by Ashley Smith
Beyond the external changes and developments in my life, it is the changes others might not see that are precious to me. After years of disappointment, personal failure, and strife, my family relationships are being healed in ways difficult to describe. My relationship with my mom grows deeper daily—we have never been as close as we are now. My mom and my Aunt Kim are beginning to trust me. My relationship with Paige is pure and full of love. My entire family is happy that I am whole again and part of them. I pushed them away for so long, and now they have welcomed me back. I am touched, sometimes floored, by their love and acceptance and by the way they have responded to me in the midst of my recent experience.
I still hope to have a career and my own home one day. I also know the time will come for me to regain custody of Paige. For now, though, I am taking things slowly. I am learning how to be a good mom and a confident, stable person. And right now I feel healthier in my emotions than I ever have before—my heart feels healthier. I can love my daughter better. I am learning to guide her, discipline her, and shelter her. I used to be scared to do that on my own; I felt so weak and inadequate. But now I know that I am not on my own. God is with me, and my relationship with Jesus Christ has become the thing I cherish most.
God is helping me in many other deep, important ways right now, too. I am still drug-free—I haven’t touched drugs since walking out of my apartment on March 12. Since that day I have continued to cooperate with the investigating authorities. I have let them know about my past and that I had drugs in my apartment that night. Initially I did not volunteer the information about the drugs; when I was first interviewed by law enforcement, I believed their primary focus was Brian Nichols. And I was afraid. Later I came forward and shared the details about the drugs with the appropriate authorities, but I regret not having done so at the very beginning. I remember what Jesus said: “The truth will set you free.” That’s how I want to live my life—I want to be an honest person and experience the freedom that goes with it.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to do my part to stay clean of the drugs. I am keeping accountability partners and asking for God’s guidance. Instead of running away from God’s voice, now I seek it and try to learn from his words. I focus on the things I learned at recovery. I do not go to meetings right now because of publicity, but I plan on going and sharing my story of addiction and recovery as soon as I can. I do pray regularly with my pastor. He was the youth minister at the Baptist church I attended growing up, and he has been a very important source of strength for me throughout my ordeal. I take part in a women’s Bible study group, too—the prayers, love, and support of these women have provided me with a sense of security I’ve badly needed.
A year ago I never dreamed I would be surrounded by the kind of strong, healthy, supportive people that God has put in my life; I often think I don’t deserve it. But I know that if I’m going to recover and stabilize my life for good, then I need solid people around me. I still pray all the time for the friends I knew in the drug scene. While it isn’t healthy for me to be with them right now, these people have good hearts and many God-given talents—they just can’t see through the fog of the drugs. I want these friends to make it out of all that, and I pray that what has happened in my life will impact them in some way. I want them to know that God loves them no matter what they’ve done. I want them to know God’s forgiveness and that it’s never too late for God to turn a life around. He’s the God of the second, third, fourth, and fifth chance; he never gives up on anyone. If he can change me—the one they called “Crazy Girl”—then he can do anything!
On a recent night in July, I was flying back into Atlanta from Denver, where I attended a book convention. I had gone to the convention to promote this book and to share some of my story with the people there—it was my first time getting up in front of an audience and giving what some might call a speech. (I called it my testimony.) I remember being so nervous before I stood up that when I got to the podium and noticed how dim the room looked, I felt grateful. At least I didn’t have to see the people’s faces!
Everyone was so good to me at the convention, so supportive and complimentary. But it still felt awkward to be praised for what happened with Brian Nichols—to be called a “hero.” Since the events in March, I had never been comfortable with that word. I wrestled over it. And I just kept saying to people at the convention, “God’s the one who did it. He helped me. I don’t want to take the credit.”
Flying into Atlanta now in the dark, I could see a sprawl of lights twinkling underneath us, and for a moment I thought back to March 11, the day Brian Nichols was on the loose. Three people had been shot at the courthouse, and later the agent at his house. Others had been injured, some carjacked. Lives were turned upside down. The whole city was on lockdown. As I looked at the lights on the ground, I thought, “So many of the people in those houses down there were scared on that day. And all I had to do when my time came was be faithful and obedient to what God was telling me. And because I did that, those people didn’t have to be scared anymore.”
That was a pretty overwhelming thought—that something I did had helped others on such a large scale. And yet, like I told those people at the book convention, I knew it was God. He helped me to make good decisions that night; I couldn’t have done what I did without him. God was the real hero. Yes, I did something. I played my part. But it was a small part in the grand scheme of things.
There are so many others who played their parts. There are the countless people who prayed all night for Brian Nichols’s capture and for the safety of the city. Those prayers helped me while I was awake for those seven hours talking to Brian Nichols and hoping I could convince him to do the right thing.
And if there are any heroes, they are the judicial and law enforcement officials who risked and gave their lives trying to bring the crisis to an end. I only saw those officers, agents, and officials who gathered in droves at Bridgewater Apartments the morning of March 12. But there are so many others—people I will never know—and I honor them.
