It has now been sixteen years since I was eighteen years old and approaching the end of the fall semester of my junior year at Texas A&M University.
As each year goes by, the memories of that semester increasingly blur together or disappear entirely – save for the day that Bonfire collapsed. I can close my eyes and remember countless memories from that day as clearly as if they happened yesterday. There are very few other events in my life that stay so fresh, or mean so much, as what happened on November 18, 1999.
The following story was originally posted on my old blog. Even if you are not an Aggie, I urge you to read it. November 18, 1999 was a watershed event in my transition from being a young man to becoming an adult and I think 40,000+ of my classmates would say the same thing. If you are a Texas Aggie, you will vividly remember where you were when you heard about this accident. There has never been a darker, more tragic chapter in the history of Texas A&M University than what we experienced that horrible morning. But there was never a more unified and tangible sense of love and family among Texas Aggies, than in the afternoon and evening of the same day.
“Bonfire symbolizes two things; a burning desire to beat the team from the University of Texas, and the undying flame of love that every loyal Aggie carries in his heart for the school.” – 1947 Corps of Cadets Handbook
Sixteen years ago today, at 2:42 am, the Texas A&M Bonfire collapsed, killing 12 students, and changing my University forever.
I’ll start my memories in February 2001 in Carrollton, TX, where I met Jerry and Bulinda Ebanks, whose son Michael was killed by the accident. We went to dinner at a Cracker Barrel (me and my underclassman wearing our dreadful penguin performance suits). Since I was a student public relations manager for Texas A&M, I quite expected the conversation to turn to Bonfire and the tragedy of Michael’s death. But the Ebanks did not discuss that. We spent over an hour sharing our love for Texas A&M, and extolling the virtues of what we all firmly believed is the greatest University on God’s green earth. If I had any doubts about the Aggie Spirit prior to that meal, the Ebanks washed them away with their graciousness and candor.
This stunned me to my core. Through their open hearts, I was blown away.
You see, Michael’s older brother Keith (Fightin’ Texas Aggie Class of ’89) had died five years earlier in a car crash. The Ebanks had buried two of their Aggie sons within five years of each other. Yet Texas A&M still felt like home to them. Texas A&M was family.
I have a host of memories related to the Bonfire collapse that night. I was out rather late in the early morning of the 18th. On my way back home, I drove east on University Drive to Texas Ave. – directly past the stack site. It was about 2:00am. I remember with crystal clarity, noticing that the stack was leaning. At 5:30am, my then-girlfriend Keri (who lived on-campus), called and could only tell me “Bonfire fell! They think a lot of people are dead”. I turned on the local news to follow the story and stayed glued to the screen until about 8:00am when a call from the Regents’ office made me realize how many responsibilities I would have that day.
Mourners visit the site of the Bonfire catastrophy Monday, Nov.22, where 12 crosses have been place in honor of 12 who died as a result of the structure’s collapse last Friday. ( photo by Dave McDermand, Bryan-College Station Eagle ) 1999
I dressed in nice work clothes and went to campus. There were huddles of students everywhere. No one was in the dorms. No one was in class. It felt like a bad dream, the scenes were so surreal. I attended one constitutional law class that day, knowing that there were two brownpots in that class, but they were not in attendance. At 3:30pm, prior to rehearsal, Mr. Kipp, the Singing Cadet director, informed us that the group was to lead the music for two gatherings that day. One event commenced immediately outside our offices in Rudder plaza, one more was being organized that night in Reed Arena.
The impromptu gathering in Rudder Plaza was called by students and was very Christian in nature. We performed, pastors prayed, and afterwards the crowd spontaneously sang hymns. Groups of students, many of whom probably never prayed in their private lives, huddled together in groups across the plaza for several minutes. We all dispersed home to gather our uniforms and reassembled at dusk in the bowels of Reed Arena.
