Student Journalists Break Ground With Book on Massacre

July 20, 2007 — -- If journalism is the first draft of history, the student journalists of Virginia Tech are about to make their contribution with a book about the campus tragedy that left 33 people dead, including shooter Seung-Hui Cho.

"April 16th: Virginia Tech Remembers" is the first major book on the shooting and combines tributes to the students and faculty victims with a collection of firsthand testimonials from those who lived through the morning of the massacre.

"All of a sudden a door just opened real fast, a guy came in with a gun … he was very, very deliberate. He didn't say anything. Just came in and started firing," described student Garrett Evans, who was in German class when Cho began his rampage.

"I felt God move me away so he didn't shoot me in my head," said Evans, who was shot in both legs.

The shooter attacked four classrooms on the second floor of Norris Hall, killing 30 people and wounding 25. Earlier that morning he had killed two students in West Ambler Johnston dormitory, according to police.

ABC News got the first look at the book, which hasn't yet been released. The book is an oral history, edited by Roland Lazenby and the student staff of Planet Blacksburg, a news Web site serving the Virginia Tech community. During the hours that followed the shooting, the site received global attention for its breaking-news coverage.

Moments of Heroism Amid Chaos

The book records the fear and horror of those who lived through the attack. Erin Sheehan, a student who lay among the wounded students in an attempt to play dead, told reporters, "I saw bullets hit people's bodies. There was blood everywhere."

The book's firsthand accounts include the now well-known acts of heroism in the midst of chaos, like when Theresa Walsh and her classmates in Room 205 saved themselves by barricading the door, preventing Cho from entering the class.

"He tried getting into the door and he nudged it with his shoulder, but … everyone was on their stomachs holding the legs of the table, pushing it up against the door," Walsh recalled.

"You could feel the bullets … you could feel … the vibrations of each gunshot. He shot, bam, bam, bam, bam, and he didn't stop until his clip was empty and you heard the clip hit the ground right outside our door. He reloaded and started again."

Walsh quickly called 911.

"'They asked, 'What building are you on?' and I was like, 'We're in Norris. Why aren't you guys here?'" she remembered.

Survivors also described how engineering professor Liviu Librescu protected his students at the cost of his own life.

"I looked across the hall at Dr. Librescu's class, and I look at him and he was in the doorway. All of his students were behind him, he was like holding them inside the classroom," Walsh said.

"He used his hands to tell us to get back," said Andrey Andreyev, a student in Librescu's classroom. "He stood at the door and wouldn't move. He pushed me toward the back of the room, a corner. He himself would not move. He just stood there."

"I really don't think me or my other classmates would be here if it wasn't for him," student Caroline Merrey said to reporters.

Outside the classrooms, students were living through a powerful shock and grief at news of the tragedy, along with a frustration with the frenzy that quickly overtook their campus. In the book students take jabs at pushy reporters who overwhelmed the Inn at Virginia Tech, where the victims' families had gathered.

"The media were vultures that day," wrote student and Planet Blacksburg news editor Courtney Thomas.

"No, I'm sorry, none of my friends were shot. Thanks for asking. Well, do you know anyone who knows someone who was shot or who can't find their friends? No. Thanks again for your concern, but I don't know anyone who's willing to cry for your camera."

Portrait of a Killer

From the observations of those who knew him, shooter Seung-Hui Cho is described in the book as notable only for his odd, reclusive character.

"No one really knew him; he was a bona fide social pariah," said Rosanna Brown, a fellow resident of Harper Hall, the dorm where Cho lived.

That portrait of Cho's blank expression — a "flat affect," in the words of his psychiatric screener —- was reflected in the creepy, calm demeanor described by those who lived through the shooting.

"My eyes were immediately drawn to his face," said Sam Riley, a communications professor who saw Cho at the downtown Blacksburg Post Office. Cho mailed a multimedia testimonial from that post office just after the first shootings and before the attack on Norris Hall.

"I nodded and spoke to him as we passed; he gaped at me silently in return," Riley added. "I remember saying to myself as I went up the post office steps … 'Great Lord! That's the most deranged-looking individual I've seen in a long time.'"

Wounded victim Derek O'Dell remembered Cho's expression as he walked into German class.

"I saw into his eyes, his face darkened by the shadow from his maroon cap. They seemed completely black and there appeared to be an emptiness behind them."

"Sometimes you can look into a person's eyes and see their life story and the hardships they've encountered. With him there was nothing," O'Dell added.

Walsh, the student who helped barricade her classroom door, recounted that "he walked … almost like in a trance, like as it he had no cares in the world. He was just doing what he was doing."

Remembering the Victims

The book concludes after 115 pages of tribute to the 32 victims, a compilation of biographies and anecdotes from those close to each of the slain. For students on a campus suddenly paralyzed with grief, mourning meant coming away with lessons that were clearly and deeply personal.

"You think, what is there left for me to accomplish? What was left for beautiful Caitlin [Hammaren], freshman Austin [Cloyd]? What was left for Ms. Couture to do with her daughter and husband?" wrote student Melissa Croushorn.

"You feel responsible to make your life meaningful and purposeful enough on behalf of the people whose lives are done."