Anniversary of Mass Slaying : San Ysidro Still Haunted by Tragedy

As Guillermo Flores waited to buy hamburgers at the new McDonald’s restaurant here recently, his 13-year-old son, Memo, glanced warily out the windows, searching the faces of strangers.

“Dad,” he said, turning to his father, “if someone comes in here, you take care of yourself. I can run.”

It was a year ago Thursday at the old McDonald’s just down the street that a bespectacled stranger, James Oliver Huberty, went “hunting humans” and slaughtered 21 people, including Memo’s younger brother, in the worst single-day mass murder in U.S. history. Fifteen people also were wounded by Huberty before he was shot dead by a police sniper.

Still Grieving

Today, this tightly knit San Diego neighborhood on the U.S.-Mexico border still grieves over its losses and, like Memo, remains haunted by images of the tragedy: of 11-year-old Omarr Hernandez’s body sprawled atop his fallen bicycle; of McDonald’s workers fleeing the restaurant in bloodied uniforms; of mothers restrained behind police barricades, pleading to learn the fate of their children who had gone to McDonald’s to buy ice cream cones.

Many of the 24 who survived Huberty’s rampage inside the restaurant, and relatives of those who did not, say they are hounded by nightmares and a fear of public places. When they talk about the tragedy, they often cry.

For some, the emotional wounds have been as lasting as the physical.

“Everything in my life has changed,” said 24-year-old Maricela Felix, who suffered 36 bullet and shotgun pellet wounds, loss of sight in one eye and the use of her left hand. “I feel I have bad luck and I am waiting for something else bad to happen.”

Unable to Work

Her husband, Astolfo, was hit three times and also lived, as did their baby, Carlita, who was wounded 10 times. The couple have been unable to work since the shootings.

Some children in the community now refuse to sleep alone and have trouble paying attention in school. They still are capable of jarring their parents with matter-of-fact recollections of the massacre.

Five-year-old Manuel Hernandez survived the slaughter with his mother by hiding silently for more than an hour in a stifling utility closet. “There was a war at McDonald’s,” he tells her today.

The site of the shootings is not unlike a battlefield long since cleared of its carnage. The restaurant was razed by McDonald’s Corp., and the sunbaked lot, donated to the city of San Diego, has been left untended. The city hasn’t yet decided what to do with it.

Hand-Lettered Sign

Only a paint-splattered sign propped against a tree and adorned with a drawing of Jesus Christ serves as a reminder of the bloodshed. “In memory of those who lost their life,” the hand-lettered sign reads.

The undecided future of the lot remains an emotional issue for the largely Latino community. Some want a monument erected to those who died; others insist it would only immortalize Huberty’s violence. Still others feel that anything would be better than leaving the land as it is.

“I would like to see something green there,” said Flores, whose son was killed. “I would like to see a fountain. A fountain has life.”

San Ysidro is a poor community of 13,000 where American tourists frequently stop for Mexican currency and car insurance on their way to Tijuana. Most of the victims lived here or just south of the border, but the talk among residents seldom dwells on the killings anymore; conversations more often include the latest peso exchange rate.

Reminders Aplenty

Constant reminders, however, have prevented the community from putting the trauma aside. The massacre drew international media attention and attracted a Hollywood movie producer who wanted to make a film until residents convinced him otherwise. The shootings were examined, as well, in a cable television documentary about violence in America.

In addition, a $1.4 million survivors’ fund that was established with private donations has caused controversy. About $400,000 has been disbursed thus far to 50 families to cover medical bills, lost wages and other expenses, but the rest of the money remains banked.

Some say that the fund’s three trustees--two bankers and a deputy police chief--have moved too slowly in distributing the rest of the money.

“We’ve probably been more liberal than conservative in disbursing the funds,” said James J. Lanas, the fund’s director and San Ysidro branch manager of Home Federal Savings. He said the trustees are awaiting a ruling from the Internal Revenue Service on whether the funds are taxable before releasing the balance.

2 Blocks Away

The April opening of the new McDonald’s restaurant about two blocks northwest of the massacre site also caused anguish for victims’ families, according to psychologists who have treated the victims. Now, as the first anniversary of the tragedy nears, the community again is reminded of its losses.

“A year has gone by, but you can’t find a three-month period where people have not had to deal with it in an emotional way,” said Andrea Skorepa, director of the Casa Familiar counseling center. “They haven’t had time to adjust.”

