk.”
Or the days when Betty woulddivide up the chores, assigningsome to Kathy, some to Pam and
some to herself. On those days,prettysoon she’d hear Kathy’s ex-asperated voice: “Mom, where’sPam at?” She’d look out, and thebarn door would be open, andPam would be off someplace onher Shetland pony, Dopey. LittlePam loved Dopey, and she tookhim a treat every day — a carrot,an apple,a cookie.
They remember how differentthegirls were.
Kathy was a little lady. Nice per-fume. Cooking and sewing withher 4-H club— the “Auburnettes.”
Pam was a tomboy. Toy pistols.Jeans. Standing next to Ed andsaying, “Daddy, saddle my pony.”Learning,one day, to do it herself.
Bronzed shoesAlice Paxton’s girls are nearby,
in her heart,too.She lives alone now — Jim died
in November2005aftera short,dif-ficultillnessbroughton by a stom-ach infection.
But the memories of their girlsare on display in the glass casejust off the kitchen in her tidyhome on the east side of Pierce,north of Greeley.On one shelf restseven pairs of shoes, all of thembronzed. A pair of baby shoes foreach girl. And dancing shoes —two pairs of Marilyn’s, three pairs
that belonged to Jan. Aroundthem sit dance trophies, musicawards, colorized school por-traits.
Jan was the first to pick updance. She was 4 or 5 when shewent to her first dance class, andpretty soon Marilyn joined her.They tap-danced. They danced“modern.”Jan eventriedballet.
In dance, as in everything else,theywereso different.
Marilyn, the quiet, studious girlwho was always involved in herwork,tookvery precisesteps.
Jan, the carefree girl who didn’tlet much bother her, prancedaround.
“She had tennis shoes,” Alicesays, talking about Jan’s attemptat ballet. “She’d walk around onher tiptoesin her tennisshoes.”
As she says this, Alice laughs,and lifts her hands up and walksthroughthe air withher fingers.
A terrible ChristmasOn Dec. 14, 1961, Kathy Heim-
buck was 12, Marilyn Paxton was13, and both were eighth-gradersatMeekerJuniorHigh.PamHeim-buck was 9, a fifth-graderat DeltaElementary School. Jan Paxtonwas 11, a sixth-grader.
In the fewsecondsit tookfor thethundering train to bash into thebus,all four weregone.
Finding a way to existaftersuchloss was a struggle for both cou-ples. Eleven days after the acci-dent, they faced Christmas with-outtheirgirls.
The Heimbucks also had tosteel themselves for Pam’s birth-day on Dec. 27, then Kathy’s onDec.30.
The reminders were every-where. Each afternoon, Blackey,the landlord’s puppy who’d beenadopted by Kathy and Pam, wan-dered out to the road around 3:30,waiting for the school bus and thegirls whonevercamehome.
Ed went back to work in thefields where he grew beets, beans,grain, corn and hay. When Bettyfelt thewallsclosingin, she soughtconsolationfromKatherineBrant-ner, another mother who lost twochildrenin the crash.
After the accident, the Heim-bucks remained on the farm
where they’d lived all their mar-riage, down the road from the Au-burn school. In 1963, Ed took a jobin nearby LaSalle with a companythat manufactured fertilizer. Itwas, he acknowledges now, an ef-fort to get away from the accidentand thesadness.
But in 1964, he went back tofarming the 80-acre plot whereKathy and Pam had romped withtheir animals. Then in 1968, heand Betty moved to a farm closerto LaSalle and began growing po-tatoes.
They retired in the mid-1980sand movedinto town.
For the Paxtons, the journeywas no easier.
“We had a terribletime after the
girls were killed,” Alice Paxtonsays. “We didn’t know what wewanted to do. We took it awfulhard. It just ruined our wholelives.
“Nothing was ever the same af-terthat.”
Each afternoon, Chip, the Ger-man shepherd mix who’d beenadopted by Marilyn and Jan, didthe same thing Blackey did at theHeimbucks’ house. He wanderedout to the road around 3:30, wait-ing for theschoolbus.
FriendshipIn the months after the acci-
dent, the Paxtons sold the farmnear Auburn. Jim drove a truckfor a year, then wentback to farm-
ing. Alice couldn’t just sit aroundthe house, so she went to town towork.
She took a job at Cook’s DrugStore,thenat DenverDry, thenatHested’sDepartmentStore, thenat StateBank.
She took night courses in ac-counting.
Eventually she got a job in theaccounts receivable departmentat the Monfort meatpackingplant, where she worked for 10yearsbeforeretiring.
“I just had to make somethingof myself,” she says. “I just had todo something.”
Jim eventually returned totrucking, driving his rig until theday he got sick in August2005.
Neither couple ever had anymorechildren.
Along the way, the Heimbucksand the Paxtons found each oth-er.
They were barely acquaintedbefore Dec. 14, 1961. After thatday, they understood each otherbetterthananyoneelsecould.
Theyspentholidaystogetherfordecades.
Thanksgiving at the Heim-bucks.
ChristmasatthePaxtons.Together, they relished the
memoriesof theirgirls.They freely expressed their
hard feelings for bus driver Du-ane Harms, the man they all be-lieve took their girls from them.
And they share something else —disdain for that psychologicalterm so often tossed around aftertragedies:“closure.”
For them, there was no magicmoment, no line in their liveswhere they said, “I’m OK now.”Theirwoundsstillhurt.
“There’s never closure,” Bettysays.
“They say time heals, and itdoes. But it takes a long time andit’sgradual.”
“It’s always there,” Alice says.“Itnevergoesaway.”
It’s been 45 years, and it’s stillDec.14, 1961.
They’restillat the crossing.
TUESDAY: Dec. 14
Memorials: BettyHeimbuck rests her handson studio photographs of herdaughters, Pam and Kathy.Below the photographs is ashadow box containing playpistols and a gun belt thatbelonged to Pam. Betty andher husband, Ed, drawcomfort from the memoriesof the two daughters theylost at the crossing.
MarilynPaxton
PamHeimbuck
JanPaxton
KathyHeimbuck
20 NEWS ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS MONDAY 2/12/07 NEWS 21
