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Published on 06/02/1999 All articles from this issue

Graphic lesson in life

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By Linda Taaffe

Town Crier Staff Writer

MVHS students experience consequences of drinking and driving 'Every 15 Minutes'

Day One

In the course of the program, 22 students will "die." Four students will be involved in a car collision. One student will be "arrested." One student will "die" on site. One will be "injured" and another will "die" on the way to the hospital.

Although those participating in the program know their roles in the mock events, the results will be unexpected and profound.

Juveniles know the risks. They've heard the statistics, and a few have even seen the fatalities involved when people mix alcohol with driving - but that still hasn't been enough to eradicate teen drunk driving.

In a recent poll at Mountain View High School, three out of approximately 22 students said they had driven drunk at least once over the past six weeks. Nationwide, one person dies or is injured by a drunk driver every 15 minutes - or about 96 people a day.

School officials from Mountain View High say this year has been quiet, with only one alcohol-related incident at the school. But they say drinking is still pervasive. And too many students are still taking risks.

In order to reduce alcohol-related teen traffic fatalities, the Mountain View Police Department, in conjunction with Mountain View High School, conducted the "Every 15 Minutes" anti-drunk driving program May 20-21. This is the first year the program has been held in this area.

The two-day program is divided into four parts: A police officer dressed as the Grim Reaper removes one student from class every 15 minutes to symbolize the loss of another life due to drinking and driving; student actors participate in a staged traffic accident; the "dead" students remain separated from their family and friends overnight; and during the final segment, the students are reunited with their families.

Participating students and their parents know about the events and their roles, but nothing is rehearsed. Students not participating know nothing of the program until the days' events begin unfolding.

Organizers say the program is purposely dramatic and emotional to convince students that they are not invincible.

8:15-8:30 a.m.: Two students "die"

Brian McGinn, 17, is in his ceramics class cleaning up. A man wearing a

black-hooded cape enters the room and takes him away. McGinn is the first Mountain View High School student to leave the campus with the Grim Reaper. He was killed by a drunk driver while on his way home from volunteering at St. Mark's Lutheran Church.

A Mountain View police officer enters the classroom to read McGinn's obituary.

"He enjoyed computers, music, basketball and football. He planned to attend Foothill College and then move on to San Diego State University."

Unaware of what is happening, some students snicker.

The Grim Reaper escorts McGinn, who is surrounded by about a half dozen police to the quad where McGinn takes a metal pole and hammers a tombstone engraved with his name into the grass. He is led off campus.

CarOline Tuban is the second student killed in an alcohol-related accident. The grim reaper pulls Tuban out of her English class during a group quiz.

CarOline is not a drinker. But she said she has seen alcohol's affects on those around her. She has watched as friend overdosed and almost died in front of her. She agreed to become part of the "dead" for this reason, she said.

She joins McGinn off campus. The impact of her circumstances has not hit her at this point in the day, she said.

11 a.m.: A dozen tombstones

The "dead" count continues to rise as death claims one student every 15 minutes, leaving empty desks in several classrooms. By this time, the quad cemetery has about a dozen tombstones - each decorated with flowers, photos and other tributes to those who have died.

Word of the missing students has begun to spread around campus, but some walk through the cemetery still unsure of what is happening.

"You guys, I'm getting freaked out," said one student as she reads her friends' tombstones.

Across the street at the Foothill Covenant Church, the "dead" students are made up like corpses with white faces and blackened eyes.

The program has not affected the students yet, but over the next 24 hours, while separated from families and friends, their attitudes will change.

Sophomore Katie Coleman sits at a table. She is a member of the Safe Ride program, which provides confidential and sober rides for intoxicated teens.

Coleman said although the number of students who use Safe Ride has increased to about 10 each weekend night, drinking and driving is a problem. She worries about that.

"No one has to die," she said. "This can be prevented."

She talks about the recent Senior Cut Day, when students drove home drunk over Highway 17.

"No one got hurt so they think it's no big deal and they can drive anywhere," she said.

