*Content Warning: Violence, Mass Shooting, Trauma
“Something big is happening at Mandalay Bay” the text message on my home screen read. I immediately ran towards my back window. Our house had a panoramic view of the Las Vegas Strip. From the Luxor to the Stratosphere, I could see it all. The weekend was almost over. The Strip was all lit up like normal. What was happening down below was anything but normal. Based on the text I received from a colleague, I was expecting to see a bomb or an explosion coming from the area near Mandalay Bay. This was no bomb. This was a mass shooting. A shooting derived from evil and all the powers of Hell. (Yes, that last sentence was a Disney/1959 “Sleeping Beauty” reference with a line from the character Maleficent; I am certainly not making light of this event, but that verbiage and imagery makes a lot of sense in my brain to describe this incident.)
October 2022 marks the 5-year anniversary of the tragic and senseless “1 October” mass shooting in Las Vegas. 60 people were killed. Mainstream media referred to it, at least at the time, as the deadliest mass shooting in modern history. A gunman opened fire from the 32nd floor of Mandalay Bay Hotel, Resort, and Casino, aimed across the street and opened fire at the Route 91 country music festival. Jason Aldean was on stage at the time. When I first learned of a shooting at Mandalay Bay, I assumed it was inside of Mandalay Bay. Thankfully, I am not vile enough to immediately envision the horror of how the shooting actually took place. This was on a Sunday and earlier that night, I found time to fit-in a workout and then I had re-connected with two old friends through text messages. The day before, I got my haircut and happened to drive past Mandalay Bay. The Friday before, our department held a successful in-service with student staff where we practiced writing effective incident reports using a literal “cut and paste” group exercise.
I was living in Henderson, Nevada at the time and working as Assistant Director of Residential Education at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV). I was the next level up on the “on-call” rotation that night for Housing and Residential Life.
As the shooting took place at the music festival, concertgoers dodged bullets through utter mayhem as they ran away from the gunfire in terror. Some fled the concert with blood on their clothes. Blood that was not their own. Many were unable to run because they were shot dead and likely had no idea what was happening to them in their last conscious moments. Others ran barefoot 1.2 miles away from the Strip and were frantically seeking refuge on campus at UNLV in any of the campus buildings. One of those campus buildings was our first-year residence hall, Dayton, where about 400 college freshman lived. Shortly after the shooting, I receive a phone call from the duty phone. It was from a grad student on our staff who reported people running into Dayton. These people were at the concert, and they were worried, in shock and did not know what to do. I was watching the breaking news on TV, and I knew exactly what was happening. I broke all security protocol and told our staff to let them stay inside the conference room; close the blinds to give them privacy. Offer them water. Offer them a phone to use. Give them whatever they needed. In that conference room, a wonderful angel of a residential life coordinator join these folks and held space with these survivors in their time of need. Like most, I have a complicated relationship with God, or “a” God or the concept of God. However, I do believe the God works through people. That night, God worked through her grace.
I’ve always had a strong connection to television my entire life. Neither live news nor tragedy was exempt from this connection. 1995. Oklahoma City bombing? Watched it on TV. 1999. Columbine High School shooting — in my home state of Colorado? Watched it on TV. 2001. 9/11 attacks on New York City and the Pentagon. Watched it on TV. On October 1, 2017, I watched my favorite city add its name to the growing lists of “fill-in-the-blank/insert name of city where attack occured+strong” at the hands of a terrorist.
I lived about 25 minutes away from campus. As I watched the media coverage, authorities were urging non-emergency personnel to stay off of the roadways to allow first responders easy access to the area near Mandalay Bay. This, to save as many lives as possible. In my mind, this was a tragedy unfolding in real time and everyone in my circle was aware of what was happening. This was a catastrophic event that I, in good taste, could not turn my back on. However, at 10 o’clock at night, several of my colleagues were sleeping. They wouldn’t learn of what happened until they woke up the next day. I also did not escalate what I was hearing from our on-call team and I felt a tremendous amount of guilt for not doing that.
