The World They Knew

There was a night, not long ago, when the world stopped for the town of Montoursville, PA. When I think about July 17, 1996, the picture of that morning is starkly contrasted with the memory of what happened that night. It doesn't seem so long ago that 16 students from the Montoursville High School French Club and their five chaperones were heading to France. It doesn't seem so long ago that I heard the news that their plane, TWA Flight 800, crashed off the coast of Long Island, and took the lives of 230 people.

And yet here it is, July 17, 2015. The world has changed a lot in 19 years. Since I was 17 when it happened, I have known more life "after Flight 800" than I did "before Flight 800." But for our friends, the world of July 17, 1996, was the world they knew.

I run the risk of sounding like my parents when I say, "Well, when I was a kid, life was better, life was simpler, blah blah blah." But that's exactly where I'm going with this, especially since I have kids who hear these statements of nostalgia. For instance, when my 9-year-old asked when I got my first cell phone and I told her I was 23, her mouth gaped open in shock. She finds it hard to believe that her father and I lived in a world where we did not have hand-held devices, video chatting or digital cameras, just to name a few.

But those 21 from Montoursville lived in a world such as I described.

They didn't have phones to text messages on; instead, a text message looked more like this:

This was an origami-folded text message, 6th grade, 1991.

Bored in 8th grade study hall.

Passed back & forth in 11th grade cultures; the song lyric Monica tried to figure out?
"I Wish" by Skee-Lo: "I wish I had a six-four Impala!"

A birthday card featured the popular cartoon characters of the day...

And computer graphic technology looked like this (and probably took a half-hour to print!)...

These were the "selfies" of the time...

Kim--6th thru 11th grade

Monica--4th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 10th & 11th grades

Jess--10th grade

And thank you notes were never in short supply...

This would've been the "writing on the facebook wall" of the day...

Looking through these pictures, notes and cards brings so much to the forefront of my mind. I can hear their voices when I read those messages. Nineteen years have not faded what I remember about them; if anything, time has made that stronger. Those memories are a reminder of what life was like when they were here.

There is still sadness because of what happened on the night of July 17, 1996. But going back to that morning... they were happy, they were thriving, and they were headed on an amazing journey. For that moment in time, in the world they knew, life was good.  

Countless Ways to Tell the Story...

I don't want to begin this by tritely saying, "It's hard to believe it's been 18 years..."

But it's the plain and simple truth.

From that first moment that I learned about the crash of TWA Flight 800 and the impact it had on my home community of Montoursville, PA, and until this very day, it still seems so surreal. It still seems like yesterday. And yes, it's hard to believe 18 years have passed since that fateful Wednesday evening of July 17, 1996.

In 18 years, I can tell the story a new way every time. Whether it's relaying it verbally or written, random memories can spark at different times, and it can change the way I tell it. It can be about the friends I lost, or what the summer was like prior to that night, or what the school year was like afterwards, or what life has been like in the past 18 years since the tragedy.

Once again, it's a new story this year. Lately, as I've reflected on Flight 800, it's the little details that have surfaced and have once again reminded me how huge an ordeal it really was. To this day, the shock can still hit that I lived through such a terrible event as a teenager, and so much comes flooding back...

It's in the memory of the enormous headline of our local newspaper on July 18 that screamed, "AGONY IN MONTOURSVILLE".

It's the card on one of the many bouquets displayed in our high school lobby that read, "I don't know you, nor do you don't know me. All I can say is, I love you."

It's the young girl who wrote a letter and donated her baby-sitting money to our memorial fund rather than spending it on herself.

It's the drum head signed by Aerosmith that was on display during the school year. (I thought that was pretty cool.)

It's the endless bouquets of flowers, teddy bears and angels that were sent to our school.

It's the letters from families and friends of those affected by the Oklahoma City bombing reaching out to share in our sorrow.

It's the roll of paper hanging throughout the hallway of the lobby where we could write messages to our loved ones. (I used this opportunity to pen yearbook messages that I would not be writing in my friends' books that year.)

It's the night of July 18 when a couple thousand of us gathered in our high school gymnasium while local clergy spoke and tried to give us some peace. The sadness of that night is still palpable to me.

It's the "God's Little Instruction Book for Graduates" that Monica (Weaver)'s parents gave to me for graduation, and the very first quote in the book read: "When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a manner that when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice." (Anonymous)

It's the days, months and years that have passed, and how people have still remembered Flight 800 when I say I'm from Montoursville.

It's the one-month memorial service when (the former) NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani came and spoke to us, stating, "For the people of New York City, to understand your encounter in some small way, it would be as if in one single time, in one single moment, in one single tragedy, in New York City thirty-five thousand people would need be affected. Every single person, all of us would feel the tragedy. And that's exactly what has happened here in Montoursville." (This haunted me on the morning of 9/11.)

