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The messenger: a VT survivor's story

Derek O'Dell of Roanoke County returned to Virginia Tech on Aug. 16 -- four months after the shooting. The bullet wound in his right arm is healed. Other wounds run deeper.

Virginia Tech junior Derek O'Dell, who was wounded in the April 16 shootings on campus.

Stephanie Klein-Davis | The Roanoke Times

Virginia Tech junior Derek O'Dell, who was wounded in the April 16 shootings on campus.

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The voice leapt above the hum from the waiting room television at Montgomery Regional Hospital.

News of the shootings at Virginia Tech was not two hours old, and the network chatter was already relentless.

But the voice distinguished itself because the people in the waiting room recognized it.

It was the voice of Derek O'Dell, the very man O'Dell's aunt, uncle and girlfriend were waiting to see.

They knew only that he had been shot, was not seriously wounded, and they still didn't know exactly how it had happened.

Yet there was his voice, quiet and calm, telling the story of how XXXXX-XXX XXX had entered his classroom and sprayed bullets through it.

O'Dell had been unable to speak to his parents or girlfriend, other than to send a text message.

He had been bandaged and tended to, yet no one had asked him what had happened.

Until the call came from MSNBC.

At last, someone was asking.

He could tell the true story of what happened in Norris Hall, he thought. Maybe his mother, in Colorado on business, would hear him and know he was OK.

If nothing else, he could release the horror of what he had seen and survived.

So the ordinarily quiet, attention-shunning O'Dell began to talk.

And for the next days, weeks and months, he kept on talking.

To reporters, to friends, to his old high school.

To his psychologist, to the widow of his professor. He talked.

To the guy who sat feet from him and whose blood he saw spill out, he talked.

It was by accident, but before wounds had ceased to bleed, O'Dell seized on just what he needed for his wounded psyche.

He would talk.

The trauma had not set in, the search for answers had not begun, and already he was changing.

And it wasn't all bad.

The trauma

Joanne Hawley was two-thirds of the continent away from Blacksburg when she heard. The story came to her fully formed: the mass shooting; 33 dead, including the perpetrator; numerous wounded; and her son, Derek, a sophomore who had just turned 20, among them, and alive.

She had been in a conference all day in Colorado, ignorant of the events at Virginia Tech.

She emerged to see a cousin, who spun the terrible yarn for her. Hawley, a post-traumatic stress disorder counselor, knew right away what her son could be facing, "the whole constellation of symptoms."

The flashbacks.

The nightmares.

The jumpiness.

The constant vigilance and sense of danger.

As a psychologist would later tell her and her husband, Roger, what used to be normal in all their lives was gone. There would be a new normal.

Hawley arranged for her son to meet with a psychologist just 26 hours after the shooting.

"That's the only thing I could do from 2,000 miles away," she said.

What she longed to do was hug her quiet boy, the skinny kid with round shoulders and remarkable blue eyes who demanded his parents remove insects from their home rather than swat them, even wasps.

O'Dell had been raised in a peaceful home by pacifist parents. He decided at 10 to become a veterinarian after he saw a dog hit by a car and was helpless to give it aid. He played soccer at Cave Spring High School, but he excelled at a more cerebral game: chess. He seemed wired for the game's calm intensity, predisposed to thinking moves ahead and to analyzing every match after it was over.

He was a state champion, but shunned the attention it earned him.

"He didn't want extra attention that other people didn't have," his father said.

Unlike his war-protesting father who is prone to questioning the establishment, Derek O'Dell always sought the comfort of the group and felt warmth in his associations -- his high school, his university.

He rarely played with toy guns as a child. The only weapons in the O'Dell home are Civil War relics Roger O'Dell inherited -- a sword and rifle over the mantel.

Before April 16, he had never been in the presence of live gunfire.

 

The face was male, Asian. Just a sliver of it visible when the door to Room 207 cracked open 20 minutes into class and closed again quickly. Probably some kid confused about which room was his. Minutes later, the same face appeared at the door again.

"Why are you looking in here again?" O'Dell thought, annoyed. "You just looked in here."

Jamie Bishop continued his lesson in German grammar until the next interruption.

"Is that what I think it is?" someone asked. No, it must be just more construction noise.

Later, O'Dell would think, "That was my first mistake."

The messenger

In the days after the shooting, O'Dell craved details.

He scoured news reports, Web sites, television for new nuggets of information to help him re-create the event.

This was real-life game analysis. The chess player was trying replay the match in his head.

Did xxxxx-xxx xxx come to Room 207 second or third? How much time did he and his classmates really have to react? Did he do all he could to help?

If he couldn't know the why, at least he wanted the what and how.

When he wasn't searching for details, O'Dell was talking. In the first two weeks after the shooting, he was interviewed dozens of times by reporters.

It seemed to help. He told his mother, "If I'm talking about it, I'm not thinking about it."

His psychologist would later tell Hawley that this seemed to be part of O'Dell's healing.

It was a therapeutic role he adopted for himself: the messenger.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to say his assailant's name. He wanted to forget the killer, yet worried that if he blotted the man from his memory, he might also lose the memory of those who died.

The event that would forever mark the before and after in his life, he referred to only as "that day."

The clap of a woman's flip-flops on stairs made him jump.

When he returned to class the Monday after the shooting, he would not sit near the door, as he had in Norris 207. When he took his seat, he quickly formulated an escape plan.

Thoughts of how he could defend himself leapt to mind involuntarily: "This isn't only a laptop. It's a weapon." He knows it doesn't make sense.

And then, two weeks after the shooting, one of his roommates made a jarring discovery.

The fleece jacket O'Dell wore when he was shot bore not only the holes where a bullet passed through his right arm, but three others.

Two between the collar and right shoulder indicate a bullet missed his neck by inches.

And a single hole near the zipper seemed to show a bullet had narrowly missed his midsection, perhaps even his heart.

He had come even closer to death than he realized.`

 

This must be some sort of criminal justice class experiment, he thought. Later, someone would come and ask them what they saw to test the validity of eyewitness accounts, right?

The wounded professor staggered toward the shooter, was shot again. Just feet away, blood erupted from Sean McQuade's neck.

O'Dell scrambled under his desk. A shell casing rattled to stillness on the floor near him.

This was real.

He crept toward the rear of the room, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and that gun.

Gunfire roared in his ears. It was all he could hear. Where was the shooter? From beneath a desk, he caught only glimpses of his feet. He followed the sound of the gun. The shooter was walking through the room firing rhythmically. Classmates fell into the aisles as they were hit.

And then it was quiet.

 

The recognition

The May trip to the beach was no escape.

The O'Dells and the family of Derek's girlfriend, Laura Jones, arrived at their rented beach house on the Outer Banks to a cheerful banner that read, "Surf or Sound Realty Welcomes Derek O'Dell!"

Inside the house were baskets of baked goods and gift certificates from businesses for miles around -- well more than you could spend in a week, his parents said.

He's like a star, his mother remarked. People recognized him -- at a roadside fruit stand in North Carolina backcountry, at Mass at the Catholic church in Buxton, where the Cape Hatteras lighthouse is.

O'Dell's churchgoing had slipped in recent years. Now, he wanted to go to Mass all the time. He had survived when others hadn't. Why? What did God have in store for him?

He didn't trust he would be so blessed again.

Every night at the beach, he locked his bedroom door.

 

The door! What if the shooter comes back?

He leapt across the desks to reach the door. His right arm felt numb. A bullet had passed clean through his biceps. He peeled his jacket back, fashioned a tourniquet from his leather belt, felt for his cellphone and dialed 911.

"Quiet! Quiet!" Trey Perkins, a classmate, told him. "He might come back."

O'Dell's right shoe was missing. It had come off during his crawl to the back of the room. He had to have it back. If he had to run, he thought, he didn't want to be hindered by slipping in his socks on the slick floor.

Perkins tossed it to him. He slipped it on, braced his back against the wall, and jammed his foot beneath the door like a wedge to keep the killer out.

 

The appreciation

"I was involved in the incident at Virginia Tech," O'Dell said with remarkable understatement, but he assumed the audience already knew.

He returned to his old high school, Cave Spring, in June, but not to talk about the shooting.

Rather, it was to lead a panel discussion where he and, as Principal Martha Cobble put it, "people who had survived their first year of college" would reveal the secrets of college life to seniors.

Take a hammer and a screwdriver.

Make boyfriend/girlfriend visitation rules with your roommate.

Don't be embarrassed when your parents cry on move-in day.

O'Dell, who had not necessarily been anonymous at Cave Spring but was not homecoming king either, had offered to organize the event when Cobble mentioned it to him.

He tucked "Virginia Tech tragedy" at the bottom of the list of topics he distributed. But the shooting lurked in the room, waiting for discussion.

At the end of each session, he gave a brief summary of his role in the shooting. Once he mentioned his attacker by name. "XXX XXXXX-XXX" he said, pausing as he realized he had the names out of order. "Or however you say his name," he added dismissively.

He implored the students to appreciate their professors. Five died on April 16, he said. "They're amazing people. Be grateful for everything they do for you."

Then he pulled out his fleece jacket and passed a pencil through the bullet holes in a strange kind of show-and-tell.

"Without God, I know I wouldn't be here," he said.

 

The door handle jiggled, then turned. It came unlatched. The shooter pushed the door, forced it open a few inches.

O'Dell stood on the hinged side of the door, his left leg stretched across to secure it. Katelyn Carney stood in front of the door, pushing on it with both hands. They forced it closed again.

Bullets ripped through the wooden door. One came through Carney's hand. The door shook with every gunshot, like someone pounding on it. Every bullet came closer to O'Dell than the last.

He closed his eyes, prayed for it to end. And for the moment, it did.

All around him, people were bleeding, dying or dead. Sean McQuade listed over. O'Dell wanted to help, knew how to help.

But the door. He couldn't leave the door.

 

The absolution

It was late July, and O'Dell stood outside a building at the University of Virginia. He was there for the public comment session of the Virginia Tech Review Panel appointed by the governor.

It was the kind of atmosphere that put him on high alert.

He stepped into the building lobby, which bustled with people during a break in the meeting. Who were they? He studied identification badges, trying to sort out who was who, why they were there.

In the auditorium, he noted exits to the left and right of the stage and took his seat in a row near the front. Hours later, he could recount that eight people sat on his left, three to the right. One row back, there were only two people -- that would be his escape route.

For weeks it had been as normal a summer as it could be. The reporters didn't call much anymore. He worked at his regular job at the Cave Spring Veterinary Clinic, hung out with his girlfriend, Laura, cooked her pasta for their third-anniversary dinner.

