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Additional Text for the 09/17/04 Alumni Sandstorm 
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>>From: Lonnie Draper ('70)

Dan Werry, Scott Werry, Ed Foss, Al Garcia, my brother and I
are taking part in the Billie Jane Lampson - Tri City Cancer
Center Golf Tournament this coming Monday. We're getting
together for Danny Heidelberg, Diesel. We are Team Diesel.
Remembering Danny, George Dana, Sam Dossett, Jim Foss and
many, many others. I'm remembering someone else, but most
people don't know her.

I'm writing this for two reasons. First, I need to
communicate what I know of Kristi Heartz in her very short
time at Richland High School. I need to tell you what she
did; what kind of person she was. Secondly, I am writing now
because I failed to finish the assignment when I was first
asked. Some of my students asked that I write a dedication
for Kristi to be included in their class yearbook. I wrote
maybe twenty or thirty drafts before telling them to find
someone much less bitter. I really couldn't find it in me to
focus on her life. I was still overwhelmed by her death. I
admit that I'm ashamed of myself. This should have been said
long ago. So here is the brief story as I know it of a
little girl who came to Richland and left us too soon. I
know that I won't be able to say it as well as I would like,
but here is my best effort. I know Kristi would accept that.

I first met Kristi when she walked into the Advanced
Placement American Lit class as a junior. She had
transferred from North Carolina, I think Raleigh. She was
intelligent and she was mad. She had gone through
registration and had decided to sign up for the school
newspaper. The problem was there was no school newspaper.
The Sandstorm had been discontinued sometime in the late
1970s. Kristi couldn't believe that a high school could
exist in 1986 and not have a school paper. She was mad and
she decided to push the issue. We could probably piece
together the whole picture of what happened by others
telling their part in it, but I know enough to establish the
framework. She went to the counselors; she went to the
administration; she went to anyone who would listen. She got
the, "It's too late for this year." She got the, "Why don't
you work on the yearbook." She got the attention of everyone
because she wouldn't let it die.

I don't remember the time frame, but it wasn't too long
before she came to me with the news that if she found a
faculty advisor, she could assemble a staff to issue a paper
as a club activity after school. She asked me to be the
advisor. I did my best advising. I advised her to get
someone who would be conservative enough to keep everybody
out of trouble. She got Mrs. Robin Morris, who was gracious
enough to accept the work and responsibility that went with
basically starting a paper from scratch. They didn't call it
the Sandstorm, but that is what it was.

During Christmas break that year, Kristi was diagnosed with
Hodgkin's disease. There was Seattle. There was Kadlec.
There was chemo. There was radiation. There was being home
too sick to come to school. There was pain and sorrow, but
there was also laughter. Two stories will tell you something
about her. Almost twenty years later, these are really the
only two specific moments that I can remember vividly. They
were so different, but they must have been powerful, at
least to me, to stand out after all these years.

When she came home from Seattle, she spent some time at
Kadlec Hospital. I would visit with her there. Most of the
time, it was just to give her some magazines or tell her
some lies or stories about school. Just visiting. One day, I
got to the hospital and I didn't have anything for her, so I
stopped in the little gift shop. Nothing really was
appropriate or cool, but hanging up on the wall was a
quilted, granny robe with a floral design. It was perfect -
if you were 85 years old. So I bought it. When I got to her
room, she was so happy to see me. I told her, "Kristi,
you're gonna to be feeling better now and you'll be able to
get out of this room and take some walks around the
hospital. I wanted you to look good, so I got this for you.
I really hope you like it." It was BS only the way a true
BSer can say it. She pulled the robe from the bag and looked
at it. Without looking up, she started her thank you. "Oh,
thank you, Mr. Draper, it's…" and then she looked up, and
when she saw my eyes, she just started laughing so hard. We
laughed and laughed; we hung it on the door, and every so
often, we would see it and laugh till we cried. Not much
later, Kristi's grandmother came in. As soon as she saw the
robe, she started on about what a beautiful robe it was, and
no sooner were the words out of her mouth than both Kristi
and I were laughing uncontrollably. It was a perfect robe
for a granny, but for a seventeen year old, it was perfect
for comedy.

The other story is not funny. It was near the end of her
time in Richland, but I didn't know that. I had stopped by
to see her at home. She hadn't been to school in a few days.
Her dad and mom were always so wonderful. I talked with
everybody for a while and got ready to leave. Kristi and I
were on the front porch. I can't remember exactly what I
said, but it included, "…when you get better,..." And she
looked into my eyes and said, "Mr. Draper, I'm not going to
get better. I'm going to die." I said, "No, honey, you're
not going to die." And she said, "Yes I am. You need to
accept it."

We visited after that, of course, until they moved back to
Carolina so Kristi could spend her last days around her
grandparents. We never talked about living or dying. We just
had fun when she felt good, and chatted when she was tired.
She passed away just before the holidays of what would have
been her senior year, about one year after she was
diagnosed.

So a seventeen year old honor student had looked me in the
eye and told me to accept the fact that she was going to
die. I did. But for a long time I could not accept the
injustice of it. I could not accept anything about it beyond
the fact that it happened. So I could not write a dedication
that anyone should be subjected to. What I really want every
one to know is that she was a gift to us for a short time.
The Sandstorm would have been restarted in time, but those
of you who were on the Sandstorm staff in 1988, 1989, 1990,
1991 and who knows how much longer, you were there ONLY
because one little girl made it so. I had hoped that some
day Richland High School would send her parents a diploma or
that we would give an award that bears her name to a
Sandstorm staff member. I just wanted you all to know that
she was here and she made a difference.

So here is the legacy of Kristi Heartz. She came to Richland
High School and left it better than she found it. Like Dan,
and George, and Jim, and Sam and many others came and left
us better. We should all have such a legacy. So when you
make any donations to St. Jude's Hospital or the Tri City
Cancer Center, once in a while make one in the name of
Kristi or George or Sam or Dan or Jim or someone who made
this world better and would have made it more so if given
the time.
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