It's the flashes of my own face, friends and classmates that I saw on national news and how it felt like we were all living in a nightmare. 

It's the blue and gold ribbons on everyone's shirts, mailboxes, front doors, flag poles, everywhere. The flags flying at half-mast all over the state of Pennsylvania. It's the "Forever in our Hearts" stickers and buttons that now have taken on a new life as many of our facebook profile photos this time of year.

It's the signs of remembrance in windows of every business in Montoursville, and also many in the outlying communities. (There was no school rivalry at that time!)

It's the endless tears, hugs, phone conversations, seeing our friends' parents so broken-hearted, yet reaching out to comfort us, the funerals and memorial services too numerous to bear...

While I'd not want to relive the days after the tragedy, there was something so beautiful in all of our grief, in all these memories that still stir up emotion, and it's what I remember the most...

The love.

Remembering Friends

I've felt that over the past 17 years, when I talk about Flight 800, the story I share focuses on how our friends died, how I found out about the crash and what it was like to live through such a tragedy at 17.

But now that the incident occurred half a lifetime ago (for those of us that were 17 at the time), I want to shift my story about how my friends lived. Their memories are still so very vivid, and even those people that I only knew as acquaintances, I can still recall my interactions with them like they happened yesterday. It's incredible to me how the memory of someone who's passed seems to blossom in the shadow of their death.

On the night of Wednesday, July 17, 1996, I knew immediately that I had lost three friends: Cheryl Nibert, Kim Rogers, and Monica Weaver. By the morning, my grandmother called and asked if I knew Jessica Aikey, because she heard her name as one of the victims. Another pang of pain went through my heart, and how did I forget that Jess had been on that plane too?

As the days passed and we grieved for the losses and our hometown of Montoursville was the central focus of much of the Flight 800 coverage on the news, we would often talk about our friends, and in the midst of tears, we could laugh at the good times.

Even now, I still smile at the good times. Their voices and laughter continually echo. They will never be forgotten.

Cheryl was a year behind me and was a close friend of a mutual friend, Erin (who is still now one of my best friends, in part because of Flight 800). We were on track together that spring, and somehow her cheerful persuasion had me running the 100m hurdles with her at a meet (in spite of never practicing on them). That was a huge mistake as I stumbled over them and completely humiliated myself. I knew she felt bad, but I couldn't hold it against her. I went to her 16th birthday party, and I still have her thank-you card in which she thanked me for the birthday money as she would be using it for her Europe fund. She also made it her mission to get me and my boyfriend together, and her plan worked. I am grateful for the short time we had as friends.

Cheryl at Prom '96. This pose says it all!

Jess and I were in the same section in 7th and 8th grade, so we became friends during those years. I'm not sure why one of my memories of her has to do with her teeth, but after her braces were removed, she had a retainer with two false teeth on it, so she could slip it out with her tongue and freak people out. I just thought it was funny. We continued to have classes together in high school, and I still have a Christmas card from her where she addressed me as her "bathroom buddy." Somehow we always ended up in the bathroom together after lunch during our sophomore year, brushing our hair and retouching our make-up. I remember a fun summer get-together at her house. I remember a party at another friend's house after our sophomore year, and we decided to drive around because we could. Some of us piled in Jess's car, and at one point we thought it would be a great idea to do a Chinese fire drill. While Jess had her group of close-knit friends, she remained a constant in my life throughout high school. I took it for granted that she would always be there for conversation.

Last day of junior year--6/7/96

Kim and I were in the same 1st grade class, and it wasn't until 5th grade that we ended up in the same section. Kim was an only child, quiet, but a reliable friend. She was the first person I recognized as a "BFF", proclaiming it in our origami-folded notes we passed back and forth throughout our 6th grade year. She invited me to go with her to her grandparents' house one summer weekend up in Wellsboro. We (attempted) fishing in their pond, sitting on their roof, swinging in their barn, and gossiping about our classmates. We remained close through middle school as we were in the same sections all four years (and often sat next together as the alphabet would have it). She would occasionally come to my church as one of the older ladies, a neighbor of Kim's, claimed her as her "adopted granddaughter". We shared classes in high school, and played together on the AYSO soccer team our sophomore year. While we weren't as close in high school, we remained in the same group of friends (and pretty much sat next to each other in homeroom in high school), and I can still see her smile, her long brown hair, and I still recall the way she would roll her eyes when exasperated. I only wish I had seen her that summer before she was to leave on her trip.

Kim rocking a retro dress of her mom's at prom!

