In an emotional meeting, student tells victim's mom he wasn't alone in the last moments of his life

By Katie Kerwin McCrimmon
Scripps Howard News Service

Dan Rohrbough

Nick Foss wanted Dan Rohrbough's mother to know that her son did not die alone.

Rohrbough, a 15-year-old freshman, was gunned down outside Columbine High School as the killers were heading inside, spraying bullets at anyone in their path.

His death was the most public of any of the slayings in Tuesday's devastating rampage. As helicopters hovered above the school, Rohrbough's body lay crumpled on the pavement in his jeans and a green shirt.

On Thursday, Foss visited Rohrbough's mother, Sue Petrone, to tell her about the final moments of her son's life.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save your son. I couldn't do anything," Foss said, weeping as he and Petrone embraced and rocked.

"I know if you could have done anything, you would have," Petrone said, comforting Foss as she would have soothed her son.

Foss, an 18-year-old senior, ran out of the school and saw the gunmen shooting Rohrbough in the back as he tried to escape. He was carrying a Dr Pepper and his lunch, headed to the park to eat.

"He was running away. He was running for his dear life," Foss said.

He didn't want to leave Rohrbough on the ground. So he went to check on him.

"I said, 'Come on. Get up. But he wasn't moving."'

"I told him I loved him," Foss said.

"That means so much because he didn't die alone," she answered. "You were his angel there.

"The more I know, the more peace I have," she said.

Before Foss could drag Rorhbough to shelter, the gunmen aimed for him. A bullet grazed his head as he ran away.

Foss apologized again, then told Petrone one more heart-wrenching detail: "When they shot him, he was yelling for his mom. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Foss did not know Rohrbough but said he was horrified that an innocent freshman would get caught in such violence.

Dan Rohrbough was just a quiet, happy kid with a wry sense of humor. "He was a very loving and caring. He never hurt a soul in his life," Petrone said.

Every day after school, Rohrbough worked with his father at his electronics store. He was a genius at anything having to do with home theaters and couldn't wait to get his driver's permit this September. He wanted a car that would have had a fabulous stereo system.

Since he was a toddler, he loved speed. His mother laughed as she recalled having to lock the cars in the garage. As soon as Rohrbough could walk, he would fish out the car keys, toddle into the garage and try to start the cars.

His friends said he was quiet, but he had a zany sense of humor.

He wore shorts in winter. He and his buddies played street hockey until their sticks broke, battled each other in Nintendo games for hours and overdosed on Orange Julius drinks while they pretended to do their homework.

"Dan was a really great guy. He was loving. He was caring. He was a really, nice, awesome guy," said one of his best friends, Matt Houck, 14.

The teen-agers lived one block from each other and became close in seventh grade. Now that they were in high school, they only had an earth science class together. But they remained inseparable.

They saw each other just a couple hours before Rohrbough died.

Derek Pontius, 15, was Rohrbough's other best friend.

Rohrbough had spent the night at Pontius' house on Saturday. Pontius was supposed to stay at Rohrbough's house Friday.

The two saw each other Tuesday after first period. When the mayhem erupted, Pontius was trapped for hours in a science office. He said he kept thinking of his friends, hoping they were safe.

As the hours passed without any news, Rohrbough's family and friends began to fear the worst.

They went to the school. Nothing. They went to the library. Nothing. They went home and prayed that he was at a friend's house. At 4 a.m., Wednesday, they went back to the school, hoping against hope that someone would know something.

In the morning, when Sue Petrone saw the Denver Rocky Mountain News, she learned the truth. She recognized her son's body in a devastating photo. "You just know your child," Petrone said.

The photo destroyed any glimmer of hope, but it also gave Petrone some comfort. She felt relieved that her son had died instantly and that he was not tortured, like some of the kids inside.

"Bless his soul, he was gone before he hit the ground," Petrone said. "It's horrendous. But I'm glad, he didn't suffer.

Petrone has carried the photo with her as she grieves.

She agonized Tuesday night, when his body was outside, all alone. Police later told her they covered his body with a blanket.

Now, she must cherish her memories.

Rohrbough usually left the house earlier than his mom. But on Tuesday, she came down early and they had some quiet time together. She made him breakfast. They talked.

Then, he pulled something out of his backpack. In the fall, when he registered for school, there had been a picture day. For months, Petrone asked her son to see the photos. For months, he forgot to bring them home from his school locker.

Finally, on Tuesday, Rohrbough remembered to give the photos to his mother.

Now, that photo is the centerpiece of a shrine to him.

Before Rohrbough left for school, his mother gave him a hug and a kiss and told him she loved him. "Have a good day," she said.

Petrone is determined not to let anger overwhelm her. "I'm just focusing on the love that I have for my son," she said. "Love conquers evil."

She wants some good to come out of her son's death. She wants young people to change. She wants a world that is less violent. "To make such an impact on the world is a tribute to Dan's life."

As she grieves, she wears two angel pins on her chest. And also, she wears a tiny, delicate blue bird, a gift Petrone's only son had given her a couple of years ago.

"He's just like a little fly-away bird."

A memorial fund has been set up for Dan Rohrbough. Contributions may be sent to: The Petrone Scholarship Fund, in care of Norwest Bank, 8500 W. Bowles Ave., Littleton, CO 80123.

Funeral services will be Monday. Final plans have not been set yet.