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 "Criminals
are Made, Not Born.''
Kehoe painted this on a fence at his
farm.
Andrew
Kehoe, a farmer who served as treasurer of the local school
board, was furious with new taxes levied to pay for the then
5-year-old school. Kehoe was described by those who knew him
as "a surly and disliked character." He openly opposed the
creation of the consolidated school in 1924, believing it
would create a heavy tax burden.
For much of the spring in 1927, Kehoe strung wires and hid
dynamite in the basement of the 250-student school about 10
miles northeast of Lansing. He was able to do this because
school administrators thought Kehoe, known for his
penny-pinching ways, was doing odd jobs to save the school
the expense of hiring an electrician. Obviously that thought
would return to haunt them.
Kehoe, not the most together person in the world, was pushed
over the edge when the mortgage on his farm was foreclosed.
It seems that by wiring up the school he was punishing
Bath's citizens. In particular the one's that had voted for
the new tax, a tax that he believed had left him with not
enough money to keep paying the mortgage of his farm.
So, A few minutes before 9:45 on May 18, 1927, apparently a
sunny May morning, Kehoe entered the school. Most students
were inside, finishing up exams the day before school was to
recess for the summer. It would seem he set a timing device
for his 'gift' to the townsfolk of Bath.
When Kehoe left, he was almost running. Two minutes after he
drove away, the north wing of the school exploded. A
malfunction kept more than 500 pounds of dynamite in the
rest of the school from detonating, but what did go off tore
through glass, wood and bricks, leveling the south wing. One
can only imagine what would have happened if the whole lot
had blown. If only he had double checked all his wiring.
As parents and residents rushed toward the blast, Kehoe
drove back into the school yard. He motioned school
Superintendent Emory Huyck, a man he despised more than any
other, over to his car, spoke to him briefly, then aimed a
shot from his gun into the back seat, setting off more
dynamite.
By the time the roar from the two explosions faded, 38
children, the town's postmaster, a retired farmer, the
superintendent, two teachers and Kehoe himself were dead.
The next morning, the body of Kehoe's wife was found at his
farm. He had apparently killed her the morning of the blast.
His house and six outbuildings on his farm had burned, set
afire by explosions he'd programmed to go off after he left
for the school.
Today, a granite stone with the engraved names of the
victims rests next to a green plaque that tells the story of
the explosion. The park with the markers is on the site of
the old school. Also in this park is the cupola that once
sat atop the Bath Consolidated School, its red roof topped
with a small spire. Across the street are the schools built
since the blast. Newspaper accounts of the explosion are
displayed near the middle school auditorium.
Following the school
massacre at Littleton, there was a rush of people wanting to
talk to survivors of previous school massacres. Amazingly
someone decided to talk to a survivor of this attack. So it
is my pleasure to present a newspaper article of that
interview -
Bath School survivor: You never forget
April 22, 1999
By ERIC JOHNSON
DETROIT, April 22 (UPI) In the wake of the Colorado
killings, an elderly survivor of the worst school massacre
on U.S. soil is speaking publicly about her experience for
the first time.
In an interview with UPI today, 85-year-old M. Josephine
Vail described painful memories of the 1927 explosion that
killed 45 people _ 38 children and seven adults at the Bath
School in Bath, Mich., about 100 miles west of Detroit. Vail
says she vividly remembers "the loud explosion and kids
hollering . . . You never forget."
Vail was 13 years old when a local farmer with a grudge used
dynamite to blow up the two-story building. She was injured
and her 7-year-old brother, Ralph, was killed.
Vail survived because she was outside the building. Her leg
was hit by shrapnel when the bomber, Andrew Kehoe, detonated
his dynamite-packed pickup truck minutes after the school
exploded. The truck blast killed Kehoe and two other men who
were trying to stop him.
Before destroying the school, Kehoe killed his wife and
burned their farmhouse.
Vail remembers Kehoe as a former school board treasurer who
was "real friendly" and often greeted children outside the
school.
But Kehoe clashed with the school superintendent and other
board members. And he was angry about the taxes on his farm
that helped pay for the school, built just four years before
the blast.
Vail says her father was among those who rushed to the
bloody scene to retrieve bodies, help the 58 injured and
remove "bushels of dynamite" that did not detonate. She says
body parts were scattered around the site.
That day Vail says she was excused from classes. But she had
accompanied her little brother to the building "so he
wouldn't be lonely." She did not go inside because he was
afraid of being teased.
Like other local survivors, Vail says the memories have been
too painful to discuss publicly. But this week's deaths at a
Colorado high school moved her to speak.
Springtime is especially difficult. The Bath School exploded
on May 18, and she says "it always bothers me this time of
year."
When asked what comfort she could offer to the victims'
families in Colorado, Vail said "You gotta just have faith,
you gotta be strong and go on, and take care of other
people."
She says survivors of the Columbine school rampage "will
never forget it in their lifetime, but they just gotta go
on."
A memorial plaque now stands at the explosion site. Vail
says, "I don't like to go down there."
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