I'm going to share a story with you, from 36 years ago. It's been on my mind quite a bit lately. Our story starts in Chicago, on Columbus Day Oct. 8, 1973. That was also the night that Debra Lynn Dienhart lost her life. She was my sister.
I wish that I had more memories to pass to my children, but I was only 6-years-old. What I do remember is Debbie was taken from us too soon.
She had argued with my mother that day- I'm not sure what they were arguing about. Debbie left angry, and my mother was angry as well. Most mothers would have been able to stop their 16-year-old from leaving the home without permission. My mother could not. Multiple sclerosis had taken away her ability to walk. My mother and sister’s last moment together was not a good mother-daughter moment; it was, however, a very real moment. People don't always get to leave the way they want to, and this was certainly the case with my sister.
Most of the people who were adults at the time are gone-those that remain don't like to dredge up horrible memories. As I sit here reliving that terrible night, I feel compelled to share what I know. I learned the basics as an adult- mostly from a 225-word story on page A13 of the Chicago Tribune. That story is part of why I'm writing this- Debbie deserves more than having her life reduced to 225 words.
Though her life was short, I have some wonderful memories of her. She had a part-time job and would often bring home toys for me. She also used to walk me to school- and I remember feeling special when we would stop and pick up her friend on the way. Not many kids in kindergarten get to hang out with high school kids, and I cherished these mornings. We'd stop at her friends apartment and the two girls would smoke- after all, it was the 70's. In fact, my first drag off a cigarette happened one such morning. In a move so logical it could only make sense to a 16-year-old, the girls thought tasting a cigarette would keep me from smoking...
I have many such memories, but the most vivid of my childhood memories is that of the night we lost her. The specifics tell a story that far too many families can tell. It's a story of sorrow and loss. Debbie was walking along the 4700 block of Nagle Ave in Harwood Heights, Ill. That evening she had met a friend that had previously moved away. I believe her friend, Cynthia McRae, had come to talk Debbie out of running away. Debbie had run away twice before, always to return home by 11 pm. She was a 16-year-old girl in a simpler time. "Running away" would get a get a parent's attention without ending up as a Lifetime movie of the week. I know in my heart of hearts that Cynthia would have talked Debbie into going home- just as she and her friends had done before.
Our family didn't have a luxurious lifestyle. There were five of us crammed into a two-bedroom apartment. Sometimes tempers flared- but no one was ever hit or abused. Debbie was an emotional 16-year-old girl who should have returned home on that blustery autumn evening. Debbie had no clue that the cold chill blowing off Lake Michigan served as death’s omen- this would be Debbie's last fall evening. In fact, it was a night of bitter endings for all involved.
I remember the phone ringing, like any other evening. Then my father coming out of the kitchen to get my mother. A few minutes later, they both came out of the kitchen and were white as ghosts. My father left immediately. It was before my bedtime, so the accident must happened well before 8 p.m. Then, my maternal grandmother arrived. Shortly after, my father's aunts arrived. Everyone was on edge. I still didn't know what was happening.
It was a time before cell phones- so we all sat there, not knowing what to say. Then my father returned- he was crying and scooped me up into his arms as he crossed the room . He continued through the small apartment's living room to hold my mother. They were both crying- I was upset and confused. I had never seen my father cry. When I asked what happened, my father said, "Debbie's gone. She's where no one can ever hurt her again." I knew what that meant. We all cried. I fell asleep in my father's arms that night. In a horrible twist of fate, it was the last time we were truly a family.
The repercussions were severe to my family. My mother caught pneumonia at Debbie's funeral and almost died. She never recovered- emotionally or physically. We lost her in 1985. My parents’ marriage was never the same. I think my father blamed my mother for the argument that caused Debbie to leave that day. My brother doesn't remember her, but he grew up in a drastically different environment. Then there is me- I carry a lot of anger over this. I look at my children and see Debbie in their features. I think about how much they would have loved her- and that they will never know her. Through Debbie's absence, this savage act still shapes our family- 36 years later.
This was also Cynthia's story- she also died that night. A man named Ronald Wankewycz hit them both with his car. My family always said he was drunk- the article I bought from the Tribune doesn't mention that.
He said he fell asleep. He hit three trees- pinning my sister and her friend to the third and then sped off. Three good Samaritans chased him down and brought him back to the scene of the crime. I don't know who they are. I wish I could thank them. Had they not acted, Wankewycz may not have been caught.
My aunt later told me that Debbie was still pinned to the car when Wankewycz tried to escape. The Tribune omitted that detail, and I wish my aunt had omitted it from her account as well.
My mind always travels back to my family's assumption that Wankewycz was drunk- but it really doesn't matter.
The court found him impaired, either way. I'm sure that wherever he is, he would agree that he had made a horrible decision that night. I'm sure that the repercussions of his actions still haunt him. I know that they still haunt me, and my surviving family. This is a hard story to tell. So why share it?
I am writing this, in the hope that this story will influence at least one person not to drive home impaired. If you are sleepy, sleep. If you are drunk, call a friend. One bad decision can cost a child his or her life. It can change two or more families forever. It can deprive a future generation of advice, counsel and love. It can cause society to lose someone that may grow up to change the world. Please, ask someone for help before having this kind of impact on someone's family and your community. It's time that we all realize that the stakes are just too high.
Dienhart is a Peachtree City resident and local busy-body. He is also the newest weekly columnist for this paper. Dienhart can be contacted at dienhart@comcast.net
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