Where Tree Fell Saving Children, Wall Now Serves

This is a story about a wall and a tree.

The wall is new. A poignant reminder of the dangerous world outside, it was built by volunteers at Southcoast Early Childhood Learning Center in Costa Mesa, where an angry driver plunged his Cadillac into the playground in May and killed two children.

The tree is old. The lofty pine stopped the Cadillac and saved many lives on that dark day. Broken by the collision, it was pulled out weeks later, and now there are only fragments left--tightly held symbols of sacrifice and salvation.

“I know how silly it sounds, but I have a piece of bark from the tree in my kitchen,” said Monica Wright, whose son Ian was playing in a sandbox behind the tree when the car struck. “It means a lot to me. That tree saved my kid’s life.”

About 30 children were cavorting around the small playground, climbing on the plastic castle and playing tag around the tree, as parents came to sign them out just before 5 p.m. on May 3. A Cadillac tore down the street, plowed through a chain-link fence, bounced off a steel swing set and slammed to a stop against the pine. Sierra Soto, 4, and Brandon Wiener, 3 were killed. Four other children and a teacher were injured.

The driver, Steven Allen Abrams, later confessed that he acted out of frustration with a failed relationship and wanted to “execute” innocent children. Abrams, 39, pleaded not guilty and faces a special-circumstance charge for multiple murder, an allegation that carries a possible death penalty. He is being held without bail at the Orange County Jail in Santa Ana.

Though burdened by guilt and worry, staff and parents have stuck together as the school recovers. Only two families pulled out and only one teacher has quit. Every day, however, they think about the tragedy. And they think about the pine tree that saved so many lives.

For years it anchored the small playground and shielded children from the sun. It rained pine cones on the kids, who covered them with glue and glitter for Christmas tree ornaments. Children danced around the tree and swung on a rope tied to one branch.

At least seven children were frolicking behind the pine when the incident occurred, and more were outside classrooms farther on.

From the first day, children and parents have scrambled for relics of the tree. One 3-year-old boy, grateful for the tree’s protection, collected some fallen pine cones from the rubble before it was sealed off by yellow police tape.

A few weeks after the tragedy, Martha Hernandez said, she found the small pine cones in her son John’s bedroom, placed carefully in a box where he keeps his prized rocks. He told her he wanted to have part of the “special tree” that saved his life, she said.

The tree, however, was badly damaged by the car that struck it, and owners of the property--Lighthouse Coastal Community Church, across Magnolia Street--worried that the life-saver had itself become a danger.

“We were caught in a Catch-22,” said youth pastor Adam Brown. “Some people didn’t want the tree to remain because the deep scar reminded them of the incident. Others claimed the tree should stay, that it saved their children’s lives.”

The compromise was to cut it down for safety reasons but save large cross-sections from the tree’s trunk. The side-by-side slices serve as the portal to the new playground.

Preschool director Sheryl Hawkinson is among those who wanted to save the tree.

“I was devastated,” said Hawkinson, who spent several hours at the foot of the pine the night before it was cut down. “Someone had laid flowers next to the tree. I sat against it and I thanked God for the children it saved.”

The building of the wall brought its own turmoil and compromise.

Surrounding the school on three sides, it was built with an 80-ton concrete foundation, with brick and with iron bars. It’s strong enough, its builders say, to stop a semi truck. Materials and labor worth an estimated $50,000 were donated.

Some parents wanted the school to erect a block wall so outsiders couldn’t see the children. But others worried that the children would grow up with a skewed sense of the world or an artificial sense of safety.

“If you put up a block wall, you’re putting them in a cage,” said Martha Hernandez, whose husband, Ralph, helped build the new wall.

Hawkinson is grateful for the many donations went into building their new “safety structure”--she shies away from calling it a wall. But she worries that the wall sends a terrible message to children: that they must fear the outside world.

The preschool director has suffered terribly since the disaster. Only 38, she collapsed with a stress-induced heart attack during a memorial service for Sierra and Brandon in May. She spent a week in the hospital and more than two months at home, plagued by nightmares.

“There are days I just can’t get out of bed because I feel so sad,” said Hawkinson, who still goes to Hoag Memorial Hospital Presbyterian three times a week for rehabilitation.

A willowy woman with blond hair tucked in a bun, Hawkinson started her day-care business 15 years ago. A born-again Christian, she struggled at first to reconcile the deaths with a benevolent God. Like many at the school, she spent weeks railing at Heaven before accepting that evil sometimes wins, even in a just world.

Today, Hawkinson clings tightly to her faith--and to a Bible tucked in a green waterproof cover that she carries wherever she goes. Around the school she posts verses about redemption and forgiveness.

In a recurring nightmare, Hawkinson digs to unearth Soto’s lifeless body from underneath the Cadillac. Her husband, Rande, restrains her flailing arms and holds her until her heartbeat slows and her crying stops.

“I need to get back the feeling that I’m a good day-care provider, that I’m capable of providing a safe environment,” she said, unable to restrain her tears.

Teachers and parents are worried about her--especially Pamela Wiener, mother of Brandon.

“She apologizes to me every time she sees me,” said Wiener, although “she had no control over it and it has nothing to do with her.”

Yet within the darkness of the children’s deaths, there are glimmers of grace.

The shared tragedy has pulled the parents--and the community--together. Instead of perfunctory chitchat on the curb before racing off to work, they have developed friendships with deep roots.

Hawkinson has also been bolstered by community support, her staff’s dedication, compassion from the parents and, mostly, the innocence of the children.

“No one can crash into this wall,” said 4-year-old Nicholas Viera, who pulled up the sleeves on his Spiderman T-shirt and pushed hard on the new brick wall, his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s so strong.”

Wiener also has taken great solace in the company of the children at Southcoast and has taken to visiting the school three times a week, giving the kids back rubs and helping out.

“It gives me an incredible amount of peace,” she said. “I feel close to Brandon there.”

The children have been most resilient, said Hawkinson, although they seem to have jangled nerves. One little girl couldn’t stop screaming last week when an unfamiliar truck pulled to the curb near the playground. She thought it was the “bad man” who killed her friends, the director said.

For the children to be skittish, scared of loud noises or have trouble sleeping is very typical following a traumatic event, said Carolyn Brodbeck, assistant professor of psychology at Chapman University in Orange.

Symptoms will start to fade by three months, she said, although physical effects--such as nightmares or headaches--could linger for up to a year.

Indeed, very little has remained untouched since the incident. The emotional landscape of everyone involved in the tragedy has changed, in tandem with the physical landscape of the playground.

A swath of the yard where the children died is covered by concrete. The rest of the dirt has been raked and covered with fresh wood chips. A bigger sandbox has been installed. Teachers are planning a memorial garden in the corner to honor the children who died.

And they will plant new trees.

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After the Crash

Parents, children and teachers are still struggling to regain a sense of security three months after a car killed two children at a Costa Mesa preschool.