Shannon Melendi'S Death Still Stings, 20 Years Later
Mr. Speaker, on previous occasions I have spoken about the loss of Shannon Melendi, a beautiful girl who attended my alma mater, Southwest Miami High School, and whose life was taken tragically as a teenager in 1994. As their Congresswoman…
Mr. Speaker, on previous occasions I have spoken about the loss of Shannon Melendi, a beautiful girl who attended my alma mater, Southwest Miami High School, and whose life was taken tragically as a teenager in 1994. As their Congresswoman and friend, I thank the Melendi Family for keeping us vigilant. I would like to share an eloquently written story about Shannon by Anne (Martinez) Vasquez, Associate Editor at the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, which was published by the newspaper on March 25, 2014:
Shannon Melendi's death Still Stings, 20 Years Later
What I would give to relive those days of playing with our
collection of cheap drugstore makeup sprawled on the bedroom
floor as we plotted our outfits and gossiped about boys.
Shannon Melendi and I became fast friends at the cusp of
adolescence, when you dream of days still decades away and
fantasize about chapters in your life you've yet to write.
Tears still sting my eyes when I think of the final chapter
of Shannon's short life: At 19, a sophomore at Emory
University, she disappeared on a Saturday afternoon after
going on a lunch break from her part-time job as a
scorekeeper at a softball field in suburban Atlanta.
The year was 1994, 20 years ago this week. It would be
another painful 12 years before the man long suspected of
kidnapping Shannon confessed.
Shannon's body was never found. There was no funeral, no
official moment to mourn. Instead, the last 20 years have
unfolded in surreal fashion, where life goes on for Shannon's
closest family and friends even as we've struggled to fill in
the blanks, a search for answers that never come.
Only now, as I reflect on the twists and turns of my life,
do I realize the imprint that Shannon's story has left on my
soul, a silent narrative that has molded my evolution as an
adult and, ultimately, as a mother. The underlying lesson
lingering in my subconsciousness: If evil can strike on a
Saturday afternoon--snatching a smart 19-year-old with quick
wit, the president of her high school senior class, an
aspiring lawyer, a champion debater, the daughter of present
and caring parents--it can happen to anyone, anywhere.
Evil strikes
I woke up on Tuesday morning, March 29, 1994, with my
father handing me a small clipping buried inside the Local
section of The Miami Herald. I found the concerned look on my
father's face puzzling, until I read the brief article, just
a few lines long, saying Shannon's parents had flown to
Atlanta after learning she had gone missing.
The rest of the week was a blur until I went to see
Shannon's younger sister, Monique, who was staying with her
aunt and grandparents. She turned 14 years old five days
after Shannon disappeared, and I wanted to bring her a
present. I sought to revisit happier times, when the Melendi
family would invite me to join them on their vacations to the
Florida Keys. Endless summer days where I first learned to
water ski, jump waves and conquer my fear of treading open
water.
In the weeks and months--even years--that followed, Shannon
regularly paid me visits in my dreams. In many, I would
replay our last chance encounter, which took place just a
couple of weeks before Shannon disappeared.
A complete fluke, I had spotted Shannon among a sea of
Spring Breakers in Daytona Beach, a rare place for either of
us to visit. I walked in her direction until she came into
clear focus. Yes, it was Shannon. For a few fleeting minutes,
we laughed and reminisced. We caught up on where our college
lives were taking us. We made plans to see each other a few
weeks later when she would be back in Miami visiting her
family. Then we hugged and went our separate ways.
It was the last time I saw Shannon. I didn't know it at the
time, but it was my chance to say goodbye. She would be gone
before the month came to a close.
Fighting the monster
As the years went by without word of what became of
Shannon, my dreams began to reflect the anger I bottled deep
inside.
In one recurring dream, it's late in the evening in some
unnamed town in the middle of America. I walk into a
restaurant for a bite. The room is dark and bustling with
customers. I take a seat in a booth and see Shannon sitting
across from her captor. Her hands are not tied, but she's not
moving, not trying to escape. She's scared or drugged or
both, I reason. I approach their table, see a spark of hope
in Shannon's eyes and quickly find others who help me hold
down the man who had stolen Shannon from her family. We
pummel him. Shannon returns home.
My anger also manifested itself in other ways.
I made decisions determined not to cede power to the
monster. I fought the fear that evil could lurk behind any
corner.
