When you drop your kids off at school, you assume that they are in a safe place. It was not that way, and so you continue to doubt everything in your life. You don't feel safe anywhere.

Almost 1 year ago we moved because we wanted the kids to grow up in a safe place. We now live in a small community in northern California. The population is only 9,000. Yes, bad things do happen, but not to the degree. You want your kids to feel safe.

We are still in counseling. Things are getting better. My other child, who was a witness to it-he did not actually get injured, but his mental state was much greater than Eric's. Eric did not witness what actually occurred. Like he said, he was playing in the bathroom when it happened, so he did not see the other kids getting injured.

He was 6 at the time. In order to return to the safety of his classroom, he had to walk down a hall where there were injured and dead bodies. Once he returned to the cafeteria, one of Eric's classmates informed him that his brother had been shot, so he thought his brother was dead.

So there are many, many things. Just because a student happened to not get injured, they are still going through the process of healing. And, yes, time does help, but that is something that is always, always with you. Things are getting better, but, like I said, we are still in counseling.

Mr. SCHUMER. Thank you again, Mrs. Taylor and Eric. All I can tell both of you is that by relating this to our subcommittee, and to the Congress derivatively, you will importune us to try to do more to make sure that incidents like that are minimized or don't happen again.

OK. Who would like to go first of the Excells?

Mr. RAMSTAD. Mr. Chairman.

Mr. SCHUMER. Yes, Mr. Ramstad.

Mr. RAMSTAD. Mr. Chairman, if I just may interject—and I certainly appreciate the fact that Eric and his mother are here today showing a lot of courage. Eric's appearance and his testimony bring to mind another-are you 12 or 11, Eric?

Mr. TAYLOR. Eleven.

Mr. RAMSTAD. Eleven. Well, this is a 12-year-old boy from my State, Jacob Wetterling, who was also the victim of a serious, tragic crime against children. As with Eric's tragic experience, Jacob's experience is also known to most of the Nation. However, Jacob is not here to testify today; he is still missing, a victim of a child kidnaper.

Jacob's family, as you might expect, is devastated but determined to carry their crusade for legislation to Congress, and I certainly want to express my appreciation to the chairman of this subcommittee for agreeing to help with legislation that's pending that I've introduced to deal with this problem, legislation that originated with Patty Wetterling, Jacob's mother, to require registration of anyone who has committed crimes against children of this type of which Eric was victimized or of the type of crime which Jacob was victimized. Those offenders would have to register upon release from prison for 10 years with the local law enforcement authorities in the community in which they reside.

This bill has already passed the Senate. Again, I appreciate, Mr. Chairman, your willingness to help me on this side with this legislation.

Mr. SCHUMER. Thank you, Mr. Ramstad. We appreciate your bringing it up. For now we'll go to the panel and continue with them. Afterward, we can talk further about Mr. Ramstad's proposal.

Ms. Excell, I hope I'm pronouncing it right. I was coached on it last night. Thank you.

STATEMENT OF CELESTE EXCELL, VICTIMIZED STUDENT,

COKEVILLE, WY

Ms. EXCELL. On Friday, May 16, 1986, I was a sixth-grader, and it was after our noon recess and we had our free reading and then we went to the bathroom for our bathroom break. When my classmates and I came out of the bathroom, our teacher was talking to a lady that we didn't know, and she was saying, "Please come to room 4. We need you in room 4." And, we all thought it was going to be like our circus tickets because there was a circus the next Friday, and we thought it was our tickets to sell.

When we got to room 4, there were guns, four or five guns, rifles, lined up against the chalkboard. There was a man sitting on a desk in the middle with a shopping cart with something in it. We could see he had guns on his body, and we thought we were going to a rifle assembly or something.

When we got inside, we started asking other people what was going on. They told us that we were being held hostage and that he had a bomb. We just kind of laughed. Then we asked other teachers, and they said, yes, we're being held hostage.

The man sitting on the desk was David Young. He told us that he was probably the most wanted man in our society today for holding us hostage. Then he started sending a paper around with his philosophy on it, and it was crazy. You couldn't understand anything.

Well, you could smell gasoline. People were getting sick. So, they started to clean up and ran out of stuff, so they started sending my dad, the principal, down to get more stuff and to talk to the police on the telephone and everything.

Then Mr. Young needed to use the restroom, so he handed the bomb to his wife. While he was in the restroom, the news came on the television and she said, "Let's have it quiet."-one of the teachers said, "Let's have it quiet." And she turned and said, "Let's have it quiet," and turned her whole body and pulled the trigger. I had my back to the bomb and I just heard this big blast. I turned around and there was fire going straight up to the roof. So I just dove into a corner and got low and just covered my face and everything.

