drdĒv
09-05-2004, 06:19 PM
When Thomas "Tommy" Woodrum Jr. turned 18 earlier this summer, he looked forward to the trappings of adulthood.
Tommy batted around the thought of moving out of his parents' house so he could be on his own. He planned to join the Army after he graduated from Paul Laurence Dunbar High School next spring. And he relished the fact that he could buy a pack of cigarettes without hassle.
Early on the morning of Aug. 4, Tommy bought his last pack of cigarettes.
David A. Nolan, 17, was grounded -- on a tight leash because his parents learned he'd been using marijuana and abusing over-the-counter drugs. Still, he seemed chipper as his father, Dave E. Nolan, readied for work at the Toyota plant in Georgetown. That was about 9:30 p.m on Aug. 3.
David's mother, Debbie, left for work about 90 minutes later with an admonition. She told her son and daughter, Jeanna, not to have company while their parents were away. Jeanna, 15, went to bed.
But on this night, David would have company.
David A. Nolan and Tommy Woodrum had been friends since they were 7 years old. They played youth baseball and football together, and lived in the same part of Lexington.
But earlier this year, their friendship was on the rocks, friends and family say. Last Christmas, David received an expensive hooded sweatshirt. It disappeared weeks later, and there were rumors that Tommy pilfered the sweatshirt and hawked it on EBay. The two bickered, then parted ways.
This summer, the friendship began to mend. Some nights, Tommy and others dropped by the Nolan house at 218 Sutton Place to hang out while David's parents were working third shift.
Aug. 3 was one of those nights, according to the families of both boys. By 12:30 a.m., Tommy and two other friends showed up to hang out, listen to music and play video games. Some family members speculate that David, and perhaps the other boys, tried to get high that night by drinking large amounts of over-the-counter cough medicine.
A little before 5 a.m., Tommy rode off on a friend's bicycle to buy cigarettes. He returned moments later and parked the bike in front of the Nolans' house.
Tommy took about two steps inside the front door before David shot him in the neck. The bullet ended up in his brain.
David left Tommy, clinging to life, on the hardwood floor near a dining room table, then went to the computer room where he often played games and surfed the Web. He scribbled a few words on a piece of paper.
Then he shot himself.
At 7:20 a.m., Debbie Nolan returned home from work. Her heart dropped when she opened the door.
"I saw Tommy first," she said. "Then I started hollering for my son and I couldn't find him."
She frantically ran around the small, one-story brick house. First to David's room, then to Jeanna's. She was still in bed. Debbie Nolan ran to the computer room.
"When I opened the door ... when I seen him, I knew he was dead," she said. "I went over to feel his pulse -- that's when I saw the gun."
Debbie Nolan ran back to the living room and called the police.
Tommy was rushed to the University of Kentucky Medical Center. David died at the scene.
One of Tommy's friends called his mother, Mimi, and told her that David was dead and Tommy might have been shot -- it was all over the noon news. Still, "I said that's not possible," Mimi Woodrum said. "I would have heard something."
At 2:30 p.m., police told Mimi and Thomas Woodrum Sr. that they needed to go to UK Hospital to identify the young man in critical condition. The following day, he was pronounced dead.
His family decided to donate several of Tommy's organs to help others.
No one really knows what led David to pull the trigger that morning.
It's hard to believe the shootings took place because of a fight over a hooded sweatshirt, Debbie Nolan said. Neither boy was a perfect angel, she said, but violence was not a part of their personalities.
There was no indication that David was depressed or angry about anything. When the Nolans left for work, their son seemed upbeat.
But if there is one thing that could have dropped his spirits, Debbie Nolan said, it would be drugs.
David was going to comprehensive care for rehabilitation -- mostly for marijuana use. He had been tested for several weeks, and occasionally he would test positive for marijuana. That's why he was grounded.
Mimi Woodrum said Tommy was "into some of the same things that David was into," but she figured it was only alcohol and marijuana.
