Publisher’s note: On Friday, May 9, a gunman entered the Peter B. Lewis Building on the campus of Case Western Reserve University and began shooting. The ensuing seven-hour ordeal left one man dead, two people injured and nearly 100 people trapped inside offices, classrooms and closets.
One of those inside, Susan Altshuler, is the mother-in-law of Smart Business Executive Editor Dustin S. Klein. The following report is based on Klein’s frontline experience as a family member as well as a journalist.
It was shortly after 4 p.m. when reporter Abby Cymerman rushed into my office and said an armed man had burst into a building at Case Western Reserve University, shot at least two people and was apparently holding hostages.
A bad feeling swept over me as I asked which building it was.
“At the Weatherhead school,” she said. “The Peter B. Lewis building. It’s coming across the news right now.”
Blood rushed from my face and my stomach tightened.
“My wife’s mother works in that building,” I said. “Find out whatever you can and let me know.”
My mother-in-law, Susan Altshuler, is the special assistant to the director of the Center for Regional Economic Issues at CWRU. Her office at REI is on the second floor of the Lewis building.
Abby returned to my office and said local news stations were Webcasting live footage of the action. I launched a Web browser and saw police hiding behind their cars, shotguns and handguns trained on the building. The situation was dire, the reporter said. At least two people were shot; dozens of people were trapped inside with the gunman.
I hit the phones.
First, I called Susan’s office at REI. The phone rang, but no one answered. Then I called my father-in-law, Bob Altshuler.
I hoped Susan had left work early or taken the day off, and that she would be the one to answer.
Instead, Bob answered. There was no sound of concern in his voice. He had no idea what was happening at University Circle.
“Have you heard from Susan in the past hour?” I asked.
He hesitated, wondering why I’d be calling in the late afternoon with such a question, before saying he hadn’t. She was at the office, he said, and would be home soon.
That left me with the unpleasant duty of telling him what was happening at CWRU and, more important, at Susan’s office.
I told him what I knew, but explained that details were sketchy. At least two people were shot, but there was no word on who they were or how many others were inside the building.
Bob and I agreed to start calling the family as well as hospitals and authorities to gather details.
For me, though, the worst was yet to come. I had to call my wife, Laura, who is pregnant with our first child, and explain that her mother might be part of a hostage situation or that she may have been shot.
But before I could track her down, my phone rang. It was Laura, in a panic. Bob had just called her asking for her mother’s cell phone number. He mentioned something about a gunman at Case, but didn’t have a lot of details.
I calmed Laura and explained everything I knew, which wasn’t much. We agreed to meet at her sister Betsy’s house, and go from there.
Shortly before 6 p.m. I arrived at Betsy’s and found my 9-year-old nephew, Spencer, leaning against a car in the driveway. Spencer, looking despondent, said he was worried Grandma was in trouble, and that his mother was very upset. I told him she would be OK, and we would do everything we could to make sure she got home safely.
Inside, the scene was just as dour. Felicia Westbrook, one of Susan’s co-workers, had called Betsy. She had taken the day off and received a cell phone call from Franjo Dolenac, who was trapped inside the Lewis building. Dolenac said a group was huddled together in a back office, but neither Susan nor her boss, Greg Stoup, was with them.
He said that he heard gunshots, and then someone — he thought it was Susan — screamed.
Laura had been crying before I arrived and now was sitting silent at the dining room table staring intently at the television. As she waited for husband Chris to arrive, Betsy began tearfully repeating, “I just want to see my mother and know she’s OK.”
When Chris arrived 20 minutes later, we loaded into my Jeep, picked up Bob and drove down to Case. We didn’t know exactly what would be awaiting us there, but we knew one thing — we weren’t leaving without Susan.
The following timeline is based on first-hand experiences and conversations with several of those involved.
4 p.m.
Suite 250, Peter B. Lewis Building
Susan Altshuler, Greg Stoup and several colleagues at the Center for Regional Economic Issues are meeting to discuss upcoming economic reports when the sound of gunfire explodes on the floor beneath them.
As shots echo through the building, Molly Schnoke runs into Stoup’s office saying it sounds like gunshots. Stoup tells Schnoke to call security, then heads into the hallway to see for himself what is happening below.