Attempts to cope with what happened at the McDonald’s have produced the notion among a few residents that a second gunman accompanied Huberty, but escaped. Skorepa believes that the rumors, which San Diego police insist are groundless, are a natural response to the magnitude of the tragedy.

“Psychologically, I think we are not prepared to admit that one person is capable of such a horrible thing,” Skorepa said. “We sometimes conclude that things on such a grand scale couldn’t be the work of just one person so they must be orchestrated.”

Followup Help

Arlen Versteeg, director of the San Ysidro Mental Health Center, said that in the aftermath of the shootings, one person attempted suicide and 156 others sought help from the center. He said about 20 people continue to receive counseling there. A handful of others are being treated elsewhere.

The psychological effects of the episode also reached far beyond this community.

“You eat at McDonald’s because you know what you’re getting: a Big Mac in Inglewood, Calif., is the same as in Newark, N.J.,” said Michael Mantell, psychologist for the San Diego Police Department. “It rocked many people’s faith to be faced with the incongruity of death in a place where Ronald McDonald is smiling down at you. Only last month did I finally go back into a McDonald’s.”

Officials of the Oak Park, Ill.-based McDonald’s Corp. said that the San Ysidro incident has had no long-term effect on the company’s image or profits.

‘Happy to Be Back’

“People within the McDonald’s family are working to overcome the grief and sadness, just like people in the community,” said Richard Starmann, a McDonald’s vice president. “We’re putting it behind us . . . . We’re happy to be back in the community with another restaurant.”

The new McDonald’s is thriving. Landscaped with marigolds and birds of paradise, decorated inside with hanging plants, the restaurant stands in stark contrast to the vacant lot down San Ysidro Boulevard.

The old McDonald’s with its familiar golden arches and Ronald McDonald playground was a popular afternoon gathering place for neighborhood children, and often a first stop north of the border for Mexican shoppers from Tijuana. It was typically crowded on the afternoon of July 18, 1984, when Huberty, who lived a block away, announced to his wife that he was “going hunting humans.”

The 41-year-old Ohio native had worked as a welder and embalmer before moving to San Diego in 1983 with his wife and two daughters. He had been fired from his job as a security guard and reportedly was distraught over personal finances.

3 Different Weapons

He stormed into the McDonald’s at 4 p.m. with a pump-action 12-gauge shotgun, a 14-shot Browning pistol and an Israeli-made semi-automatic Uzi assault rifle. Employees and customers were trapped.

He ordered them to lie down and keep quiet. “I’m going to kill you all,” he screamed, and then methodically went about shooting people.

For 77 minutes, including breaks in which he casually reloaded while sipping soft drinks, Huberty stalked the restaurant’s kitchen and dining areas, shooting up the aisles and out the windows. He shot some people over and over again. In all, he expended 245 bullets and 12 shotgun shells.

When it was over, 22 people including Huberty were dead and 15 were wounded. Twenty-four people who were inside survived his barrage--many of them critically injured.

Guillermina Hernandez was waiting for her food when Huberty arrived. She heard his first shots, but dismissed them as firecrackers until a man next to her fell to the floor. Hernandez instinctively grabbed her son, Manuel, and dashed for the kitchen, where she and a handful of employees hid in a closet among fuse boxes and stacks of wire frying baskets.

Heard the Shots

From the back of the closet, Hernandez could hear Huberty’s footsteps and gunshots.

“We were praying and holding hands. We didn’t think we would get out alive,” Hernandez said. She remembers that her son, then 4, perspired profusely in the stuffy closet but never made a sound.

“When the police finally let us out, they told us not to look, but we all did . . . . To get out of the door, we had to step over the body of the man who had been next to me in line,” she said.

A year after the experience, Hernandez still breaks into tears: “I want to be strong, but I can’t.” She and her son continue to receive psychological counseling.

Miguel Rosario, 27, was the first police officer to arrive at the McDonald’s. When he entered the restaurant after the shooting stopped, the first thing he saw was a woman lying face up and a man lying face down. Between their bodies was a lifeless infant.

‘Very, Very Courageous’

“There were plenty of holes in them,” Rosario said. “There were other people who had died; they had been able to stuff little napkins in their companion’s wounds before they went. They were very, very courageous.”

The rampage ended when police marksman Chuck Foster shot Huberty once in the heart with a scope-mounted sniper rifle. Foster, 28, who wears braces on his teeth and an Army “Airborne” tattoo on his arm, was 112 1/2 feet away, crouched atop the post office.