Most importantly, there are the three men and the woman who died on March 11: Judge Rowland Barnes, court reporter Julie Ann Brandau, Deputy Sergeant Hoyt Teasley, and Special Agent David Wilhelm.
They are the heroes in the story.
While I was with Brian Nichols, I knew very little about what had happened those hours he was on the loose. I only knew that there were victims. But now I know more. I know more about these four dedicated public servants, their lives, and the impact they had on others. I am privileged to share a little about each one of them in the tribute that follows.
I also know more about the loved ones these four victims left behind. On some level, I can imagine their suffering because of my own experience; and in just imagining it, my heart breaks for them.
To you who have survived the loss of your dear one—husband, wife, father, mother, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, grandparent, child, friend—I extend my deepest sympathies and my prayers. I know the pain of losing someone precious to a violent murder. It is an indescribable pain. It runs deep. And so many questions go with it. It is so difficult to understand why our loved one died and why this is happening. My prayer for you right now is that God will be with you in a powerful way and give you the strength, support, courage, and hope that you need.
To Deputy Cynthia Hall, who has had to fight for her life, and now her health, after being severely injured in the assault by Brian Nichols, my prayers are with you and your loved ones as you recover. May God give you strength, faith, and hope right now—may he meet all of your needs.
To those who were attacked or carjacked by Brian Nichols on that day—Almeta Kilgo, Deronta Franklin, Don O’Briant, and others shaken or injured after crossing his path—my prayers are with you. And with all of those people tied to the terrifying events of March 11: those who have suffered and feared, those who have gone back to work at the courthouse, those who in any way were affected by the events and have kept on. I thank you for your e
xample and your courage. May God be your strength and your help.
All of you are heroes to me.
a tribute to the victims
I was a very fortunate survivor in this tragedy with Brian Nichols, but these four public servants were not. They each gave the ultimate sacrifice, and they leave behind loving friends and family who must go on with their lives. I do not understand why some are taken and others are spared. I am so humbled and blessed to be alive, and my hope is that my story will bring some comfort and peace. I am honored to devote some of the royalties I earn from this book to create a memorial that will serve as a permanent tribute to the victims.
Superior Court Judge Rowland W. Barnes, 64, was serving his seventh year on the Fulton County bench at the time of his murder. He died in his courtroom shortly before the Brian Nichols trial was scheduled to begin. Widely regarded as one of the most beloved figures in county government, Barnes was often described as jovial, fair, and warmhearted. A graduate of Emory University Law School in Atlanta and a native of Wyoming, Judge Barnes left behind a loving wife, Claudia, two daughters, and four stepchildren. His daughter Kiley, 26, plans to become a lawyer and continue her father’s legacy.
Court reporter Julie Ann Brandau, 46, was a dedicated “Guardian of the Record,” the title court reporters across the nation sometimes give themselves as they work long hours to transcribe everything said in a courtroom. However, she always found time to bake pound cakes, peach bread, or cookies for juries during trials. A native of Moncks Corner, South Carolina, and the youngest of three girls, Brandau had been the court reporter for Judge Barnes since 1998, when he was appointed to the bench; she had worked for more than twenty years in the Fulton County courts. Loved by colleagues and friends alike, she and her college-age daughter, Christina, enjoyed travel and took trips to Hawaii and Costa Rica.
Deputy Sergeant Hoyt—known to family and friends as Keith—Teasley, 43, was recognized, even as a boy, for his protective instinct. He once went off on his bike to help search for a missing neighbor; and when a firecracker exploded at a family gathering, he threw himself over his sister to cover her. Teasley also was considered a great neighbor—a friendly and quiet person who would offer to help others with their yard work. An Atlanta native, Teasley served with the Georgia Air National Guard, and he joined the Fulton County Sheriff’s Department in 1986. He is survived by his wife, Deborah, and his young daughters, DeKeisha and Deona.
U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement Special Agent David Wilhelm, 40, had served in federal law enforcement for eighteen years. His friends and family remember him as a strong leader, smart, honest, and hardworking, and as someone who loved and could connect with people. He also had a talent for home building and remodeling—he was laying tile at his new Atlanta house the night he was murdered. Born in Salisbury, North Carolina, Wilhelm had been transferred to Atlanta in late 2004 to continue a career as a rising star. He left behind a beloved wife, Candee.
acknowledgments
First, I would like to thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. If he did not love me as much as he does and have a plan for my life, then I would not be alive to share my story through this book.
I want to thank my daughter Paige for loving me no matter what and for being one of the best prayer warriors I could ever ask for. You are my heart and I love you so much.
I would like to thank my mom for demanding that I go to Bridges of Hope and for saving my life after my car accident. And for all the love and belief she has always had in me. Thank you, Mom, for putting up with me and never giving up on me. I love you, and I promise I am here for you every step of the way as you fight this battle with cancer.