But there, with the panel onstage before him, and parents and spouses of those who died around him, his happiness left him.

As speakers took to the lectern, he looked down, his eyes searching a blank sheet of paper on his lap. He fiddled with his pen. Another speaker was called: "Dave McCain."

He looked up, and the tears began. He knew Lauren McCain, who had sat just in front him in the German class, was dead. But until now, it was just information. When her father rose from the row in front of him, the reality of her death broke through.

Later, McCain asked to speak to O'Dell privately.

These meetings were always awkward at first, and for O'Dell, guilt-laden. What could he say to someone whose child was dead when he still lived?

Without fail, the parents recognized his feelings and absolved him. "We're glad you're here," they would say. "You have a purpose."

If it's a parent of someone who died in Room 207, they often want details -- anything to help them know if the one they lost suffered.

It started a week after the shooting, when he met with the widow and parents of his slain professor, Jamie Bishop.

He also met with his classmate, Sean McQuade, who had no memory of the shooting. It was O'Dell who first told him the details.

McCain asked some questions about his daughter and thanked O'Dell, not only for speaking with him, but for what he did in Room 207.

He used a word that both makes O'Dell uncomfortable and eases his guilt: hero.

 

Again he came back, again the bullets pierced the door. And again the killer was thwarted.

Inside Room 207, they could hear the echo of gunfire fading down the hallway. Minutes later, voices -- the police.

The police hurried them out, but O'Dell couldn't help feeling he was abandoning those left inside. And where was the shooter?

They crept down the stairs to the front door of Norris Hall. A police officer blasted a chain from the handles, and they were out.

O'Dell sprinted through the wind and snow, took six steps in a single bound, hurdled a wall. The shooter could be anywhere out here.

They flagged a police car, were delivered to an ambulance, which delivered them to the hospital. The ambulance doors closed and it pulled away. Only then did he relax.

 

The first days back

"I might have to stop at some point," O'Dell warned the police lieutenant.

He wanted to know what the lieutenant could tell him. He expected to see drawings of where the bullets came through the door. He didn't anticipate a trip back into Norris Hall.

The lieutenant told him they would take it slow, so he agreed to press on.

Like others, he had vowed not to be defined by what happened to him. But he added a corollary: Let your response define you.

He returned to school Aug. 16 -- four months to the day after the shooting -- feeling weak, vulnerable, unsure what school would be like now. Would he be able to concentrate?

In his first days back, all the major network news organizations interviewed him. So did several local affiliates.

Some people might look askance at his apparent thirst for attention, he knew. But he didn't seek the interviews.

When a reporter asks for his help, he feels obliged to respond.

"He's gathering something from it," Hawley said.

He was changing, and it was not only the trauma that had done it.

He spoke up often now. He carried himself with confidence. He felt it.

People around him had noticed it, too. The veterinarian he worked for once worried about O'Dell's ability to communicate with pet owners. Not anymore.

"This is not the old Derek at all," his father said.

O'Dell took his strength where he could get it.

Twice during the first day of classes, he returned to the arch of stones memorializing the April 16 fallen. He prayed with them, told them about his day. He told Bishop about the new German professor. He asked them for strength.

He has largely forgiven XXX, and manages to forget him most of the time, too.

Still, he has an urge to meet XXX's family and do for them what the families of the dead have done for him so many times, to release them from their guilt.

That might be a last step in O'Dell's own healing. In the meantime, he had taken another major step.

He walked slowly by the lieutenant's side to Norris 207.

The door was brand-new. Inside, the room was pristine white, sanitary. The lights gleamed, the walls shone.

He entered doing what came naturally. He told the story again, every detail.

He was scarred, yes, but with the scars came a recognition of something in himself he had not known before.

Don't be defined by the experience. Be defined by your reaction to it.

He stood in the spot where he made his stand that day. No fear rushed back to him, no weakness.

He felt strong, not only for the triumph of returning to that spot, but because what he did there at that door showed him his strength, revealed to him his courage.

"This," he thought, "is my conquering spot."


 
How Virginia Tech survivors are doing since shootings The Virginian-Pilot
© August 19, 2007


Caroline Merrey, 22,

Parkville, Md.

Caroline Merrey still sends e-mail messages to former classmates who, like her, escaped from Liviu Librescu's class April 16. Now that she has graduated and moved to take a job in Chicago, Merrey said, "I feel like I'm kind of on a different planet out here. A lot of them are still back in Virginia."

Merrey, who lives in Mount Prospect, Ill., fell onto her back after jumping out a second-floor window to escape the shootings but was released from the hospital hours later. She's now an assistant engineer at Parsons Brinckerhoff.
Hilary Strollo, 19,

Gibsonia, Pa.

A few days after Hilary Strollo was shot in the head, abdomen and buttocks, she vowed to her brother she would return to campus before the semester was out. "I want to dominate my finals," she said. It was Strollo who waved to the Hokie marching band from her hospital window three days after the shootings and started the "Let's Go, Hokies!" cheer. Later, she was rehospitalized for emergency surgery in Pittsburgh, where her parents are doctors. All told, she had four surgeries, including one to remove a bullet lodged in her spine and one to repair her liver, which had become infected after her initial release. Her brother Patrick, who graduated from Tech in May, spent the summer tending to his sister at home in Gibsonia.

Jamal Carver, 21,

Virginia Beach

Jamal Carver spent the summer relaxing and undergoing physical rehabilitation in his hometown. The engineering science and mechanics major, shot in the arm and side, spent a week in the hospital. By e-mail, Carver said he is coming back to Tech, expects to graduate in the spring and will probably go to graduate school.

Colin Goddard, 21

Bullets went into his leg, his buttocks and his shoulder, but Colin Goddard, a senior in international studies, wasn't about to change his summer plans. "I had this opportunity... and that wasn't possible if I couldn't walk," Goddard said in June. "So it was a goal that I set myself, to be able to walk in time." After surgery that left him with a metal rod in his leg and weeks of physical therapy, Goddard made it. His quote came from Madagascar, where he's volunteering for CARE International.

Allison Cook and Emily Haas,

Henrico County

Allison Cook and Emily Haas are both juniors, both from the Richmond area where they were friends before going to Virginia Tech, and both in the same sorority. Both were in the same French class when they were shot.

Cook was hit in the lower back, side and shoulder and spent a week in the hospital. She suffered a collapsed lung. Haas was grazed in the head by two bullets, received two stitches and left the hospital the day of the shooting.

According to an article in The Arrow, the Pi Phi sorority magazine, Cook and Haas have recovered well. The two told The Arrow they will return to Tech this fall.

Matt Webster, 23, Smithfield

Matt Webster, an engineering student in professor Liviu Librescu's class, survived the shooting by pretending to be dead. A bullet grazed his head and ricocheted into his right arm. He was released from Montgomery Regional Hospital on April 16.

His family said he spent the summer working in a Blacksburg eatery and riding his mountain bike during his off time. He will return to Tech as a senior this fall.

Alec Calhoun, 20,

Waynesboro

Jim Calhoun didn't fully grasp how scared his son Alec must have been April 16 until he went into his Norris Hall classroom and looked down from the window where his son jumped. "The drop is over 19 feet," said Calhoun. "I thought, well, I'm not sure I could live through a jump like that."

Calhoun even saw the bent branches on the boxwood where his son and another classmate landed.

The senior was the last student to jump from Liviu Librescu's classroom. He's kept in touch with the other students in the class - all but one of whom lived, thanks to Librescu's blocking of the door. The events of April 16 "will never be out of his mind for too long," his father said.

Garrett Evans, 30, Chicago

A senior in economics and statistics, Garrett Evans was shot in the leg in German class. A video, made from his hospital bed, was broadcast on YouTube. Evans was quoted in newspapers and broadcasts worldwide for his comment about XXXXX-XXX XXX: "An evil spirit was going through that boy. "

The Roanoke Times has been unable to find Evans or learn his progress.

Kevin Sterne, 22,

Eighty Four, Pa.

Kevin Sterne is the subject of the most famous image from April 16. Sterne, his face concealed, was photographed as rescuers carried him from Norris Hall, still bleeding badly from his right leg. After two weeks in the hospital, Sterne took to crutches and crossed the stage at graduation to pick up his diploma. He's returning to Virginia Tech this fall to pursue a master's degree in electrical engineering.

Sean McQuade, 23,

Mullica Hill, N.J.

Sean McQuade, who is believed to have been the last shooting victim released from a hospital in the Virginia Tech region, turned 23 on Aug. 1.

As he continues to wrestle with the effects of being shot in the face, McQuade has inspired numerous fundraisers in southern New Jersey.

In a recent post on the Web site where she writes updates on her son's condition, Jody McQuade said Sean no longer has feeling in his face and is planning to undergo facial nerve surgery.

Guillermo Colman 38,

Harrisonburg

Quietly, busily and determinedly, Gil Colman is moving on. Colman was shot in the head April 16. The bullet, which lodged behind his left ear, was removed that day.

Since then, Colman has kept a low profile. A friend serves as his spokesman.

He probably doesn't have a lot of free time to talk. Despite his injury, Colman still works full time at Blackwell Engineering in Harrisonburg and is finishing a graduate degree in civil engineering.

He continues to receive medical treatment for his injuries. Two months ago, he and his wife, Nell-Marie, celebrated the first birthday of their son, Daniel.

Chang Min Park, 27,

South Korea

Chang Min Park, a civil engineering student, was injured in the attacks. According to the New York Post, Park was shot in the side and in his left hand.

He spent just more than a week in Montgomery Regional Hospital, but now, four months later, he's much improved. Dong Ha, a professor in the department of electrical and computer engineering, said Park "has recovered completely" and will continue his studies at Virginia Tech in the fall.

Katelyn Carney, 21, Sterling

Katelyn Carney, a student in Jamie Bishop's German class, was shot in the left hand. She also suffered minor head injuries as she tried to block XXX from entering the classroom. He repeatedly banged the door against her head. The gunshot wound was a result of his shooting at the doorknob. Initially, Carney was hospitalized for nearly a week. This summer, she had a second surgery on her hand, continued her physical therapy and entered counseling. She returned to Tech for the second summer session to continue her major in international studies.

John Wallace "Wally" Grant, 64, Blacksburg

Wally Grant, the head of Virginia Tech's School of Biomedical Engineering and Sciences, was injured by ricocheting bullets while fleeing the gunman. He caught shrapnel in his upper right arm before he ducked into a restroom, where he warned a student to stay put.

Although he typically works between the spring and fall semesters, this summer he took some time off.

