About a month after the tragedy in Jonesboro, and a week after Springfield, one of my children came home from school and casually mentioned that, upon entering one of his classes, he and other students saw that some anonymous person had written on the blackboard: "I'm going to kill everyone in this class. And the teacher, too." Even though the kid who wrote on the blackboard was eventually discovered, I, like every other parent, was shaken to my core because we understood that our kids are no longer safe anywhere; that even though the blackboard phantom said it was a joke, he was copying, he was thinking about it, toying with it, measuring the reaction.
That night, unable to sleep, I wrote the first draft of "Bang Bang You're Dead."
The national tragedy of kids killing kids sweeps the country, and no one, not the schools, not the parents, not the pundits nor the government, has a clue. While committees meet and talk and schools practice their emergency medical procedures, some discontented soul is up in his room loading his gun and fantasizing about the moment of glory when he walks into school, the stage of choice before his peers, to act out his frustrations. We are all waiting for the shot to ring out. We're all dreading that phone call that will follow the gunshot. School used to be one of the safest places a kid could be. Despite our best efforts, no child is safe in any school, because the harm comes from within, not without.
Finding the waiting for tragedy unacceptable, a handful of people of conscience have banded together to face the problem squarely. Celeste Anlauf, Adam Leipzig, Greg Ptacek and Cindy Brown of the Ribbon of Promise have seen that the tool of drama has the power to lance, heal and cleanse the soul. We recognize that our play may not be the answer, but that it might be part of the answer. We believe that the play can lead to a discussion, an insight, a revelation that may lead to the answer.
After the tragic shootings in 1998 and 1999, it is reasonable to assume there is a potential killer in every school. Even if we turn our schools into airtight security zones, stopping weapons at the door with x-ray machines, it's what's in a person's heart that can't be detected by those of us looking from the outside. But kids seem to know who the potential killers are. After every shooting incident, someone has always come forward to say, "Oh, sure, he told me he was going to kill people, but I just thought he was letting off steam." We know that potential killers fire a warning shot. Sometimes the warning shots are a cry for help. Sometimes we just don't hear it. Sometimes we grossly misinterpret the confided secret, the bragging, the indulgent fantasy. We all need to listen harder and better. We need to take the offhand wisecrack seriously. We need to bring that information to the right people. (Lots of kids don't want to be a snitch. But we must remember that silence is part of the criminal code of honor, which is not really honor. Being a good person requires telling the truth and taking right action, and must never be confused with being a snitch).
The potential killer lives in isolation, in a state where realities are distorted and exaggerated. His fantasies are dangerous ones. The Paducah killer gave us a big clue. He modeled his killing spree on a movie scene where the main character goes back to school and kills all the kids who mocked him. The Paducah killer watched that movie over and over again because it satisfied his worst impulses to settle the score with peers who mocked him. He fantasized about the murder spree. Fantasy gives permission to reality. That is to say, what we allow ourselves to fantasize about, through repetition, breaks down the barriers of inhibition. And so, the Paducah killer entered the school in a dream-like state (like the Jonesboro kids caught up in a military fantasy), as if he were in the movie, and he acted out his fantasy.
"Bang Bang You're Dead" is directed at the potential killer'the kid in the audience who harbors homicidal feelings towards others. Watching the play, sitting amid others with his terrible secret, the potential killer will identify with the play's killer, Josh. As Josh is pursued by the deceased like the Greek Furies, forcing Josh to a catharsis, hopefully the potential killer will have a purging of his animosities. (Remember Hamlet'"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."). The play will bring the potential killer on the dark side of that so called moment of glory. He will see how horrible and tormented his life will be. It may occur to him that a three minute murder spree is not worth a lifetime in physical and/or psychological hell. If one potential killer in sitting at this play should see himself and the dire irrevocable consequences of this fantasy, or if the victims' families should find a catharsis in the course of the evening, that would be worth all the time, effort and expense of future productions.
"Bang Bang You're Dead" is a drama to be performed by kids, for kids. I would never allow the play to be on video or film because it's important that kids see their peers on stage'kids they ride the bus with, kids they eat lunch with, kids they play sports and take class with. The play was written to be done on a shoestring so as not to burden a production with high cost. It has no set, no lights, no costumes (except for contemporary dress). The props are easily gotten from any household. If for some reason the play cannot be done in the school theatre, it could be done in a garage, living room, or any modest playing area.
We are all bonded by our anxiety that tomorrow morning a potential killer will rise up to act out his fantasy using us as figures in a video game. We will also be bonded by the fact that thousands of kids will be doing the same play about the same danger. We will be linked by speaking the same words and feeling the same emotions. We will be linked by this website where we can share our insights and experiences. There is hope that our awakened senses or heightened consciousness might see tragedy before it happens. It's a slim hope, but it's all we have at this time. We can only make the most of it.
William Mastrosimone
Enumclaw, Washington
26 March 1999