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'I want the
world to see him,'' Yong Jones thought as she pinned the
red, white and blue badge over her son's heart.
On a
chilly spring evening, the local Bangor Boy Scouts
troop gathered to honor Yong's son, Laurence Alton Jones Jr. Junior had
earned his Eagle Scout badge, the highest rank in scouting. Yong had
watched her son work toward that goal for nearly five years. He had built
steps leading down to a popular Bangor riverfront park and had hammered
together picnic tables for the elderly. He'd honed his camping, swimming
and leadership skills.
''That's our son,'' Laurence Jones Sr. whispered to his
wife as Junior stood on stage in his pressed khaki uniform,
his new Eagle Scout badge hanging from his shirt pocket.
It was March 25, 1987, and their blond boy was 16. From
the moment they had first cradled him in the delivery room,
Yong and Larry had begun dreaming of the wonderful life they
would give this child. They wanted him to be thankful for his
family and his comfortable home.
But they also hoped to nurture his soul and teach him
the importance of helping others who did not share his
good fortune.
Yong tried to set a good example. She used
her law degree to help other Koreans who got into
trouble after coming to the United States. She volunteered
to translate for them and often helped new immigrants
settle into their homes and find work.
''Helping others is good, Junior,''
Yong told her son.
At the age of 5, Junior already
seemed to understand his mother's advice. He came
home one day from kindergarten, his white shirt bloody.
When Yong asked him what happened, he explained that
a little girl had fallen and skinned her knee. He took
his shirt off to wipe the blood away.
Though he was a
sensitive child like his mother, Junior also pleased
his dad with his athletic ability. Not long after he learned his ABCs,
he was playing hockey and baseball, excelling
in both sports. Above: Laurence Jones Jr. chose lyrics from
a song by the rock band Van Halen to appear with
his yearbook photo at Bangor High School - "...And someone said fair warning Lord will
strike that poor boy down..." The quotation would prove to be
prophetic.
He also did well in school, and with
his mother's encouragement he learned
to play the violin.
''He is everything
a parent could wish for,'' Yong thought.
Junior's achievements did not go
unrewarded. Yong and her husband
doted on their only child. They bought
him a dirt bike when he was a teen-ager, a motorcycle
after he got his driver's license.
They gave him money for gas, pizza, clothes and whatever
else he asked for.
On his 18th birthday they presented
him a special gift: a 24-karat
gold ring with a fire opal stone that shone in the sunlight
like the colors of the rainbow. Yong and Larry had had
the ring made in Korea when Junior was a toddler.
Larry Jr. wore the ring
on his left hand, and rarely took it off.
He was proud of it, and saw the ring as a
link to his mother's Korean heritage.
He planned to pass the ring on to his own son someday.
Now
out of high school, Junior was eager to move away
from home and begin college. In August 1987, his mother
and father drove him to Orono, where he enrolled as a
freshman at the University of Maine.
''Please be careful, Junior,'' his
mother cautioned.
''Oh, Mom,'' he groaned.
''Junior, until I die you'll
always be my little baby.''
While
his mother fretted about her only child heading off
to college, young Larry quickly made new friends and
reveled in his newfound independence.
He was known around
campus for his raucous laugh and his
adventurous nature. Like many freshmen,
he liked to party and stay out
late drinking beer in local bars.
He joined
the Delta Upsilon fraternity and quickly became
one of its more popular members.
He was athletic, bright and handsome.
His easygoing personality drew
people to him.
He seemed perpetually optimistic
and sure of himself.
He never doubted that he could succeed
in whatever came his
way.
Initially a computer
science major, Larry quickly
realized his passion was people, not machines.
He eventually switched his major
to psychology.
During his last summer at
school, he landed a research job
at a Syracuse, N.Y., university. Laurie
Walter, another University
of Maine psychology student, worked
with him. Together, they
evaluated senior citizens with high blood
pressure to see if they
suffered memory loss or bouts of muddled
thinking.
When they weren't
working, Larry and Laurie explored Syracuse.
At first, Laurie was reluctant
to go out.
Six years earlier, she had been
raped, and the assault
had left her frightened and withdrawn.
Larry refused to allow
her to remain a victim. He dragged her
to restaurants, pizza
joints, bars and festivals.
''C'mon, we're going
out,'' he'd tell her. ''Don't
worry. I'll be with you and I'll make sure
nothing happens to you. Promise.''
While
Laurie was overly cautious, Larry was fearless. He
roamed Syracuse and strange neighborhoods
at all hours of the night.
''Larry,
you should be more careful,'' Laurie told him, knowing
that bad things did happen to people. Two of her friends
had been murdered in the past couple of years.
''There are a lot of crazy people
out there.''
''Oh, Laurie,'' he'd say, shrugging
off her concern. Nothing
could hurt Larry Jones.
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