In a rare interview with his hometown paper, the Charleston (W.Va.) Daily Mail, he reflected on the events of April 16. The 27-year Tech employee said the bullet fragments can't be removed, but he experienced a quick recovery and has full use of his arm.

Elilta "Lily" Habtu, 22, Woodbridge

Lily Habtu, whose parents came to the United States from Eritrea when she was an infant, suffered multiple gunshot wounds April 16 in the German class.

The worst injury came from a bullet that entered just below her chin. After more than a week in the hospital, she was able to go home but is expected to need reconstructive surgery, as well as physical therapy.

The senior psychology major was awarded her degree in May, although she was not able to attend graduation ceremonies. She is continuing to make progress in her recovery, according to her family.

Justin Klein, 20,

Catonsville, Md.

When asked if her family was tired of hearing from the media, Diane Klein said "no" in a very simple way. "We don't talk to people like you," she said by phone in July.

Her son Justin was shot three times by the gunman and has stayed fairly private ever since.

But less than two weeks after the shootings, the junior mechanical engineering student was back on campus, his wheelchair surrounded by friends. "The Hokie community is strong and resilient," Justin Klein said in a statement. "We will persevere, we will go on and we will heal."

Derek O'Dell, 20,

Roanoke County

Derek O'Dell was shot through the right arm in German class and was released from the hospital the day of the shooting. The bullet missed hitting bone, nerves or major arteries.

The Cave Spring High School graduate, who has designs on becoming a veterinarian, worked this summer at the Cave Spring Veterinary Clinic. An avid chess player and president of Tech's chess club, he accepted an invitation from the United States Chess Federation to play in a national tournament in Philadelphia in early August.

He visited family in California and kept in touch with a few of his wounded classmates.

O'Dell will return for his junior year at Tech.

Kristina Heeger, 20, Vienna

After spending the summer going to physical therapy and working for her stepfather's company, Kristina Heeger took a family vacation to Spain shortly before she planned to return to Virginia Tech for her junior year, said Chalinee Tinaves, who roomed with Heeger last year. Heeger was shot in the back in Jocelyne Couture-Nowak's intermediate French class and had to have much of one of her kidneys removed.

"She's basically almost back to normal," Tinaves said. "Every once in a while she has a little pain here and there."

Tinaves said she and Heeger returned to Tech for a short time during the summer and her friend toured Norris Hall. That experience "definitely shook her up a little bit," Tinaves said.

"She's definitely positive about returning and being back around her friends, but it's going to be probably taking it one day at a time."

 

Compiled by Roanoke Times writers Donna Alvis Banks, Matt Chittum, Albert Raboteau, Beth Macy and Neil Harvey and research librarian Belinda Harris.


An unbelievable' recovery for Va. Tech victim

Wednesday, August 15, 2007
By Jessica Driscoll
jdriscoll@sjnewsco.com

HARRISON TWP. Sean McQuade celebrated his 23rd birthday on Aug. 1 "a true celebration of life," wrote his mother, Jody, on her Web site, which chronicles Sean's recuperation.

McQuade, who was seriously injured during the April 16 Virginia Tech shootings, faces several more challenges on his road to recovery but is progressing every day, thanks to support from his family, friends and community.

He was seriously injured when a bullet entered his cheek, shattering his jawbone into five pieces.

In the last month, Sean started his own once-a-week chess club in Mullica Hill, threw the first pitch at a July 27 Phillies game and is steadily gaining weight now that he is able to eat solid foods again.

In her Aug. 9 post, Jody McQuade said Sean will soon return to New York City for a visit with a surgeon who will work on replacing his shattered jaw joint. The family is also preparing for the possibility of surgery to replace his seventh nerve, which runs out of the skull and along his fractured ear canal and jaw.

"We're still waiting to see if it heals on its own, because we've been told that is a possibility," said McQuade's grandfather Chuck Forsman. "Right now he is deaf on the right side, but we're hopeful that his hearing will return when the damage is mended."

McQuade's childhood friend Matthew Egge is amazed at his friend's speedy recovery and unbreakable spirit.

"When you think about what he went through, certain images come to mind," said Egge. "But then you look at Sean. I visited him about two months ago right before I moved to New York, and he jumped right up to shake my hand. The only thing that even seemed different was that he was skinnier and that he couldn't really close his eye or smile on one side. But he's still intelligent as always and his speech and thoughts are clear. It's nothing like you'd imagine."

Egge also spoke to McQuade on the phone on his birthday.

"He was talking about shooting hoops with his brother and training at the gym. I think he will definitely recover completely. It's unbelievable but that's Sean."

The two funds set up in McQuade's name "Friends of Sean McQuade" at Susquehanna Patriot Bank in Mullica Hill and "Sean McQuade Alumni Fund" at St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank in Sewell are still accepting donations, but contributions have slowed during the summer months.

"We have received a modest amount of money this summer, but I think that reflects the fact that people are on vacation," said Dave Hibbard, manager of the Susquehanna Patriot Bank.

To remind people about McQuade's recovery, Comcast has teamed up with the banks and local companies to produce a commercial about the McQuade family's need for support.

"This is the third week of our TV campaign to drive interested traffic to the family's Web site and encourage people to make donations," said Comcast Spotlight's Don Lea.

Woodbury Nissan, Professional Pulmonary Service of Woodbury, Russo Homes of Swedesboro and Rock Products of West Deptford paid for the commercial's airtime, Lea said. It will be aired for the next few weeks and again after Labor Day. Lea hopes that the commercial, which airs on Comcast channels like ESPN, TNT and HGTV, will reach thousands of people.

Sean will take part in an exclusive interview with ABC's Bob Woodruff, according to Jody McQuade's Web site. Woodruff was seriously injured by a roadside bomb that struck his vehicle while he was reporting in Iraq.

Jody McQuade said to keep an eye on the news between August 19 and 21 for the interview. ABC's Cathie Levine confirmed the interview, but said it had not yet taken place and no details were available for the air date.


© 2007  Gloucester County Times© 2007 NJ.com All Rights Reserved.


 

 The Roanoke Times Tuesday, August 14, 2007

A willing master of the Hokie Spirit fund

Kenneth Feinberg's prior work with the 9/11 fund helped prepare him for the raw emotions he faces.

BLACKSBURG -- By the time Kenneth Feinberg stepped in to administer the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund, the fund was 2 12 months old, more than $7.1 million strong and facing increasing criticism from the people it strived to help.

Virginia Tech administrators -- novices in the highly emotional work of crime victim compensation -- were in over their heads.

Enter Feinberg, a man who colleagues say has witnessed more than his share of "horrible raw emotion."

As special master of the September 11th Victim Compensation Fund, the Washington lawyer had spent almost three years acting as the fund's public face and ultimate authority.

If anyone knew what it was like to battle questions of worth and due, all the while facing fire from victims' families, survivors and the public, it was Feinberg.

That didn't mean handling the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund would be simple.

"It was easier substantively -- there weren't near the number of victims, there is a finite amount of money and distribution isn't required by any statute to give different amounts" to different victims, Feinberg said. "But you're still dealing with individuals who are in grief or in pain, and that part of the role never gets easier."

At least this time, though, he had experience to guide him.

Feinberg's work with the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund began about a month after the April 16 shootings, shortly after he received a call from Mary Vail Ware, director of Virginia's Criminal Injuries Compensation Fund. Ware had worked with Feinberg during the aftermath of 9/11 and was phoning a number of experts on Tech's behalf.

The university needed help with fund distribution, Ware told Feinberg. Did he have any advice?

He did, and he decided to hand-deliver it.

"I came down to Blacksburg for a day and met with President [Charles] Steger and other members of the Virginia Tech administration and, right then and there, they asked if I would come on as a pro bono unpaid consultant," said Feinberg, who is founder and managing partner of the Feinberg Group, a high-profile law firm with offices in Washington, D.C., and New York.

His response was almost immediate.

"He mentioned it to me and we both just looked at each other and said, 'Of course,' " said Camille Biros, business manager for Feinberg's law firm.

"There were some 20,000 donors who gave money to the fund, all in the hope that it would be used wisely and effectively," Feinberg explained. "In light of the tragedy, and the willingness of so many thousands of people to contribute dollars to the fund, I thought the least I could do was spend a few months helping make sure the fund had its maximum impact."

Ware was relieved.

"I think it's helpful to not have the walking wounded serving the wounded," she said. "By having Ken there, they have someone outside the situation looking at it critically and offering sound advice."

For Tech, the chance to pass the fund's control to such a well-tested expert was an obvious asset.

"We now realize that we are not in a position to pre-suppose what is best for victims or their families," Steger said in an announcement about Feinberg's appointment. "With no experience in dealing with crime victims, we felt it best to seek expert advice in disbursements of these monies."

Steger and other Tech administrators who met with Feinberg were unavailable for comment on their impressions of the lawyer.

But Biros, who has worked with Feinberg for more than 27 years, described him as "dynamic," "very, very bright" and "extremely generous."

After 9/11, "when he was sort of thrown into town hall meetings with family members, he was the only one there for them to express their angst and horror," she said. "He very quickly learned you have to take this slow and go one step at a time to understand how to deal with this type of emotion."

Feinberg and Biros met similar heartbreak soon after they began work on the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund.

"The scale of it is so much different, but we were just remarking in our conversations with each other, the feeling is exactly the same," Biros said. "It's like you can close your eyes and go back in time."

In mid-July, Feinberg drew up a draft distribution plan for the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund and began scheduling meetings to discuss it with those affected.

Embedded within the proposal, Feinberg said, were two lessons gleaned from his 9/11 fund days.

The first is to offer the same compensation for all who died.

The second, he said, "is the incredible importance of transparency, of due process, of meeting directly with families in large groups and individually to give people an opportunity to comment on the protocol [and] to vent about life's unfairness."

Hours after a July 30 meeting in Trenton, N.J., Feinberg said he'd met with more than 100 people at gatherings throughout the eastern United States and was pleased with the way discussions were going.

"The families and the students who I've met with have been extremely gracious," he said then. "They're understandably angry and frustrated with life's misfortunes, but they have been extremely gracious to me personally, and very constructive, and I'm grateful to them for a host of suggestions on how to improve the draft protocol."

But Feinberg's efforts aren't always embraced.

In a post made to a Web site that chronicles the recovery of wounded shooting victim Sean McQuade, McQuade's mother, Jody, wrote: "Mr. Feinberg did make notations about how we felt, but my feeling is he already knows what they intend to do and is just humoring us with the meeting."

"It was even over exactly when it was scheduled to be over," she added. "How ironic!"

The noted mediator, however, is no stranger to criticism.

