KYLE MUNSON

Sick of school shootings, these Iowa moms took action in a single day to make their kids' classrooms safe

Kyle Munson
The Des Moines Register

Melissa Mahon felt the same sick pang in the pit of her stomach Thursday morning as many of us. 

We sent our kids to school — dropped them off, or watched as they climbed onto a school bus or backed out of the driveway — with an extra twinge of dread about what the day might hold for them. 

Wednesday’s massacre of at least 17 students and adults at a school in Parkland, Florida, shook us yet again. The latest gruesome body count of kids came on the heels of so many mass shootings that we lose count — until a story in our Facebook feed reminds us. 

Mourners stand during a candlelight vigil for the victims of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting in Parkland, Fla.

Mahon, who lives in Keosauqua, a town of fewer than 1,000 in southeast Iowa, is the mother of three young children: preschool, kindergarten and first grade. Her thoughts were heavy that morning at the bus stop. 

No fewer than four school evacuations this week in Iowa only helped feed everyone's collective paranoia. 

So Mahon and a gaggle of friends and fellow moms began commiserating at the bus stop. 

They continued over Facebook Messenger. 

“So this school shooting has me so freaked out,” wrote Breanne McEntee. “I think we need to start talking again about buying/requiring every classroom have ‘The Sleeve.’ … Maybe we can do a fundraiser or something? Ideas?” 

McEntee was referring to a device manufactured by Fighting Chance Solutions in Muscatine. 

About a year ago, another mom, Nasseem Hesler, who is also Keosauqua’s mayor, noticed an ad for a similar device on her Facebook feed, probably because the Facebook software picked up on her time spent in the group Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America.

Hesler mentioned it to friends and school officials.

These gadgets fit over the arm mechanism of a classroom door to secure it from the inside and prevent it from opening. The theory is that even a student would be able to quickly barricade the door if a shooter lurked just down the hallway. 

This time, the cumulative anxiety — a buildup after last year’s mass shootings at a country music concert in Las Vegas and a Baptist church in Texas — rallied these self-described “mama bears" into action. 

“We’re tired of it,” Mahon said. “It’s like, OK, nobody’s going to do anything about this: Our government, our state government, our national government. 

“We’re the moms, and these are our kids. What can we do?” 

Instead of waiting until the next school board meeting, they acted. They began to refine McEntee’s idea to help secure every classroom in the small district — about 50 rooms total. 

They added the PTO president to the thread. They reached out to school administrators. 

Principal Chuck Banks already was familiar with the devices. While nothing is a sure preventative, Barnes considers them a valid deterrent to improve the chances that students might be defended or given enough time to escape. 

Banks has worked in the district since 2000, and this is his ninth year as principal. He has lived through the transition into our modern era of school lockdowns and only one accessible entrance where strangers must buzz in.

He helped guide his teachers through the training to be certified in ALICE (Alert, Lockdown, Inform, Counter, Evacuate) that helps students systematically flee a scene, rather than cower beneath their desks and wait to be slaughtered.  

So Banks helped the moms estimate that about $100 per classroom would cover devices to secure the doors, as well as fill a bucket with other emergency supplies (50 rooms x $100 = $5,000). 

The moms began by donating money themselves to cover their own children’s classrooms. 

They reached out fellow parents and local business owners. 

By 2 p.m. they had raised $2,500. 

By 3 p.m. they reached $4,000. 

By the end of the day they hit their $5,000 goal, spread among dozens of parents and businesses.   

'It's just completely scary'

Mahon is a nurse and anesthetist based at the local hospital. She and her husband moved from Orlando, Florida, in 2012 to raise their family in what they deemed a safer community.

She worked at a hospital in Florida where one of her doctors was gunned down by a patient who ambushed him in the parking garage. 

She got used to rerouting her drive home because the road had been blocked as police responded to an active shooter. 

But Mahon today is among of a growing number who recognize these mass shootings as an American disease that is not confined to certain regions or neighborhoods. 

“It just doesn’t matter anymore if it’s city or it’s rural or urban,” she said. “It’s happening everywhere. And it’s going to infiltrate every school. It’s just completely scary.” 

Mahon also can’t imagine how a modern teacher copes with the responsibility of students who must not only be educated but defended to the death. As a society, we certainly don’t compensate teachers at any sort of rate to qualify as combat pay. 

“I tell people all the time I’ve got 386 kids,” Banks said. “I’ve two daughters, but 386 kids in that building.” 

The fact that some of his parents were “willing to do anything they can to help protect those kids” overwhelmed him with gratitude.

"It kind of makes you sad at the same time that we have to have that discussion," Banks added. "But it does give you a little bit more relief knowing that we’re just doing one more thing to possibly help those kids." 

There has been “no credible threat” to his district during his tenure, Banks said. But like all the unnerved parents, he doesn't hold his breath. 

Parkland already had an armed officer on hand. I recoil at all the suggestions to fill our schools with even more guns and militarize the hallways.

We could staff a small army and dwarf what we spend on football teams and still not do justice for our kids. 

But at this point, I can understand why Mahon is more worried that her kids should be prepared to respond to an active shooter, rather than a fire.

“How do you drill for something like that," she wondered, "and explain that to them when you want them to retain their innocence?”

These Keosauqua parents, a mix of liberals and conservatives, clearly have been riled by a tragedy 1,400 miles away. They also felt empowered by their successful one-day fundraiser.  

But what now? What next? 

Many of these moms already were politically active, regularly phoning their state representative or senator.

Even as she helped raise funds, Mahon monitored the progress of the "Constitutional Carry" pro-gun bill that she opposed and that stalled Thursday in the Iowa Senate. 

Some Americans want a ban on "bump stocks" (to make semi-automatic rifles fire faster) or other gun-control measures. Banks cited dwindling options for mental health care in southeast Iowa.

Some Iowans on Thursday picketed Brownells in Grinnell, the firearms-maker whose CEO also is president of the National Rifle Association.

"We all feel helpless,” Hesler said, “and we all feel like we’re just praying every day when you send your kid to school that nothing bad with happen.”

This is the point we've reached in America: Parents are so disturbed that they're pooling funds not to buy books but to help defend their kids and classrooms from gunfire. 

Kyle Munson, Iowa columnist.

Maybe this modest $5,000 in southeast Iowa is a sign that we're ready not only to recoil in horror at these slayings but to reach consensus on legitimate solutions. 

Because none of us wants to be the parent who doesn't realize one morning that they just said a casual goodbye to the next victim of a mass shooting. 

Kyle Munson can be reached at 515-284-8124 or kmunson@dmreg.com. See more of his columns and video at DesMoinesRegister.com/KyleMunson. Connect with him on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram (@KyleMunson).