by Jeff Kass
Video games may have given Eric and Dylan paths for their anger: Postal had details that previewed Columbine, and Doom’s philosophy of the lone Marine against the rest of hell helped inform Eric and Dylan’s us-against-them mentality. The game’s tough as nails descriptions also seeped into their brains and influenced Eric’s writings. Staring at the computer screen would keep Eric and Dylan from developing the social skills to merge with the rest of the world they so desperately wanted to connect with.
But Eric and Dylan were not the only ones exposed to the joysticks: In one week in 1997, sales of Postal hit fifteen thousand copies, according to the Wall Street Journal. Video games did not cause their anger. That came from elsewhere.
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Eric the high school freshman was also writing poems. “I am a nice guy who hates when people open their pop can just a little,” he wrote in one. “I wonder what my soccer team will be like in the Spring. I hear myself turning on the ignition of an F-15. I see myself flying above everyone else. I want to fly. I am a nice guy who hates when people open their pop can just a little.”
When Eric was a freshman, his older brother Kevin was a senior who kicked and played tight end for the Columbine Rebels’ football team. Kevin has been widely praised as a good athlete and a good guy. Eric called him a great brother. Eric and Dylan attended Columbine High football games, and Eric wrote a poem about the team that began:
The big game has finally come tonight.
The Columbine Rebels versus the Chatfield Chargers in football.
The Chargers are filled with fright,
For the Rebels will beat them like a rag-doll.
It does not appear that Eric ever played on any high school teams, but he considered himself a renaissance man for the sports he did participate in: football, mountain biking, and baseball (outfield and second base). His favorite was soccer (offense and defense), which he played for a club soccer team not affiliated with the school, the Columbine Rush.
In a freshman school essay, Eric acknowledged that he was already the type who got angry easily. He said he was kind to people and animals and tried to settle matters “in a mature, non-violent manner” but, “I usually punish people in unusual ways who steal or make me angry.” He did not elaborate on the “unusual ways.”
Eric liked power, control, and creating new things, he wrote. “I am always asking questions or double-checking myself to be sure I completely understand something so I am in control.” But Eric didn’t have much power, or control, over much of anything.
In a school essay about the similarities between himself and the Greek god Zeus, Eric wrote that they both liked to lead “large groups of people” and, “I usually turn out to be a great leader.” But if Eric was leading anyone, it was a rag tag band of friends who could summarily be called computer nerds.
Among the first outward cracks in Eric’s psyche was when he took Tiffany Typher to homecoming. She didn’t want to go on any more dates after that, so one day he lay on the ground outside his house and covered his head and neck with fake blood. He put a “bloody” rock in his hand as if he had bashed in his own skull, and screamed as Brooks Brown and Tiffany walked by. After a few seconds, Eric burst out laughing. Brooks did too, seeing it as nothing more than a prank.
“I knew it wasn’t real, I could tell it was fake blood,’’ Typher told the Denver Post a couple days after Columbine. “I yelled, ‘You guys are stupid!’ and started running to a friend’s house and crying, because it shook me up. He was doing that so maybe I’d come back to him and say I’m sorry.’’
Still, Eric and Dylan were ready to be accepted, to be part of team Columbine. But they weren’t.
Their computer skills were sharp but could not vault them over the ruthless world of high school social popularity contests. They didn’t have the right good looks, money, or athletic prowess. Their social skills were hopeless.
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Eric and Dylan were also being bullied, according to Brooks Brown. “At lunchtime the jocks would kick our chairs, or push us down onto the table from behind,” he wrote in his book. “They would knock our food trays onto the floor, trip us, or throw food as we were walking by. When we sat down, they would pelt us with candy.”
Eric, Dylan, and their friends tried to ignore the battering, Brooks added, but “their words hurt us and we lived in constant fear and hatred of our tormenters.”
Brooks concluded: “Eric and Dylan are the ones responsible for creating this tragedy. However, Columbine is responsible for creating Eric and Dylan.”
Eric and Dylan were not the only ones. Isaiah Shoels, who they would later kill, was among the few blacks at Columbine, along with his brother and sister.
