To My Hometown of Shelbyville, Kentucky: 

For years I dreaded coming back to you.  You branded me with a Scarlet Letter when I was only 17 years-old. I can still see your stares, hear your whispers and feel the whipping winds of your rumors swirling.  For years after I moved away, I felt a palpable tension anytime I returned, and would often avoid going out in public.  When I did walk your streets, I carried a heavy shame that didn’t belong to me.  And despite it all, I see you, Gentlemen, every Sunday on your knees praying to the Lord.  But do you ever pray about the young girl whose life you almost destroyed in 2001?   

I think the most striking detail of my Me-Too story is that I don’t need to name the perpetrator.  If you went to–or were connected with–Shelby County High School in 2001, there’s little doubt in my mind that you know who this story is about. Everybody knew. That detail alone filled me with dread for years. Today, it fills me with deep sadness, knowing that nothing was done. And yet, this detail has also filled me with conviction and strength, as it reveals that what happened to me was empirically wrong.

A couple of years ago, my sister and I were cleaning out some old boxes in our childhood home when I came across box containing a blue folder and several items that I immediately recognized. My mother, a nursing home administrator, had been trained to keep diligent operational notes for her nursing home, a trait that, in 2001, she applied to all of the interactions related to the traumatic last three months of my high school experience.

I was only 16 when it began. I was a high achiever with a tumultuous family life, the perfect combination to compel me to dig deeper into my academics and activities at school.  It was through my heavy involvement in school clubs and organizations that I first became acquainted with him. 

The over-the-top attention from this high school staff member started my Sophomore year.  At the time, I was flattered that someone so important and powerful thought I was special.  For almost two years, he showered me with attention, praise, phone calls to my home and gifts. During Summer break between my Junior and Senior years, he invited me to a celebratory lunch in honor of my being selected as a Kentucky Governor’s Scholar. I was told to meet him in the high school parking lot, where I expected to reconnect with the other Governor’s Scholars from my school. Instead, I found only him waiting in the parking lot, and I was whisked 30-minutes away in his car–alone–to the next town over for a private lunch where he gave me a Britney Spears CD and a motivational card.  At other times, he played guitar for me and offered to teach me lessons during after-school hours, and he sang a song to me once he had written called “She’s Out of Reach.” Imagine the euphoria a 16-year-old experiences from attention like this. Yes, I was flattered. You would be too. As often is the case, the lines were blurry.  There was never an overt sexual advance, so this is logically where most Me-Too stories would end. Not this one.

Not surprisingly, because the attention was excessive, inappropriate and unnecessary, rumors began. The whispers, speculation and comments about the attention started by the end of my Sophomore year, and by the time I was a Senior, the rumor had spiraled out of control.  By February of my Senior year, the speculation was that we were having an affair. This was not true. The rumor was fueled not only by my classmates, but also by the teachers.  Despite the rampant speculation about the nature of our relationship, not once did an adult pull me aside and ask if I was okay. Not once did an adult ask me if the rumors were true. Why not? What was the culture at the school at that time that would have prevented that from happening? What was the culture of our town?  

Instead, I was treated like a perpetrator, like a fast-girl, like a harlot. Instead, I was rejected and mocked by the adults I should have been able to trust. Many of you reading this were those adults.  You treated me as though I asked for it, as though I deserved it. A subject matter that should have been addressed by the school staff and community with great sensitivity was instead turned into gossip fodder for your entertainment. Our detailed record contains names of both students and teachers who confirmed that the rumor was spreading among the staff, as well as being discussed by teachers with other students at school. That fact is further corroborated by a printed record of a 2001 AIM chat with a classmate who stated that she heard the rumor from a teacher.  

Once the rumor reached my classmates, the harassment became extreme. On Tuesday, May 8th, 2001, the bullying hit a fever pitch and my parents were called to come to the school. I had been verbally attacked by a student in the hallway, who told me he had heard the rumors from three other teachers. I was hysterical. My mother and father met with two staff members at that time, and nothing was done. No official inquiries were made into the situation. To my knowledge, no reports were filed. I was not offered any emotional support. Instead, I was treated as a problem to silence. I was told to simply ignore it and was sent back to fend for myself. On May 11th, we filed a report with the Shelby County Police Department about repeated sexual phone harassment to our home phone.

When we hit a wall with the school staff after multiple attempts to address the situation, my parents decided to take the matter to upper-level administration.  We were met there by a man–a devout Christian who is currently a pillar of our community–with mockery and disregard as well, and we were refused an opportunity to file a written report, even though we requested to do so multiple times. In fact, he laughed in our faces and challenged us to sue him. I have been told, but cannot confirm, that this man had a generational family-connection to the staff member in question.

