A crash, a loss, & mistaken identity remembered 20 years later
By Dr. Donna Downs
Professor at Taylor University, Upland, Ind.
When we experience tragedy in life, grief often lingers for years. Especially when anniversary dates of tragic events approach, our minds relive them in the days leading up to THAT treacherous day.
April 26 is one such date for me. Twenty years ago, as a faculty member at Taylor University in Upland, Ind., I, along with all faculty, staff, and students at the time, experienced the aftermath of a fatal accident that killed five members of our Taylor community. What ensued grew more than anyone could have imagined as mistaken identity and tragedy led to worldwide attention.
Anyone visiting Taylor’s campus today can walk through a memorial prayer chapel that holds larger-than-life pictures of those lives taken in that accident on Interstate 69, a highway frequented by travelers between Fort Wayne (a satellite campus at the time) and Upland.
To today’s students, they are photos with little meaning.
But those of us who were on campus in 2006 approach those photos with quiet reverence; for to us, they represent students full of life, zeal, and faith. We remember. We ponder. We grieve.
The week of April 26, 2006, started out as any other week at Taylor University, full of activity and education. As a part of their learning experience, my public relations students were planning a special event — a fundraising concert for the Boys and Girls Club and the young couple who run the club.
We had arranged for Sanctus Reel, a Christian band, to come to campus Tuesday night. Several of our students consistently worked with the inner-city kids in Marion, and so many volunteered that night. The concert was a hit. We reserved free tickets for 20 kids, ages ranging from 8 to 16. They went backstage to meet the band. None had ever attended a live concert before.
This particular course normally averages around 18 students and always plans a special event. The previous fall class had planned an event called the One-on-One Connection, where we arranged an evening of free pizza, fun, and games for students at Upland Elementary School and their Taylor student-mentors. That particular class was an anomaly because it held only five students, one of whom was Laura Van Ryn.
An exciting piece of Tuesday night’s concert event for us was that Monday we had received word from a local couple that their foundation would underwrite the cost of the concert ($3,500) AND they would personally give us $1,500 for the young couple’s family needs (their son was quite ill). We were praising God for His provisions and blessings. The week was off to a great start!
Tuesday was full of excitement, planning, running around, and serving dinner to the band — a mixture of happiness and panic.
My class and I were on campus until about 2 a.m. Wednesday morning, cleaning up after the concert so things would be ready for chapel at 10 a.m. the next morning. Our president’s wife was scheduled to speak. Everything needed to be spotless.
The next day continued as normal. That evening, I had just fallen asleep when I received a call to say a Taylor van had wrecked on I-69 and at least five Taylor people were involved. Some were dead. She said an all-campus meeting had been called in Rediger Chapel at 11 p.m. So, I jumped out of bed, called my son Brandon, a freshman at Taylor, got in the car, and drove a half hour back to campus.
When I arrived on campus that night of April 26, 2006, students were flocking to Rediger. Everyone was quiet; the atmosphere was solemn. Questions of, “Who could it be?” were whispered throughout the auditorium, with some saying they knew this certain person or that certain person was not there. All anyone knew was that a van had wrecked, some people had died, and some were injured.
People were praying and hugging all around me. I awaited news. At 11 p.m. Dr. Gene Habecker, our president, gave us as much information as he knew or could give us at the time. No names were released, but five were dead and four were injured. Parents still had to be notified; names of the deceased needed to be confirmed.
In the chapel, the band played praise and worship songs. People prayed; people spoke. Everyone was looking around to see who wasn’t there.
At around 1 a.m., I walked over to my office to see if anything was on television or online. People were milling around the parking lots on either side of the chapel. Our university webmaster found me outside and asked if I could provide him with yearbook pictures of those in the accident. Just as we were talking, someone came out of the auditorium and yelled, “They’re about to give more information.” Slowly the names were announced. With each name mentioned, groups of students sobbed and fell to the ground or into one another’s arms.
President Habecker told all the students to go call their parents and assure them that they were alive and OK. Taylor was inundated with parent calls, asking if their children were safe.
After we found the photos, I went back outside. The site was one I will never forget. Students were lying on the ground wailing.
I recalled Matthew 2:18: “A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more.”
Classes were canceled the rest of the week as Taylor mourned. The following Monday was a difficult day as classes reconvened. Funerals were occurring almost daily.
Many students never regained momentum after the accident. The seniors, in particular, had begun their emotional separation from one another. They were preparing for life beyond college and leaving the Taylor family when suddenly they were forced together in this desperate, emotional search for answers and understanding. Some changed their whole career goals, vowing to make a difference in the place of those who had died. Some found more purpose. Some lost what purpose they had. All of us either realized our need for Jesus more or had to work out our frustrations with what He had allowed to happen. Very few sat in the middle.
A song we sang that night (and many times during the days thereafter) stands out in my mind: “Blessed be the name of the Lord … You give and take away” (“Blessed Be Your Name” by Matt Redman). It invariably still brings tears to my eyes as I sing or hear it — whether in chapel, at church, or online — as I remember that night. Having a God who understands grief is crucial in times like this. We can trust that He is close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18) and binds up our wounds (Psalm 147:3).
A couple of weeks after the accident, we learned that two of the girls had been misidentified. Whitney Cerak was alive; Laura Van Ryn had died that night. Laura was one of my students and advisees. After the accident, we had signed up for 24-hour prayer vigils for her healing. And now, we learned, she had been gone all along. Yet, another tragedy. Yet, another moment of mourning.
After that, the two girls became the focus of the world. Their story was shared in a best-selling book, “Mistaken Identity: Two Families, One Survivor, Unwavering Hope,” by Don Van Ryn and told on “The Oprah Winfrey Show.” The world knew of our grief.
Year after year when April 26 rolls around, heartache penetrates my soul. Those of us who experienced this tragedy together will forever be bound by memories of the Taylor van accident. Almost every year around the anniversary of the accident, I meander to the memorial prayer chapel. Sometimes I sit on the bench and pray for the families. Sometimes I gaze upon each photo one by one and in my mind’s eye see those represented there as they lived in our midst 20 years ago.
Sometimes I just sit and remember. Monica. Brad. Betsy. Laurel. Laura. We will never forget.
Above photo by Jim Garringer: The Memorial Prayer Chapel stands at the center of the Taylor University campus in Upland, Ind. It was erected following the death of four students and one staff member in 2006.