Noon: Death notifications

Mountain View police officer Chris Starr drives out to the home of Vivian Phem to notify her that her daughter, Suzanne Tran, is dead. Starr will make several more notifications in the day. An officer in Mountain View for three years, Starr said this part of his job is the most difficult.

The notification takes only a few minutes. Starr knocks on the door and asks the woman who answers if she is Vivian Phem.

"There's been an accident ... Suzanne has been killed ... I'm sorry about that. In regard to the accident, I don't know all of the details. Alcohol was involved and there were several cars."

Phem clutches her hands together and waits for Starr to reassure her that his news is not real. He continues the charade.

"I don't know what to say," Phem said before Starr leaves.

Starr said he has been trained to be emotionless and straightforward. "You have a desire to sit with them and comfort them, but it's not in our job," he said.

Starr said about 90 percent of the parents he has notified this morning have reacted as if the situation is real. "It's flustered me a bit," he said.

"I think kids will (drink) anyway," he said about the possible aftermath of the program. "Kids drive out of fear that 'mom and dad will know I've been drinking if I leave my car.' Look at the effects of one bad decision. Hopefully this may open the channels of communication," he added.

1:15 p.m.: The collision

A women calls 911 to report an accident between two cars on the football field at Mountain View High.

She frantically tells the operator, "There's been an accident ..."

The call is broadcast as the student body congregates on the football field, where a Rabbit and Oldsmobile have collided head on.

Dustin TenBroeck and his friend McGinn were coming home from a party in the Rabbit when TenBroeck swerved into the wrong lane, striking the Oldsmobile. Blood covers the smashed windows in both cars.

Police soon arrive on the scene followed by two fire engines and one rescue unit. The police assess the injuries of the four victims, working first on the viable patients. Tuban is trapped in the Oldsmobile. Rescuers must use the Jaws of Life to remove her from the car. An officer explains step by step to students what the emergency workers are doing as they watch the horrific "accident" unfold.

In their fight against time, rescuers call in a Life Flight helicopter from Stanford Hospital to quickly transport Shea Anderson, the driver of the Oldsmobile.

1:30 p.m.: Victim dies on way to El Camino Hospital

Emergency workers load Tuban into the ambulance where a medical team quickly works to stabilize a head injury she sustained in the accident.

Tuban is pronounced dead before the ambulance reaches El Camino Hospital.

For Tuban, who has an IV in her arm, a tube in her mouth, straps confining her legs and head to a board and fake blood drenching her scalp, the 2-mile ambulance ride "felt like forever."

Tuban said she was surprised by the lack of emotion surrounding her death.

"They worked on me fast, and then I was dead. There was no drama," she said.

Tuban's parents, Deborah and Mark, arrive at the hospital shortly after her body is brought into the emergency room.

Deborah said she was preparing for an open house at Huff School where she works as a secretary when her husband called to tell her Tuban was involved in an accident.

"I was on pins and needles waiting for the call," Deborah said. "It was such a blur. There's no way to prepare for that day."

A doctor leads the couple into a consultation room to discuss the possibility of donating Tuban's organs before bringing them to the room

where their bloodied and bruised daughter is covered with a sheet. Mark begins to cry.

"I've known him since he was 10 years old, and I've never seen him in tears," Deborah said. She said from that point on, the situation felt too real. She leaves the room sobbing, without being able to look at her daughter.

"Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine this," she said.

Tuban said she didn't begin to feel the impact of the day's events until her parents arrived at the hospital.

"It was the second time in my life that I heard my dad cry. I won't forget that," she said. "(The organizers) instructed me not to cry. I basically had my hands gripped on the sides (of the board) with all my might, trying not to cry. That was the really hard part, hearing my family there."

1:45 p.m.: The arrest

Dustin TenBroeck is arrested for driving under the influence after he fails a series of sobriety tests at the site of the crash.

Police handcuff him and place him in the back of a squad car to be hauled to the Mountain View Police Department. As he watches an emergency crew stuff McGinn into a body bag, TenBroeck said he begins to understand how real his predicament could be by making one bad decision.

"The whole time I'm in the car, I'm still in an acting mode looking sad and scared, but I actually felt that, too," he said. "That's when it hit me. When I saw what it all actually meant."