“They were being called nigger over and over again,” the Shoels family spokesman, Sam Riddle, told the Rocky Mountain News.
Jewish student Jonathan Greene said jocks threatened to burn him in an oven “and made up songs about Jewish people and talked about Hitler.” (One school official has said a suspect behind the anti-Semitism was swiftly punished by both the school and sheriff.)
But in their vast diaries and videos, Eric and Dylan never mention being bullied. In her deposition, Dylan’s prom date, Robyn Anderson, says Dylan and Eric never talked about being bullied. Dylan told his father that at 6'4" he was tall enough that he didn’t get pushed around. But he did indicate people picked on Eric.
By other accounts, Eric and Dylan themselves could be bullies. Columbine student Anne Marie Hochhalter told the Rocky Mountain News that, at one point, she thought Eric and Dylan were cool. She liked the look of their trench coats, which mimicked the movie The Matrix, but she was turned off when she saw them insulting classmates. Dylan himself alludes to being somewhat of a bully in a March 1997 diary entry when he writes of “trying not to ridicule/make fun of people at school.” Although he adds, “it does nothing to help my life . . . my existence is shit . . . eternal suffering.”
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The Trench Coat Mafia clique was forming at Columbine the same year Eric and Dylan were freshmen. Joseph Stair, one of three founding members, said he would receive weekly death threats on his locker and called the Mafia a “support group.” Chris Morris and Eric Dutro were the other two founders. Dutro was called a freak and faggot, and was cornered in the halls. After school, other students tossed rocks, glass bottles, and ice balls at group members. Dutro called Stair a fellow dork and loner, and viewed the two of them as a couple of friends who didn’t care about anyone else as long as they had each other. But with their own power base, they fought back in ways big and small, refusing to move out of the jocks’ way.
Then in 1996, Dutro’s parents bought him a black trench coat at Sam’s Club for a Halloween Dracula costume. He liked it so much he began wearing it on a regular basis, even when police interviewed him after Columbine. As the mafia clique grew to about a dozen, including some who didn’t even wear trench coats, other students came up with the name Trench Coat Mafia as a tease. The trenchies rolled with it and proudly adopted the name.
But the trench coat never had the power of a Batman cape. As a group, members were not picked on, but they still suffered barbs when alone. Girls in the group were called sluts or Nazi lesbians.
Dutro left for another school in 1997, after three years, because of the teasing. Chris Morris eventually stopped wearing his trench coat because others had followed his lead and it was “no longer a statement of his individuality.”
For Eric and Dylan, membership in the Trench Coat Mafia might be described as more concept than reality. They were friends with Morris, and Dylan told his father that the jocks called him and his friends the Trench Coat Mafia. Tom Klebold said Dylan was “kind of amused” by the whole thing. When police searched Stair’s basement after Columbine, they reported finding an inscription in his 1998 yearbook—the end of Eric and Dylan’s junior year—signed with Dylan’s nickname: Yo Joe Stay different,
better than the norm! Jocks suck dick. TCM!! Later <<-VODKA->>.” But Stair did not consider Eric and Dylan Mafia members, and the 1998 yearbook dedication and photo for the Mafia did not include Eric and Dylan:
Trenchcoat Mafia,
We are Josh, Joe, Chris, Horst, Chuck, Brian, Pauline, Nicole, Kristen, Krista, plus Tad, Alex, Cory. Who says we’re different? Insanity’s healthy! Remember rocking parties at Kristen’s, foosball at Joe’s, and fencing at Christopher’s! Stay alive, stay different, stay crazy! Oh, and stay away from cream soda!!
Love Always,
The Chicks
For many, the yearbook photo was also the farewell to the Trench Coat Mafia, and Eric and Dylan would never join it. According to Dylan’s friend Devon Adams, Eric and Dylan never even sat with the Trench Coat members during lunch or breakfast. “We never really hung out with them,” she says. “I don’t understand how they [Eric and Dylan] were part of it when the only similarity is they wore trench coats.”