There were younger kids. I pulled them down. Pretty soon we could hear people at the window yelling, "Come over here. We'll get you out." So, I took the kids over and started throwing them out the window to these firemen that were waiting. And when they were all gone, I went out. I only had to go to the hospital for smoke

inhalation and to get stitches in an incision I got from a bullet shell fragment.

Mr. SCHUMER. Thank you again. As I said to Eric, I know it's hard to recount these stories, but they really do have a purpose. Out of your troubled experience will hopefully come some good. [The prepared statement of Ms. Excell follows:]

COKEVILLE ELEMENTARY HOSTAGE CRISIS

Testimony of Celeste Excell

On Friday May 16 of my sixth grade year, everything was going as usual until after noon recess. We were reading when we started to smell gasoline. We couldn't figure out what it was,

but decided it was under control or we would have heard something about it. At 1:35, we went down to the restrooms for our break. When we came out, our teacher, Mr. Mitchell, was talking to a lady we didn't know. She was telling him that we needed to go to Room 4. We were all excited because we thought we were going to get our circus tickets to sell for the circus coming to town the following Friday. When we got to Room 4 we were surprised, however, because we saw the rest of the school sitting on the floor. There were guns lining a small section of the wall near the door. We were talking to one another about the possibilities of it being a rifle assembly. There was a man sitting on a desk

in the middle of the room, and my first impression of him was that he looked evil and mean. He had two or three guns on his person, as well as a knife. He was David Young.

When we got in and seated, we started asking others what was going on. They told us we were being held hostage and we didn't believe them. We asked Mr. Moore, the fifth grade teacher, if they were teasing us and he told us they were telling the truth. At about that time, a sheet of paper stating Mr. Young's philosophy started coming around. I couldn't even understand the first sentence, so I gave up on reading it.

The next thing that happened was probable the hardest for

My Dad came walking up to the door, got waved away, started to leave, and got brought in by Mrs. Young. I wanted nothing

more than to go over and hug him and have him tell me everything would be okay, but I couldn't. For one thing, he was sitting on a desk next to Mr. Young, and I wasn't about to go near that terrifying man, and for another thing, I didn't want him to know we were together. I guess I just didn't want him to know in case he tried to do something harmful to either of us to use as pressure against the other.

We kids started to get restless, so Mrs. Young and the teachers got us singing, playing games, coloring, and other activities. We even sang "Happy Birthday" to a little boy, as well as other songs. One of the games we played was called "The Magic Square." Mr. Young had the teachers move out all the desks and chairs except for two tables that were stacked on top of each other, and the desk he was on. Then he had them put tape on the floor in a ten foot by ten foot square. The game was to see which class could stay the furthest away from the square and DO NOT go in the square ever. The teachers ran off some pictures for the younger kids to color, and asked us older kids to help them and keep them busy. The next thing they tried to distract us was to bring in the television so we could watch cartoons. It . was a good idea, and worked for a while.

By this time the gasoline fumes were making people sick, so there started to be messes which needed to be cleaned up on the floor. The room only had a little box of tissue, and it ran out quickly. Mr. Young sent my Dad to get more, and from then on he

was doing errands and talking to the police on the telephone. started to get hot and nauseous, so I got a paper towel and wet in down in the sink. I held it on my forehead to cool myself off.

Mr.

I

It was then that the news came on the television. I headed over so I could see if we were on for being held hostage. Young had to go to the restroom so he handed the bomb's detonating device to his wife. He was in there when the news came on. It was noisy in the room so nobody could hear the news, so one teacher asked for it to be quiet, and when Mrs. Young turned to look at the teacher and agree that it should be quiet, she pulled the pin and set off the bomb.

All I heard was a big blast behind me, so I turned around and saw fire. I dove into a nearby corner, covering my nose and mouth with the damp towel. There were younger kids by me screaming and crying, and I told them to get down and cover their faces with their hands. Then all of a sudden, I heard people at the window yelling, "Come over to the window and we'll get you out!" I took the kids and started shoving them out. When they were all out, I went.

I ran away from that building so fast I felt like I was flying. When I had run the block to Main Street, I saw

ambulances, fire engines, police cars, policemen, and people everywhere. I saw a person on a stretcher and found out that it was my music teacher, who was shot in the back on his way out of the building by Mr. Young. Mr. Mitchell found me and took me to do a headcount. After we counted, I left in a panic to see if I