This incident was near campus, but not on campus. Yet, I was getting frantic texts from several of my students. When many of them first heard the gunfire outside of their rooms, they thought it was a helicopter landing at the nearby international airport — which is practically on campus at UNLV because it is so close in proximity.
I felt like I couldn’t do anything. I was in shock. I stayed up all night watching the news coverage. When I arrived on campus the next day, I called a 9:00 a.m. debrief to go over next steps. The size of the meeting grew when it became clear that Campus Life and Housing and Residential Life was best equipped to respond to the various needs stemming from this emergency. Collaborating with many colleagues across campus, I worked with the students I was advising in the Residence Hall Association (RHA) to organize a candlelight vigil that evening.
Earlier that year, in May of 2017, my students were recognized with the prestigious “School of the Year” honor from the National Association of College and University Residence Halls or NACURH. This award is the highest honor in the association. The students described this honor as the “world championship” of RHA. This “1 October” tragedy needed a world-class response.
I will say, RHA led the charge to host a vigil. The larger student government declined to host a vigil that night and so did other, let’s say, higher-ranking university officials. I rode with the students to Party City on South Maryland Parkway and we bought every last battery powered candle in stock. I felt like by not responding in person the night before, I let my community and colleagues down. That was my mindset. This, coupled with adrenaline, I knew I needed to pour myself into the recovery efforts.
The university, as well as the community, needed a healing space. The Moyer Amphitheater and Student Union Courtyard begin to fill with people that evening for the vigil. The crowd grew and grew. From one-hundred to upwards of one-thousand people. One-thousand people who would not have had a place to process and grieve if it were not for the work of these students and their stubborn advisor (that would be me.) Representatives from RHA, including their president, gave remarks. There was no script, just raw emotion.
The next day, after getting a few hours of sleep, I tuned into watch the “Hot Topics” segment of ABC’s “The View.” The opening of the show that day included footage from the Associated Press which had video of people embracing one another at the UNLV vigil the night before. The same vigil that would not have taken place if it were not for our RHA students.
Just days later, RHA took students on a field trip to the First Friday outdoor festival in downtown Las Vegas. They rode the city bus to the event. Learning how to ride public transit was an educational component of the trip. The students would not let fear stop them from living their lives in public spaces.
One year later, UNLV RHA would be recognized again, nationally by NACURH, with the award for Outstanding Advocacy Initiative. They were honored, not only for this vigil, but for their comprehensive recommendations regarding safety and security on campus to senior administration. I will always be very proud of their accomplishments.
I completely respect how different people will cope with trauma in different ways. During this time, I remember many of my colleagues distanced themselves from the intense emotion of this incident by saying things such as “Well, I’m not from Vegas so I’m not as impacted.” Although I was originally from Colorado and moved to Vegas from Philly, I, simply, did not feel the same way. Not only was I impacted, I felt like I let my team down by not coming to campus that night. The next day, I had RAs complaining that their training did not prepare them for such a tragedy. What do you do when a gunman opens fire from the 32nd floor of a hotel and starts shooting at an open-air music festival? What “Behind Closed Doors” scenario is that? Helping students understand how their helping skills, active listening skills, and referral skills are transferable to various situations is a perennial aspect of my work.
Flowers and candles remained outside in the Student Union amphitheater for 6 months after the vigil. These artifacts stood as a sign of hope, strength, and inspiration from that evening. On the day the university announced the remaining candles would be discarded if they were not picked-up, I saved some of them. I still have them to this day. I know some of the remaining cards were donated to the Nevada State Museum. Folks who work in residential life are known for being “pack rats” but it was important to me to save those last candles. Many of the victims were from California and I now live in California.
Clearly, this is my personal connection to this tragedy. However, I want to end by honoring and uplifting the lives who were lost and their families who still grieve their loved ones from that Sunday night in Las Vegas. Those who have lost loved ones due to senseless violence never truly “get over it.” They only learn to cope as best they can. Throughout life, something “big” will happen from time to time. Something “big” can include love and support for one another.
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