Monica and I were also in the same 1st grade class. It wasn't until 4th grade that we became friends, and I still remember going to her birthday party. She was one of the youngest members of our class with her birthday falling on January 11, 1980. We lovingly teased her over the years since she was the "baby." We ended up in classes together throughout middle school, and I recalled some fun birthday sleepovers during those years. She and Kim were also BFFs, so a lot of memories of Monica in middle school also include Kim. It wasn't until we had Biology together freshman year that our friendship started to grow closer. We arranged a "Secret Santa" gift exchange between a few of our friends, and I hosted a little Christmas party at my house for the "revealing" of our Secrets. Being 1993 (and somewhat obsessed with making mixed tapes and recording people--for example, my cousins, brother and I invented a radio station and made a whole tape as that radio station), I turned on my cassette recorder, which seemed silly at the time, but now I have Monica's voice on tape (and for that reason I can't part with a cassette player).

During our junior year, we really started to bond. Between trying to harmonize when we sang the Gin Blossoms' "Follow You Down" and the "Friends" theme song, from going to country line dancing on Sunday nights at the Econo Lodge, to talking on the phone in the middle of the snowstorm that cancelled her 16th birthday party, to sitting next to each other in Cultures, whispering back and forth... there isn't much of my junior year that Monica was not a part. By the end of the year, she was settling into her first serious relationship with a college guy. He came to prom with her, and I was ecstatic for her. We had plans for me to come to her house and spend the night. I remember sitting in her living room with her parents at 11:30, waiting for her to return. Eventually, I got so tired I decided to go home. She and her boyfriend had decided to watch a movie after prom. I couldn't begrudge her for that... but in retrospect, I wish I had just stayed at her house and waited for her. We could've had such a fun sleepover together.

Last day of junior year... not sure about my face, but Monica looks great, as always.

We saw each other a few times that summer. We were both in serious relationships, so we could share in each other's excitement. She came to my house and we kicked around on a raft in our pool. The weekend before her trip, I stopped by her place to show off my senior pictures. She had hers taken that week and was excited to see the results. We last saw each other on Monday, July 15. Monica got to drive us around for the first time. We laughed and talked about how much we would have to write in our yearbooks. On the morning of July 17, I called her to wish her well on her trip. Her words still ring in my ears: "If you hadn't called me, I would've called you, because I wouldn't have left without saying good-bye."

Senior year was not the same without her, and I felt sad about that quite often. But if anything, our friendship was sealed on a high note. I knew immediately after she died, that my first daughter's middle name would be Monica. Averey now asks about her middle namesake, knowing that she is Averey Monica is in honor of a friend of mine that died in a plane crash.

I often wonder where my friends would be today had they gone to France like so many other French Clubs across the nation did, and returned to tell the stories of their amazing adventure. How different would our senior year have been? Where would they have gone to college? Would they be married with kids? Would they be travelling the world? Would we still be friends?

But the questions just lead to sadness. Even 17 years later, thinking of their loss still strikes a chord. I can read my journals from that time, and it can still make me cry. I will never understand WHY, but I believe that God has brought good from this tragedy. A friendship that would have otherwise ended because of a tiff is still going strong today because we both lost dear friends in that crash. I can't let my loved ones leave without kisses and "I love yous". A cautious attitude towards life has followed me, but also an attitude of having no regrets trumps that. My husband and I would not be together if it weren't for that; I would not be going back to school if it weren't for that.

At the beginning of our senior year, our Economics teacher, Mr. King, wrote a letter to us in which he eloquently ended with the statement regarding our lost friends, "They would urge all of us to laugh more, learn more, live more, and to love more. Doing that affords us a view of them forever."

Living life today, I can say that truer words have not been spoken.

In loving memory of our friends
Class of '96   Dan Baszczewski   Rance Hettler   Jody Loudenslager   Jacqueline Watson
Class of '97   Jessica Aikey   Jordan Bower   Amanda Karschner   Kim Rogers
Monica Weaver   Wendy Wolfson 
Class of '98   Michelle Bohlin   Monica Cox   Cheryl Nibert   Larissa Uzupis  
Class of '99   Claire Gallagher   Julia Grimm            
Chaperones   Deborah Dickey   Douglas Dickey   Carol Fry   Judy Rupert
Eleanor Wolfson

Forever Changed in the Blink of an Eye

Over the years, I have written and spoken a great deal on one of my life's most pivotal events. When I worked for Pinnacle Health, they had a publication called "Art and Soul", to which employees could submit artwork, photography, essays and poems. I chose to submit a story on my experience with Flight 800 that was published in the summer of 2005. Instead of writing something new, I've chosen to blog this story for today.

It’s amazing how quickly your life can change. Just when everything seems to be absolutely perfect, the unthinkable occurs, and your illusion of immortality is shattered.

            It was the summer of 1996, the summer before I would begin my senior year of high school. All was right in my little world. Hanging out with friends and my new boyfriend were the exciting events at the time, and since it was the first summer I was driving with a license, I volunteered to chauffeur everyone around in my mother’s car. I had reached the apex of independence in my 17 years. Little did I know my life would take a rapid course down from that peak.

