Hard Lessons From Two Mass Killings In Texas
A policeman stands in front of the Luby's Cafeteria in Killeen, where a gunman killed 23 people. -
When a gunman opened fire in the Soldier Readiness Center at Fort Hood two weeks ago, killing 13 and wounding 42, some people in Killeen, Texas, immediately thought of an earlier mass casualty.
On Oct. 16, 1991, George Hennard crashed his pickup truck through the front window of a Luby's Cafeteria in Killeen and opened fire, killing 23 diners eating lunch. It was the nation's deadliest shooting by a single gunman until the shootings at Virginia Tech in 2007.
In some ways, the experience of what's come to be called "the Luby's massacre" informs how the community is responding to the Fort Hood tragedy.
The restaurant on Highway 190 that was Luby's is now the Yank Sing Buffet, popular among soldiers for its all-you-can-eat $9 Chinese buffet.
Most customers don't have a clue what happened here 18 years ago. But Sgt. Arthur Yanez remembers.
"I was stationed in Germany," he said, pausing outside his truck in the parking lot. "I heard on the news that some guy had walked in [and] started shooting people. Unfortunately, there was no one there to defend themselves ... It was a massacre, just like what happened here the other day on post."
Aside from geography and malevolence, the two violent incidents are not that similar.
There are reports that the Fort Hood shooter shouted "God is great" in Arabic; Hennard muttered something about being mistreated by local women before he opened fire.
One gunman targeted U.S. military personnel; the other, random patrons at lunchtime on Boss' Day.
Hennard put a bullet in his head after police arrived. The suspected Fort Hood gunman, Maj. Nidal Hasan, was wounded by police but survived. He's been charged under military law with 13 counts of premeditated murder.
The clearer parallels are about how this community has responded to two mass murders that happened only a couple of miles apart.
"People say, 'How do you overcome something like this?' Well, you don't really overcome it," said Major Blair, who was Killeen's mayor in 1991.
"You begin to do what you think is necessary to cause people to mellow and get a hold of their life. But we've come through it real strong, and we've got stronger because of it."
The victims' assistance coordinator at the Bell County District Attorney's Office in 1991 was Jill Hargrove. She's still there, and she's pleased when she hears people say, "Oh, I forgot all about Luby's."
"That's what we want. We don't want people to live every day going, 'Oh, this is where Luby's happened,' " Hargrove said.
Then, as now, there were grief counselors and prayer services at churches; people lined up outside blood banks — and flocks of reporters descended.
"We had just started Desert Storm," Hargrove said.
"So, all the counselors were prepared for soldiers to come home, widows to be here. We were prepared for all that. No one was prepared for a restaurant scene to turn into a mass murder."
One of the more public figures to emerge from the Luby's massacre was Suzanna Hupp. On that day in 1991, she was a young chiropractor, eating lunch with her parents at Luby's. The pickup truck driver shot her parents dead in the dining room.
"My gun was 100 feet away, out in the parking lot in my car," Hupp said, "because at that time in the state of Texas, it was illegal to carry." She claims that if she'd had her pistol with her, she would have stood up, aimed and taken Hennard out.
Hupp rode her grief and outrage into the Texas Legislature, where as a lawmaker representing Killeen, she won passage of the state's concealed handgun law. It does not apply on military bases.
At a cafe in her hometown of Lampasas, Hupp packs a Kel-Tec .380 in her purse; her chair faces the door. Luby's changed her.
"I do consider myself much more aware," Hupp said. "When I'm sitting in a restaurant, I notice where the exits are. I definitely notice if a single man walks through the door and looks odd for some reason."
When she heard about the shooting at the Army post down the road, her mind raced back to the Luby's dining room and the human tendency to think, "It can never happen to me."
Of one thing Hupp is sure: No matter how many years pass, the Fort Hood shooting will forever change everyone who was there.