Larry—aka “Dad”—thank you for treating me like your own and for always loving me. Thank you for showing love to Mack when he was alive and for helping him to see what he wanted in life. Thank you for never giving up on me and for being there when many would have written me off.
I would like to thank Aunt Kim for all of the love and support she has given to me and to Paige. Thank you for all of your prayers. Thank you for challenging me to want more of what Christ has for me. Thank you also for your guidance and friendship. And Uncle Steve, thank you for being the best father figure that Paige could ask for and also for your love and open arms to me.
I honor and thank my grandparents for always guiding me in the way of the Lord and for loving me when I did not seem to love back. Mema, thank you for showing me the person I want to be—just like you! And Papa, thank you for instilling in me the discipline I have today. I know it comes from you, and I would not be the same without it. I told you guys I would make you proud someday!
To my Uncle David (“Uncle D”) for the talks we have had, for the prayers you have prayed, and for the example you have set for me as a godly man, husband, father, and friend. I hope there is one more man left out there just like you for me. Aunt Jill, I want to thank you also for your prayers and for all the time you spent with me when I was growing up. Those times are memorable.
To my brother Christian and my sister Leah—thank you for loving me. Christian, I am proud to be your Sissy, and Leah (aka “La”), I am proud to be your Sisso. I love you both with all my heart.
To my “cuz” and best friend in the whole world, Rebekah: thank you for all your love, support, and prayer, and for being hard on me when you needed to. It’s okay—I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me too! Thank you also for checking my email and being my “assistant” through everything. I will have you home soon. And Eric too—thanks! I love y’all.
To all the rest of my family, thank you all for your love and support and, most of all, for your prayers. Jesus heard you when you prayed, and he answered. I love you all—you guys are the best family anyone could ever ask for!
To the Smith family, thank you all for loving Paige and me. Thank you for your love, support, and prayers. I know that Mack is at peace now.
Thanks to William Davis and Son for giving me a job when I first moved to Atlanta.
To all of you at Jackson Spalding, thank you for caring about me and loving me the way you do. Thank you for making my dreams come true. I couldn’t have done this without you. You guys are my “new friends” the Lord has sent. Glen Jackson, thank you for always standing firm for Jesus Christ and knowing where my story needed to be. Thank you also for making me feel less afraid the first night we met—I will never forget your prayer. Caroline Duffy, thank you for becoming full-time again because of me. You have been my ears when I couldn’t hear, my eyes when I couldn’t see, and my voice when I couldn’t find the words. I am grateful, and I love you. Thanks to Stephanie Fitzsimmons, Gustavo Machado, and Tony Wilbert for your professional support as well.
To my agent, Calvin Edwards, thank you for your faithfulness, all of your hard work, and for spoiling me with the many gifts you sent! You and Nerida have been wonderful to me. I know God sent you to me from the very beginning. And Heather Northcut, thank you for the help you have provided.
To my lawyer and friend David Nutter, thank you for your guidance and for the talks that we have had about our heavenly Father. You too were God-sent, and I appreciate everything you do.
To my CPA, Courtnay Bazemore, thank you for all of your hard work and for being the best woman for the job. You have been God-sent as well.
Thanks to Josh Archer for giving up part of his weekend and dropping everything on his plate the week of March 13 to run interference for me. I am grateful you were there to lean on.
To the people of Atlanta—thank you for the gracious way you have supported me since the terrifying events of March 11 and 12. I mourn with you for the loss of those who died; our city is less than what it was because they are gone. A special, heartfelt thanks to Governor Sonny Perdue and the other officials who honored me on March 24 and extended a reward to me. I appreciate your support and am humbled by it.
To those everywhere who prayed for Brian Nichols’s surrender and a peaceful end to the violence, thank you from my h
eart. God answered your prayers, and I am grateful.
To Zondervan and William Morrow: thank you all for believing in me and my story, and thank you for helping me make my dreams come true. Thank you for your hard work, generosity, enthusiasm, and kindness. I appreciate you more than you know.
On the Zondervan side, I want to thank Executive Editor John Sloan for your guidance and belief in my story, and for all of the stories you have shared with me—they have changed my life. My thanks also to Jim Ruark, Senior Editor; Vicki Cessna, Director of Public Relations; Mark Rice, Vice President of Corporate Communications; Lyn Cryderman, Vice President and Publisher, Books; Scott Bolinder, Executive Vice President and Publisher; Bruce Ryskamp, Chief Executive Officer. A special thanks to audio producer Jeff Bowden for his work with me on the audio book.
On the William Morrow side, I want to thank Executive Editor Maureen O’Brien for your strong belief in this story from the beginning, all your editorial guidance, and your energy and openness with me. You have been so fun to chat with, and you have put so much into this book. I also thank Stephanie Fraser, Maureen’s excellent editorial assistant; Debbie Stier, Director of Publicity; Trina Rice, Publicist; Lisa Gallagher, Publisher; Michael Morrison, President; and Jane Friedman, Chief Executive Officer. A special thanks to Associate General Counsel Beth Silfin for all of her input and hard work.