But Eric and Dylan may have considered themselves part of the group, or at least aspired to it, in their own minds. And in the end, it didn’t matter whether they were members. It was the lesson they learned. When they saw the Mafia, they saw power. They saw people who stood up to other students and to the school administration. And when they put on their own trench coats, they felt powerful too.
Rebels
Deep into their sophomore year, Eric and Dylan had transformed from young and innocent freshmen to rebels. Part of it was typical and harmless. They developed small-time cigarette habits; Dylan had tried booze for the first time with his brother at their house because he was “curious to see what it was like.” Within another year he would try marijuana, again with his brother and again because he was “curious.” Eric took his first drink at age fifteen simply because he wanted to. He sometimes drank by himself—tequila and the cinnamon liqueur After Shock.
Eric and Dylan were also into petty vandalism. Outwardly, it was typical and harmless. But analytically, it was different. It was not about fun and games, but deep-seated philosophies. Eric harbored an anarchic anger at friends, enemies, and perceived enemies. He was judge, jury, and hangman meting out his own punishment. He would brook no opposition and was seeing how far he could push his outbursts. He still looked the part of a normal preppy with his short, brown hair, but his smile, with his beady eyes and his head cocked forward, now showed self-satisfaction and superiority. Dylan was adrift in a sea of depression, holding onto Eric as a friend and anchor.
Their violence would look the same. But their characters were different. If a thermometer could measure their psyches, Eric would shoot the mercury up. He had a hot anger. Dylan’s sadness would drop the mercury to negative. But they were joined at zero—touching each other in their disillusionment and their social standing.
It doesn’t seem that any one precipitating incident set Eric and Dylan off toward their extremes. But by the time they were sixteen, they were each hurtling toward violent ends. Each had their nicknames. Dylan was “Vodka,” named for the alcohol he loved and, appropriately enough, a depressant, albeit one that can also yank someone out of his shell. Eric was “Reb,” short for Rebel, although Rebel was also the mascot of Columbine High.
En route to early deaths, Eric and Dylan hit roadblocks—school suspensions and a juvenile diversion program. But the obstacles only caused them to redouble their efforts. And no one came down on them hard enough, or connected all their bombs.
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Eric’s anger first exploded around winter of 1997 as he summarized his philosophy and deeds on his web pages.
Helllloooooo every one. These are the words of wisdom from REB.
This page explains the various things in the world that annoy the SHIT outa me. God I just LOVE freedom of speech. Keep in mind that these are just my point of views, and may or may not reflect on anyone else. I do swear a lot on this page, so fuck off if your a pussy who cant handle a little god damn bad language. heeeheee. And now to get started:
YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE!!!?
When there is a group of assholes standing in the middle of a hallway or walkway, and they are just STANDING there talking and blocking my fucking way!!! Get the fuck outa the way or Ill bring a friggin sawed-off shotgun to your house and blow your snotty ass head off!!
YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE!!!?
When people don’t watch where THEY ARE FUCKING GOING! Then they plow into me and say ‘oops, sorry,’ or ‘watch it!’ NNNYAAAA!!! Next time that happens I will rip out 2 of your damn ribs and shove em into your fucking eye balls!!!
YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE!!!?
OOOOOOOOJAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!! GOD I F-ING HATE THAT WORTHLESS TRIAL!!! Who in their right feeeeearrrRIGIN mind would care about that trial??!? its not any different from any other murder trial! Tell those fucking reporters to get a life! And what the fuck do we have to gain by watching that stupid trial anyway!!? Its not news! its a trial! not news! trial! Trial does not = news!
YOU KNOW WHAT I LOVE!!!?
—Natural SELECTION!!!!!!!!! God damn its the best thing that ever happened to the Earth. Getting rid of all the stupid and weak orginisms but its all natural!! YES! I wish the government would just take off every warning label. So then all the dumbasses would either severely hurt themselves or DIE! And boom, no more dumbasses. heh.
YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE!!!?
—R rated movies on CABLE! My DOG can do a better damn editing job than those dumnshits!!!
