Kathy Pinna
Students remember classmates who died
The following is an excerpt from an article about Nedra's death, published May 29, 2006 and written by Andres R. Martinez:
Students remember classmates who died. Every day, one student taped a laminated picture of junior Nedra Rodriguez on the lunch table and saved a spot for her. The students who frequented the table weren't Nedra's basketball teammates, with whom she had spent six years on the court. No, these students in the cafeteria were a dozen friends who grew up with Nedra, who through the years had grown apart, but still shared the memory of their childhoods.
That's just one of the ways that almost 800 students at Hidalgo High School chose to remember three juniors who died in tragic events this year. Varsity basketball players Nedra Rodriguez and Abby De Anda, both 17, died Feb. 4 after each helped win a game against Progreso High School. They were returning from a party with three boys from school when the pickup truck they were in rolled over. Nedra died on the spot. Abby was kept on life support, but was pronounced dead later that week after her organs were harvested for donation.
Just a month later, on March 19, Pharr police followed a tip to find Nelly Casas' body 10 yards from her house in a tool shed. Police had been looking for her for two days. Students at the high school had been Nelly's classmates since she entered Ida Diaz Jr. High School. She had transferred out of Hidalgo High School in January to PSJA High School.
High school and adolescence in general is a period when young people learn many life lessons, including death. As this year's seniors graduate and juniors wait to ascend to a position of leadership at the school, the three deaths punctuate the sobering memories of this school year. Graduation is Thursday. Dealing with the deaths of three students so popular on campus was made more difficult because of the tight-knit community in Hidalgo, a city of barely 10,000 people. School Principal Edward Blaha said in his 12 years as an administrator in the district he had never imagined dealing with such tragedy. "They need to know that this pain is not in isolation," Blaha said. In the aftermath of the accident that killed Nedra instantly, Hidalgo Superintendent Daniel King met with Blaha and the three school counselors at the high school the day after.
They devised a plan to help the school community cope with what they believed at the moment to be the death of only one girl, and the critical injury of another, Abby. They visited the family of the two girls and let them know they were there to help. Quickly mobilizing the counselors was the most important, Blaha said. By Sunday morning they had contacted all the teachers and coaches at the school to tell them to head in early on Monday morning for a meeting. On Monday, counselors from surrounding school districts waited for the rush of students who would seek their services. Blaha and his trio of counselors set up counseling stations around the school, focusing heavily on the cafeteria.
They also kept watch on the classes that Abby and Nedra would normally attend each day. Hidalgo algebra teacher Michael Pirolo was one with Nedra and Nelly in class. He had Abby for homeroom. A first-year teacher, Pirolo says none of his training prepared him for a tragedy of such gravity. For Abby's wake, Pirolo was one of a handful of teachers who accompanied students to Ceballos Funeral Home in McAllen.
"It was a big deal for the students to see the empty seats the girls used to sit in every day," Pirolo said. Blaha and King set aside as many school buses as possible and let students know they could attend any of the wakes, funerals or burials for Abby and Nedra. Deborah McKenna, a 27-year veteran of Donna and Hidalgo schools, was surprised at first at the number of students outside the immediate circle of friends the girls had that needed specific attention. They saw themselves in these girls, she said, and wondered about the impact their own deaths would have on their parents. Her training, and that of the other two counselors, had taught her to focus as much as possible on the siblings of the dead and the closest friends. But McKenna was surprised by the number of students who pointed out students who she never would have thought would be deeply affected.
"You tend to gravitate to the kids who were their friends," she said. "We had kids coming to us and saying 'You need to call in so and so into your office.' And we'd be like 'Are they friends?'" McKenna and her co-workers realized that the girls touched the lives of people beyond those inside their circle of friends. By the beginning of the second week, fewer students sought counseling. Blaha thanked the counselors from surrounding districts and asked them to remain on standby. Little did he know that he would need them a month later when Nelly was found dead at her home in South Pharr.
Students remember classmates who died. Every day, one student taped a laminated picture of junior Nedra Rodriguez on the lunch table and saved a spot for her. The students who frequented the table weren't Nedra's basketball teammates, with whom she had spent six years on the court. No, these students in the cafeteria were a dozen friends who grew up with Nedra, who through the years had grown apart, but still shared the memory of their childhoods.
That's just one of the ways that almost 800 students at Hidalgo High School chose to remember three juniors who died in tragic events this year. Varsity basketball players Nedra Rodriguez and Abby De Anda, both 17, died Feb. 4 after each helped win a game against Progreso High School. They were returning from a party with three boys from school when the pickup truck they were in rolled over. Nedra died on the spot. Abby was kept on life support, but was pronounced dead later that week after her organs were harvested for donation.
Just a month later, on March 19, Pharr police followed a tip to find Nelly Casas' body 10 yards from her house in a tool shed. Police had been looking for her for two days. Students at the high school had been Nelly's classmates since she entered Ida Diaz Jr. High School. She had transferred out of Hidalgo High School in January to PSJA High School.
High school and adolescence in general is a period when young people learn many life lessons, including death. As this year's seniors graduate and juniors wait to ascend to a position of leadership at the school, the three deaths punctuate the sobering memories of this school year. Graduation is Thursday. Dealing with the deaths of three students so popular on campus was made more difficult because of the tight-knit community in Hidalgo, a city of barely 10,000 people. School Principal Edward Blaha said in his 12 years as an administrator in the district he had never imagined dealing with such tragedy. "They need to know that this pain is not in isolation," Blaha said. In the aftermath of the accident that killed Nedra instantly, Hidalgo Superintendent Daniel King met with Blaha and the three school counselors at the high school the day after.
They devised a plan to help the school community cope with what they believed at the moment to be the death of only one girl, and the critical injury of another, Abby. They visited the family of the two girls and let them know they were there to help. Quickly mobilizing the counselors was the most important, Blaha said. By Sunday morning they had contacted all the teachers and coaches at the school to tell them to head in early on Monday morning for a meeting. On Monday, counselors from surrounding school districts waited for the rush of students who would seek their services. Blaha and his trio of counselors set up counseling stations around the school, focusing heavily on the cafeteria.
They also kept watch on the classes that Abby and Nedra would normally attend each day. Hidalgo algebra teacher Michael Pirolo was one with Nedra and Nelly in class. He had Abby for homeroom. A first-year teacher, Pirolo says none of his training prepared him for a tragedy of such gravity. For Abby's wake, Pirolo was one of a handful of teachers who accompanied students to Ceballos Funeral Home in McAllen.
"It was a big deal for the students to see the empty seats the girls used to sit in every day," Pirolo said. Blaha and King set aside as many school buses as possible and let students know they could attend any of the wakes, funerals or burials for Abby and Nedra. Deborah McKenna, a 27-year veteran of Donna and Hidalgo schools, was surprised at first at the number of students outside the immediate circle of friends the girls had that needed specific attention. They saw themselves in these girls, she said, and wondered about the impact their own deaths would have on their parents. Her training, and that of the other two counselors, had taught her to focus as much as possible on the siblings of the dead and the closest friends. But McKenna was surprised by the number of students who pointed out students who she never would have thought would be deeply affected.
"You tend to gravitate to the kids who were their friends," she said. "We had kids coming to us and saying 'You need to call in so and so into your office.' And we'd be like 'Are they friends?'" McKenna and her co-workers realized that the girls touched the lives of people beyond those inside their circle of friends. By the beginning of the second week, fewer students sought counseling. Blaha thanked the counselors from surrounding districts and asked them to remain on standby. Little did he know that he would need them a month later when Nelly was found dead at her home in South Pharr.
