A panicked Richard and Janiece West were glued to the radio as they drove to College Station on Nov. 18, 1999. The Bellaire couple hadn’t heard from their 19-year-old son since they woke up that morning to learn that the 59-foot bonfire he and his friends were building had crumpled beneath them overnight.
The father assumed that Nathan Scott West was trapped in the pile, but he wouldn’t learn the worst possible news until he got to Texas A&M. In those hours spent in limbo on the highway, the car stereo blared the sound of helicopters chopping above the wreckage.
“For some reason, that has always stuck in my mind,” said Richard West, who now lives northeast of Dallas. “They asked (the helicopters) to move away, because they were trying to put a listening device in the stack to see if they heard any cries for help.”
Twelve people died and 27 others were injured in the event, which spurred a period of national mourning and introspection for a university well-known for its devotion to tradition. Twenty-five years later, the 1999 bonfire collapse remains a painful memory for so many people who lost loved ones, helped in the rescue efforts or survived the disaster. For others, the grief has softened to awe-inducing history, recalled on anniversaries and sometimes in the news.
The Wests, along with several other families of the 12, [gathered] with past and present students at 2:42 a.m. Monday at the memorial site on campus. Bonfire was a visible example of A&M’s identity, and the collapse left a scar – one that carried on the Aggie spirit of service and that changed the university forever.
It’s a long story and worth your time to read, whatever your connection to A&M or memory of the event is. I don’t have anything to add, I’m just glad these families were able to get together and remember their loved ones. May their memory forever be a blessing.