In his 2005 book, "What is Life Worth? The Unprecedented Effort to Compensate the Victims of 9/11," Feinberg writes that some 9/11 family members "took the microphone during town hall meetings to denounce me as 'arrogant' and 'insensitive.' "

Others, he writes, viewed him as a representative of the U.S. government and "I became an outlet for all their anger arising out of 9/11, including their anger over the government's failure to prevent the attacks."

Asked if he thought he was now taking some heat for Tech, Feinberg nodded.

"I am the person who is targeted by many families to send a message back to Virginia Tech as to their concerns, yes," he said. "I expect that. It's part of the process. It's perfectly understandable."

His skin perhaps thickened by years of managing the 9/11 fund, Feinberg seems able to rationalize anger and frustration with relative ease.

"Ken understands that he's not making people whole; he's not making anybody happy," Ware said. "He's just trying to do the best he can to help them any way he can."

Even so, the job takes its toll.

"It's difficult," Feinberg said. But "unlike the 9/11 fund, which occupied my time for 33 months, this is a two- to three-month assignment, and it's a burden, but it's one that I'm glad to assume."


Posted on Sat, Jul. 28, 2007
By Sam Carchidi
INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

...Sean McQuade, a Clearview High (Gloucester County) and Virginia Tech graduate, threw out the ceremonial first pitch. McQuade was shot in the face in the
in the Virginia Tech massacre on April 16. . . . The Aug. 12 game between the Phils and Braves at Citizens Bank Park has been moved from 1:35 p.m. to 8:05 p.m. because it will be telecast by ESPN.


Contact staff writer Sam Carchidi at 215-854-5181 or scarchidi@phillynews.com.


 

Spirits high for Va. Tech victim from Glouco

By MEG HUELSMAN
Courier-Post Staff


CHERRY HILL

The bullet fired by XXX-XXXXX-XXX is still lodged in Virginia Tech graduate Sean McQuade's skull.

The right side of his face is paralyzed and will require multiple surgeries.

Regardless, his spirits are high and he is determined to get well and continue on track with all of his dreams and aspirations, his father, Ralph McQuade, said at a benefit brunch in Cherry Hill Sunday afternoon.

About 160 friends, family members and neighbors came to show support and donate money to help the McQuade family pay for medical and rehabilitation costs not covered by insurance.

"He's doing well," Ralph McQuade said at the benefit at Swanky Bubbles restaurant on Evesham Road. "Nothing really hurts him right now, and he's determined to recover and get better."

All of the money raised at Sunday's benefit will be donated to the McQuade family, neighbor and event organizer Kelly Marucci said. Swanky Bubbles owner John Frankowski, who lives in Mullica Hill near the McQuade family, offered use of his restaurant for free.

"I'm just doing the neighborhood, friendly thing," Frankowski said. He also owns a Swanky Bubbles in Philadelphia.

Twenty-one-year-old Sean McQuade is known by his friends as a math whiz, a comic and a great friend. His family is amazed by the young man's determination to recover.

"Right now, he wants to focus on the future," Ralph McQuade said. "He knows that he was a gunshot victim, but he doesn't know all the details. He's very strong."

McQuade's professors from Virginia Tech arrived at his bedside three days after graduation to give the mathematics major his diploma, Ralph McQuade said.

"It was really great," the proud father said at the benefit Sunday. "Sean was in the honors program for mathematics and was working to become an actuary."

Thirty-three students, including the 23-year-old shooter, died in the massacre, which has been termed the worst shooting spree in U.S. history.

McQuade must continue rehabilitation and undergo several surgeries to repair the nerve damage to his face. The bullet lodged in his skull, his father said, will never be removed. Instead, it is expected that a type of fluid bubble will form around the metal and the brain will function normally.

McQuade did not attend the afternoon benefit.

When asked if he was angry about the Virginia Tech shooting, Ralph McQuade paused.

"There really isn't anyone to be angry at," he said. "The shooter is already gone, and Sean is recovering and I've met so many great people."

Reach Meg Huelsman at (856) 251-3345 or mhuelsman@courierpostonline.com
Published: June 25. 2007 3:10AM

At Virginia Tech, a Search for Happiness As the Mourning Continues

Virginia Tech
Workers set up chairs on the field at Lane Stadium for commencement activities at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Va., Tuesday, May 8, 2007. The stadium is being readied for Friday's commencement.  (Steve Helber/ AP Photo )

Time.com 
Va. Tech Prepares for Graduation

  BLACKSBURG, Va. — The workers stand near the 50-yard line in Lane Stadium, unfolding flimsy black chairs and setting each precisely in place, one beside the other, row after flawless row. It has been this way every graduation at Virginia Tech, mundane and methodical, chair after chair. Until now. This year, some of these seats will go unfilled.

For all the losses here — 33 lives, a carefree joyfulness, an innocence — time creeps forward. So black-robed students will still file into the ceremony Friday, they will still celebrate, all the while battling the realization that sadness is fighting happiness, that normalcy died too, that everything has changed. Chair after chair, carefully, perfectly. H.C. Price has done this nearly each of his 26 years here. There is always an emptiness when the stadium is vacant, but even when it fills for graduation, he knows it will still be felt. "We hate to think of it as a special occasion because it's going to be different," Price said. "We know what we got to do, but this year we know it's going to be more special. "It will be a graduation unlike any other because no university has suffered as Virginia Tech has suffered. Celebration amid mourning is playing out on this large campus and in this classic college town tucked between the Blue Ridge and Allegheny mountains.

At the hospital, this morning brings cause for celebration. Sean McQuade is sitting up in a chair having breakfast. Later, as his mother writes on the family Web site, the 22-year-old senior walks around the nurse's station. McQuade is recovering from a gunshot to the face, the last survivor of the massacre to remain hospitalized. But this is a good day. On campus, some of his classmates are celebrating their imminent freedom. But McQuade's family is marking other victories: The day the breathing tube came out of his mouth. The day he walked 200 feet. The day he smiled at his mother. He yearns for his shattered jaw bone to heal so he can chew real food. He hums the Quiznos theme song and writes a list of what he wants to eat when he is better: a burger, a steak and a Coney Island hot dog. But the road ahead remains uncertain. Jody McQuade wonders how her son will handle the realization that he has become a source of hope to so many. In a way, she wishes she could keep him sheltered. "There are days when I can't stop saying, WHY," she writes. "Why did this have to happen to so many innocent kids....why my Sean. Just the look in his eyes sometimes when he looks at me....I see the question that he never says....why me, mom, why me?"

In the bright noontime light, the faint traces of blood are still visible on the sidewalk. The wind still blows through the shattered windows of Norris Hall, where 31 died April 16. The flowers left to remember the dead have browned and crisped, but the lines of people who pass before them remain.There are dueling realities on this campus.Inside a Chinese restaurant, a student playfully drums on his friend's head with a pair of chopsticks, while on the main field, a man kneels before a memorial stone and cries. Two girls in bright colors giggle as they exchange phone numbers, while a woman who says she's trying to express her mourning still wears just black. Soccer balls and baseballs have returned to places where, for a time, only the grief-stricken stood, yet the grief lingers on in so many ways.It is felt everywhere an orange-and-maroon ribbon is pinned to a jacket or tied to a tree, each place a "We Are All Hokies" sign is hung. It stretches to Egypt and Peru and India and all the other places the slain called home.The horror of that Monday morning was so unspeakable, many students don't try to put it into words. "After what happened," they'll say. Everyone knows what they mean.

The graduates must line up precisely right, the chairs must be anchored to the ground, and a thousand other things must be considered for the ceremony to go properly. Ed Henneke is in charge of them all. And it is a blessing. It helps get his mind off that morning in Norris Hall, when a colleague who had visited his third-floor office ran back moments later to say she couldn't get out because the doors were chained. He later heard gunfire. Some of the engineering dean's close colleagues were among the dead, so the task of heading the commencement planning committee has been a needed outlet. He has been involved with it for 35 years. This is his last. He will retire this summer and move out of state. He wonders if leaving this tight-knit town will soothe his anguish or prolong it.

Day is fading to night and just west of campus about five dozen students gather at the home of the Rev. Glenn Tyndall, the Methodist minister who has served this campus for 33 years.They are dining on chicken casserole and sharing lighthearted banter. They are not talking about what happened.It scares Tyndall.He wonders what will happen when they no longer are surrounded by friends who understand. Will depression sink in? Will nightmares haunt them?He admires the hope and optimism of these young people. How they're restoring their lives and looking ahead. No matter how they try, though, this place will never be the same."I'm trying to avoid the statement that things are normal," he said. "I don't think they ever will be normal. But I think people have gotten back to a sense of normalcy as best they can under the circumstances."

Associated Press writer Sue Lindsey contributed to this report.


 

News Section

Dueling Emotions at Virginia Tech
Associated Press
May 9, 2007

The workers stand near the 50-yard line in Lane Stadium, unfolding flimsy black chairs and setting each precisely in place, one beside the other, row after flawless row. It has been this way every graduation at Virginia Tech, mundane and methodical, chair after chair. Until now.

This year, some of these seats will go unfilled.

For all the losses here - 33 lives, a carefree joyfulness, an innocence - time creeps forward. So black-robed students will still file into the ceremony Friday, they will still celebrate, all the

while battling the realization that sadness is fighting happiness, that normalcy died too, that everything has changed.

Chair after chair, carefully, perfectly. H.C. Price has done this nearly each of his 26 years here. There is always an emptiness when the stadium is vacant, but even when it fills for graduation, he knows it will still be felt.

"We hate to think of it as a special occasion because it's going to be different," Price said. "We know what we got to do, but this year we know it's going to be more special."

It will be a graduation unlike any other because no university has suffered as Virginia Tech has suffered. Celebration amid mourning is playing out on this large campus and in this classic

college town tucked between the Blue Ridge and Allegheny mountains.

At the hospital, this morning brings cause for celebration. Sean McQuade is sitting up in a chair having breakfast.

Later, as his mother writes on the family Web site, the 22-year-old senior walks around the nurse's station. McQuade is recovering from a gunshot to the face, the last survivor of the

massacre to remain hospitalized. But this is a good day.

On campus, some of his classmates are celebrating their imminent freedom. But McQuade's family is marking other victories: The day the breathing tube came out of his mouth. The day he walked 200 feet. The day he smiled at his mother.

He yearns for his shattered jaw bone to heal so he can chew real food. He hums the Quiznos theme song and writes a list of what he wants to eat when he is better: a burger, a steak and a Coney Island hot dog.

McQuade will be awarded his degree in mathematics this weekend, but it is uncertain whether he will attend graduation ceremonies. And the road ahead remains uncertain. Jody McQuade wonders how her son will handle the realization that he has become a source of hope to so many. In a way, she wishes she could keep him sheltered.