The Nolans said they recently discovered that their son was experimenting with over-the-counter drugs, including Robitussin cough syrup and Sudafed cold pills.
"We heard that each of the four boys drank a bottle of Robitussin that night," Debbie Nolan said. "If I have to blame something, that's what I'm going to blame. I know that's the only way David would be capable of doing this."
Lexington police Lt. James A. Curless said police are awaiting results of toxicology reports to determine whether drugs or alcohol were in the boys' systems.
Still, that could be just one piece of the puzzle.
"We do have some information on what precipitated this," Curless said, but "I don't think anyone's ever going to figure out why."
David's sister slept through the shooting. The other two boys have told the two families that they left before the shooting, because David had warned them that he was going to "take care" of Tommy.
The part that bothers Debbie Nolan most is that nobody will ever know exactly why two young lives were taken that night.
"The only two people who were here, they're no longer here," she said.
Last week, Mimi Woodrum smoked several cigarettes as she stared out a window in her dining room and talked about her son.
"I've been smoking more, eating less, sleeping less," Mimi Woodrum said.
Her eyes were red from crying; she nervously rubbed a napkin back and forth across a clean glass table.
"If David had a problem with Tommy, I don't think he would have let him in the house," she said. "He did and he was down there for five hours before this happened."
She's heard the rumors that her son was killed because of a "misunderstanding" about a sweatshirt. That nags at her.
So does an article that ran in the Herald-Leader the day after her son died, describing her son as a thief. No, he's not perfect, she said, but he didn't deserve to be remembered that way.
"I just want my son to be remembered the way he lived -- happy and full of life and laughter," Mimi Woodrum said. "Not this guy who was described in the paper. I don't even know who that guy was."
It has been blow after blow for the Woodrums. It cost about $9,000 to bury their son, but they had nothing to give him the proper burial they wanted.
So, the Saturday after his son died, Thomas Woodrum Sr., stood outside on a corner from 11 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. with a sign asking for donations to help bury Tommy. He hoped to do it quietly, but someone tipped off one of the TV stations.
"It was really sad to see a man -- a proud man -- ask for assistance in burying his son," Mimi Woodrum said, sobbing.
They still owe about $7,000. To make matters worse, their house was sold in foreclosure Aug. 30.
"The home we could handle losing, because home is where you make it," Mimi Woodrum said, but now, "instead of a three-bedroom apartment, I guess we'll be looking for two.
"You know, there's only so much grief one family can attest to before you finally lay down and say, 'OK God, now what? I give up.'"
But the family presses on. Thomas Woodrum Sr., 53, said he knows that while he's driving a truck for Alvin Haynes Trucking, his wife and son are at home crying.
Mimi Woodrum, who never cared much for jewelry, now wears a gold-and-silver chain with a gothic cross. One of Tommy's friends gave her the necklace during the funeral. It was a necklace her son loved and often tried to trade items for.
"I find myself rubbing this little necklace," Mimi Woodrum said. "I feel closer to him."
A few miles down the street, the Nolans moved everything out of the computer room where their son took his life. They turned it into a storage room.
They try to keep their daughter busy. Jeanna often wonders "what if," but her parents try to prevent that. Every morning, Debbie Nolan drives her daughter to school. Jeanna used to catch the bus with David.
"It just doesn't seem like it should be real," Debbie Nolan said. "It's like it's a bad dream and you'll wake up, but that's not the case."
Although they have not talked, both families empathize with each other.
"My heart goes out to the Woodrums," Debbie Nolan said. "I know they're hurting too."
Dave Nolan, 44, said it's hard because everything reminds them of their son. Debbie, 45, didn't drink Mountain Dew -- her son's favorite drink -- much before his death. But she finds herself drinking it more to stay closer to her son's memory. She wears his clothes. She sleeps on his pillow.
"It's strange," she said. "They say it gets easier in time. I just know I got a hole in my heart that will never be filled again."