There was media everywhere. CNN, the major networks, and the AP had dozens of reporters criss-crossing the outside of the arena – barred from trespassing into our memorial service. The Aggie Nation was going to grieve without nosy media types. The evening memorial was called by the University and led by President Bowen. One by one, Corps Commander Forrest Lane, SBP Will Hurd, Dr. Sutherland and Dr. Bowen stood in front of the world, in front of tens of thousands of students, in front of the bereaved, and expressed the sorrow and grief we all felt. The Singing Cadets performed the “Spirit of Aggieland” and “12th Man.” Finally, a local Baptist pastor came up to offer prayer. But he prayed to a nameless God. He did not pray in the name of Christ. He did not speak of the love and peace that passes all understanding. He prayed a man’s prayer.
The families of the deceased were escorted out by the University leaders into a wide hallway. My group exited immediately after them. In one of the most emotional moments of my young life, we walked by every single mother, father, brother and sister – many of whom stopped us to thank us, and through tears, told us how much their child loved our University.
A sound poured down the concrete hallway. In Reed Arena, one voice had started singing “Amazing Grace.” In seconds, the entire arena was joining voices and praising God. The world may have cut away from the secular memorial, but the students of Texas A&M had turned to the Almighty.
We assembled in our back room and struggled unsuccessfully to fight back the tears in our own eyes. We received instructions from the University not to speak to the press about Bonfire, and were dismissed. Outside the arena’s back entrance, several reporters and several camera crews were anticipating our exit. One by one, we expressed our sympathy to the families and our love of Texas A&M, and we left.
On Thanksgiving, the night that Bonfire would have burned, a candlelight service was held at the site of the collapse. Afterwards, Kyle Field filled to capacity as over 80,000 people assembled for the largest Yell Practice ever. While we were somber in mood, we gathered in a burning desire to beat t.u. and to express our undying love of Texas A&M. On Friday, Nov. 26th, the Fightin’ Texas Aggies beat the hell out of t.u., who proved to be a gracious loser in defeat and a respectful friend in our time of distress.
My job at the Regents’ Office on the morning of the game required me to drive to Easterwood Airport and pick up UT’s President, Larry Faulkner and his wife, Mary Ann. While stuck in traffic on George Bush Ave., I spent some thirty minutes talking with Dr. Faulkner and was nearly emotional at the many expressions of condolences and sympathy from he and his wife. I was greatly impressed with this man but as he thanked me upon departing, I told him that I still hoped we beat his team.
Four hours later, my team won on a Randy McCown 14-yard pass to Matt Baumgardner in the right corner of the north end zone – 20-16. It was just a football game, sure – but it meant so much to those of us in Aggieland.
“From the outside looking in, you can’t understand it. From the inside, looking out you can’t explain it.”
There may never be another Bonfire on the Texas A&M campus. Indeed, I may have witnessed the last one back in 1998. For sixteen years I have been among tens of thousands of current and former Aggies who have held onto the hope that the tradition will one day be resurrected on our beloved campus.
Today in 2015, I am closing out any hope of ever seeing a Bonfire on the A&M campus – what faint shred of belief I held on to is gone forever. I hope that this will be the year that I make it to the new off-campus Bonfire. Truthfully, now that Texas A&M is facing an uncertain future with our football rivalry with UT – it’s clear that some of the significance is being lost on a new generation of Aggies.
But I have hope. I have now seen how the tradition and the spirit lives on in its current form. I know that some of the families of the students who died in the accident remained supportive of the spirit and tradition behind Bonfire. Their loved ones died because they were building a representation of an undying love of our University. Today on the stack site, there stands a beautiful and fitting memorial to the twelve students whose lives were lost. For fifteen years, I believed that an even more beautiful tribute to the Aggie Spirit we all share would be to rebuild and light the Fightin’ Texas Aggie Bonfire on the Texas A&M campus. I still wish it could.
Many will never understand why Texas Aggies cling so tightly to our traditions. Many will call us rednecks. Many will say that we are obsessed or that we are hurting our own reputation by treasuring this important Aggie symbol.
We say: “There’s a spirit can ne’er be told – its the spirit of Aggieland.”
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