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vast flatlands of the Great Plains; to the west, the Continental Divide, dividing the country’s two primary watersheds. Along the Divide, the Indian Peaks rise 13,000 feet above sea level. Off in the distance to the southeast, you can just make out a few of Denver’s skyscrapers, where many Boulderites work five days a week. The rest are content with the pace of life in Boulder.
    From the top of Flagstaff Mountain, you can see the tidy neighborhoods laid out in neat grids and, in the heart of town, the Pearl Street Mall, home to the Hotel Boulderado, shops with turn-of-the-century facades, and over a hundred restaurants. Parallel to the mall is Canyon Boulevard, once called Water Street because of the flooding that can occur when adjacent Boulder Creek explodes out of the foothills with springtime snowmelt. To the east lies thesprawling campus of the University of Colorado, easily distinguished by its many red sandstone roofs.
     
    In Boulder, it’s as if people are so intensely pursuing their own interests that they develop a kind of disregard for the general welfare. But the word community itself implies care for the general welfare.
    I was the principal of High Peaks and Martin Park Elementary School, which shared a common property. In June 1996, I wanted to have the city build another speed bump on the west side of the schools. With the addition of High Peaks Elementary in the same building and the sudden influx of more cars, I was concerned about the kids who walked to school in this quiet neighborhood.
    At a city council hearing in September or October of 1996, I was surprised at the number of people who protested. They said it would interfere with their bike riding. And yet a hundred yards from the school is a beautifully designed multimillion-dollar bike path running north and south along the creek. So it’s not that the needs of bike riders have been ignored, just that bike riders were saying, “We don’t like to slow down for speed bumps.” But what about the children’s safety? There was a real reluctance to address those needs.
    That’s what I have found missing in Boulder—a commitment to the general welfare that goes beyond “me” and “my own small world.”
    The day after JonBenét’s body was found, I talked with some parents and realized how isolated they felt. All of them had either read about it in the morning paper or heard the news on TV, but there was no adequate way for them to share the loss with other parents who had a connection to this child. Throughout so much of history, whenever something bad happened,someone would knock on your door with the news and then come in and stay with you. But in talking to these parents, I felt the lack of natural community in Boulder. I decided I would open up the school so that parents, with or without their children, could gather with other families. It would be a place to talk and share their confusion and fears.
    Then that morning I met with a group of therapists, the school psychologist, the school social worker, and several other professionals who volunteered. We decided that what really made this terrifying for kids is that JonBenét was killed in the sanctity of her own home. For kids, it would feel like their homes, their bedrooms. If JonBenét wasn’t safe, they weren’t safe. If JonBenét’s parents couldn’t protect her, how could their parents protect them ?
    I also decided early on that JonBenét’s death would not become a school issue, apart from the fact that we would provide support for our children and their families. We wouldn’t respond to media questions. The crime was an issue for the police, an issue for the Ramseys. I let the word out that the school would not participate in any media frenzy.
    —Charles Elbot
     
    At 8:00 A . M . on December 27, Gary Merriman convened an executive meeting in the small conference room in the offices of Access Graphics on the Pearl Street Mall. Gary Mann, president of the commercial systems