[00:00:10] Speaker A: You're listening to the Weighing In podcast, the show that brings you inside the Daily Gazette's featured news column.
Um and now, here's your host, writer of the weigh in in column, andrew, wait.
[00:00:37] Speaker B: Five years ago, on October 620, 1817, friends and family members, all them in their twenty s and thirty s, climbed aboard a pretty ragged looking, stretched limo to celebrate a 30th birthday party. They were young parents and newlyweds. They were brothers and sisters. Some of them loved dodgeball. Some of them loved soccer. They were nurses and teachers, state workers, sales reps. Tragically, we know what happened that afternoon. We know that the brakes of the limo failed in Scahari County, killing all 17 passengers, the driver, and two pedestrians. And we know that in the trial of the limo company's operator Naoman Hussein, we know that it was a twisting and turning ordeal that ultimately ended in a conviction of manslaughter and a sentence of five to 15 years in state prison. But as the anniversary of the crash approached, I really wanted to focus on the loved ones who are left and hear from them about how they've gone on after just such a horrendous incident. They all call themselves the Limo families. So over the summer, I met Tom and Linda King, who are arguably the family at the center of the crash. The birthday party was for Amy, their youngest daughter, and on that limo were all of the King's daughters. So this is a family that lost seven children, if you think about it, their four daughters as well as their three sons in law. It's just unimaginable loss. It also left three of the King's grandchildren as orphans. And as I talked with the Kings in their home in the town of Amsterdam, they live near the high school. They've lived there for years. They raised the girls there. They kept coming back to the grandkids and the importance of being there for them. And those kids were just four, three and 16 months when the crash occurred. And the Kings told me that they're not shy about discussing their daughters and sons in law with the grandkids. They've still got pictures, tons of them, on the walls of their home. And they just really want their grandkids to know who their parents were. And I guess I was struck by how beautiful, how heroic that is.
So as I was developing a piece to mark the five year anniversary, it just became really clear to me that this idea of being there for the next generation and that being more important than anything, should be the focus. So here's the piece that I wrote.
[00:03:10] Speaker A: You're listening to the weighin in podcast with columnist Andrew Wake.
[00:03:28] Speaker B: 2018 was a typical soccer Saturday, and Tom and Linda King showed up to the field. Like always, the Amsterdam couple watched their four year old granddaughter buzz about with her teammates as their oldest daughter, Abigail, coached the team. Like dad used to. Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Tom and Linda also helped chase after their 16 month old granddaughter, who wanted to kick the ball just like her big sister. It was a sparkling early fall morning, the trees above the grass bursting with color, and though the day started with routine, it promised to be memorable. The entire King family was set to be together that evening, meeting for dinner with cousins and friends at a to be determined restaurant in Amsterdam to celebrate Amy, the youngest of the five grandchildren, leaving her 20s behind. But first, all four King daughters abigail Jackson, 35, Mary Dyson, 33, Allison King, 31, and Amy Steenberg, 29, along with their husbands and friends, had planned for an afternoon excursion to Brewery Omagang in Cooperstown. Of course, we know the tragedy and heartbreak that ensued. The limo's brakes failed on a steep hill in Skahari County, killing all 17 birthday partygoers, all in their twenty s and thirty s, as well as the driver and two bystanders in the Apple Barrel Country Store parking lot, where the white stretched forward excursion hit a parked SUV and careened into a ditch.
As news of the crash trickled into the Kings that afternoon, and then crystallized with the sharp and chilling words of no survivors, linda put on a brave face for a third grandchild, then just three, who rolled trucks and played with trains, oblivious to what had happened to his parents, Mary and Robert. In one crash, the Kings lost an entire generation of women. In one crash, three King grandchildren were suddenly orphaned. If the crash never happened, Linda King, now 75, believes she'd have at least five more grandkids by now. Mary and Robert talked of having a second child. Allie wanted to be a parent. So, too, did Amy and Axel Steenberg, who'd been married just months earlier, on a June day so hot that Amy had to run through a sprinkler in her wedding dress. Amy and Axel already had a crib in their basement, though the pieces weren't yet assembled. I'd have been babysitting them all like I did the other ones, said Linda, who had an eclectic working life that ranged from being a state accounting aide to a stay at home mom.