Looking over the balcony, he sees broken glass and empty shell casings. Then he hears police officers.
“Everyone get in your offices and lock your doors!”
When Altshuler pokes her head into the hallway to tell Stoup to get inside, she sees security guards scurrying about, yelling that there is a gunman in the building.
In the hallway, economics professor Sue Helper is pushing wheelchair-bound Avi Dor. Altshuler calls to Helper and Dor to get inside, but Helper hesitates. The office door slams shut.
Helper decides to head to her office with Dor, but as she arrives she comes face-to-face with the gunman.
Stunned, she jumps into her office and slams the door as the gunman fires. A bullet slams through the door and hits her in the collarbone.
She checks her wound and finds that it is superficial — the bullet was slowed by the door. She makes her way into an office closet, where she will remain for more than three hours.
4:05 p.m.
Second floor hallway, Peter B. Lewis Building
Back in the hallway, Dor is now staring at the gunman, who is only feet away. The gunman fires, but somehow the shots miss. Despite his terror, Dor is sharp enough to feign being shot.
He lets his head dangle forward and his arms fall to his sides. The gunman — apparently believing Dor is dead or simply not caring if he isn’t — walks away.
A few moments later, Dor makes his way into an open office and hides until SWAT team members find him hours later.
4:05 p.m.
Suite 250, Peter B. Lewis Building
Back in the REI offices, Stoup, Altshuler, Schnoke, Craig Young and Betsey Merkel barricade the front door to the hallway, pushing over a table to block the door. They slide filing cabinets behind the table.
Then the five hide on the floor — Schnoke under a desk, Merkel and Altshuler prone on the floor and Young and Stoup crouch against the wall.
For nearly four hours, the REI staff lies there, silent, praying that the gunman won’t shoot through the doors and charge into their offices in a hail of gunfire. Although there are telephones, they maintain telephone silence from this point forward.
Outside, few family members know what they are going through or if they are even alive. As SWAT team members, FBI and police play a game of cat and mouse with the gunman, the REI team waits for rescue.
7 p.m.
Outside the Peter B. Lewis Building
Less than a block from the Peter B. Lewis Building, the scene is reminiscent of a Bruce Willis action film. Police run back and forth across the street. TV and radio reporters broadcast live updates.
Curious onlookers talk on cell phones. And worried families stand in packs, holding each other and crying.
The buzz in the crowd fills with contradictory reports that do little to assuage the fears of the families: Police are in the building; police aren’t in the building. The gunman has been cornered; the gunman is roaming around. Shots are being fired; no shots are being fired. Confusion reigns.
Bob Altshuler learns that many of the families of people trapped inside are gathering at Strosaker Auditorium, where the university has brought in food and arranged for clergy, nurses, grief counselors and psychologists to be available.
He heads to Strosaker with Betsy and Chris to see if better information is available there. I stay behind with Laura and talk to journalists, worried family members, onlookers and police, trying to find out any news.
Police briefings from Chief Edward Lohn of the Cleveland Police and Cuyahoga County Prosecutor Bill Mason provide little detail beyond that there are trained professionals — police SWAT teams and FBI — handling the situation.
Red Cross trauma vans and armored vehicles drive through the police line and toward the building, so something is definitely happening.
7:40 p.m.
Outside the Peter B. Lewis Building
Police rush a man wrapped in a white sheet lying on a stretcher away from the scene to an ambulance tucked around the corner. No details are given as to the person’s identity, which only increases the worry of the families. It turns out that the man is Norman Wallace, who was fatally injured.
8 p.m.
Outside the Peter B. Lewis Building
Betsy and Chris return to check on Laura. At the same time, Michael Devlin of Case Western Reserve University approaches her and asks if she is a family member.
He tells her that SWAT teams have pinned the gunman between the third and fourth floors and are going to start rescuing people. Hostages will be debriefed by police, then transported by bus to a secure location. He asks us to go to Strosaker Auditorium, where family members will receive information about being reunited with those trapped in the building.
8:20 p.m.
Strosaker Hall
We arrive at Strosaker Hall to find it surrounded by news teams. Outside, security guards grill us about our identities before letting us through the front door.