            On the night of Wednesday, July 17, around 11:30 p.m., I arrived home to find my mom and brother waiting for me at the front door. I immediately sensed something was wrong because no one ever greeted me at the door even if I came in a little past my curfew. They said they had something to tell me and I was to follow them downstairs. I think it was my dad who spoke the words, but looking back, it’s all a blur. All I knew was that the worst imaginable tragedy had settled over my hometown.

            Many members of my high school’s French Club were planning a journey to France. I heard about it through several of the 16 people who were going on this excursion, including one of my best friends, Monica Weaver. I saw her two days before she was to leave, and she talked excitedly about the new clothes she bought for the trip, and the francs she had received from the bank. On the morning that she left, we talked on the phone for 45 minutes, chatting about our boyfriends and of course, her trip. She didn’t seem the least bit hesitant about going, and who would be? It was an amazing opportunity for them since the French Club didn’t venture overseas every year. At the end of our conversation, we decided that she would call me when she got back (while she recovered from her jet lag), and we said our good-byes, unknowingly for the last time.

            The 16 members of the French Club, their five chaperones, and 209 other passengers boarded TWA Flight 800 at JFK Airport, and within minutes after taking off, vanished into the night after the plane exploded in midair and fell to the sea below.

            It was instantly all over the news. By the next morning when I went to my high school, the mob of reporters was unbelievable. How could this happen to my hometown of Montoursville? With a population just over 5,000 and nestled next to Williamsport, it was just your average sleepy hamlet, relatively unknown to anyone living outside of Lycoming County. Then suddenly overnight, our small town became the focal point of Pennsylvania, America, even the world. It was too much to bear. I realized that this was a life-changing event, and I had to face it no matter how impossible it seemed.

            Within the week after the crash, funeral services began, some with or without the deceased, depending on whether their body had been found in the waters. In the space of four days, I attended five viewings and four funerals, more than I had been to in all of my 17 years, and more than I hope I ever have to attend for the rest of my life.

            The school year approached quickly, and I was a mix of emotions. How could I face my senior year without Monica? The last day I saw her, we talked about how we would have so much to write about in each other’s yearbooks, and also our plans for the upcoming year: mall trips, bowling, and just driving around and being teenage girls. I couldn’t comprehend why that had been taken away from her. She had so much going for her! She planned to go to school to be a nurse or a physical therapist, and I was clueless about my future. The 16 students that perished were vibrant, very involved in the school and extracurricular activities, and knew what they wanted to achieve in life. I tried to make sense of the tragedy in my own mind, piecing together specific Bible verses and trying to remember that God has a plan for everyone, but even now it’s still hard to grasp why so many young lives were taken away much too soon.

            I went through much of my senior year as I did any other school year, enjoying the dances, football games, parties with friends, and being a part of the school musical, but a lot of times I felt very sad and lonely. I looked forward to graduation and moving on in my life.

            As time ticked on, the pain I felt from the death of my friends lost some of its sting. There were weeks that would go by where I wouldn’t even cry, but yet not a day would pass when I didn’t think of Monica or my other friends that I lost, or the tragedy itself. Nearly nine years has passed, and it still crosses my mind every day, whether it’s a brief moment when I see the pictures of my friends that I’ve displayed in my hallway, or if I hear of a tragic event and it reminds me of what I lived through at such a young age.

            Visiting her gravesite was probably the most difficult thing in dealing with her death. It made the incident all too real, and many times I left crying. But there was a time I spent there when I felt very comforted.

            In late December of 1998, I went up to the cemetery around 11 p.m. Earlier that evening, I visited with Monica’s family, and in between going out to eat and meeting up with friends, I felt the need to stop at the cemetery.

            It was a beautiful night. There was crisp snow on the ground, the moon was shining brightly, and the stars were twinkling. I approached the area where many of the Flight 800 victims are buried. Their wind chimes swayed musically in the light breeze, and I knelt by Monica’s decorated headstone and for some reason felt at ease to talk to her out loud, even though I had always visited the site in silence. After a couple minutes, I said, “I have never done this before. This is a little different for me. I just wish I could know if you can hear me. I wish I could have some sort of sign!” I drifted off into regular conversation again, and a couple minutes later, I noticed something. All of the wind chimes had silenced. There was still a breeze, but there wasn’t a sound. Right then and there, I felt Monica’s presence, listening to me talk as she had done so many times before.

            Living through the tragedy of Flight 800 has changed me in so many ways. I’ve learned a lot about life, love and death. Being 17 at the time, they were lessons I never expected to learn so early in life. Never taking anyone or anything for granted, realizing how short and meaningful life really is, and how to make the most of what you have are just a few of the key lessons I’ve come to understand. I’ve heard that God will take a negative situation and come out with something positive. As I’m living my life now, I’d definitely have to agree.