I talked to her this summer. It was about a month after the conclusion of the trial of Nauman Hussein, the 33 year old limo company operator convicted of 20 counts of second degree manslaughter and sentenced to serve between five and 15 years in state prison. Five years on from the deadly crash that robbed the Kings of all four of their daughters. The hardest part may be the ways in which it put their lives on hold. The thing this tragedy really did was interrupt our life, and it's probably never going to wear out, Tom, 77, told me at his kitchen table, the same one the kids used to crowd around with friends after school. Sometimes Linda would look over and find new kids she'd never before seen sitting in her chair. She'd kick them out of the seat, but she'd always feed them. We wish it could all be back, but that's not going to happen, Tom said.
And yet, even if the crash ground to a halt, so much of the king's lives, they hardly remain stuck. They don't wallow in their grief. Instead, they relish the memories. The walls of their ranch home near Amsterdam High School are still full of photos. In the pictures, the four king daughters swing softball bats and juggle soccer balls. They hug their husbands and stand in front of pumpkins at Halloween. The memories are cherished, really, all that time we had with them, said Tom, a no nonsense U. S. Marines vet who lost his left foot in the jungles of Vietnam. We have a boatload of memories, and we have the next generation of kids that we want to help out. They think daily of their daughters. Abigail was the constant teacher. As a girl, she used to ask Santa for red pens. Mary, an army vet, was the tough one. Allie was the free spirit and most naturally intelligent, bringing logic to every family argument. And Amy was the adventurous caretaker, as comfortable reeling in a giant marlin in Hawaii as she was sitting with her new husband on the front porch, watching deer scamper past. The Kings regularly share memories of their four girls and three sons in law with their orphaned grandchildren, whom the Kings watch several times a week. The kids live with the grandparents of the king's sons in law.
We refer to their parents quite often when they're here, Tom said. They know what their parents look like. They know that they were here at one time. We talk about them a lot.
But if the king home is full of memories, it's not a shrine frozen in time. The bedroom once shared by Allie and Amy is now a playroom for the grandkids. The bunk beds, trophies and posters of heartthrobs are gone, replaced by artwork, dolls and a toy kitchen. Similar transformations have taken place throughout the house and in several gardens and raised beds. Outside, fresh vegetables continue to grow. For the past five years, Tom and Linda have mourned the loss of the same four women, but they've done so in their own ways. For instance, while Linda went to Nauman Hussein's trial in search of justice every single day, tom didn't go once.
There's nothing I can do to bring the girls back, Tom said. It's final for me. It's just done. I don't care if they send Hussein to Siberia or what the hell they do with him. It's just done. It wasn't going to make a difference to me what they did or didn't do. Tom wasn't totally alone in avoiding the trial taking place more than four years after the deadly crash. Hussein's May criminal proceedings weren't the national spectacle some expected. By contrast, in the weeks after the limo crash, members of the media were camped outside the King's house, and the faces of the King's children appeared on national broadcasts. This week, our region saw a similar national frenzy following the disappearance of a nine year old girl in Saratoga County. As I was putting together early drafts of this column, I couldn't help but think, here we go again. Another local family burialing toward devastating loss. Thankfully, mercifully, this week's case had a surprisingly happy ending. Police found the nine year old unharmed. The Kings were not as fortunate. We've lived around it for many years. We've taken our lives and did the best we can with what we have, Tom said. Despite such unimaginable anguish, the Kings still discover happy moments, especially when watching their grandkids. Though small in stature, their grandson is particularly athletic, with skilled hand eye coordination helping him excel on the court. And diamond, when his face lights up after a maid basket or a base hit, tom and Linda instantly see their daughter Mary's smile. You've got to live for the ones who are alive now, Tom said. You have to live for the ones who remain. That beaming young man just starting to come into his own. Was the same boy playing with trucks the day of the crash, the same little kid Linda had to be brave for, while first absorbing the worst news anyone can receive. Sometimes in the face of immense sadness, when the weight of the world seems stacked against you, that's when the children get found.
Thanks for listening. I'm andrew, waite. You can email me at await
[email protected] or call me at 518-417-9338. Take care.
[00:11:29] Speaker A: You're listening to the Weighing In podcast with columnist Andrew Wait.
