In Wake of Tragedy, a ‘Brave, Brave Girl’

This is a story about a little girl and her family. Her name is Brittany Pardue and she’s 8 years old. And Brittany, I’m told, is being very, very brave.

That’s a good thing. The other day, she saw her daddy die.

Norman Pardue of Falls Church, Va., was driving the family minivan to visit his wife, Luann’s, folks in Missouri. Brittany was sitting up front next to her father. Behind them sat Mom and little sister Tiffany, age 3, and behind them were sister Amanda, 11, and brother Cordrey, 7.

It was about midnight and Dad was driving fast. Somewhere in Missouri, he slowed down for a curve, then accelerated coming out of the turn. It was only then, investigators figure, he noticed the railroad crossing. A train was coming.

He slammed on the brakes, leaving a skid mark, only to realize the van wouldn’t stop in time. So again he stepped on the gas, apparently trying to outrun the train.

The collision killed Norman, Amanda and Cordrey. Luann and Tiffany suffered severe multiple injuries. Both face a long recovery.

Somehow, Brittany’s injuries were minor. A firefighter who pulled her from the wreckage explained that she didn’t want to leave her father.

“My daddy is trying to tell me something. What is my daddy trying to say?”

He had suffered massive internal injuries. The firefighter knew that the sound Brittany was hearing was the sound of a man dying.

“Your dad is saying he wants me to unbuckle your seat belt and move you to where it’s safe.”

My mother told me this story. Norman Pardue is my cousin, though I suppose the rules of grammar now require me to use the past tense. But it feels too soon for that.

It’s not as though we were close. I remember meeting him on only three occasions, spaced decades apart, but I liked Norman and I like to think he liked me. He’s one of Aunt Jack’s boys. We’re family.

The last time I saw him was the summer of 1994. I was in Washington and drove down to Manassas, Va., where Aunt Jack lives, to talk to her and her neighbors about Disney’s plans, since abandoned, to build a theme park near the hallowed Civil War battlefield, known as Bull Run to the Yankees.

Norman was there that day and he proudly introduced me to Luann and the kids. He also introduced to me to more distant relations. Norman, a civil engineer, had done extensive research into our shared roots, especially the Calhouns.

Our grandmother, the former Frankie Calhoun of Birmingham, Ala., died back a few months shy of her 100th birthday. Born 23 years after Lee surrendered to Grant, she never stopped fighting the War Between the States. She once stunned this grandson with a diatribe condemning no less a figure than Abraham Lincoln. “Why they built a monument to him I’ll never understand!”

Aunt Jack, listening in, gave me a knowing smile.

So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Grandmother claimed kinship to Vice President John C. Calhoun, the South’s great political champion during the first half of the 19th Century. It was a fun notion; as a child, I told friends he was my great-great-great-great-grandfather.

And although I never heard this tale until adulthood, Grandmother also boasted a link to “Indian royalty”--Native Americans, of course.

Norman gave me copies of his research, including memoirs written by a great uncle. Well, it turned out that our grandmother’s grandfather used to affectionately refer to his bride, described as at least one-quarter Choctaw, as “my Indian princess.” Norman couldn’t confirm a connection to Calhoun the statesman. If there was one, he said, it was very distant.

He told me colorful stories about other Calhouns, like the Mississippi River steamboat man who traveled the world.

Norman cared about family. Just a week before his death, he had staged an 80th birthday bash for his mother. My mom flew out from California and my Aunt Izetta came up from Birmingham. After a week of visiting, Mom traveled with Izetta down to Alabama. When they heard the tragic news, they traveled back to be with Jack.

I called a couple of days ago and spoke with my mother and my aunts. They seemed to draw strength by talking about Brittany, “such a brave, brave girl.”

Brittany was treated for injuries, but remained at the hospital to be with her mother and sister. Doctors and nurses have told her how important she is for their spirits. Brittany had been joined there by her maternal grandparents, her two teen-age sisters from Luann’s previous marriage and her Uncle Doug, Norman’s brother.

Back in Virginia, there is the family funeral to arrange. Services are scheduled for today, with interment at Stonewall Memorial Gardens. They are trying to hold down expenses, to save money to help Luann and the girls.

My cousin Doug Pardue, it so happens, is also a newspaperman. A couple of days ago he wrote his brother’s obituary.