In the era of Black Lives Matter when, as the indefatigable Colin Flaherty terms it, “the greatest lie of our generation”—the Big Lie that black people “are relentless victims of relentless white racism, everywhere, always, that explains everything”—has reached a fever-pitch, we would be well-served to revisit an event that BLM and its apologists would undoubtedly prefer we not talk about.
The event is actually not just a crime, but a series of crimes so grisly, so literally monstrous, that it has come to be called, “the Wichita Massacre,” or “the Wichita Horror.”
This month marks its 20th anniversary.
In 2000, within the course of one week, two brothers, Reginald and Jonathan Carr, went on a rampage. Originally from Dodge City, they had just arrived at Wichita (Kansas) when they proceeded to victimize its residents. By week’s end, among their seven prey, five of them—and a victim’s dog—would be dead.
But it’s much worse than this brief description would suggest.
And, before we delve into the ugly details, it is also worth noting that the perpetrators of the Wichita Horror were black. Their victims were all white.
The Carrs’ first victim was 23 year-old Andrew Schreiber. The latter stopped off at a convenience store when the Carrs forced their way into his car and forced him to drive around town while stopping at various ATM machines. Schreiber was eventually made to drive to a field where his captors pistol-whipped him and shot out one of his tires before driving off in another vehicle.
Andrew at least lived. The same could not be said for Ann Walenta, a librarian and cellist in her 50s. Four days after Schreiber was carjacked, abducted, assaulted, and robbed, the two scumbags who attacked him targeted Walenta as she sat parked in her own driveway. The Carrs were looking to commandeer SUVs while forcing their owners to drive to ATM machines. Walenta drove an SUV. When the Carrs approached her, being suspicious of their intentions, Walenta rolled her window down just slightly. Unfortunately, though, it was just enough for them to insert a gun into the opening and blast her multiple times as she tried to drive off.
The attack left her paralyzed from the neck down. Three weeks later, she would die from her injuries—but not before she was able to help the police identify her assailants.
The Carrs’ reign of terror would reach its climax three days later in what can only be described as a series of acts of unadulterated evil.
Jason Befort, a 26 year-old high school science teacher and coach, Bradley Heyka, a 27 year-old financial analyst, and 29 year-old Aaron Sander, who was preparing to enter the priesthood, shared a home. A woman who, for her own protection and for the sake of her own privacy, remains publicly known only as “Holly,” an elementary school teacher, was Befort’s girlfriend. She and her friend Heather Muller, a church pre-school teacher, were staying over.
Shortly after 11:00 PM, the Carr brothers somehow manipulated their way into the home. Armed with guns, they corralled all five of its inhabitants into a bedroom closet—but not before commanding them to remove all of their clothes. Then, over a span of the next couple of hours, hell was unleashed as the Carrs took turns raping Holly and Heather and forcing their victims to perform sexual acts upon one another.
Holly and Heather were forced to digitally and orally penetrate one another. Jason was ordered to have sex with Holly, but when the Carrs discovered that they were a couple, they were made to stop and Brad Heyka and Aaron Sander were assigned the task. Sander’s initial refusal to comply was met with the butt of a pistol to the back of his head.
Holly was sent back to the closet and Heather was brought forth so that Sander could have sex with her. When he couldn’t get an erection, the Carrs beat him with a golf club. They then warned him that if he couldn’t get erect within the next two minutes, that they were going to kill him. Time passed and Sander, evidently unable to get aroused with a gun to his head, was nevertheless not killed.
At least he wasn’t killed at that moment.
During the midst of this ordeal, one Carr brother would drive their prey to the bank while the other would stay behind and sexually torment the others.
They also rummaged around throughout the house looking for money. In doing so, they discovered a diamond ring.
It was the ring that Jason Befort was planning on giving to Holly when he proposed to her the following Friday night. “That’s for you,” he told Holly. “I was going to ask you to marry me.”
The Carrs decided that they were going to end the evening by taking their victims for a ride. Upon realizing that the trunk of Sander’s Honda Accord wasn’t sufficiently spacious to accommodate five people, they chose instead to squeeze the three men into it. Jonathan Carr would drive the Honda with Heather Muller as his passenger, and Reginald Carr would drive Jason Befort’s truck with Holly by his side.
They arrived at a barren field. In freezing cold temperatures, in the snow and ice, the Carrs made their victims, all of whom were barely dressed, to get down on their knees. Then, as the shivering, traumatized five pleaded for their lives, the Carrs shot them, one at a time, in the backs of their heads.
The monsters weren’t done. They jumped into Befort’s truck and drove over the bodies of the three men and two women who they just disposed of like so much trash.
Four of the five died. Holly, however, survived. What neither she nor the Carrs counted on was her plastic barrette deflecting the bullet to another location of her skull.
Holly felt herself get shot and subsequently kicked over by the shooter. She played dead and actually felt the truck hit her body too.
After she noticed that the Carrs had left, she took off her sweater and tried to stop the profuse bleeding that was coming out of Jason Befort’s eyes. She walked about a mile, mostly naked, to get help. Upon reaching a random house, she begged its residents to allow her in and hear her account of the three hour nightmare that she and her friends had just been made to endure.
Holly, you see, suspected that she may die and wanted to make sure that someone knew what had happened so that her tormentors would not evade justice. She also asked for these kind strangers to make sure that her mother knew that she loved her (and all the while, Holly expressed worry over her “kids,” her students, and who would take care of them if she died).
Holly did not die. Ann Walenta did, but both of these brave, resilient women, together, were able to arrange for the Carrs to be apprehended, arrested, tried, and, ultimately, sentenced to death.
Had Holly been a black woman who suffered this fate at the hands of white men, she would be celebrated the world over by the very same people who continually decry “racism” and shout “Me Too!” There would have long ago been a statue erected in her honor and no small number of documentaries and films would have been made with an eye toward implicating all whites by depicting this one heinous act as of piece of patter of “systemic racism,” or something along these lines.
Oh, and so too would the Carr brothers be recognized as the demons that they are by PETA and the like had they been white males, for after they thought that they had done away with their victims, they returned to their victims’ home to look around one last time for things to steal. Nikki, Holly’s pet schnauzer, was there to greet them. Either because these idiots thought that dogs could be potential witnesses to a crime or because they are just that wicked, the Carrs bludgeoned Nikki to a bloody pulp with a golf club and possibly stabbed her with an ice pick.
Although we can’t expect for anyone who expresses sympathy with the Black Lives Matter movement to remember any of Reginald and Jonathan Carr’s victims on this 20th anniversary of the Wichita Horror, the decent can…say their names:
Say his name.
Say her name.
Jason Befort, Brad Heyka, Heather Muller, Aaron Sander, the indomitable Holly.
Say their names.