I have a friend, John Godfrey, who lives in Salt Lake City and he emailed me this story. After you read it, I will tell you how I felt about it.

Canyon Road tragedy: These were our people

By Devin Felix

Published:

Sunday, July 19, 2009 2:33 AM CDT

As I waded through cold, muddy streets near Canyon Road with a notebook and video camera, I thought I was walking into a story about flooding and water and some damaged homes.

But when authorities said that a house had collapsed and there were people inside, the story changed. It was no longer about an inconvenient bit of water and some flooded basements: Now it was the story of a mother and two children in peril — or worse.

It had gone from natural disaster to potential tragedy, and it now had the attention of thousands of people all across Utah.

Through the rest of that long Saturday and into the night, I waited for more information, along with dozens of other members of the news media who had converged on Logan. Authorities told us at midnight that the three were probably dead and authorities were calling off the search for the night. It was now a body search rather than a rescue operation, they said.

As the days passed, the parking lot of the church on Lauralin Drive served as a base camp for a small army of reporters, photographers and camera crews.

It was the type of media vigil that often takes place at the scene of a gripping, ongoing news story. No one wanted to leave for fear that important information would happen while they were gone, leaving them as the only news agency without crucial information.

The reporters were cordial and friendly but remained guarded to avoid revealing information that might give a competitor an edge.

I felt a twinge of guilt similar to what I had felt watching neighbors haul sandbags to help friends fight back oncoming water while I stood by filming them. A young family was most likely dead. Dozens of people were putting their lives at risk to find them. Families were mourning. And my concern was trying to beat the reporters from Salt Lake.

I felt a sense of local pride. After living five years in Logan, this was my town. These were my searchers and neighbors and victims. This road and this mud and even this murdering hillside were mine, and I felt it was my job to tell their story.

As the days and the search wore on, all thoughts were on finding the bodies of the three people killed in the slide. Soon, they were given names: Jacqueline, Abbey and Victor. With their names known, they were no longer just “the victims.” They were neighbors and aunts and students and friends.

We learned grim details: The earth struck so hard it knocked the house 20 feet off its foundation. The force of such landslides is comparable to an airliner crash. The chances that they weren’t actually in the house at the time were slim.

Over and over, my mind tried to play out that moment Saturday shortly before noon. What did it sound like? Had they suffered?

It was my job to ask these questions and to piece together what happened at that moment, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

The weather during the four days of the search was pleasant. Young families strolled hand-in-hand past the news vans and cameras and into the nearby park as the sun dipped and a gentle breeze cooled the skin. Not far away, men and women overturned piles of dark and dripping mud, searching for bodies.

On Monday night, I sat by the side of the road, stressed and frantically typing on my laptop to finish an article I’d been working on all day about children displaced by the landslide.

That’s when I heard the familiar sound of a bicycle horn. I looked up from my screen. The horn sounded again as Cache Valley’s most recognizable figure, “Bicycle” Brent Carpenter came around the corner on his bike.

He wore a pink “Veggie Tales” backpack and his traditional ill-fitting baseball cap. As always, he honked his horn and waved to everyone he passed, smiling from ear to ear.

Most of the distracted Salt Lake news men and women barely noticed him pass. One or two gave confused waves in return. I called out to him by name and waved.

He rode by again and again, honking and waving and smiling the whole time. I waved back every time until he finally disappeared around the corner. Not far away, men and women turned over shovels of dark and dripping mud, searching for the bodies of Jacqueline, Abbey and Victor.

Brent’s smile and wave came at a time of death and damage, but they didn’t seem out of place. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that, despite his limited mental capacity, Brent Carpenter is a symbol of everything good about Cache Valley. He’s a traveling salesman of cheer, and he gives his wares away for free. He found just the right spot to bring them Monday night.

Surely, this tragedy belonged most of all to the family and friends of Jacqueline, Abbey and Victor. But as Brent rode out of sight, I realized that it also belonged to Logan and to all of Cache Valley.

Despite statewide attention, this was our story. These were our searchers and neighbors and victims. These were our people.

I really enjoyed hearing what others think of situations. I will miss Bicycle Brent when I move back to Texas but I will forever be grateful to him. He has always put a smile on my face and I always wave back to him. If there were more people like him, I think this world would be such a happier place to be.

I am also grateful for Mr. Devin Felix to write these words. It is a tragic accident that happened but hopefully we will grow from it.