"There are days when I can't stop saying, WHY," she writes. "Why did this have to happen to so many innocent kids....why my Sean. Just the look in his eyes sometimes when he looks at me....I see the question that he never says....why me, mom, why me?"

In the bright noontime light, the faint traces of blood are still visible on the sidewalk. The wind still blows through the shattered windows of Norris Hall, where 31 died April 16. The

flowers left to remember the dead have browned and crisped, but the lines of people who pass before them remain.

There are dueling realities on this campus.

Inside a Chinese restaurant, a student playfully drums on his friend's head with a pair of chopsticks, while on the main field, a man kneels before a memorial stone and cries. Two girls in bright colors giggle as they exchange phone numbers, while a woman who says she's trying to express her mourning still wears just black.

Soccer balls and baseballs have returned to places where, for a time, only the grief-stricken stood, yet the grief lingers on in so many ways.

It is felt everywhere an orange-and-maroon ribbon is pinned to a jacket or tied to a tree, each place a "We Are All Hokies" sign is hung. It stretches to Egypt and Peru and India and all the other places the slain called home.

The horror of that Monday morning was so unspeakable, many students don't try to put it into words. "After what happened," they'll say. Everyone knows what they mean.

After the shootings, on one of those afternoons too perfect to come anytime but spring, Amanda Rader went outside, reveled in the gorgeousness of the day and immediately felt guilty.

How could she bask in the sunlight when so many others were forced into darkness?

She can't feel this way forever. She thinks graduation can be a powerful moment. She will move on to a new life.

Rader has packed up her room, one she hasn't slept in since gunshots killed two people at a dormitory not far from hers. But she knows she can't disguise how it feels.

"There's no way to hide the fact that this happened. I know it's going to make graduation sad," she said. "But it's going to be a happy day too."

Rader is 21, with big hazel eyes. She has finished school in just three years and remembers when she first really started thinking about graduation, in early April. "It's really happening,

it's really happening," she thought.

This isn't the way it was supposed to be. But she says it has brought good changes to her life, too. She doesn't worry about the little things. She has slowed down. She enjoys walking in the sunshine.

The graduates must line up precisely right, the chairs must be anchored to the ground, and a thousand other things must be considered for the ceremony to go properly. Ed Henneke is in charge of them all. And it is a blessing.

It helps get his mind off that morning in Norris Hall, when a colleague who had visited his third-floor office ran back moments later to say she couldn't get out because the doors were chained. He later heard gunfire.

Some of the engineering dean's close colleagues were among the dead, so the task of heading the commencement planning committee has been a needed outlet. He has been involved with it for 35 years. This is his last. He will retire this summer and move out of state.

He wonders if leaving this tight-knit town will soothe his anguish or prolong it.

Day is fading to night and just west of campus about five dozen students gather at the home of the Rev. Glenn Tyndall, the Methodist minister who has served this campus for 33 years.

They are dining on chicken casserole and sharing lighthearted banter. They are not talking about what happened.

It scares Tyndall.

He wonders what will happen when they no longer are surrounded by friends who understand. Will depression sink in? Will nightmares haunt them?

He admires the hope and optimism of these young people. How they're restoring their lives and looking ahead. No matter how they try, though, this place will never be the same.

"I'm trying to avoid the statement that things are normal," he said. "I don't think they ever will be normal. But I think people have gotten back to a sense of normalcy as best they can under the circumstances."

Mark Gerald is conflicted.

He is standing in a bar at 1 a.m., surrounded by his friends, five days from graduation. He is downing a shot to celebrate a buddy's 21st birthday. He is laughing over the music and hugging a grinning girl.

He is also suffering.

His friend Jarrett Lane was slain just three weeks ago. And he does not know how to feel.

"I've thought about staying in, but if I stay in, I'm just gonna dwell," he says. "I gotta be with my people."

The 21-year-old biology major's face alternately lights up and crumbles as he talks about his friend - a guy who went home to see his mom the day before he died so they could attend church. A student whose harshest words were, "Aw, shucks," when things went wrong.

"If you could be somebody," Gerald says, staring vacantly past the bartender, ignoring the cacophony of voices around him, "that's the guy you wanna be."

He and his friends spent the evening playing beer pong before coming to the bar. It had been fun, normal - until a story about the shooting came on the news. Gerald broke down.

He knows he has to move on. He tells himself to celebrate his success.

"You know he'd want you to keep going," he says of his friend.

Then he pauses.

"That's great to think about. But at the same time, I don't believe it."

Around him, his friends are laughing. And eventually, he joins them again.

In the middle of the night, when the expansive lawn in the center of campus is still, when the moon shines in the east and the circle of memorials is finally vacant, Eric Biskaduros is alone and thinking.

All those robbed of their lives seemed to have done so much, he thinks. What about him?

"It puts into perspective how much have I done in my life," he said. "Have I done enough?"

In the day, when friends surround him and distractions abound, he is less introspective, less troubled, less sad.

But alone at night, in his tiny room, beside the walls with posters of LeBron James and Terrell Owens, he lies, for hours at times, trying to let his mind go blank. He can't. He thinks about

life, about friends who are gone, wonders how their mothers are coping.

Biskaduros lies alone with his thoughts and he struggles to sleep.

Tech Victim Celebrates
Associated Press
May 9, 2007

The only remaining hospitalized victim of the Virginia Tech shooting continues to improve.

At Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital, this morning brought cause for celebration for the family of Sean McQuade from Mullica Hill, New Jersey.

The 22-year-old senior sat up in a chair to have breakfast. Later, as his mother wrote on the family Web site, McQuade walked around the nurse's station.

He is recovering from a gunshot to the face and is listed in good condition.

As some of his classmates celebrate their upcoming graduation, McQuade's family is marking other victories -- the day the breathing tube came out of his mouth. The day he walked 200 feet. The day he smiled at his mother.

McQuade will be awarded his degree in mathematics this weekend, but it is uncertain whether he will attend graduation ceremonies.

On the Web site his mother says Sean yearns for his shattered jaw bone to heal so he can chew real food. He hums the Quiznos theme song and writes a list of what he wants to eat when he is better -- a burger, a steak and a Coney Island hot dog.


 

McQuade set to graduate Va. Tech

Wednesday, May 09, 2007
By Jonathan Vit
Staff Writer

Sean McQuade will graduate with his fellow Virginia Tech seniors on Friday even though the Clearview Regional High School graduate is still recovering from gunshot wounds suffered April 16 when a gunman opened fire at the university.

Virginia Tech officials allowed seniors to take one of three paths -- graduate with whatever grades were earned before the shootings, finish up the semester or a combination of the two.

"(It) allows students the freedom to choose what is good for them without adding the additional anxiety of grades or whatever," said Mark Owczarski, director of news and information for Virginia Tech. "We think it turned out well, the purpose of it all was to not stop the learning process."

Grandmother Lorrie Forsam explained that Sean McQuade -- a math major -- did not have to return to class to graduate this Friday.

"His grades were so good that he didn't have to," she said.

McQuade, 22, of Harrison Township, has been steadily improving since he was admitted to Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital three weeks ago. McQuade is recovering from a bullet that passed through his cheek and shattered his jawbone during the university shooting rampage that killed 32 before the gunman took his own life.

Originally listed in critical condition, McQuade is now attempting to walk and talk again after being bedridden for weeks.

"I know they were taking him to rehab the past couple of days," said Lynn McQuade, a great uncle.

According to the family's Web site, Sean McQuade was able to walk 200 feet with a walker during rehab earlier this week. He has also been talkative despite a wired-shut jaw.

On Tuesday, an oversized get well card for McQuade that Susquehanna Patriot Bank organized was mailed off to the student.


 

Courier-Post

Cheer for McQuade donors; Jeer for honoring a killer

Saturday, May 5, 2007

CHEER: To all who've donated and helped collect money for Virginia Tech student Sean McQuade of Mullica Hill. McQuade, a Clearview High School graduate, was one of the 28 people who lived after being shot by XXX-XXXXX-XXX April 16 at the Virginia Tech campus. McQuade is recovering after having his jaw shattered when he was shot by XXX.

The Delaware Valley Wholesale Florist in Mantua is raising money for family. Also, two funds have been set up for people to give -- one for money to go to the family for medical bills and another to establish a scholarship in McQuade's name at Clearview.

We applaud all who contribute to helping McQuade or any innocent victim in the Virginia Tech massacre to get back on their feet.

JEER: For those faculty and staff at Virginia Tech who've allowed XXX to have a stone memorial on campus. Along with McQuade and the others he injured, XXX killed 32 students and professors in America's worst-ever murder spree at a school.

Now, he has a stone dedicated to him in a memorial on the drillfield in the center of campus. A semicircle of 33 stones bear the names of each victim and XXX, whose stone is fourth from the left between those for victims Daniel O'Neil and Matthew Gwaltney.

Honoring a cold-blooded killer next to his victims should be an afront to anyone on that campus and an insult to any of the friends or family members of those killed. Virginia Tech officials should quit placating those who look to absolve blame from every criminal in our society no matter how heinous and evil their acts were. The school should remove XXX's stone from its memorial.

Killer's name substituted with X's as I refuse to contribute to his wishes to become infamous - George Braun

 


Va. Tech athletes show resilience following tragedy

By Sam Carchidi
Inquirer Columnist

The Virginia Tech massacre still leaves us speechless, but the students' resiliency is shedding some positives.

I saw that first-hand while watching the Virginia Tech women's track team, each having a "32" written on their body in honor of the number of victims, valiantly compete in the recent Penn Relays.

And a former local athlete, Sean McQuade, who was a talented baseball and basketball player at Clearview High in Mullica Hill, is another triumphant reminder of the human spirit.

Before too long, McQuade, 21, a Virginia Tech senior, could become the national symbol of hope and recovery for the Blacksburg, Va., campus.

In fact, to many, he already is that symbol.

McQuade was listed in fair condition yesterday at Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital in Roanoke, Va., and he continues to make progress, according to hospital spokesman Eric Earnhart. McQuade was shot in the face during the massacre.

A Web site (www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com) has been set up, and it gives heartfelt updates from McQuade's mom, Jodie, and offers information on fund-raising events that have been established.

McQuade is the last person hospitalized from the Virginia Tech shootings on April 16.


VT Shooting Victim in Good Condition
Associated Press
May 3, 2007

Give your opinion on this story

The last person hospitalized with injuries from the Virginia Tech shootings is now listed in good condition.

Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital spokesman Eric Earnhart says Sean McQuade was upgraded today from fair to good condition.

