Paul Kengor: Trump assassination tragedy still on minds of many

One year ago, Donald Trump was nearly assassinated in Butler. In my hometown. It was a historic, tragic event that affected not only the loved ones of those killed or injured but so many of us in this region.

Personally, it has been strange over the last year when I do a speaking event and the audience gasps when I’m introduced as “Professor Kengor was raised in Butler, Pennsylvania … .”

In the countless times I had spoken around the country before July 13, 2024, that line elicited shrugs. Now, it elicits gasps.

Many people reading this column can relate. There were over 50,000 at that Trump rally, flocking in from throughout the region. Many attended simply out of curiosity. My 16-year-old had a friend of a friend who worked for the Trump campaign. He thought it would be cool to see a former president at a giant rally.

“Do you think he’ll be safe there?” my wife asked. “Well, sure,” I replied. “I mean, Trump is a former president and the current Republican nominee. Someone can’t just walk into a rally and start shooting. Secret Service will be everywhere.”

But I must admit, I had a bad feeling. My wife and I both felt uneasy.

I almost went to the rally to be with my son and to write a story for The American Spectator, of which I’m the editor. But political rallies aren’t my scene. I hate those things, especially when the temperature is over 90.

Instead, my wife and I watched on TV. My jaw dropped and she dropped to her knees the shocking moment the bullets started flying. We knew quickly that Trump was OK, but we also knew those bullets had to hit flesh elsewhere. Worse, we suddenly stopped getting text messages from our son. We later learned that cell service was scrambled as a security measure. It was an agonizing 30 minutes waiting to find out if he was OK.

Of course, not OK was Corey Comperatore, a firefighter from Buffalo Township. He was someone’s son, and husband and dad. Over the subsequent days, I heard from people who knew him, including a reader of my Trib columns. When Corey was first married, he and his young wife Helen babysat for this reader’s family.

“They babysat our girls before our son was born,” said Jim from Freeport. In fact, Jim’s wife had babysat Helen when Helen was a little girl. “It hurts,” said Jim. “My wife is still devastated.”

So many people in this area knew people who were there or were victims, or even the perpetrator. When talking about the shooting during class at Grove City College, one of my students raised her hand and said she went to school with Thomas Matthew Crooks. She sat next to him in two classes.

Bear in mind that Crooks, too, was someone’s son. The night of the shooting, Crooks’ parents called 911. It was almost 11 p.m. and they hadn’t heard from their boy. They were worried about his safety.

“Hi, yes. Uh, my name is Matthew Crooks,” his dad said to the 911 dispatcher. “I was calling in regards to my son, Thomas … . He left the house here at about a quarter to two this afternoon, and we’ve gotten no contact from him … . That’s totally not like him. So, we’re kind of worried.”

From the Crooks to the Comperatore families and more, there are many sons of that tragic episode of history from Butler, Pa.