I jumped at the chance to intern at The Boston Globe rather
than spend the summer at a local paper. I walked to and from
my apartment many late evenings holding a stun gun wrapped in
a newspaper. Years later, as a reporter for The Miami Herald,
I'd live and work in Sao Paulo, Brazil, for several months,
riding the subway and making my way in another language in an
unknown city five times the size of New York City.
I moved across the country to Northern California, where I
worked and lived for seven years. A visit to Yosemite, on
assignment in Mexico or vacationing in Vancouver, I'd imagine
crossing paths with Shannon and putting an end to the tragic
mystery.
Anger turns into fear
Then I became a mother and the anger gave way to fear.
My firstborn was just shy of two years old when Colvin
``Butch'' Hinton III, a man with a history of harming young
girls, confessed to kidnapping and murdering Shannon. Hinton,
an umpire at the softball field where Shannon kept score,
said he had set out to commit murder on March 26, 1994. He
had targeted another woman but changed his plans when he
spotted Shannon.
Hinton said he held Shannon at knifepoint, tied her up in
his home, repeatedly raped her--in between catching a movie
at a local theater in an effort to create an alibi--and
ultimately strangled her in the early morning hours of March
27.
The unspeakable details resurfaced my dormant pain.
As my son's independence blossomed--and with that his
ability to walk away from me at a department store or at a
park--I found myself fighting a constant unease. I wanted--
needed--to know where he was at every moment.
Most parents take their children to the park to relax, sit
back and let their kids play. That will never be me.
I'll never forget spending one afternoon at a local water
park with several of my son's friends. The other mothers
positioned their chairs in the shallow water to chat and
sunbathe. They didn't fuss, completely confident that their
kids were safe. I stood the entire time, sloshing through the
kneehigh water to make sure my son emerged from the labyrinth
of slides.
Dealing with my vigilant watch is a reality my children
have learned to accept: My 9-year-old son understands why
last summer I had him skip a field trip to the water park. My
4-year-old daughter recites to me how I shouldn't speak to
strangers. I live in constant battle with myself, wrestling
with a deep-seated desire to fuel my children's independence
while also fighting a fear that harm may come their way.
Both of my children know, to varying degrees, Shannon's
story. They know the world can be cruel, but they also exude
a spirit of boundless optimism. They see themselves as the
superheroes who can change the world.
I hope they do.
Timeline: The Shannon Melendi murder
March 26, 1994: Shannon Melendi, a South Florida native and
19-year-old Emory University sophomore, vanishes on a
Saturday afternoon from her part-time job as a scorekeeper at
a softball field in suburban Atlanta.
March 27, 1994: Shannon's parents, Luis and Yvonne Melendi,
get word that Shannon has been missing for more than 24
hours. They make arrangements to fly to Atlanta. In the
ensuing weeks, volunteers and friends plaster streets with
``MISSING'' posters bearing Shannon's photo. Print and TV
media in South Florida and Atlanta follow the story closely.
April 6, 1994: A caller to an Emory University hot line
claims he is holding Shannon captive. As proof, the caller
leaves a ring belonging to Shannon, enclosed in a bag, inside
the pay phone where the call was made.
April 12, 1994: Police search the home of Colvin ``Butch''
Hinton III, an umpire at the softball field the day Shannon
was last seen. Hinton has a criminal record of sexual
assaults.
September 1994: A fire damages Hinton's home.
October 20, 1994: The Melendi family and friends of Shannon
attend a vigil and press conference at Emory University on
what would have been Shannon's 20th birthday. Luis and Yvonne
Melendi keep Shannon's story alive in the local and national
media for years to come.
March 26, 1995: Southwest 48th Street in Miami-Dade County
is renamed Shannon Melendi Drive. The street runs in front of
Southwest Miami Senior High School, where Shannon was class
president and a prominent student.
June 1995: A federal grand jury indicts Hinton for arson,
suggesting Hinton set fire to his home to collect insurance
money.
January 1996: Hinton is convicted of arson and sent to
federal prison.
December 2003: Hinton is released from federal prison.
August 2004: Authorities arrest Hinton, using a grand jury
indictment that accuses Hinton of murdering Shannon Melendi.
September 2005: A jury convicts Hinton of murder. He is
sentenced to life in prison.
June 2006: The Georgia Supreme Court upholds Hinton's
conviction.
July 17, 2006: Hinton confesses to kidnapping, raping and
murdering Shannon, after his appeal was denied.