Family members have said the 21-year-old McQuade from Mullica Hill, New Jersey, was hit with five bullet fragments during the shooting on April 16th in a Virginia Tech classroom building.

 


 
 Thursday, May 03, 2007

Shooting victim's condition improves

 Virginia Tech shooting victim Sean McQuade's condition has been upgraded a second time this week by Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital.
McQuade's condition was listed as good Thursday, according to Carilion spokesman Eric Earnhart.

 McQuade, a 21-year-old mathmatics major from Mullica Hills, N.J., was shot five times in a German class in Norris Hall.

 Another victim, Elilta "Lily" Habtu, 22, went home this week from a Northern Virginia hospital, where she transferred from Roanoke Memorial to be closer to home. Habtu, who was shot in the arm and head in the same German class as McQuade is due to graduate this month.

-- Staff report


Community Comes to Aid of Local Va. Tech

Victim Sean McQuade

  
Mantua, NJ  --  They waited in lines hundreds of people deep at Dippy's Ice Cream stand in Mantua, New Jersey.  Sure it was a great evening for a treat but really came out to support one of their own.

Most of the people didn't even know 22 year old Sean McQuade of Mullica Hill.  All they needed to know was he graduated Clearview Regional High School in 2003 and that he was shot in the face during the Virginia Tech rampage  last month.  McQuade is now in stable condition in a Virginia hospital.  He would have graduated from college this month.

"What these people went through they deserve all the thoughts and prayers of all the people," said Mary Stens of Wenonah. 

Ten percent of Dippy's sales Wednesday night was being donated to a fund to help McQuade's family.  Morgan Morina convinced her boss to participate in the fundraiser.  She and her co-workers donated their pay and tips. She said, "everybody's so excited about it and willing."

Dippy's teamed up with  a high school buddy of McQuade's, Michael Camp, and his former English teacher, Tracy Matozzo to help a hometown boy. Camp said, "It hasn't been just one isolated person or group, it's been everyone coming together to support and show love."  Matozzo said, "We had donations with as little as two dollars with a post-it on it saying 'we only have two dollars please take it with our thoughts and prayers."

The money will be tallied and deposited in an account on Thursday.

 Funds set up to help Gloucester Co. student injured in Va. Tech shootings

HARRISON — Two funds have been established in the name of Mullica Hill resident Sean McQuade, the 2003 graduate of Clearview Regional High School who was seriously injured by a gunshot that shattered his jaw during the massacre on the campus of Virginia Tech.

The community may help the McQuade family by contributing to "The Friends of Sean McQuade" at the Susquehanna Patriot Bank.

The fund, which was established by the Mullica Hill Merchants Association, contained $731 Monday.

"An additional $500 has been pledged by both People for People of Gloucester County and the Gloucester County Chamber of Commerce," said Susquehanna bank vice president Dave Hibbard.

To contribute to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship," visit the St. Edmond’s Federal Savings Bank, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell.

The account was opened by Michael Camp III, a Clearview graduate and a former student leader.

At Clearview, McQuade, 22, was a four-year member of the varsity baseball team and co-captain of the basketball team in his senior year.

A math major at Virginia Tech, the Mullica Hill resident was expected to graduate in May.

McQuade was in German class when the gunman entered the classroom and started shooting, killing or injuring 20 of the 24 students in that class.

A bullet entered McQuade’s cheek, shattering his jawbone before fragmenting the bone.

McQuade, who suffered no brain damage, is improving at Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital in Virginia where he was upgraded to fair condition this week.

Friends and members of the community may follow McQuade’s progress on a special Web site developed by family friend George Braun. The Web site includes photos, a guest book, and regular updates on McQuade’s progress written by his mother, Jody.

To keep track of Sean McQuade’s progress in the hospital, visit http://www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com/.

How to help:
-- "The Friends of Sean McQuade," Susquehanna Patriot Bank, P.O. Box 69, Mullica Hill, 08062. Walk-in donations are accepted at any Susquehanna Patriot Bank in the tri-county area.

-- The Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship, St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell, 08080-9900.



Courier-Post
Mantua florist plans fundraisers to help McQuade 
Wednesday, May 2, 2007 
By JEANNE RIDGWAY
Courier-Po
st Staff
MANTUA
The Delaware Valley Wholesale Florist is raising funds to benefit the family of Virginia Tech college student Sean McQuade, a resident of Mullica Hill.
Cindy Clark, who works in customer service at the florist, said the company's employees frequently raise money for a local need.
"His (McQuade's) uncle worked here and so did his cousin. We wanted to do this because we are members of the Clearview community," said Clark, organizer of a bake sale and luncheon and a basket raffle.
The fundraisers are open to the company's 450 employees working here and to customers who walk in, she said. The florist is on Mantua Boulevard near Glassboro Road.
Clark hopes to raise $2,000 for McQuade's family.
A bake sale and luncheon will be held May 24. Company employees will prepare lunch and sell items such as hot dogs, chili, and baked goods.
Tickets will be sold for a basket raffle May 4 through May 27. About 20 baskets will be raffled, Clark said, each with a spring, gardening or Memorial Day theme.
Reach Jeanne Ridgway at (856) 486-2479 or jridgway@courierpostonline.com send a letter to the editor.

WHERE TO CALL
Call the customer service department at Delaware Valley Wholesale Florist

(800) 676-1212.


theDailyJournal.com

Funds set up to help Gloucester Co. student injured in Va. Tech shootings
By JEANNE RIDGWAY

HARRISON — Two funds have been established in the name of Mullica Hill resident Sean McQuade, the 2003 graduate of Clearview Regional High School who was seriously injured by a gunshot that shattered his jaw during the massacre on the campus of Virginia Tech.

The community may help the McQuade family by contributing to "The Friends of Sean McQuade" at the Susquehanna Patriot Bank.

The fund, which was established by the Mullica Hill Merchants Association, contained $731 Monday.

"An additional $500 has been pledged by both People for People of Gloucester County and the Gloucester County Chamber of Commerce," said Susquehanna bank vice president Dave Hibbard.

To contribute to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship," visit the St. Edmond’s Federal Savings Bank, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell.

The account was opened by Michael Camp III, a Clearview graduate and a former student leader.

At Clearview, McQuade, 22, was a four-year member of the varsity baseball team and co-captain of the basketball team in his senior year.

A math major at Virginia Tech, the Mullica Hill resident was expected to graduate in May.

McQuade was in German class when the gunman entered the classroom and started shooting, killing or injuring 20 of the 24 students in that class.

A bullet entered McQuade’s cheek, shattering his jawbone before fragmenting the bone.

McQuade, who suffered no brain damage, is improving at Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital in Virginia where he was upgraded to fair condition this week.

Friends and members of the community may follow McQuade’s progress on a special Web site developed by family friend George Braun. The Web site includes photos, a guest book, and regular updates on McQuade’s progress written by his mother, Jody.

To keep track of Sean McQuade’s progress in the hospital, visit http://www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com/.

HOW TO HELP
To contribute, write to:

"The Friends of Sean McQuade," Susquehanna Patriot Bank, P.O. Box 69, Mullica Hill, 08062. Walk-in donations are accepted at any Susquehanna Patriot Bank in the tri-county area.

The Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship, St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell, 08080-9900.



ON THE WEB
To keep track of Sean McQuade's progress in the hospital, visit http://www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com/.


   

McQuade condition upgraded

Tuesday, May 01, 2007
By Jonathan Vit
jvit@sjnewsco.com  
Sean McQuade continues to improve as hospital staff upgraded his condition from serious to fair on Monday afternoon.
Clearview High School grad Sean McQuade has been in Carlion Roanoke Memorial Hospital since he was shot during the Virginia Tech shootings more than two weeks ago.
Since then, his condition has steadily improved as friends and neighbors rallied behind the wounded Harrison Township resident.
"He has been improving, I can say that," explained Eric Earnhart, spokesman for Carlion Roanoke Memorial Hospital. The hospital lists the condition of patients on a range from better to worse in the following order: Good, fair, serious and critical.
Family members have set up camp alongside McQuade who is recovering from injuries after a bullet entered his cheek and shattered his jawbone before fragmenting into three to five pieces.
According to the family, both McQuade's neck brace and breathing tube have been removed, allowing him to speak for the first time in more than two weeks.
The first words the Virginia Tech student uttered were to ask about the shooting and whether his classmate Derek was OK, wrote mother Jody McQuade on the family's Web site.
"I have seen letters from people in Wisconsin and Texas," said former classmate Michael Camp. "An older woman sent a letter saying, I know it is not much, but I sent two dollars. I hope it is enough.'
" Mail donations to "Friends of Sean McQuade, c/o Susquehanna Patriot Bank, P.O. Box 69, Mullica Hill, NJ 08062."  
Additional donations can be written out to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Fund" and mailed to St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank, c/o Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell NJ 08080-9900.

Last hospitalized shooting victim in fair condition

BLACKSBURG, Va. The last person hospitalized with injuries from the Virginia Tech shootings is now listed in fair condition.

Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital spokesman Eric Earnhart says Sean McQuade was upgraded today from serious to fair condition.

 

Family members have said the 21-year-old McQuade from Mullica Hill, New Jersey, was hit with five bullet fragments during the shooting two weeks ago in a Virginia Tech classroom building.

 


 Post Comment

Monday, April 30, 2007

 

ROANOKE,Va. -- Sean McQuade, a 21-year-old student from Mullica Hill who was shot in the face during the Virginia Tech massacre, is improving, according to hospital officials.McQuade is still listed in serious condition at Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital in Roanoke, Va., according to hospital spokesman Eric Earnhart.

"He has been improving," Earnhart said Sunday evening. "He's still listed in serious condition, but he's definitely heading in the right direction."

McQuade is a Clearview Regional High School graduate and was a senior at Virginia Tech majoring in actuarial science.


 
McQuade fund-raising numbers climb
Saturday, April 28, 2007
By Jonathan Vit
jvit@sjnewsco.com  

Fundraising efforts for the McQuade family continue with one fund totaling more than $300 as of Friday.

"We are climbing, so I think the more the word comes out, the higher the amount will be," said Susquehanna Patriot Bank Vice President Dave Hibbard. "We are hoping that we are going to see this thing grow into far more than a few hundred dollars in the coming weeks."

The Friends of Sean McQuade fund opened on April 23 at the Susquehanna Patriot branch in Harrison Township.

Since then, Hibbard has seen community members eager to donate whatever they can to the injured student's family.

"People are coming in with $10, $15 and $25 because they just want to do something for McQuade," Hibbard said. "It is a wonderful grassroots sort of thing."

