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Vigil of prayer and passion
People on both sides of the Terri Schiavo issue congregate outside her hospice, driven to be somehow involved.
By KELLEY BENHAM
Published March 19, 2005
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[Times photo: Kathleen Flynn]
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Process server Charlotte A. Keplinger delivers a U.S. House subpoena to Michael Schiavo's attorney, George Felos, on Friday. Earlier, she had attempted to serve Judge George Greer.
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[Times photo: Lara Cerri]
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Terry Schlosser of Fort Myers brought her daughter, Sarah Hall, 22, to the vigil outside Hospice Woodside on Friday. She said Hall is in a persistent vegetative state, the same as Terri Schiavo.
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[Times photo: Cherie Diez]
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Robin Shannon, 23, center, and Rebekah Richardson, 17, pray Friday with other members of The Cause USA, in front of Hospice Woodside as the deadline for removing Terri Schiavo's feeding tube drew near.
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PINELLAS PARK - By the time the cameras came on at 9 a.m., the mood outside Hospice Woodside was relaxed, upbeat. Terri Schiavo had been subpoenaed to Washington, D.C., and the prevailing belief was that she would get to show Congress how alive she is, and along the way maybe see the sun.
About three dozen people prayed for Michael Schiavo to have a change of heart and for his attorney George Felos to find Jesus right now.
They knew it wasn't over. The Rev. Patrick Mahoney, director of the Washington-based Christian Defense Coalition, read Scripture and said, "Today, we are on another roller coaster ride."
A little ways away sat Dominique Hanks, 55, in a decorated wheelchair, her bare feet swollen and brown. She has been here every day whether anyone else came or not. In the sun. In the rain. She doesn't chant or sing. She just shows up.
A former nurse, she says starvation is cruel. She has been doing this for most of two years. "I thought she was safe," she said. "Then when it started heating up again, I had to come back."
Pinellas Park police blocked each entrance to the hospice. One officer called his dad in Delaware to tell him to turn on the news. Look where I am.
Bob Schindler, Terri Schiavo's dad, hugged some people in the crowd as he made his way inside to see his daughter. A Tampa woman, Suzanne Davis, gave him some drawings her daughters had made. In one of them, Terri Schiavo sits up and waves.
Randall Terry, the Operation Rescue founder and a spokesman for the Schindler family, was so relaxed he discussed the merits of the latest Ray Charles CD and wondered where he could buy a TV in this town.
Guys in Steak 'n Shake hats, who do not work at Steak 'n Shake and never have, wandered around absorbing the scene. "When is the action going to start?" said Matthew Broyles, 19.
It took a while. The crowd swelled past 100, then past 200. People prayed in heels and fishnets, with oxygen tubes in their noses, holding crucifixes of all sizes.
Terry Schlosser from Fort Myers wanted people to see her daughter, Sarah Hall, who is in a persistent vegetative state "just like Terri." She showed people the feeding tube. Sarah, 22, napped through it all, softly snoring.
James "Bo" Gritz, 66, marched in, trailed by flag bearers. He had come all the way from southern Nevada and made a speech about how killing Terri Schiavo would be un-American. Then he served the police officers with a "citizens arrest warrant" for Judge George Greer.
"It's in your hands now," Gritz said, with some flair.
Police Lt. Kevin Riley just shook his hand and said thank you. The officers let the Dominos pizza man into the hospice at 12:45 p.m.
One o'clock came and went. Randall Terry announced that the feeding tube would not come out today. At least, not right at 1 p.m. Conflicting orders from Congress and the courts had created a delay. Terry said that Judge Greer was about to "eat a big fat piece of humble pie. And I hope it tastes good."
Sheila Swasey of Fort Myers quietly spoon-fed her son, Brad, who is 24 and has cerebral palsy. He can't walk or talk. He dribbled macaroni on his shirt.
"I heard there was a stay, then I heard Terri Schiavo was going to Washington, D.C.," Swasey said, not sure what to believe. She brought Brad to show that all life was precious. She was feeding him because, well, he was hungry. It wasn't meant to be symbolic. Just seemed that way.
"I'm shaking like a leaf," Swasey said, "thinking Terri's in there with no food."
But no one really knew whether the feeding tube was in or out.
And then, inside a web of TV camera tripods and orange netting, Randall Terry's aides rushed him from all sides and one of them said: "The order's back on."
"I want to see it," Terry said, sounding alarmed. "Well, now it's time to call on the U.S. House of Representatives, isn't it?"
Then Terry began to mumble about the state House of Representatives and whatever he said ended with: "Are they morons?"
It took a long time for word to penetrate the circles of hymns and Hail Marys.
In the middle of the knot of cameras, the Rev. Rob Schenck, president of the National Clergy Council, began to pray for mercy and justice. He was so surrounded by media that not everyone noticed and hardly anyone heard.
"We are a wicked nation," he said, "The ungodly sit on the thrones."
Schenck prayed until he was flat on his belly, and Randall Terry kneeled with his face almost to the ground. "This is a deep shame of our nation," Schenck said. The Steak 'n Shake guys decided to head home. They'd gotten into to the spirit of things and Broyles even made his own sign: "Life is full of choices. Dying is one of them."
They had heard the crowd might storm the building, and they wanted to watch, but they had jobs.
A life-sized Jesus on a cross arrived, momentarily attracting TV cameras.
People were griping into their cell phones, "I have no information!" while a woman walking very fast was reporting the rumor that Terri Schiavo, asked if she wanted to live, had answered something like, "I waaaaa..."
"Was it a telepathic message?" one woman shouted.
Around 3 p.m., the Rev. Mahoney got back on the bullhorn and said he had heard from somebody who had an e-mail from the hospice saying the tube was out.
Everyone bowed their heads. "Hail Mary full of grace..."
People started organizing vans to Tallahassee, and cars to Judge Greer's house.
Pat Ellis of St. Petersburg quickly made a new sign, "Terri's wishes honored at last."
Nothing was official, no one could confirm anything. But Ellis had overheard one of the Ch. 8 guys saying he had heard something from Michael Schiavo's attorney, George Felos, so she believed it.
Dominique Hanks, in her wheelchair, believed it, too.
"I was hoping somebody had enough honesty, integrity, justice and mercy to interfere," she said. A trip to Tallahassee is too much for her, she said.
She'll be back back today. She doesn't know what else to do.
So she'll come the day after that. And the day after that.
[Last modified March 19, 2005, 01:02:12]
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