Eric is also transforming thought into action through various “missions.” Although he is not alone. Dylan is around. So is Zach Heckler, who has known Eric and Dylan since eighth grade. He was known as “Kibble” or “Kibbz” because he was fond of bringing snacks to school.
“OK people, im gonna let you in on the big secret of our clan,” Eric explains. “We aint no god damn stupid ass quake clan! We are more of a gang. We plan out and execute missions. Anyone pisses us off, we do a little deed to their house. Eggs, teepee, superglue, busyboxes, large amounts of fireworks, you name it and we will probly or already have done it. We have many enemies in our school, therefor we make many missions. Its sort of a night time tradition for us.”
They get drunk after each mission. “Not with wimpy beer, we only use hard liquor. Aftershock, Irish Cream, Tequila, Vodka, Whiskey, Rum, and sometimes a few shots of EVERCLEAR. We also sometimes make up our own shooters. And sample others (never try a prarie fire, its killer!).”
Eric will be sixteen in April. And then, “we can drive around any place we want to. Heh heh.”
For now, Eric labels six “missions.” The first, which is the first known record of Eric and Dylan’s mischief, is undated: “We put an entire assortment of very loud fireworks in a tunel, and lit them off at about 1:00 a.m.,” he spouts off on the web. “This mission was part of a rebellion against these assholes that shot one of our bikes one day. They were rather angry that night, and we were very happy. We will be doing another hit on their house sometime in the near future. And that one will be much closer. And louder.”
Heckler says he doesn’t know whose houses are being vandalized; they are people Eric doesn’t like. But a timeline begins to emerge, and one-time friend Nick Baumgart is the next target:
Our second mission was against this complete and utter fag’s house. Everyone in our school hates this immature little weakling. So we decided to ‘hit’ his house. On Friday night (2/7/97) at about 12:15 AM we arrived at this queer’s house. Fully equipped with 3 eggs, 2 roles of toilet paper, the cheap brand, no pretty flowers (We were disappointed to) superglue, and the proper tools to make his phone box a busy box (for those of you that are stupid, a busy box is where you set their box so that when they try to make call, they get a busy signal and when someone else calls, they get a busy signal too). We placed 2 eggs in his very large, thick bushes. We just barely cracked them open so they will be producing a rather repulsive and extremely BA
D oder for sometime. We placed the last egg on his ‘welcome’ mat. It was very neat, I cracked the egg, put the yoke in the center, and the 2 halves on either side of the yoke. Then we teepeed his large pine tree and this . . . oak? tree. I don’t know, Its big though. It wasn’t a complete teepee but it was enough to agitate the home owner greatly. We also put the superglue on the front door and on the little red mail box flag.
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Another target was another one-time friend, Brooks Brown, who was becoming Eric’s worst enemy. Brooks had grown to be tall and lanky, smart and edgy, but didn’t apply himself and was a mediocre student. With straight brown hair and a hangdog look, the only things he seemed to enjoy at school were theater and debate. He calls the Christian ethos at Columbine suffocating and enjoyed arguing with students outside the classroom when it came to religion. “I prided myself on making Christians cry,” he says.
Brooks also became Eric and Dylan’s most famous friend, because his parents recognized their troublemaking and reported it to police. It did little good. When the Browns pointed out the police shortcomings after Columbine, the sheriff labeled Brooks a possible accomplice. The sheriff’s office later recanted, and none of the writings from Eric or Dylan indicate Brooks was in on the plan. In fact, they state the opposite: That Eric dreamed of killing Brooks and his family, although three months before Columbine, Brooks says he and Eric patched things up. On the day of the shootings, Eric allowed him to live.
An early flashpoint for Eric’s anger toward Brooks was the great backpack caper. The incident itself was minor. But Eric’s anger, and attempt to cover it up, was noteworthy.
Second semester of their sophomore year, Brooks would pick Eric up for school and was almost always late. But Eric kept accepting the rides, and kept getting angry. Brooks got sick of the arguments and finally said no more rides. Eric stopped talking to him.
On February 28, 1997 Brooks pulled up alongside a bus stop and Eric threw a chunk of ice at Brooks’ Mercedes, leaving a little crack in the windshield.