Link: http://www.kentucky.com/mld/kentucky/news/...cal/9586035.htm (http://www.kentucky.com/mld/kentucky/news/local/9586035.htm)
Tommy batted around the thought of moving out of his parents' house so he could be on his own. He planned to join the Army after he graduated from Paul Laurence Dunbar High School next spring. And he relished the fact that he could buy a pack of cigarettes without hassle.
Early on the morning of Aug. 4, Tommy bought his last pack of cigarettes.
David A. Nolan, 17, was grounded -- on a tight leash because his parents learned he'd been using marijuana and abusing over-the-counter drugs. Still, he seemed chipper as his father, Dave E. Nolan, readied for work at the Toyota plant in Georgetown. That was about 9:30 p.m on Aug. 3.
David's mother, Debbie, left for work about 90 minutes later with an admonition. She told her son and daughter, Jeanna, not to have company while their parents were away. Jeanna, 15, went to bed.
But on this night, David would have company.
David A. Nolan and Tommy Woodrum had been friends since they were 7 years old. They played youth baseball and football together, and lived in the same part of Lexington.
But earlier this year, their friendship was on the rocks, friends and family say. Last Christmas, David received an expensive hooded sweatshirt. It disappeared weeks later, and there were rumors that Tommy pilfered the sweatshirt and hawked it on EBay. The two bickered, then parted ways.
This summer, the friendship began to mend. Some nights, Tommy and others dropped by the Nolan house at 218 Sutton Place to hang out while David's parents were working third shift.
Aug. 3 was one of those nights, according to the families of both boys. By 12:30 a.m., Tommy and two other friends showed up to hang out, listen to music and play video games. Some family members speculate that David, and perhaps the other boys, tried to get high that night by drinking large amounts of over-the-counter cough medicine.
A little before 5 a.m., Tommy rode off on a friend's bicycle to buy cigarettes. He returned moments later and parked the bike in front of the Nolans' house.
Tommy took about two steps inside the front door before David shot him in the neck. The bullet ended up in his brain.
David left Tommy, clinging to life, on the hardwood floor near a dining room table, then went to the computer room where he often played games and surfed the Web. He scribbled a few words on a piece of paper.
Then he shot himself.
At 7:20 a.m., Debbie Nolan returned home from work. Her heart dropped when she opened the door.
"I saw Tommy first," she said. "Then I started hollering for my son and I couldn't find him."
She frantically ran around the small, one-story brick house. First to David's room, then to Jeanna's. She was still in bed. Debbie Nolan ran to the computer room.
"When I opened the door ... when I seen him, I knew he was dead," she said. "I went over to feel his pulse -- that's when I saw the gun."
Debbie Nolan ran back to the living room and called the police.
Tommy was rushed to the University of Kentucky Medical Center. David died at the scene.
One of Tommy's friends called his mother, Mimi, and told her that David was dead and Tommy might have been shot -- it was all over the noon news. Still, "I said that's not possible," Mimi Woodrum said. "I would have heard something."
At 2:30 p.m., police told Mimi and Thomas Woodrum Sr. that they needed to go to UK Hospital to identify the young man in critical condition. The following day, he was pronounced dead.
His family decided to donate several of Tommy's organs to help others.
No one really knows what led David to pull the trigger that morning.
It's hard to believe the shootings took place because of a fight over a hooded sweatshirt, Debbie Nolan said. Neither boy was a perfect angel, she said, but violence was not a part of their personalities.
There was no indication that David was depressed or angry about anything. When the Nolans left for work, their son seemed upbeat.
But if there is one thing that could have dropped his spirits, Debbie Nolan said, it would be drugs.
David was going to comprehensive care for rehabilitation -- mostly for marijuana use. He had been tested for several weeks, and occasionally he would test positive for marijuana. That's why he was grounded.
Mimi Woodrum said Tommy was "into some of the same things that David was into," but she figured it was only alcohol and marijuana.
The Nolans said they recently discovered that their son was experimenting with over-the-counter drugs, including Robitussin cough syrup and Sudafed cold pills.