“I never did see his face,” Foster recalled. “The first time I was actually able to see him, he was sitting on a counter in about the middle of the building. Then he got up and started walking toward the door, where we had a better view of him from the neck down. He stopped about six feet from the door where there was a body, so I took the shot then. He dropped the Uzi and was thrown back a few feet.”

Later that night, after he had been debriefed by police homicide investigators, Foster bought a beer at a convenience store, watched the late-night news on television and fell soundly asleep at home. It was the first and only time he has ever shot someone.

‘He Started It’

He said he feels no empathy today toward the man he killed. “He started it,” Foster said.

Although no police were physically injured, dozens of the more than 200 officers who responded to the scene suffered emotional trauma and later sought counseling, according to psychologist Mantell.

One police lieutenant, who left the department on a stress disability leave, said he attempted suicide by a drug overdose after plans to make a movie about the slaughter were announced. The lieutenant said he felt guilty over the time it took to kill Huberty. The police arrived at 4:07 p.m. and Huberty was shot 70 minutes later.

Other police officials, however, are adamant that Huberty was “taken out” as quickly as possible. Police Chief William B. Kolender has said he is proud of the way his men handled themselves.

Nonetheless, 42 administrative claims totaling $56 million have been filed against the City of San Diego, nearly all alleging negligence on the part of the Police Department. The city so far has rejected 30 of the claims, which must be filed before anyone can sue the city. One case has since gone to San Diego Superior Court. It is not expected to be heard for at least two years.

Lost a Daughter

Among those who have filed claims against the city are Graciela and Frank Gonzalez. They are seeking $750,000 for the loss of their 19-year-old daughter, Elsa Herlinda Borboa, who had worked at McDonald’s for three months.

A photograph of Elsa hangs in the living room of the one-bedroom house where the Gonzalezes live with their other seven children.

“For the first few months, my daughter, Patricia, didn’t want to do anything. She just kept asking, ‘Why wasn’t it me who died?’ ” Graciela Gonzalez said. Another daughter, Gabriela, could not sleep at night.

Gonzalez said her family is finally adjusting to the loss of Elsa, although Gonzalez said she still is less talkative than she used to be and often is afraid in public.

“I’ll go to the store three blocks from here and I’ll look at people suspiciously. I’ll think, ‘Why did I bring my purse? Someone is going to rob me,’ ” she said.

Heriberta and Richard Pena also filed a claim against the city for $1 million. Their 9-year-old daughter, Claudia, was killed and another daughter, Aurora, 12, was seriously wounded by Huberty.

8 Bullet Wounds

Aurora, whose aunt and cousin also died at McDonald’s, received eight bullet wounds in her arms, legs and face. After a series of operations and skin grafts, she seems to be recovering well.

“It used to make me cry, but now it doesn’t. Now I just get sad, but not angry,” Aurora said. “I used to be scared to go out. At first, I didn’t like to go to McDonald’s, but now I like to.”

There are those in San Ysidro who believe that some good has come of the tragedy. Counselors say there is a better understanding of mental health problems and more willingness to seek professional help among people who once considered such treatment taboo. The massacre brought the neighborhood closer together, according to psychologist Versteeg.

“People were united in their feelings of personal loss and in trying to reaffirm the name of San Ysidro--that it is not a violent place, but a community where people raise their families and try to live their lives,” Versteeg said.

Weapons Bill

In the wake of the massacre, a bill was introduced in the California Assembly that would restrict the public’s access to assault rifles like the Uzi that Huberty used as his primary weapon. The bill, sponsored by Assemblyman Art Agnos (D-San Fran.), would require buyers of Uzis and other assault rifles to first demonstrate that they had a “legitimate need” for owning the weapons.

Agnos’ legislation initially was defeated on the Assembly floor and is now up for reconsideration. Regardless, it comes too late for the survivors and families of those who died by Huberty’s hand.

Guillermo Flores says he can’t concentrate at work these days because he misses David, the son who never came home from McDonald’s. Memo, now an only child, still refuses to let anyone touch David’s toys in the bedroom they used to share.

Not long ago, Memo drew a portrait of David crying and speaking to him from Heaven.

“Hi, Memo,” it says. “I’ll be right here. I promise. I died, but I will wait for my mom and my dad and for you.”