Chandra Levy Is Mourned as ‘Modesto’s Daughter’

As investigators 3,000 miles away tried to piece together the last moments of Chandra Ann Levy, her family and friends gathered in her hometown Tuesday to recall a life that had nothing to do with murder or political scandal.

About 1,200 people at Modesto’s Centre Plaza paid tribute to the 24-year-old former government intern and her parents, who withstood a year of uncertainty about their oldest child’s whereabouts while comforting other families with missing children.

People came from every religious and ethnic community in this San Joaquin Valley town and every walk of life, from the wealthy to the homeless. There were blacks, whites, Latinos, Assyrians, Hmong, men in yarmulkes, Sikhs in turbans, seniors in wheelchairs and led by guide dogs.

They listened to the strains of Hebrew music by a quartet from the local symphony and stared into the blown-up photos of young Chandra eating cotton candy and mugging on the front porch with her grandmother, Lee. The grandmother spoke about a trip to Paris she had taken with Chandra a decade ago.

Chandra was only 14 but already was stubbornly independent. She insisted on taking the subway by herself from the hotel to the Louvre museum. “I watched as Chandra vanished into the crowd,” she said. “I feel now that she has vanished into the universe.”

There was no mention of Gary Condit, the local congressman whose relationship with Levy became last summer’s tabloid fodder. There was no mention of Rock Creek Park, where her remains were found last week in a secluded area deep in the woods. There was no speculation as to who killed her or why. Hundreds of TV cameras were kept at bay, not allowed inside the memorial service.

This was a day, rather, that kept a tight focus on the local girl who grew up thinking she might become a sports reporter and then dreamed of becoming an FBI agent.

Chandra had finally returned home, Naranjan Samra said, if not in body at least in his mind’s eye. “She doesn’t belong to one family anymore,” said the Sikh peach farmer, who has three grown daughters. “She is Modesto’s daughter now.”

Many had come to honor Chandra’s mother, Susan Levy, who has spent much of her life here reaching out to neighbors and various ethnic communities. Patricia Howard’s daughter, Tameka, 16, disappeared last Christmas and she didn’t know where to turn. Then Susan Levy stepped in, giving her counsel and introducing her to a lawyer and experts on missing teenagers.

“I felt Mrs. Levy’s love and respect for my family, and I’ll never forget that,” Howard said. “My daughter was gone two weeks and it felt like forever. Mrs. Levy’s daughter will never come home.”

Tameka, a runaway, was sitting beside her mother at the morning memorial, still feeling guilty for having put Howard through so much torment. “It could have been me in the same situation,” she said.

The service began with volunteers passing around huge bowls of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Chandra’s favorite. As people filed in and signed one of five guest books, some brought red roses, sympathy cards, poems and books with titles such as “On Children and Death.”

The Levys--Dr. Robert, Susan, and 21-year-old son Adam--were flanked by their Washington attorney Billy Martin and one of his assistants. The Levy men were then handed black yarmulkes, and as the family entered the large hall, the crowd stood in unison.

Rabbi Paul Gordon said this was a gathering to speak of and share and honor “a good person taken from us too soon.” He said that a year ago, when the terrible journey began, he searched through Jewish text for something to comfort a family whose child is missing. He said he found none, so he wrote his own prayer to the Levys. “In the search for answers, let hope dwell in your midst.”

Below the rabbi stood the giant photo that had looked out at the faces of so many TV viewers during the 13 months since Chandra’s May 1, 2001, vanishing. Not long after came the disclosure from her aunt and uncle that she was having an affair with Condit. The photo showed her with chin resting on crossed arms. She wore neither a frown nor a smile but a twinkle.

“Maybe Chandra looked like Betty Boop,” her grandmother said, smiling. “She had pink cheeks and a pout on her lips and all she lacked was a curl in the middle of her forehead.”

Marjorie White, a friend since childhood, read a last letter she had written to Chandra a few days ago. She recalled the quiet girl who went off to college at San Francisco State and blossomed into a “confident, outgoing and beautiful woman.” Another friend remembered her intoxicating laugh and how she snubbed convention, choosing to wear her Modesto Police Explorer Scout uniform in public although she was off duty and people might think it weird.

Her brother, Adam, said he had a strange experience not long after Chandra disappeared. He had never before shown an interest in the piano, his sister’s instrument, and could hardly hold a tune. A few weeks after she was gone, he started playing by ear--entire songs.

“I think it was a sign from her. She transformed part of her being into me and everyone she cares about,” he said. “She became another form of energy.”