Wednesday night, January 16, 1980, about 11 p.m. The phone rings… “It’s for you — the Boston Globe.”

“Hello?”

“Mr. Levington? This is Eileen McNamara from the Globe. Do you have any comments about the accident in Lincoln this evening?”

“No, no comments, I don’t know anything about it.”

“Okay, thank you. Bye.”

“WAIT A MINUTE! What accident?”

“There was an accident involving some students; you might want to talk to the police department.”

I dialed… “Lincoln Police Department, you’re on a recorded line.”

“This is Dave Levington from Lincoln-Sudbury, what’s this about an accident?’

“Sorry, sir, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Is the chief there? Let me speak to Chief Arena.”

“Sorry, he isn’t on duty.”

“So who’s in charge? Let me speak to him.”

“Sorry, Lt. Davis in in charge, but he’s at the hospital.”

“Can you patch me through to him?”

Patched call… ”This is Davis.”

“Dave, this is Dave Levington from L-S. What’s going on? I got a call from the Globe.”

“There was a car accident.”

“And L-S kids were involved?”

“Yes, three boys.”

“And how are they?”

“All three have died.”

*    *    *

That’s how my unimaginable day started. Barely awake, unable to focus. Three of our students, but more than that, three sons of three families. Three boys who had gone through eight years in Lincoln — a tragedy for the town.

Later, I learned some of the details; they were L-S sophomores, sixteen-year-old Boy Scouts. They had been at the fire station studying first aid; their leader was taking them home in his Saab but sideswiped a tree on Codman Road.

I didn’t know what to do. We had to prepare for the 1,000-plus kids who would arrive at school at 8 a.m. and be faced with the inconceivable. There’s no protocol for something like this. Deaths happen in a large school. I’d had death by speeding, by alcohol, even a murder. But three innocent sixteen-year-olds?

I notified people (woke them up!), then I activated the school’s telephone chain (used for snow-days) to call a 7:30 a.m. faculty meeting. It was very emotional; teachers at L-S know their students. We all felt the personal loss as well as our responsibilities.

Holding normal classes wasn’t an option, but we decided that all teachers would be present in their classrooms at normal times; the rest of us basically wandered the halls. My memory is vague; I remember clusters of kids huddling together in corners of the hallway. Understanding three deaths wasn’t going to happen. Adults could try, but support really came from each other. Kids instinctively turned to each other. There was a lot of hugging… teenagers actually subdued.

The group most-hard hit was the Lincolnites; they had all gone through eight years of elementary school together. We were all devastated, but the Lincoln kids knew each of the boys more personally. How do you process this? Three of your friends?

We had an assembly in the early afternoon, overflowing with kids. As the Superintendent-Principal, I was expected to speak but I couldn’t do it. Bill Gregory from the First Parish Church in Lincoln) was there, along with other ministers and rabbis from the community. I pushed Bill forward. “You do it,” I said, and he spoke. He was able to offer comfort without condescending; he did what I couldn’t.

Later there were funerals, of course, and the boys were placed at rest in the Town Cemetery; each in a family plot, but not far from each other. We gathered in homes, we grieved, and, very gradually, we all went on with our lives.

In my (Jewish) tradition, there is no heaven. Your spirit lives as long as you are remembered. Our prayer of mourning (Mourner’s Kaddish) is a prayer of remembrance.

I say a prayer of remembrance, a Kaddish, for David Pendelton Holland.

I say a prayer of remembrance, a Kaddish for Christopher Michael Kassner.

I say a prayer of remembrance, a Kaddish for Mark E. Pianka.