Another fund set up by fellow Clearview High School grad Michael Camp has also generated significant interest.

"We are having a phenomenal response," said Beverly Matozzo, customer service representative for St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank.

Sean McQuade, of Harrison Township, was seriously injured in the Virginia Tech shootings when a bullet entered his cheek, shattering his jaw bone before fragmenting into three to five pieces.

He has been slowly recovering from the injury in Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital under the watch of immediate family members.

Family friend George Braun has set up a Web site offering direct updates from Sean McQuade's mother, Jody McQuade.

Jody McQuade's most recent posting, dated April 26, explains that medical staff have removed Sean's breathing tube allowing the young man enough mobility to console his mother with a hug.

Mail donations to "Friends of Sean McQuade, c/o Susquehanna Patriot Bank, P.O. Box 69, Mullica Hill, NJ 08062."

Additional donations can be written out to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Fund" and mailed to St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank, c/o Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell NJ 08080-9900.

The Web site is located at http://www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com/ .


 

McQuade updates available on Web

Tuesday, April 24, 2007
By Jonathan Vit
jvit@sjnewsco.com  

For family members sitting by Sean McQuade's bedside this past week, it has been the little things that count.

A thumbs up, a nod, the sight of tapping feet seemingly mundane everyday actions became beacons of hope for family and community members following the serious but improving condition of one of their own.

McQuade was injured last Monday in the Virginia Tech shootings when a bullet passed through his cheek, shattering his jaw before fragmenting into three to five pieces.

Once the realm of family members and the news media, updates on Sean McQuade's condition are now available to everyone, thanks to a new Web site.

Located at http://www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com/ , the site was created by family friend George Braun as a way for mother Jody McQuade to connect with the community.

"I am trying to use it as a source of news," Braun explained. "It is very hard for me to get ahold of Jody myself, so I figured it would be good to have a Web page where they can post an update and words of encouragement."

Currently the Web site features photos of the wounded student, news articles and a small anecdote from Jody McQuade updating the condition of her son.

A second fund has been established for those willing to donate money to help the McQuade family. Susquehanna Patriot Bank has set up an account for donations to be mailed or dropped off at the bank. Participating merchants are also collecting funds.

Mail donations to "Friends of Sean McQuade, c/o Susquehanna Patriot Bank, P.O. Box 69, Mullica Hill, NJ 08062."

Additional contributions can be written out to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Fund" and mailed to St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank, c/o Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell NJ 08080-9900.

The Web site is located at http://www.seanmcquade.faithweb.com/ or http://www.seanmcquade.info/ .


 By Bob Shryock
Tragedy continues to hit close to home
Sunday, April 22, 2007
This column was going to be an attempt at humor. Give the readers something to laugh about over coffee and a bagel on a Sunday morning. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. But it's the journalistic direction dad urged over 50 years ago: "There's plenty of bad news every day, try making your mark writing good news.
" Lord knows, dear reader, you probably could use a chuckle or two today. But couldn't we all? Not much funny happened last week.
The networks and cable TV news stations broke the horrific story from the Virginia Tech campus in Blacksburg, Va. on Monday morning. By the time the mind-numbing casualty figures were confirmed, 33 had died in this country's deadliest domestic shooting rampage in history. One was the shooter, XXX-XXXXX-XXX who killed himself before the cops could or before anyone could ask him, "Why?" He was a 23-year-old Asian-American student described as a sullen loner who spewed his hatred in classroom writing assignments. Unlike mass murderers too often described as the nice guy next door, there was little in XXX's scary past to suggest he was incapable of cutting down defenseless students and faculty. But that's another story.
This was a tragedy that struck home - right here in Gloucester County. One of the critically injured was 2003 Clearview Regional High School graduate and Mullica Hill resident Sean McQuade, a former Pioneer athlete and popular all-around student. Shot in the face and placed in a drug-induced coma, McQuade fought valiantly this week in a Roanoke hospital, family members keeping 24-hour vigil, and in mid-week was upgraded to serious. But death stared him in the face. He is scheduled to graduate from Tech on May 11 along with 188 others from the Garden State. Three of the 33 who died were North Jersey residents.
It's a puzzle why so many former area students continue to find themselves in harm's way. Repeated traffic accidents. An apparent school dorm mishap. And now a graduate who didn't beat the odds. He is part of a huge Tech student body of 26,000, a city unto itself, yet found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
There was more bad news last week. When 32 innocents die senselessly on a U.S. college campus, it's disturbing news that will remain on Page One for weeks to come because it happened here.
Forty-eight hours after the Virginia Tech massacre, almost 200 were killed in five diabolically timed car bombings in Iraq and few blinked. It was a particularly bad day in the war that won't end, but everyday death in Iraq has become the rule, not the exception. Rarely a day goes by dozens aren't killed by a car bomb or a roadside explosion.
Meanwhile, the U.S. military death toll climbs steadily with no end in sight to the unspeakable carnage.
People try rationalizing that the killing fields in Iraq are about war and war means young innocents will lose their lives. That's just the way it's always been.
It's not supposed to happen in a pristine Virginia college town on a chilly April morning.
But it did.
Copyright 2007 Gloucester County Times. Used with permission.


 
Pals rally behind Va. rampage victim
By LEO STRUPCZEWSKI
Courier-Post Staff
Jason Brown walked past the memorials at the drill field on Virginia Tech's campus Thursday to a nearby chapel.

Days earlier a massacre left 33 dead and at least 15 others injured.

Brown fell to his knees.

"I prayed," said Brown, a Clearview Regional High School graduate and student at the university. "And I just cried about all the families."

One of those injured was Sean McQuade, 21, a close high school friend who also graduated from Clearview. As McQuade sat in his German class shortly before 9 a.m. Monday, mayhem erupted. Of the 25 students in the class, news reports say, all but four were killed or injured.

McQuade, a Mullica Hill resident, remained in serious condition Saturday at Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital in Roanoke, Va., recovering from a gunshot wound to the face.

"It's just emotionally draining," said Brown, who is majoring in Hospitality and Tourism Management. "I've cried every day for past four days, even when I feel like I can't cry anymore."

The two were part of a tight-knit group of 10-15 friends who hung out during high school days at Clearview but who scattered across the country when it came time for college. But when word spread that McQuade was injured, the friends once again found the ties that bind.

"We've just been checking in through phone calls," said Blair Crisman, who is a senior accounting major at Susquehanna University in Selinsgrove, Pa. "A lot of people are taking it very hard. Just the fact that this happened to Sean and that we know him, everybody's pretty distraught. We're checking in if we see each other online." Friendly, funny

The group routinely gathered Friday nights to watch movies and crack jokes.

McQuade always fueled the laughter.

"It seemed like there was always a better time when he was around," said Brown, a Mullica Hill resident.

It was a similar scene inside the walls at Clearview.

McQuade found people to speak with in every hallway, friends said. He was a four-year member of the varsity baseball team and co-captain of the basketball team his senior year. But he also played chess and befriended a group of students who started the school's technology support group.

Tracy Matozzo taught McQuade during his sophomore year. It was a ninth-period Honors English class.

Math whiz

Matozzo said her students, including McQuade, teased her. She fought back, all in good fun.

"I called him "Super Geek,' " she said.

A math wiz, McQuade often listened to -- and participated in -- class discussions while playing with math formulas. He consistently found ways to work Pi references into his essays, Matozzo said.

The math obsession didn't stop at the classroom door. Friend and former high school baseball teammate Steve Eigenbrot, who now lives in Las Vegas, recalled conversations the two had while standing in the outfield, where McQuade was a four-year varsity player.

Artist M.C. Escher, known for his mathematically inspired drawings, was a topic of conversation. So was Eigenbrot's calculus class.

"He was reading the book at home," said Eigenbrot, who was two years ahead of McQuade.

Just weeks from graduation, McQuade, a math major, had plans to become an actuary.

Friends weren't sure if he has a job lined up, but Eigenbrot said he talked about one day working in Germany.

Hence the German class.

The memories, though comforting, have also made it difficult to think about something other than McQuade's condition.

Crisman said she's sure people at Susquehanna can tell something is wrong with her. But she doesn't talk about it outside her friends and family. Eigenbrot, 23, grappled with the idea of flying home. He just moved to Las Vegas last month for a job. He'll wait, he said, until McQuade is in rehabilitation. Hospital visit

Brown said he regrets not spending as much time with McQuade as he used to in high school. The two have conflicting schedules and are involved in serious relationships.

"That's one of things I get most upset about," Brown said. "He's right here . . . He's right here, and I feel really guilty about that."

When it became apparent Monday that McQuade was a victim, Brown made his way to the hospital.

He wasn't allowed to visit, so he hung around, waiting for bits of information he could funnel back to the group of friends. He returned Tuesday with a Donovan McNabb Eagles jersey and pictures of the two of them.

At home, efforts are under way to raise money for McQuade's family.

Michael Camp III, president of Clearview's Class of 2003, started a group -- the Sean McQuade Alumni Fund -- on Facebook.com, a social networking Web site.

The idea? Give friends a place to find accurate information on McQuade and donate to a fund his family can use.

"Once he's getting better and his family tries get back to normal everyday life, it'll be a little easier on them," Camp said. "I've already received phone call after phone call. I've had people drop donations off at my house. It's been really overwhelming. It's really brought people together."

Reach Leo Strupczewski at (856) 317-7828 or lstrupczewski@courierpostonline.com
Published: April 22. 2007 3:10AM

Additional News Stories

 


Long recovery ahead for McQuade
Saturday, April 21, 2007

By JONATHAN VIT

Special to the News

More than 360 miles of asphalt and turf separate Clearview High School grad Sean McQuade from Harrison Township.

As the family prepares for what could be a long recovery, it is this distance that could pose the greatest hurdle.

"The family members are going to have to keep flying up and down," said Lynn McQuade, Sean McQuade's great uncle. "It is very expensive to that airport."

As the community continues to rally around the injured Virginia Tech student, Lynn McQuade said he'd like it if people could also donate airline frequent flier miles.

It was unclear Friday whether airline miles can be transferred without substantial penalties, but anyone who'd like to donate miles, McQuade said, should stop in to The Monogram Shop at 146 S. Broad St. in Woodbury.

Friday afternoon, grandfather Chuck Forsman briefly returned to New Jersey before heading back down to Sean McQuade's bedside in Roanoke, Va.

The Carlion Roanoke Memorial Hospital has been the family's home since Sean McQuade was shot in Monday morning's bloody rampage at Virginia Tech.

"My wife and I left with the clothes on our backs and a couple of other changes, not really sure what were getting into," Forsman said.