After police fingerprint him and administer the breathalyzer to him, TenBroeck calls his mother to tell her he has been arrested. She begins to cry.

TenBroeck's predicament worsens as police transport him to the Main Jail in San Jose.

This is the first time TenBroeck has seen the inside of a jail.

"It was very overwhelming," he said. "The first thing I notice, is that I'm not going to have any friends, but I could have a lot of enemies."

He sits handcuffed wearing orange jail garb in a holding cell. Police have taken his possessions, including his shoes.

He said the people in the holding cell are staring at his bloody face, including a nurse who doesn't believe his injuries are fake.

While waiting, TenBroeck sits across from "another guy in shackles and an orange suit" from Mountain View who has allegedly murdered someone in San Jose the previous night.

"I couldn't get the thought out of my mind. We were the exact same in prison. No matter what we were on the outside, once in there, we looked the same and were treated the same," TenBroeck said. "When I looked at him, it had the biggest impact. No matter how well I do in school, sports or college, all that would be taken away if I went to jail. Or if I died, no one would remember that I was a great student. They would remember that I killed my best friend."

2 p.m., the morgue

McGinn dies at he crash scene. An emergency crew covers his body with a sheet while workers proceed to work on two injured victims from the other car.

McGinn loses track of time. Under the sheet, he is unaware of what is going on around him.

The accident has proved powerful, and McGinn is feeling the reality of the scene.

"What struck me most was how this actually could happen," he said. "I wasn't really thinking about anything. A bunch of things were racing through my mind."

The coroner arrives at the scene and zips McGinn into a body bag and transports in a van to the Santa Clara County Morgue - a 20 minute ride.

From the van, two coroners unload McGinn's body onto a cart and wheel him into the morgue through the freezer and into a room where they place his body on a giant scale and weigh him.

His mother Persis and his 15-year-old brother, Matthew, wait to view McGinn's corpse in the observation room.

Persis said she didn't cry while viewing his body.

"It made me realize what a cold process it is that your child has been killed. They have to be very matter-of-fact. That's what struck me," she said.

The aftermath

The 22 students killed the previous day return to school, where their parents and the entire student body are assembled. They have had no contact with family or friends since they were removed from class and sent to a secret location overnight.

By this point, the impact of the program is evident. The student body silently watches a video recounting the previous day's events. Many of those who laughed at the program the day before, now cry.

Tuban reunites with her family. Her mother Deborah clutches her. "I love you. Don't leave," she said.

Tuban said the ordeal was difficult but worthwhile so students could see the impact of drinking without having to experience it firsthand.

"I think it touched enough people to make a difference. People who didn't know me very well, have come to talk to me," Tuban said. But she said she knows not everyone will change their routines.

"The whole ordeal was so hard for me. How can you not get it?" she said about those who will continue to drink and drive. "People who don't get it with be the percentage that get hurt."

McGinn's father, Dennis, said the program opened his son's eyes.

"It really makes students think at a different level. It's not just them involved. Your consequences affect everyone in your life. You might be gone, but others suffer beyond that."

TenBroeck said the program hit him harder than he expected.

"I was pretty much against drinking and driving before this. People think there are times and excuses when you can drink and drive. It's not worth it no matter what the excuse," he said.

School officials and police said since the program started, they have heard stories about students taking the keys from friends who have been drinking.

"Our goal was to stop just one student from driving, so I think it worked," said Mountain View Police officer Tim Mullen.

Mullen, who helped to coordinate event, said they chose leaders of every peer group so those students would go back and share their experiences with their friends.

"They're more likely to listen to someone their own age," Mullen said.

School Principal Pat Hyland said the tragedy of moment is incredible. Maintaining that spirit and enthusiasm is always tough, she added.

"My greatest fear is that it could happen here and we haven't done anything. That's why I'm in favor of this. If it might change behaviors, I feel the obligation to partake, to give them every resource possible so they don't go out there," she said.

Days after the event, the victims were still feeling the impact. Tuban said she is spending more time with her family and took her first driving lesson. McGinn celebrated his 18th birthday with friends at an alcohol-free party.