Less than five hours after receiving the evidence and arguments in the three-week STEM School mass shooting trial, a Douglas County jury of seven women and five men made official what we had long known: the 18-year-old shooter murdered Kendrick Castillo and tried to murder everyone else in his British Literature class while they watched The Princess Bride three days before the end of the school year. His name should never again be spoken.
Over these past twenty-six years as an attorney, I have been a prosecutor for the Columbine High School massacre, the murder of Claire Davis at Arapahoe High School, the attempted mass murder at Mountain Vista High School, the Aurora theater massacre, the mass shooting of Douglas County deputies and the murder of Zach Parrish, and the mass shooting at STEM. Invariably, in each of these horrific events, tales of heroism emerge that generally turn out to be just a bit less than originally billed.
The opposite is true of the events of May 7, 2019.
Amidst unthinkable premeditated acts of evil, there were unpredictable acts of self-sacrifice and courage that undoubtedly saved the lives of everyone in Room 107. There were real heroes in that classroom. Their names should always be remembered for what they did that day. These are The Heroes of Room 107.
Just after a 1:51 p.m. message to his accomplice who was blocking one of the exits in 107 to “go now,” the 18-year-old would-be mass murderer positioned himself in front of the only other escape route. The room was dark. The students watched The Princess Bride. It was three days before the end of most of the students’ high school careers. They had no idea they were in a kill box fashioned by a classmate, who planned to murder everyone one of them. The killer removed a magnetic strip from the door, locking out any possible help. He pulled a fully loaded .45 caliber hand cannon hidden in a guitar case, turned to menace his classmates, and announced “nobody (expletive) move!”
We will never have to know what horror would have occurred if Kendrick Castillo had not acted. With the killer’s words barely past his lips, the well-liked, smart, loving, only child of John and Maria sprang from his seat and charged the gunman. No fear. Or, no display of fear. From where does such bravery come? Boom. The killer pulled the trigger and sent a lethal bullet through Kendrick, but not before the hero slammed him into the wall, thwarting his plans for mass murder.
Nearly simultaneous with Kendrick’s heroism, Brendan Bialy and Josh Jones sprung from their seats and charged the gunman. After Kendrick fell, they wrestled the killer to the ground while he continued to pull the trigger. Boom. A bullet went through a wall and struck another student. Boom. A bullet went through the wall and lodged into the ceiling. Boom. A bullet tore through Josh’s hip and pierced his leg.
After being shot through both legs, Lucas Albertoni had crawled across the room towards the other exit. He looked up into the face of the person who shot him and had the courage to say “you don’t have to do this.” Twice. The shooter pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger. He moved just fast enough for the bullet to enter his shoulder, breaking his clavicle. To this day, he carries two of the nine bullets the second shooter fired, one each in his shoulder and in his leg.
Jackson Gregory, hiding behind his teacher’s desk, remembered that the Columbine shooters killed everyone who hid under tables in the library. He decided not to be a victim. “Action” Jackson leaped from the desk onto the second killer and fought to disarm him, oblivious to the bullet in his shoulder. It took two. Ms. Lauren Harper, the British Lit teacher who believed she had been shot, joined with Jackson to fight and stop the shooter. They succeeded.
Douglas County Sheriff Lieutenant Lori Bronner, the former head of the department’s school resource officers, Sergeant Joel White, and several other deputies sped to STEM within mere minutes of the shooting. They disregarded their own safety — and likely DCSO rules — by not even spending the time necessary to put on body armor. Kids were at risk and that is what drove them on. Entering the school, they were nearly shot by the STEM security guard who had apprehended one of the shooters, but they pressed on, not knowing how many shooters were where or doing what. Fearless. Sgt. White found Gerry Montoya-Ojeda — shot three times, including a head injury — threw him over his shoulder, and ran for nearly one block to get him help.
Admittedly, every survivor of 107, especially those shot — like Mitchell Kraus — and every person in STEM that day showed courage in the face of death, and again when they faced the student who tried to kill them in court.
The political debates of our day: the role of law enforcement in our schools and in our community, the demands placed upon the teachers of our children, can gun laws protect us from criminals, concerns about the next generation of Coloradans … and more met in Room 107 on that dark day and revealed apolitical answers.
In matters of evil and lawlessness, there is no substitute for SROs and selfless law enforcement officers in our neighborhoods.
Our teachers are called upon to do far more than educate, and we must find ways to recruit and retain more like Ms. Harper.
No gun law proposed or passed could have prevented the two killers from using an axe and crowbar to break into a safe to steal and use lawfully owned firearms.
And finally, and to this Dad, most importantly, the kids are alright. Courage, bravery, resilience … they have it all.
I have but one desperate, reckless hope. There should never again be a necessity for those like the Heroes of 107. No more Kendrick Castillos. No more murders in schools. No more need for courage in a classroom. Let us honor them today and pray there are no more like them tomorrow.
George H. Brauchler is the former district attorney for the 18th Judicial District. Follow him @GeorgeBrauchler.
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