STEVE NORTON

As a high school principal, I often called the local police. They would come at my request to handle student fights, and petty theft and small drug deals. But when they called on me, it was because of something much more serious in nature.

So when I saw a police officer making his way to my office, I held my breathe. Did I lose a student to death? Who had been arrested? Was there a terrible accident? The officer entered the main office and acknowledged me with a facial gesture; I waved him in to my office. I closed the door and he drew a breathe. “Steve Norton’s mother is dead, we just found her and I need to talk to him right away.”

Each year, I have a ½ dozen students who lost parents to death. But the police were never involved. So this was very, very unusual.

“What about the father” Where is he?”

“Sorry, I can’t talk about him. We are under investigation.”

That was enough said. I understood the police think the father murdered the mother. I call my assistant principal in and apprize him of the situation. I instruct him to call for Steve’s guidance counselor and then I want him to go and get Steve and escort him to my office.

Gary too asks about the father and I don’t hesitate to tell Gary of my suspicions. “The father may have murdered the mother.” The police officer neither confirms nor denies this accusation but he flinches. Maybe because he had not been secretive enough and now the cat is out of the bag. Or maybe he is relieved that I spoke the truth and he wouldn’t have to be so evasive.
Within minutes, the guidance counselor is at my door and I don’t recognize her. I forget that Denise left today on maternity leave and we have a substitute in for the next 12 weeks. There is no time to ask for her name which I knew last week but right now I completely forgot. Because the door opens up and in comes Gary. Steve is trailing right behind. I ask Steve to take a seat and he is intimidated by all of these adults in the room. The police offices had his back to Steve and this perplexes him.

“Did I do something wrong? “ Steve asked worriedly.

I look to the police officer but he doesn’t turn around. It is clear to me that I am going to have to deliver this awful blow to Steve.

“No Steve, you aren’t in trouble. Have a seat, sit down. I have terrible news to give you.”

He sits down and I blurt out the news, nervous and saddened that this boy has to hear this from strangers. He is shocked, speechless. He doesn’t cry. He just puts his head in his hands and shakes his head in disbelief. He rocks himself. And we just stand there, dumbfounded.

I continue to mumble on because I don’t think I could take the silence. I tell Steve how sorry I am but my words seem so shallow. I tell him he can come to any of us for help and I begin to introduce his new counselor, but of course, her name has not yet come to me. And so I stumble over this introduction with an awkwardness that appears thoughtless, insincere.

Then Steve asks me, “what about my dad. Does he know?”

The police officer does not respond. I ask Steve if he knows where his dad is.

“He should be at work”, Steve quickly replies.

“Where is that?”

Steve gives the name of the company where his dad works. The police officer writes this down.

“Steve, do you have a cell number for your dad.” I ask.

“Yea” and Steve whips put his cell phone. “I’ll call him right now.”

“Wait”, I tell him.

“Why?”

“Steve”. And I take a deep breath, “I think the police think your dad may have caused your mother’s death.”

I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth. I want to throw up. No one else speaks and we are all silent. Steve is stunned. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He just wants to get out of here.

The police officer finally tells him that they are gathering his younger brother and sister and bringing them to the police station. There is another sister, who was sent home from school earlier today, due to illness. She was the one who found their mother, dead, straggled, on the floor. She is already at the police station.

The police officer wants Steve to come with him to tell the younger siblings. He is not really coherent; he isn’t crying but he is visibly distraught. He doesn’t want to leave school in a police car but he wants to break away from here. So Gary offers to take him. He wants to go to the middle school and get his brother. So Gary and Steve take off. The police officer finishes up scribbling notes and then he leaves.

Casey, the counselor, and I are left alone and we don’t know what to say to each other. We are filled with sorrow and horrified by the ugliness of what just happened. After a few, long, painful minutes, I say to her, “well, welcome to Springfield. Nothing like a baptism by fire.” It is all I could come up with.

I had no words of comfort for her, this stranger on my staff. We sit in silences for a few more minutes and then she nervously excused herself. I tell her she can go home for the day. She doesn’t go home but I check on her later in the day. She is numb and I tell her that tomorrow should be easier. But she knows I can’t guarantee that. And I just hope that she will return tomorrow.

Within the hour, the story broke and I was getting phone call after phone call from reports. I did not speak to any of them. The Nortons lived a block from the school. So by the end of the school day, the house had been corded off with police tape. Reporters and their trucks were stationed right outside and the house had an eerie, deserted look to it already. All of my students charged over there and did their own investigation. And everyone was abuzz about this family’s misfortune.

By the end of the day, the father had turned himself in. He was filled with regret. They had been fighting again and he had had it with her. So he started to chock her. But he claims he never meant to kill her. Now he is terribly, terribly sorry. He cries into the television cameras.

To add to this drama, one reporter went to Mr. Norton’s father. With no shame, no thought of his grandchildren, Mr. Norton Sr. claimed that the mother deserved it. ”She was a real bitch”, he said, “She drove him nuts.’
I spend the evening, alone, in the darkness, dazed, trying to comprehend what happened. I berated myself for not having been more gentle. For not having the right words to comfort this child in my care. But I know that there are no right words for this kind of tragedy.

Yesterday, four children lived in a home with two parents who fought all of the time. Today, they lost both parents: one to death, the other to jail. They also lost their innocence, their sense of security, stability, their home, each other and a multitude of other emotions which will haunt them forever.