What they found was a grandson unresponsive and in critical condition after a bullet passed through his cheek and shattered his jaw bone.

Since Monday, Sean McQuade's condition has slowly improved.

"Yesterday afternoon, I asked him to squeeze my hand," Forsman said Friday. "This is grandpop,' (I said), and he squeezed my hand."

Family members explained that Sean McQuade was able to sit up and open his eyes on Friday, even nodding yes when a doctor asked if he was a math major at Virginia Tech.

"Those are signs of improvement, but there is still a lot of trauma," Forsman said. "We have been very pleased with the way things are going at the moment, but the boy still has a long way to go."

In the wake of this tragedy, Sean McQuade's family have been astounded by the amount of support they have received.

"We would like to express our gratitude for everyone," said Forsman, "for all the concerns and prayers given to our grandson Sean from across the nation and especially Gloucester County."

In Gloucester County, the Susquehanna Patriot Bank in Harrison Township will set up a large card for people to sign at Saturdays Chili Cook Off in Harrison Township.

"We just feel like anytime something like this happens and you have someone from your home area that is involved, you want to give as much support as you possibly can to that family," said Vice President Dave Hibbard. "Although I don't know them personally, I am a parent and my heart goes out to them."

Clearview High School classmates have also set up a fund where donations can be sent for the family's use.

It is unknown if Virginia Tech is going to cover Sean McQuade's medical costs.

"What they are going to need is money," Forsman said. "This is all very expensive."


AP - Tue Apr 17, 11:46 PM ET
In this 2003 Clearview Regional High School yearbook photo Sean McQuade is seen. McQuade was in critical condition at Carlion Roanoke Memorial Hospital after being shot in the face, in Blasksburg, Va., during the Monday, April 16, 2007 shooting his grandmother, Lorrie Forsmam, told the Gloucester County Times of Woodbury
Harrison native injured in shooting, was leader in high school
Posted by the Asbury Park Press on 04/18/07

BY DANA FORDE
GANNETT NEW JRESEY

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HARRISON — The minute he stepped foot on Virginia Tech's sprawling campus, Sean T. McQuade knew it was his destiny to be there.

"It was truly in his heart to go there," said Rocco Cornacchia, who was McQuade's guidance counselor and baseball coach at Clearview Regional High School in the Mullica Hill section of the township.

"Sean had a high proficiency for math and always liked working with numbers," he added.

Cornacchia, who spent countless hours with McQuade during his time at Clearview, was devastated to hear from media reports that McQuade, 21, was shot in the face during the rampage Monday at the Virginia Tech campus.

Autumn Millett, who attended high school with McQuade, said a friend who was at Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital, where McQuade is being treated, described McQuade as being in stable condition Tuesday.

Hospital officials listed McQuade in critical condition.

At least four students from New Jersey were among the 32 people killed in the rampage that is being described as the worst in U.S. history.

XXX XXXXX-XXX, a 23-year-old senior majoring in English at Virginia Tech who was identified by authorities as the gunman, later killed himself.

McQuade is a senior majoring in actuarial sciences at Virginia Tech, Cornacchia said. School officials describe McQuade as an exceptionally gifted athlete who played varsity baseball and basketball during his four years at Clearview. McQuade was team captain for both teams during the 2002-2003 school year and regularly mentored younger athletes.

"He was a role model in our school," Cornacchia said. "He was the quintessential poster child for what you want every student to be."

Cornacchia added McQuade was never a selfish player and always put his teammates first.

Mullica Hill resident Mick Bigwood, a former baseball teammate of McQuade's, recalled one of McQuade's first games in which he hit a home run and led the team to victory.

"His father and grandfather would sit in centerfield, rooting everyone on," Bigwood said. "I still remember how excited he was. He's definitely a great kid and a great athlete. He'd get along with everybody."

Aside from excelling on the baseball field and basketball court, McQuade was a dedicated student.

"He was an outstanding English student," English teacher Tracy Matozzo said, joking that McQuade enjoyed outlining his essays with math problems. "He's a great, great kid."

Gannett New Jersey reporter Leo Strupczewski contributed to this report.


Local support comes pouring out for Virginia Tech

Friday, April 20, 2007
By Jonathan Vit
jvit@sjnewsco.com

When Michael Camp heard that a former Clearview High School classmate was injured during Monday morning's bloody siege of a Virginia Tech education hall, he knew he had to do something.

"When I head it was Sean I was taken aback," he said. "I really wasn't expecting to hear his name associated with it because he is such a bright spot. That is why I knew I had to act fast."

With days of the tragedy, Camp set up a fund for Sean McQuade's family at a local bank, allowing community members to donate money to the family.

"What I wanted to do was have this fund be given to them to do whatever they want to with it," Camp said. "Once they come back from this whole thing and Sean recovers, at least they have something there."

According to Camp, the community's response has been outstanding.

"It has been non-stop," Camp said. "The phone has been ringing off the hook. I have had people already coming to my house and people I haven't been in contact with for the past couple of years have been contacting me."

Now a foreign language teacher at Kingsway High School, Camp described McQuade as the ideal student.

"I am a teacher now and he is one of the kids that you would want to have as a teacher," Camp said. "He had the kind of character that was really well-liked and respected by faculty and students."

Employees at Delaware Valley Wholesale Florist in Mantua Township are also trying to organize a bike ride to raise funds for victims' families.

Sales Representative David J. Stowe explained that the business has a small community of dedicated bikers that regularly participates in fund-raising rides.

"There are thousands of people from all around the Gloucester County area who come out to these rides," Stowe said. "We are trying to reach out to the people who organize these rides."

According to the McQuade family, Sean McQuade has been doing better since he was admitted to Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital.

On Wednesday, hospital staff upgraded McQuade's condition from critical to serious and when he recognized the voices of his two college roommates, McQuade responded with a thumbs-up.

McQuade's immediate family has been in Virginia since Monday's tragic events.

Although Lynn McQuade has been updating the news media on his nephew's condition, he had not spoken with the family on Thursday.

"I think their nerves are shot," he said. "It is very trying day-to-day down there."

It is unknown if the school is covering Sean McQuade's medical expenses, but the family has been given a room in the hospital while McQuade is a patient, Lynn McQuade said.

According to Rutgers-Camden Spokesman Mike Sepanic, Rutgers University has "comprehensive health coverage" that would cover full-time students in the case of an emergency.

Virginia Tech officials were unable to answer whether Sean McQuade's medical bills were covered by the school.

 


Sean T. McQuade: Mathematics major's career choice involves calculating risk

Sean T. McQuade

 

Sean T. McQuade

  • Age: 21
  • Class: Senior
  • Major: Mathematics
  • Hometown: Mullica Hill, N.J.

Virginia Tech shooting victims

Risk would be a fundamental part of Sean T. McQuade's future.

Less than a month before graduation, the Virginia Tech senior had already landed a position as an actuary for an insurance company, according to The Philadelphia Inquirer. The job would entail statistically calculating risk and life expectancies for insurance.

Little could prepare him, though, for the risk he would face Monday morning when he was shot in Norris Hall.

The 21-year-old from Mullica Hill, N.J., was taken to Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital. His great-uncle, Lynn McQuade, told The Associated Press that he was hit with five bullet fragments but suffered no brain damage. He was in critical condition Monday night and then upgraded to serious condition Tuesday evening, according to Eric Earnhart, spokesman for Carilion. McQuade is one of two patients from the Virginia Tech shootings at the Roanoke hospital.

His family drove eight hours from their small town in New Jersey to the hospital. His parents, stepparents, sister, five half brothers and a half sister were all there to support him.

McQuade was known for his focus and excellence both in school and athletics. He was on the honor roll and played varsity basketball and baseball during his four years at Clearview Regional High School.

"He's a poster child for the perfect high school student. It's such a tragic event," said Rocco Cornacchia, McQuade's high school guidance counselor. Cornacchia said McQuade had his mind set to attend Virginia Tech.

"The Roanoke community and Virginia Tech family have been so understanding and extremely thoughtful with their wishes and much needed support," wrote McQuade's family.

-- Jessica Marcy

 


You Can Help

Donations should be written out to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Fund" and mailed to St. Edmond's Federal Savings Bank c/o Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship, 1893 Hurffville Road, Sewell NJ 08080-9900.

If you can help the employees of the Delaware Valley Wholesale Florist organize a benefit motorcycle ride, call David J. Stowe at 1-800-773-6872.



 

Sean's maternal grandparents, Chuck & Lorrie Forsman, wanted to thank all of their friends, acquaintances , neighbors, and co-workers,  for the hundreds of emails containing prayers and/or words of encouragement. Please understand that the Forsmans deeply appreciate every single message, even if their present schedule doesn't permit them to respond individually to each one. Your support is heartwarming!


There have been several funds set up to help Sean McQuade and the families during the healing process and recovery.  The two primary funds which were set as donation accounts and managed by the respective banks are listed below.

One account was set up by Michael Camp and is a nonprofit fund through St. Edmonds Federal Bank called the “Sean McQuade Alumni Fund”.  This fund is for use toward medical, rehabilitation, or any needs Sean McQuade may require.  Donations for this fund can be written out to the "Sean McQuade Alumni Fund" and mailed to:

Sean McQuade Alumni Scholarship
c/o St Edmonds Federal Savings Bank
1893 Hurffville Road
Sewell, NJ 08080-9900
 
 

We have also set up an online link for those who wish to donate electronically. 

(Click above to make an electronic donation through Paypal)

Another fund has been set up by the Mullica Hill Merchants Association for well wishers who would like to give donations for the needs of Sean McQuade and his family while they are by his side in Virginia and away from work and their homes. This is a nonprofit fund and will be utilized for medical expenses as well as any immediate needs of the families. Donations can be mailed to: 

Friends of Sean McQuade
c/o Susquehanna Patriot Bank
P.O. Box 69
Mullica Hill, NJ 08062
 

You can drop off donations to either of the two banks above.

All funds will be deposited immediately and all cards and notes will be kept and held for Sean and his family.  If there are other funds set up by well wishers and you would like to get direction on how to best utilize those dollars for the families, we would recommend depositing into one of the funds above.  If you would like to discuss a specific desire on how you want the funds applied, please contact Kurt Forsman at 860-399-5669.  

We would like to give our sincere thanks to everyone who has given their time and money to help Sean.  The outpouring of prayers and generosity has been amazing and we again thank you.


Sean Doesn't want to miss a single card or letter so please address any cards or letters as follows:

The McQuade Family

 16 Chestnut Hill Court

Swedesboro, NJ 08085

Links to Other Sites