Inside, CWRU employees have set up tables with food and drink. Nurses, psychologists, security guards and clergy float from person to person trying to console worried family members and assist in any way possible. The speed and efficiency with which the university has mobilized its staff, volunteers and mental health professionals is impressive.
Security guards lead us into the auditorium, where Bob Altshuler sits with 40 to 50 other family members, glued to the television news and chatting with a young rabbi.
On the stage, five or six people surround a large table, where pieces of paper with the names of family members trapped in the building are spread.
Bob brings us up to speed: The people up front are collecting names of people in the auditorium. They are in contact with people inside the Lewis building. As they receive calls from the building, they write down the names of the people rescued and inform family members that their loved ones are safe.
Thinking it could be awhile before anything happened, I strike up a conversation with university staff members and security guards, learning that the next step is transporting family members to the university library, where the rescued employees and students will be taken after police debriefing.
8:30 p.m.
Peter B. Lewis Building
Inside the business school, SWAT team members storm the REI offices. It is the first occupied office that law enforcement officers reach.
Altshuler and her colleagues are separated into two groups: Stoup and Young in one, the women — Altshuler, Merkel and Schnoke — in the other. They are escorted to a first floor “safe room,” where they will be held for two more hours as officers continue their room-by-room search of the building.
In the safe room, each person makes phone calls to family members to alert them they have been rescued. Altshuler tries calling her husband, then her daughters. None are home. She finally leaves a message on daughter Laura’s voicemail saying she is OK.
As promised, after two hours, the women are taken to Mather Hall, where they are debriefed by police, then transported by bus to the university library.
9 p.m.
Strosaker Auditorium
Susan Altshuler’s name hasn’t made it to the rescued list yet. On a hunch, I call my home voicemail. Bingo.
The message, left at 8:50 p.m., tells of her rescue by the SWAT team and explains she is being debriefed, and will be released shortly.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m OK.”
I relay the message to the family. And, while this is a relief, Laura and Betsy say they won’t rest easy until they can see and hold their mother.
I track down a security guard and the university staffer in charge at the auditorium and say we have heard from Susan. She is being debriefed and would be released soon.
“How do we get to the library?” I ask.
9:15 p.m.
Kelvin Smith Library
After being ushered by security out the back door of the auditorium — away from the television cameras — and into a waiting campus bus, the family arrives at the library. We are met by more security, who lead us past more news crews and into the library.
We are among the first families to reach the reunion point. We settle into a large, U-shaped couch for what will be the longest wait of the evening.
Before long, CWRU President Edward Hundert sits down with us. Hundert, dressed in a dark suit and tie, wears the look of a man under heavy burden. His eyes look tired, his face weary and his shoulders slumped. Despite this, his voice is strong as he asks each of us our names and the names of our family members held hostage.
Hundert offers his support and assistance and lets us know the university staff is at our beck and call.
“Just let us know what you need,” he says. “We’ll have you and your family members back together as soon as we can.”
10 p.m.
Kelvin Smith Library
University staff members circulate, asking if we needed anything. They provide updates as to the whereabouts of our rescued family members and bring armsful of food, drinks and snacks. The library has slowly filled with people shuttled from Strosaker to await their loved ones.
Mohsen Anvari, dean of the Weatherhead School of Management, enters the library. He is dressed in a T-shirt, blue jeans and a ball cap. Anvari was on a flight to Baltimore when the shooting began, and quickly caught a return flight to be with his staff members and students.
He walks around the library, talking to the worried families and counseling people who are anxiously awaiting word of their loved ones’ release.
11 p.m.
Kelvin Smith Library
The first five women are ushered by security past the media and through the library’s front door. Susan Altshuler, Betsey Merkel and Molly Schnoke are among them.
Bob Altshuler, who suffers from diabetes and uses a cane, fairly runs across the room to meet his wife and embrace her. Daughter Betsy is next to reach her, followed by Laura, Chris and me. We form one large group hug as tears of joy and relief stream from our eyes.
All around, the scene is the same — families holding on to their rescued loved ones as if they will never let them go again. Surrounding these groups are university staffers, counselors, clergy and groups of security guards.
The ordeal is over.
