A Sniper in the Tower (48 page)

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Authors: Gary M. Lavergne

Tags: #History, #United States, #General, #State & Local, #Southwest (AZ; NM; OK; TX), #True Crime, #Murder, #test

BOOK: A Sniper in the Tower
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Page 154
10
Houston
I
"I am just a West Texas Cowboy." Indeed!
Houston McCoy embodied the Texas stereotype: a slow West Texas drawl, an elliptically-shaped face, piercing frontier eyes that look beyond bodies into souls, selective use of soft-spoken brutally honest words, often hiding a toughness no one should mess with. A more Texan name could hardly be conjured. McCoy stood well over six feet tall, with a thin, almost boyish frame West Texans described as a "long drink of water." His elongated musculature sug-
 
Page 155
Only seconds before confronting Charles
Whitman, Houston McCoy had to dodge
friendly fire from police and civilians, but
he still had flashing thoughts of his wife
Ruth and sons Stefan and Kristofer. Ruth
would not find out about Houston's heroics
until he got home late in the afternoon
of 1 August 1966. 
Photos courtesy of Ruth
McCoy.
gested agrarian roots and hard work as a boy and young man.
McCoy hailed from Menard, Texas, a hamlet about 150 miles west of Austin near no large or even mid-size city. "If you find yourself in Menard, it's probably 'cause you want to come here," mused one resident. In 1958, Houston graduated from Menard High School, home of the Yellow Jackets, and was named "Best All-Around Boy." He spent his young adulthood attempting to leave his hometown. He enrolled in Lamar Tech (now Lamar University) in Beaumont and attended classes there for a short time before serving a three-year hitch in the United States Army which included an assignment to Germany, where he met and then married a native German girl named Ruth. In the early 1960s Houston, like many young Texans, was attracted to Austin's cultural offerings. His introduction to law enforcement was routine and unromantic. He was in need of a job when he saw an ad for police recruits in the
Austin American-Statesman
.
1
By August, 1966, Officer McCoy had been with the Austin Police Department for nearly three years, but he still considered himself a rookie. He and Ruth had two baby boys whose names reflected their proud German heritage: Kristofer, age two, and Stefan, age
 
Page 156
one. The pay for an Austin policeman was not very good, but McCoy was proud to be with the APD; he and Ruth got by.
2
For the Austin Police Department, 1 August 1966 had started as a normal day. Nine traffic units reported for work at 6:00
A.M.
and were to serve until 2:00
P.M.
, ten patrol units reported at 7:00
A.M.
and were to serve until 3:00
P.M.
, and six motorcycle units reported at 7:00
A.M.
and were to serve until 5:30
P.M.
McCoy reported for duty at 6:45
A.M.
, and less than fifteen minutes later he was on the road in Unit #219. He had been assigned to patrol midtown, the east section and Lake Austin. As in most growing cities, motorcycle, patrol and traffic units stayed busy during rush hours. After the traffic died down, in the time-honored tradition of police officers everywhere, McCoy took a few minutes for coffee. Afterwards, as the morning moved slowly and the heat began to build, Houston began looking for something to do.
Near IH 35, at the bottom of the hill where the French Legation overlooked downtown Austin, McCoy and his good friend and fellow officer Billy Paul Speed, who had been assigned traffic Unit #353, pulled up to each other and had a short conversation. At the site of Austin's infamous "Pig Wars" the two young men spoke of their futures.
3
Billy Speed, like Houston McCoy, was a young man and a new father. He and his wife, Beverly Jean, had celebrated the arrival of their daughter only slightly more than one year earlier. Like Houston, Billy had served a hitch in the military, training as a paratrooper. He had been with APD only thirteen months, receiving his commission on 2 July 1965, and so was still a rookie. He was a well-built officer, but at five-feet-eight inches tall, weighing 159 pounds, he looked rather small, especially next to someone like McCoy. Together the two young officers talked. Billy had begun to think seriously about quitting the police force. He made only $360 a month and thought there had to be a better way to make a living. Fifty cents in change is all the money he had on his person on 1 August 1966. At age twenty-three, he told Houston of plans to go to college.
4
Billy and Houston did not spend much time talking; both continued their patrols. Houston drove south towards Lake Austin where he parked beneath the Interregional Highway Bridge that spanned the lake. Breezes funnelled over the river and the shade cast by the
 