We have since confirmed that it was a major breach of policy to prevent us from filing our report in writing. Not a single question was asked of me during our meeting as to the actual nature of the student/faculty relationship. Was this not of concern? If not, why not? When I tried to share my story, there was no interest in hearing it and I was immediately shut down. I begged to have the issue openly addressed at school, because my reputation was being destroyed and I was experiencing such extreme harassment. This request was denied and I was again told to just ignore it, despite that fact that the he had allowed the authority figure in question a leave of absence.  I felt defenseless and voiceless.  When we asked what other resources might be available to us, we were taunted and mocked. I was treated as a problem to silence, not as a child whose wellbeing was at stake.  We took detailed notes of our meetings, and as I read through them today, I feel deep sadness for the girl who felt so alone.

My parents wanted to take the matter farther up the ranks, but I couldn’t wait to get away from you, Shelbyville. It was my Senior year, a time that should have been exciting for me. I should have felt support from my community, my hometown, the place I had been so proud to be from, the place I had imagined growing old.  But when I needed you most, you failed me. You abandoned me and mocked me, you blamed me and villainized me. Did you realize how young I was?  Did you know how much damage you were doing?  Do you still think about it today?  Because I do.

Although I have picked up the pieces and made a wonderful life for myself, the pain and lasting impact that this experience had on my life is not lost on me. After years of therapy and reflection, I came to fully understand that I was a victim, despite being treated like the perpetrator by my community and school. I realized how inappropriate the attention was by the high school staff member. I began to understand that his actions over the span of two years put me in an impossible position. Actions that, at the time, made me feel special now horrify me when I consider them from the perspective of a 36-year-old woman. He crossed the line and created the nightmare I lived. He was the adult in this situation, and I was the child. When push came to shove, I was blamed and discarded and he was protected, so much so that there is no mention of this situation in his record. The two individuals mentioned in my story have gone on to enjoy very successful careers in Kentucky education, in extraordinarily influential positions that they still hold today. What they did was wrong. It was a cover up. I am finally strong enough and clear enough to say it.  Shame on you, you know who you are. 

This letter is a critical step in my long process toward healing.  I read once that it often takes victims of abuse the same number of years as the age they were victimized to fully come to terms with what happened.  Some never do.  It’s not lost on me that last May marked 18 years ago that I graduated high school.

Throughout the years, I have been advised by legal experts that I could sue for this breach of responsibility to protect a student. They have cited the numerous eyewitnesses and the extensive documentation and evidence that we kept. But a drawn-out legal battle, followed by a financial payout, is not healing for me. Embodying the strength and integrity to tell my story as a means of helping others to use their voices is the example I want to set for other victims, for my child, and for myself.  

This is the opportunity I never had then to use my voice, to set the record straight, and to stand up to ruinous powers of influence. I’m thankful that our times are more enlightened now, and that the wave of women and men who have so bravely shared their stories before me have paved the way for me to finally speak my truth today.  This has become evident by numerous letters and phone calls I have received from fellow classmates and faculty in recent years–people who were present during this time and who now possess the insight to recognize the failures of our community and school system in its response. Separately, I want to honor and thank the very few people who stood with me through that storm and continue to stand with me today.  

It’s natural for Me Too stories to focus on an obvious perpetrator. It falls into the basic story of hero and villain archetypes that we’re most comfortable with. We’re able to assign the role of villain to someone who obviously merits it, and that provides its own sense of relief and accountability. My experience showed me otherwise. Mine was a story where countless adults, including school faculty, jumped enthusiastically into the wrong side of this equation, at the expense of a child they were tasked to protect. And to blame only those who created the circumstances would exonerate the men and women who fell silent because they had something to lose if they spoke up. It would exonerate the gossips who used my story as a temporary escape from their own boredom and sadness. And it would exonerate an entire community of people who never coalesced to help an innocent victim at a time she needed it. 

And so I ask that you read this not only from a renewed and enlightened perspective, but I also ask that you read this from a place of self-reflection. What could you have done differently knowing what you know now?  My perpetrators will know who they are, and they will have to wrestle with their own internal consequences. But my story highlights the collective responsibility we all share to look out for one another -- especially our children. Fairness and justice sometimes requires more than the courts or an administrator. Sometimes, it requires bold voices coming forward, even when it’s tough. Let my situation be a reminder to join the chorus of strong voices protecting integrity, no matter the cost.  Let my story remind you of the true power of community, and our inherent duty to use it for good.

Laura Wills-Coppelman