Ky. school shooting gunman up for parole

WEST PADUCAH, Ky. — At first, Missy Jenkins Smith thought the sound of gunfire at her Kentucky high school was a bad joke. Her prayer group had just said, “Amen,” and their day was about to begin. Then one of her classmates fell to the floor, shot in the head.

Another student was hit. Then another. And suddenly, the 14-year-old boy wielding a Ruger .22 fired seven bullets indiscriminately toward the teens gathered inside Heath High School on Dec. 1, 1997, the Monday morning after Thanksgiving break.

Jenkins Smith dropped to the tile floor, struck by a bullet in the chest. A teacher knelt beside her.

“Am I going to die?” she asked.

Jenkins Smith survived but was paralyzed from the chest down at the age of 15 and has used a wheelchair since.

The attack upended the small town of West Paducah, in what was then a rarity in the United States: a school shooting. Three students — Nicole Hadley, 14; Jessica James, 17; and Kayce Steger, 15 — were killed and five others wounded. Michael Carneal pleaded guilty and was sentenced to life in prison. But under Kentucky law, the teenager who claimed to have been bullied was given the possibility of parole in 25 years.

Carneal is up for a hearing next month in what family members of the deceased, survivors and experts say is among the first instances that an assailant in a school shooting has a chance at being released. The proceeding will be held Sept. 19 and 20 over Zoom to determine whether Carneal, now 39, will be released in November.

The prospect of Carneal potentially getting released has reopened wounds for those who still carry the pain from a shooting largely forgotten by America. The case also presents a unique question as school shootings continue to afflict the nation: What should happen to child assailants who decades later become eligible for release?

Privately, survivors and families of the victims in Kentucky have grappled with whether and how to forgive him — and if the pain he has caused makes that even possible.

“I knew this day was going to come,” said Christina Hadley Ellegood, the sister of Nicole Hadley and a leading advocate for victims and survivors of the shooting. “It's always been something in the back of my mind.”

The Paducah area, which meets at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee rivers, is a farming community in western Kentucky that's the halfway point between Nashville and St. Louis. That winter morning over two decades ago was cold and dreary. Inside the high school, students were anxiously returning to class.

The Hadley sisters had just put up Christmas decorations with their family. Jenkins Smith was excited to show off her new Adidas outfit. Hollan Holm was thinking about the Spanish quiz he had in first period. Brittney Thomas, a freshman, couldn't wait to get back out on the basketball court for a game against a rival school.

A frail boy with curly hair and wire-rim glasses, Carneal was an unremarkable attention seeker in the school of fewer than 500 students, according to classmates. Jenkins Smith, who was in the marching band with Carneal, remembered him more as “a fun person to be around” who loved a good prank.

“I was never afraid of him,” Thomas said, recalling how Carneal once stole her purse and dumped it in the trash as a joke. “I never had a reason to be.”

But he also acknowledged in a 2009 interview with the BBC that he was experiencing “these strange feelings of alienation.” Before the holiday break, Carneal warned classmates that “something big is going to happen on Monday at prayer meeting.”

On Thanksgiving Day, as families sat down to turkey and stuffing, he broke into his neighbor's garage and stole guns and ammunition.

Four days later, he rode to school with his sister, Kelly. Carneal told her the mysterious-looking package containing rifles wrapped in blankets and duct tape was a science project. He had a handgun in his backpack and ear plugs in his pocket.

“This was supposed to be the best times of our teenage lives,” Kelly Carneal Firesheets wrote in an essay in the 2019 book “If I Don't Make It, I Love You: Survivors in the Aftermath of School Shootings.” “But then, my little brother brought a gun into our school and sent the entire world to hell in a handbasket.”

Before the start of school, a daily announcement echoed through the lobby at Heath High School: “Time to pray!” The informal morning tradition brought together teens to pray about whatever was on their mind that day, from a test they didn't study for or a grandparent in failing health.

As the students held hands, one of them requested: Let's pray for our safety.

“I thought that was so weird - ‘Why are we praying for that?' “Thomas recalled. “That had never been a prayer request before.”

A few feet away, Carneal put in his ear plugs and took the Ruger pistol out of his bag at around 7:45 a.m.

“I had heard in my head that I better do it because time was running out,” he said in the 2009 documentary “Going Postal.” “I kept hearing these different things in my head - ‘Now is the time, do it now.' “

When he started firing, the first three girls — Hadley, Steger and James dropped to the floor. The chaotic firing that followed hit five students all over their bodies — chest, neck, shoulder, head. Holm — played dead, while Thomas, who was not wounded, said she stared down the barrel of Carneal's gun before a friend grabbed her and they belly-crawled to safety.

“I was like, ‘Who's got the gun?' “Jenkins Smith recalled asking her twin sister in the moment. “And she said, ‘Michael Carneal.' And

I was instantly thinking, ‘Michael did this?'”

Principal Bill Bond slowly approached Carneal after he had fired 10 shots from the clip. The teen placed the gun on the ground, and Bond kicked it away before taking the gunman to his office. After the shooting, Bond recounted to investigators that Carneal had told him that, “It was kind of like I was in a dream, and then I woke up.”

Sitting in her French class, Hadley Ellegood grew worried about her sister. Her classmates urged to see whether Nicole was all right. When the 15-year-old walked out of her classroom, she saw a body on the floor and thought, “I don't think that person is alive.”

She walked farther toward the lobby and found her sister.

“I just walked right up to where she was at and saw her laying there on the floor,” Hadley Ellegood said. “I remember thinking, ‘I feel like I should be crying right now.' But I wasn't crying. I was in so much shock that my body didn't know how to process or how to handle what I was seeing that I just kind of stood there.”