A Good Time Goes Bad

By Jodie Morse

Shaun Fernando, a junior at Texas A&M University, embarked this fall on a rite of passage that began in 1909. Alongside 5,000 of his classmates, he helped construct a massive tower of wood that would be torched before the Thanksgiving-week football game against rival University of Texas. In October, Fernando pitched in for "the Cut," early-morning trips to nearby fields to fell some 5,000 oaks. Afterward students broke ground on the edifice, pounding two thick pine trunks end on end 10 ft. into the earth to serve as a central support. Last week came "the Push." With thousands of other students in hard hats and coveralls, he worked around the clock to hoist the logs and bind them into place.

Fernando had the night shift last Thursday when, at 2:28 a.m., he saw the 44-ft.-tall tower and "a little flinch in the sky." While he looked, "the whole thing came down." As it toppled, the scores of kids who were on it scrambled. The lucky ones escaped. The rest were entombed in a mess of logs and wires. After close to 24 hours of furious searching, there were 12 dead and 28 injured, some critically, and a heartbreaking pile of questions: Did the center pole snap? Were sufficient precautions taken? Was there any adult supervision? And is any ceremony worth the risk?

Though sanctioned by the university, the 90-year-old bonfire tradition is almost entirely student run; it is much loved by both students and alumni. The university contends that it keeps vigilant watch over the project; a faculty adviser manages the site, and all the students undergo safety training. Cranes and other heavy machinery are operated by licensed construction workers, three of whom are on hand at the site. But it's not clear how many adults were still around at the late hour of the accident. Then there are questions about whether the work site was sufficiently regulated in the first place. Though at 55 ft. tall and a reported 2,700 tons, the finished tower could rival an apartment house, no building permit was required.

The hallowed tradition had had previous problems. The pile collapsed twice before, most recently in 1994, after a heavy rain soaked the ground beneath the base logs. That's on top of reports over the years of cuts and concussions incurred during construction. "People are saying these students gave their lives for the cause, but their lives were clearly taken," says biology professor Hugh Wilson, who leads Aggies Against Bonfire, a faculty and student group. "I'd like to see the bonfire abolished as an institutional enterprise."

University officials canceled this year's bonfire, but many on campus, the injured and eyewitnesses among them, want it reinstated next fall. "Yes, it hurt a lot of people," says Fernando. "But it should be carried on in the spirit of tradition." Twenty-four hours after the collapse, students honored another campus ritual known as Silver Taps. A bugle summons students to remember classmates who have recently died. That was a tradition no one disputed.

--By Jodie Morse. Reported by Hilary Hylton/College Station

With reporting by Hilary Hylton/College Station