"We heard that each of the four boys drank a bottle of Robitussin that night," Debbie Nolan said. "If I have to blame something, that's what I'm going to blame. I know that's the only way David would be capable of doing this."
Lexington police Lt. James A. Curless said police are awaiting results of toxicology reports to determine whether drugs or alcohol were in the boys' systems.
Still, that could be just one piece of the puzzle.
"We do have some information on what precipitated this," Curless said, but "I don't think anyone's ever going to figure out why."
David's sister slept through the shooting. The other two boys have told the two families that they left before the shooting, because David had warned them that he was going to "take care" of Tommy.
The part that bothers Debbie Nolan most is that nobody will ever know exactly why two young lives were taken that night.
"The only two people who were here, they're no longer here," she said.
Last week, Mimi Woodrum smoked several cigarettes as she stared out a window in her dining room and talked about her son.
"I've been smoking more, eating less, sleeping less," Mimi Woodrum said.
Her eyes were red from crying; she nervously rubbed a napkin back and forth across a clean glass table.
"If David had a problem with Tommy, I don't think he would have let him in the house," she said. "He did and he was down there for five hours before this happened."
She's heard the rumors that her son was killed because of a "misunderstanding" about a sweatshirt. That nags at her.
So does an article that ran in the Herald-Leader the day after her son died, describing her son as a thief. No, he's not perfect, she said, but he didn't deserve to be remembered that way.
"I just want my son to be remembered the way he lived -- happy and full of life and laughter," Mimi Woodrum said. "Not this guy who was described in the paper. I don't even know who that guy was."
It has been blow after blow for the Woodrums. It cost about $9,000 to bury their son, but they had nothing to give him the proper burial they wanted.
So, the Saturday after his son died, Thomas Woodrum Sr., stood outside on a corner from 11 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. with a sign asking for donations to help bury Tommy. He hoped to do it quietly, but someone tipped off one of the TV stations.
"It was really sad to see a man -- a proud man -- ask for assistance in burying his son," Mimi Woodrum said, sobbing.
They still owe about $7,000. To make matters worse, their house was sold in foreclosure Aug. 30.
"The home we could handle losing, because home is where you make it," Mimi Woodrum said, but now, "instead of a three-bedroom apartment, I guess we'll be looking for two.
"You know, there's only so much grief one family can attest to before you finally lay down and say, 'OK God, now what? I give up.'"
But the family presses on. Thomas Woodrum Sr., 53, said he knows that while he's driving a truck for Alvin Haynes Trucking, his wife and son are at home crying.
Mimi Woodrum, who never cared much for jewelry, now wears a gold-and-silver chain with a gothic cross. One of Tommy's friends gave her the necklace during the funeral. It was a necklace her son loved and often tried to trade items for.
"I find myself rubbing this little necklace," Mimi Woodrum said. "I feel closer to him."
A few miles down the street, the Nolans moved everything out of the computer room where their son took his life. They turned it into a storage room.
They try to keep their daughter busy. Jeanna often wonders "what if," but her parents try to prevent that. Every morning, Debbie Nolan drives her daughter to school. Jeanna used to catch the bus with David.
"It just doesn't seem like it should be real," Debbie Nolan said. "It's like it's a bad dream and you'll wake up, but that's not the case."
Although they have not talked, both families empathize with each other.
"My heart goes out to the Woodrums," Debbie Nolan said. "I know they're hurting too."
Dave Nolan, 44, said it's hard because everything reminds them of their son. Debbie, 45, didn't drink Mountain Dew -- her son's favorite drink -- much before his death. But she finds herself drinking it more to stay closer to her son's memory. She wears his clothes. She sleeps on his pillow.
"It's strange," she said. "They say it gets easier in time. I just know I got a hole in my heart that will never be filled again."
Link: http://www.kentucky.com/mld/kentucky/news/...cal/9586035.htm (http://www.kentucky.com/mld/kentucky/news/local/9586035.htm)