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ROBERT SIEGEL, host:
When a gunman opened fire at Fort Hood two weeks ago, some people in Killeen, Texas, immediately thought of an earlier mass tragedy. On October 16th, 1991, a man crashed his pickup truck through the front window of Luby's Cafeteria in Killeen. He opened fire, killing 23 diners who were eating lunch. It was the nation's deadliest shooting by a single gunman until Virginia Tech in 2007.
As NPR's John Burnett reports, what's come to be called the Luby's massacre informs the community in responding to the Fort Hood tragedy.
JOHN BURNETT: Most customers don't have a clue what happened here 18 years ago. The restaurant on Highway 190 that was Luby's is now the Yank Sing Buffet, fronted by palm trees and stone lions. But Sergeant Arthur Yanez remembers. He pauses in the parking lot while heading in for the $9 all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.
Sergeant ARTHUR YANEZ: I was stationed in Germany. I heard on the news that some guy had walked in with an M16, started shooting people. Unfortunately, there was nobody there to defend themselves.
BURNETT: The murder weapons were actually two semi-automatic handguns.
Sgt. YANEZ: It was a massacre, just like what happened here the other day on post.
BURNETT: Aside from geography and malevolence, the two violent incidents are not terribly similar. The Luby's shooter muttered something about being mistreated by local women before he walked around the carpeted dining room calmly executing cowering patrons. When police arrived, he ran into the bathroom and put a bullet in his head. The clearer parallels are about how this community has responded to two mass murders that happened only a couple of miles apart. Major Blair was the mayor of Killeen 18 years ago.
Mr. MAJOR BLAIR (Former Mayor, Killeen, Texas): People say, how do you come -overcome something like this? Well, you don't really overcome it. You begin to do what you think is necessary to cause people to kind of mellow and to get a hold of their life. But we've come through it real strong, and we get stronger because of it.
Ms. JILL HARGROVE (Victims' Assistance Coordinator, Bell County District Attorney's Office): I find all the time that people say, oh, yeah, I forgot all about that. That's what we want. We don't want people to live every day going, oh, this is where Luby's happened.
BURNETT: Jill Hargrove was then and is still the victims' assistance coordinator with the Bell County DA's Office. Then as now, there were grief counselors and prayer services, people lined up outside blood banks and flocks of reporters descended. Hargrove says also in 1991, the huge Army post was geared up for overseas casualties.
Ms. HARGROVE: We had just started Desert Storm. So, all the counselors were prepared for soldiers to come home, widows to be here. We were prepared for all that. No one was prepared for a restaurant scene to turn into a mass murder.
BURNETT: One of the more public figures to emerge from the Luby's massacre was Suzanna Hupp. On that day in 1991, she was a young chiropractor, eating lunch with her parents in the restaurant. The pickup truck driver shot her mother and father dead.
MS. SUZANNA HUPP (Chiropractor): My gun was 100 feet away, out in the parking lot in my car. Because at that time in the state of Texas, it was illegal to carry.
BURNETT: Hupp claims that if she'd had her pistol with her, she would have stood up, aimed and taken out Hennard. She rode her grief and outrage into the Texas Legislature, where, as a lawmaker representing Killeen, she won passage of the state's concealed handgun law. It does not apply to military bases. Since then she has become a popular speaker around the country on the Second Amendment. At this cafe in her hometown of Lampasas, Hupp packs a Kel-Tec 380 in her purse and her chair faces the door. Luby's changed her.
MS. HUPP: I do consider myself much more aware. When I'm sitting in a restaurant, I notice where the exits are. I definitely notice if a single man walks through the door and looks odd for some reason.
BURNETT: When Hupp heard about the shooting at the Army post down the road, her mind raced back to the Luby's dining room and the human tendency to think, it can never happen to me. Of one thing she is sure: no matter how many years pass, the Fort Hood shooting will forever change everyone who was there.
John Burnett, NPR News, Austin. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright National Public Radio.
