February 25, 2005 - 10:32:01 AM PST
Grieving father is on a mission: Hazing deaths must be put to an end
By MELISSA DAUGHERTY - Staff Writer
Michael Carrington awoke in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, drove from a hotel on the other side of Chico and headed downtown, toward fraternity row, to the Chi Tau house -- the place where his son, Matthew, died exactly three weeks earlier.
He stood on the front porch of the Fourth Street house just after 5 a.m. The hour was important since he's come to learn that Matthew likely stopped breathing around that time. It's there where he spoke to his son, telling him, in essence, that his death wouldn't be in vain.
Carrington is working with attorneys to set up a public charitable trust in his son's name. His goal is to keep others from enduring what killed Matthew -- hazing.
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Meanwhile, the 49-year-old Walnut Creek resident is reeling from the fact that his only child could die from drinking too much water. The idea is unbelievable, crazy even. Carrington hasn't looked at the liquid the same way since Feb. 2. Drinking tea and other fluids, he took his first sip of plain water for the first time this week.
He also returned to his job at a San Francisco investment bank for the first time Thursday. Carrington can talk about Matthew's death, for the most part, without breaking down. He can do this because he's what he described as "overdone, emotionally."
Even still, he has moments of complete devastation. He also has a recurring nightmare in which he is trapped in a body bag. To cope with his loss, he's sought grief counseling. It's something he said is important for anyone who has experienced a trauma.
Carrington has also had to deal with the tremendous amount of attention given to his son's death. It's been reported on by the Fox News Network, CNN, NBC and even the tabloid news show "Inside Edition." For the most part, he's shied from the media. But that is soon likely to change.
In order to promote his son's trust, he'll have to talk about water intoxication and hypothermia, two of the factors that led to Matthew's death. Carrington said he's researched the conditions. And after talking to medical authorities, he's learned that the brain-swelling Matthew suffered would've put him in a euphoric state prior to his death.
"I can say that with a straight face because I've heard it so many times," he said.
But his composure hasn't always been easy to maintain.
In the three weeks since a police officer gave Carrington the call every parent fears, some of the worst moments he's experienced have been in Chico. One took place in a hotel room the day after Matthew's death. With emotions seesawing between disbelief and despair, Carrington started crying out what he described as a blood-curdling scream.
The moment was so intense, he thought he might have a heart attack. He fell to the floor. In his mind, he couldn't fathom that Matthew was gone. He couldn't begin to think how he, his ex-wife Debbie and her husband Greg, and their son, Travis, could go on.
"Why is my son dead, why is Debbie's son dead, why is Travis' brother dead?" he said.
Another time was in a Chico mortuary when family and friends had their last chance to see Matthew, who was to be cremated. Carrington kissed his son's forehead. It was ice cold. He told him he wouldn't mess up his hair. Matthew always had a thing about his hair, Carrington said.
He then watched Matthew's four closest friends, who were up from the Bay Area, struggle to say goodbye. The young men had this code -- that no one was ever left behind. The moment was heart-wrenching.
"They felt horrible they had to leave Matt there in the mortuary -- they couldn't take him with them," he said.
Those same friends were present during a candlelight vigil at the Chi Tau house a few days after Matthew's death. Carrington brought them forward and pointed them out to the more than 150 people who had gathered.
The day before, he'd seen the basement of the fraternity house -- the place Matthew spent the last hours of his life, taking part in an initiation rite that consisted of drinking massive quantities of water, while exercising vigorously.
The basement is small, dingy and dungeon-like. By the time Carrington saw the room, fraternity members had cleaned its blood-stained floor. Still, the area was wet and filthy, riddled with cigarette butts, he said.
And the house itself was trashed.
"They might have had carpeting, but it looked like a dirt floor," he said.
The first time Carrington arrived there, he said he knew his son died of more than an initiation gone wrong. The men who were in the basement the morning of Matthew's death were not his friends, Carrington said.
"They basically tortured my son and left him there to die," he said.
And those men need to be held responsible for their involvement, he added.
In an earlier interview, Butte County District Attorney Mike Ramsey said up to six members of Chi Tau may be charged with involuntary manslaughter. The district attorney said Matthew died on the third day of "hell week," the last portion of a months-long pledging period.
For three consecutive days, Matthew took part in a series of rituals between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m., which lasted up until the early hours of Wednesday, when Matthew's body succumbed to the effects of water intoxication.
That morning, several fraternity members watched a video and played poker as Matthew and another pledge were told to keep their eyes fixed on a shoe that was tacked to the ceiling of the frigid basement.
Both were told to consume massive quantities of water, did so, and vomited repeatedly. The men had to ask permission to use the bathroom, but were required to urinate on themselves, Ramsey said.
The pledges passed a five-gallon jug back and forth as they were asked trivia questions -- ones Ramsey said were impossible to answer. The pledges then had the choice of drinking water while being blasted by fans, or doing push-ups.
At one point, Matthew collapsed while doing push-ups. He went into a seizure and was aided by members, who allegedly were going to call 9-1-1, but decided not to after hearing what they thought was snoring. Ramsey said what they likely heard was labored breathing.
Members removed Matthew's wet clothing and wrapped him in his sleeping bag. When his breathing stopped, members called paramedics, who attempted life-saving efforts on their way to Enloe Medical Center, where Matthew was pronounced dead.
While in Chico this week, Carrington met with Ramsey to talk about Matthew's death. After his visit, he said he thinks the district attorney is doing everything he can to punish the members who "let him die."
Carrington doesn't mince words when talking about the men.
"I want them all to burn," he said. "I want every single person involved to be prosecuted to the fullest letter of the law."
They knew better, he added.
Ten months prior to Matthew's death, a roster kept by Chico State's Greek adviser shows that 23 members of Chi Tau, including its current president, were present at a lecture where the dangers of water intoxication was discussed.
The guest speaker highlighted the case of an 18-year-old pledge at Plattsburgh State University in New York, who died after being forced to drink large quantities of water.
In that 2003 case, one person, an alumnus of Psi Epsilon Chi, was sentenced to one year in jail. All 10 of the fraternity's members accepted plea agreements and were expelled from the university.
Like Chi Tau, which lost its affiliation with Chico State University, the Interfraternity Council and its national chapter, Delta Sigma Phi, about three years ago, the Plattsburgh fraternity was also an underground fraternity.
In the case of Chi Tau, Carrington wants any of its members who are students at Chico State to be expelled from the institution. Better yet, he thinks President Paul Zingg, who recently ordered a full evaluation of the Chico Greek system, should expel anyone involved in any hazing events this year.
"I'd like to see all the power-tripping (expletive) get kicked out of school," Carrington said.
Even though Matthew's death has been covered by national media outlets, Carrington said it seems more titillation than genuine concern. But the trust he's working on establishing will help to see that Matthew isn't forgotten.
The Chi Tau fraternity house is quiet these days. As Carrington stood on its porch early Wednesday, he surveyed broken glass from bottles of alcohol and shattered windows, vandalism that's happened in the weeks since Matthew's death.
Before leaving its steps in the early morning hours, Carrington spoke to his son. His spirit, he said, didn't need to linger there.
"I told him he could go," Carrington said.
Staff writer Melissa Daugherty can be reached at 896-7761 or
mdaugherty@chicoer.com.
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