February 1996- if anyone has a different memory of this...let me know...
February of 1996 was memorable to me in so many ways. None of them, at the moment, are more notable than two days that would live with me forever. I was working at Tuned-In Broadcasting in Nashville, Tennessee. At the time, it wasn’t a very glorious job in broadcasting. I had had a few air shifts, produced some hockey games, written and voiced a few commercials, but my main duties were manning the front desk, answering phone calls, and keeping track of the comings and goings of the staff (okay, that last one was probably not a job requirement, but a mental lesson in organization for me).
This particular day was a Wednesday—February 7th. Most of the Tuned-In staff was in Atlanta at the Gavin Convention. A few of the staff remained behind to keep us on the air. In-house that day were members of Bone Magazine, a publication that was part of the Tuned-In Properties owned by Lester Turner, who at the time was the owner of a series of semi dealerships across Tennessee—Kenworth of Tennessee. Other staff that were around included Turner himself, GM Ned Horton, Executive Assistant Kimberly Morrisey, and Rusty Miller (DJ). Others that were there remain sketchy to me, but throughout the day, I would see one or more of them for a conversation. There was also the Sales Staff that were atop the L&C Towers on Church St. They were perched on the 31st floor, helmed by Carl Brenner.
It was early afternoon, if memory serves me, when the elevator doors opened and several individuals piled out of the 6x6 car. They were seeking access to the observation deck, which was open at the time per our discretion. One of the visitors was a young girl who had an ear-to-ear smile and a desire to see the Nashville skyscape, which was not yet cluttered with numerous buildings that would eventually dwarf the L&C. I showed them through the sliding glass doors at the apex of the L (you see, the building was shaped like an “L,” and the balcony was on four of the six sides overlooking Broadway and the Cumberland River). An item of note, to be added later in the story, was the large green letters that were part of an old sign and were being used as decoration on the deck. I remember the other two individuals who accompanied me were Asian.
We generally did not accompany individuals past the outside of the doors, and as I was manning the phones, I went back to my job. Several minutes later—could have been half an hour—they returned, thanked me, and disappeared behind the elevator doors.
The following day, February 8th, at about 11 a.m., I was at my desk when the elevator door opened again and a familiar face emerged, but this time with no smile. A green hoodie covered her head, and she desired to go back to once again see the sights of Nashville. She went out on her own. Several minutes later, Kimberly Morrissey came to the desk and suggested I go to lunch… so away I went.
Now, this is where the events begin to be slightly unclear, but here is my recollection. Due to some of the air staff and management being in Atlanta, I went from my lunch break to the WRLG studio. (WRLG was a modern rock format that aired music from artists like Third Eye Blind, Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers). Several songs into the hour, Kimberly came into the studio and told me that she had just gotten a phone call from the bank building adjacent to the L&C and that she needed me to go out on the deck and check on what she was told was a woman who looked like she was going to jump. I had no idea what I was preparing to see when I went out there. It had been two hours since the young woman had gone out on the observation deck, and I had no reason to believe that it was the same woman. My recollection is that I left the WRLG studio and was replaced by The Reverend Keith Coes.
Now, there are three access points to the deck—one outside the WRLT studios, which was on the opposite side of the bank building that had purportedly called in the situation. The other I mentioned before, and the third was from the offices of Bone Magazine. While Bone had windows along two sides of the building, they were always closed, and full-length curtains blocked the sunlight. So, I made my way out of the center of the building. There were three turns that had to be made before reaching the side of the building where the young woman was. After the second turn, I walked past the shuttered doors of Bone Magazine and instantly saw her.
Her name was Morningstar Greene. She was a recently divorced 20-year-old woman who had been married to a 46-year-old man and was living in a communal-type facility in Tompkinsville, Kentucky. Unbeknownst to me, the young lady was suffering from depression and, as I would later learn, was the victim of abuse. She had been saved from jumping off what is now known as the John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge in downtown Nashville on two different occasions. But today, there would be no talking her down.
I was within five feet of the young woman, who was already perched on the outside of the observation wall and sitting on the metal rail above the concrete. She recognized that I was there, turning her head toward me and staring me straight in the eye. In less than a second, her gaze still upon me, she stood up on the concrete wall and stepped off. I am not sure if I screamed aloud or whether it rattled around in my brain—"NO!"
I quickly ran to the edge to see if I could reach her, but her descent had already begun. The picture is still alive in my head, even to this day, 29 years later. The woman in the green hoodie, her arms straight out to her sides like the Vitruvian Man sketched by Leonardo da Vinci, began to rotate her arms as if trying to keep upright. I could not avert my eyes—I was frozen, not only physically but also in time. In seconds, it was all over. Morningstar Greene hit the first-story protrusion of the L&C Tower after falling 30 floors. I stared for a brief second at the lifeless speck on the ground before the shaking began, followed by sobs and uncontrollable tears. I don’t remember who came to my side first to console me, but at first, they were unaware of what had transpired.
“What’s wrong?”
“She jumped… she jumped” is all I remember saying. As I was escorted back into the building, I looked down on the deck and saw the large green sign letters that could be plainly seen from the elevator lobby—"LEAP" is what they read. I pointed to them and said, "It spells LEAP!"—still shaking and sobbing. It was ironic, but not malicious, nor did anyone ever believe that it would be the sign that one person needed to confirm their destiny. The letters were quickly rearranged by several members of the station, knowing that the publicity would be detrimental to the station.
I was brought to Ned Horton’s office, and shortly after, he and owner Lester Turner were there to support me and discern the course of events. Within about what I perceived as 15 minutes, the Nashville/Davidson police were in the office asking me questions about the situation and how it unfolded. The aforementioned story is what I told the officers. And now that I am remembering, I believe they called the pastor of the church I was attending, and he came and visited with me. The police said that she had a crushed Walkman with a Green Day tape in it—Insomniac. When they shared that with me, I remembered her whisking past me, hearing the song “Brain Stew” blaring from her headphones.
Several minutes would pass before I slowly calmed down, yet all that I could hear in my head was, What could I have done to save this young woman? Was there anything?
The days that followed were equally as stressful as Morningstar’s family came to the L&C Tower to see where she was when the incident happened. Of course, they wanted to visit the last place she was before her death, but being on the observation deck would not be allowed. I was at the desk when they arrived, and her mother introduced herself to me, as well as a brother and sister. I learned from them of the troubles that she had been having, and they were quick to reassure me that they knew it was not my fault, nor did they hold any animosity toward me. I also learned about her living in a commune and the tumultuous relationship with her elder husband.
It was a tough day, and the trauma was not quite over. On Monday, I returned to work, and after parking my car, I walked to the building and looked at the place where Morningstar would come to rest. All clean, as if nothing ever happened. But then I walked past the Kinko’s that occupied the first floor, and I was quickly triggered again when I saw pieces of the young woman still on the outside of the window—small, but noticeably human flesh. I went inside, took the elevator up to the building offices, and told them they needed to wash the windows.
Now, the last thing of note was several months later when the musician Junior Brown’s video crew was at the building and was allowed to film on the observation deck for a music video—a video that would eventually depict a woman falling to her death from the exact spot where Morningstar had leapt to her death. And in case you don’t believe me… you can see the video yourself: Venom Wearing Denim. In poor taste, to say the least, considering what had happened.
Now, as a side note: when I mention the trauma continuing, I have to say that it was more indignation on my part. I have never had any wild or crazy dreams or sudden outbursts from having witnessed this and have even used humor at times to brush off any of the effects of the events of those two days in February—1996!