Page 157
bridge helped the area stay relatively cool, making it what Houston thought was an ideal place to "hide." He was wrong. Shortly after his arrival, a city worker walked to the car and told him of a Social Security card wedged in the branches of a newly planted tree. He walked over to the tree, retrieved the card and noticed a pair of pants and shoes lying near the bank of the river, but saw no one bathing nearby Houston then placed the card in his shirt pocket and the clothes and shoes on the back floorboard of the police car. Further east, he spotted three Hispanic youths swimming in the river in clear violation of an Austin city ordinance. Officer McCoy made himself visible, hoping the kids would take the hint, get out of the water and run away. He preferred to give people a good scare and let them get away. His supervisors often pointed out to him that he did not make many arrests or write out many tickets. Unfortunately, these young boys did not take advantage of Houston's window of opportunity. He was forced to go down to the river and deliver a vintage West Texas tongue-lashing. After the incident Houston returned to his car. It was 11:53
A.M.
5
Poor reception on the radio made the dispatcher's voice impossible to understand. Houston thought there must have been interference of some type, or maybe being beneath a bridge screwed up the radio waves. The voice of the dispatcher, what little could be heard, was shrill and excited. Houston knew something was wrong. He quickly moved to an open area on Holly Street and positioned his unit in such a way as to be able to respond in any direction. He called out over the radio attempting to locate anyone who could understand the transmission and relay it to him; at first no one answered. Frustrated, McCoy tried again, "Can you at least tell me where to go? Slow down!" After the dispatcher repeated the whole message, Officer McCoy was able to decipher "University Tower."
6
So began what is arguably one of the most incredible two-hour ordeals ever experienced by a law enforcement officer.
Located at 12th and Rio Grande Streets, Billy Speed was engaged in an investigation of a minor traffic accident. He, too, heard the urgent calls. Subsequent transmissions called for all units to back Officer McCoy. Without finishing the accident report, Officer Speed hurried north towards the University of Texas to assist his friend.
7
 
Page 158
McCoy raced toward the Tower, still attempting to find out what was wrong. En route he heard the word "shooting." He raced even faster as he unlocked the shotgun in the car, a Winchester model 1200, 12-gauge pump, labeled APD #19. Seconds later a clearer message from a motorcycle unit reported that the shooting was still in progress. McCoy then turned west on 19th (now Martin Luther King Boulevard), reached Guadalupe Street just two blocks south of the Drag, and turned north to reach the University of Texas Campus at the corner of 21st and Guadalupe. Only a couple hundred yards to the east, at the confluence of 21st and University, very near the elaborate Littlefield Fountain, Billy Speed parked his car and ran northward through the South Mall with his shotgun, heading for the Tower.
8
II
The Drag was always crowded. It represented both a business center and a cultural island. It was the kind of stretch that could only be found next to a large campus. Nothing quite equaled it in Texasa haven for "free thinkers," a term which for most Texans meant "weird people." But the business side of the Drag was quite serious, representing substantial commercial activity. Its proximity to the university made store-front property some of the most valuable real estate in Austin.
As Whitman moved from the south to the west side of the deck, pedestrians on the Drag began to hear strange noises. But the Drag was noisier than the South Mall. The sounds of commerce and traffic muffled the popping from the Tower. Some customers in stores heard it and peered outside to see people looking around, searching for an explanation. Initial reactions were identical to those on campus. "Everyone's first impression was that it was a joke," related Diane Casey, an eighteen-year-old student. "I thought it was a cap pistol, maybe some sort of a fraternity prank," said Margaret Allen, an employee of Sheftall's Jewelers at 2268 Guadalupe Street.
9
Across the street from the University Co-op, the largest store on the Drag, at the entrance to the West Mall leading to the Main Building and Tower, seventeen-year-old Alex Hernandez and his younger cousin were riding the same bicycle to deliver the 1 August
 
Page 159
1966 edition of the
Austin American-Statesman
. Alex reportedly had ten brothers and sisters at home. He and his younger cousin had harnessed themselves together by slipping the newspaper bag over both of their heads as they rode the bike. They would not have been on the Drag had they not agreed to substitute for someone who was due to return from vacation the next day. Whitman quickly took advantage of a chance to shoot at a moving target. He aimed at the two boys and fired, hitting Alex. The bullet went through his hip, blowing out much of the top of his leg, smashing the femur bone, and lodging into the bicycle's seat. The boys were thrown to the sidewalk. His cousin tried to help. As Alex remembered later: "He was only ten or eleven years old and he tried to help me. I said, 'You can't help me, just go and hide.' I remember tears coming down as he tried to help me." In a short time Alex Hernandez slipped into a state of unconsciousness, but pedestrians managed to pull him to safety in a shaded area.
10
Across the street Adrienne de Vergie stepped off a city bus at the stop in front of the Co-op. She had been downtown, where she had bought a pale blue dress at Yaring's Department Store. As the bus drove away, her attention was diverted to the group of people huddled around Alex Hernandez. She was headed towards glass doors when a man grabbed her by the arm and aggressively shoved her into the store, saying: "Don't you know what's happening?" No, she did not. Neither did most other pedestrians along the Drag. Most did not realize Whitman was shooting until they actually saw someone fall. Even then, few realized where the shooting was coming from.
11
Seventeen-year-old Karen Griffith never recognized the danger. She was looking forward to her senior year at Austin's new Lanier High School, and probably even knew Kathy Whitman, who had contracted for her second year of teaching there. Karen was walking along the Drag in a northerly direction when Whitman shot her. The bullet entered the upper portion of her right arm, only about two inches below her shoulder. The missile entered her chest cavity and destroyed her right lung, which later at Brackenridge Hospital had to be removed "in a desperate attempt to save her life." The bullet also severely damaged her left lung. For the next week Karen suffered from Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, or "shock lung," a condition physicians would learn much more about during the

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