FAMILY GRAPPLES WITH ALCOHOL DEATH

'The Nicest Kid' Becomes Statistic

DEERFIELD, Mass. - To those who knew him, Lynn Gordon Bailey Jr.
was a revelation, a bold inspiration.

"It wasn't just that he was the nicest kid you could ever meet," says
Alex Berg, a fellow graduate of Deerfield Academy. "Maybe it was
because he lived every minute of his life like it was his last."

So it came as a shock to this quaint community, nestled in the red and
gold foothills of western Massachusetts, when the news from the Rocky
Mountains made its way here Sept. 17.

Gordie, an 18-year-old freshman from Dallas who once attended St.
Mark's School of Texas, had been found dead in the Chi Psi fraternity
house at the University of Colorado. He had passed out, police say,
after drinking alcohol as part of a fraternity initiation rite.

He and 26 other pledges had been blindfolded and left in Arapaho
Roosevelt National Forest, in the thin air 1,500 feet higher than the
campus in Boulder. He hadn't eaten, and he was dehydrated: Hours
earlier, after a grueling practice, he had captured a spot on the
school's lacrosse team. Around sunset, police say, Gordie and the
other pledges were given four bottles of Ten High whiskey, followed by
six bottles of Carlo Rossi wine. Back at the fraternity house, Gordie
passed out. Because he did so with his shoes on, fraternity members
drew on his face with a Magic Marker. He was left unattended for five
hours.

And then at 8:57 a.m., a fraternity member found him facedown on the
floor next to a couch. Unable to revive him, a Chi Psi identifying
himself only as "Cal" telephoned 911. It was too late.

Now, distraught friends and former professors are asking, "What
happened?" How could a big teddy bear of a kid never known as a
problem drinker end up dead? And can his death be used to prevent
others in the future? "If you got to know Gordie, he was anybody's
kid," says his stepfather, Michael Lanahan, chief executive officer of
Greystone Communities. He and wife Leslie Lanahan, Gordie's mother,
live in North Dallas. In late September, friends and family honored
Gordie in emotional services in Dallas and Deerfield. The St. Mark's
service alone drew more than 1,000 mourners. K. Derek Thomson,
Gordie's lacrosse coach at St. Mark's, says several of his former
teammates have tattooed his initials on their upper arms as a
permanent reminder of their fallen friend. "One of the reasons there
was such an outpouring of emotion at St. Mark's," says Mr. Lanahan,
"is that so many of those parents were saying, 'This could have been
my kid.' "

A national problem Gordie was the second Colorado college student to
die under such circumstances in less than a month. Samantha Spady, a
19-year-old sophomore at Colorado State University, was found dead
Sept. 5 after consuming what police say was 30 to 40 drinks.

Both deaths have drawn national attention. Researchers say as many as
1,400 students die each year in alcohol-related incidents. Boulder
police spokeswoman Julie Brooks on Friday questioned "the mind-set
that validates drinking to the point of coma and death, all in the
name of having a good time. Young adults may see drinking as part of
growing up, but developing responsibility is also part of that
process." At the moment, litigation is not a part of the Lanahans'
plans, but they are demanding that the University of Colorado and
other schools take action. On Wednesday, CU Chancellor Richard Byyny
announced that incoming freshman won't be allowed to "rush" and may
have to wait until their sophomore year. He also asked the national
office of the Chi Psi fraternity to revoke the charter of the local
chapter, which had been suspended, pending the fraternity's
investigation into Gordie's death.

"I don't think anyone would knowingly want to kill Gordie Bailey, and
yet, every step along the way, that was what was happening," says Mr.
Lanahan. "What we would like to see is that all the people in
positions of leadership do the responsible thing - and maybe the hard
things - and put some protections in place for the next boy or girl
who's put in a situation like that." Sam Bessey, executive director of
the national Chi Psi fraternity in Nashville, Tenn., met with the
Lanahans on Sept. 18 and attended Gordie's memorial service in Dallas.

"There is a lot of tough work ahead," says Mr. Bessey. "Leaders of
fraternities and sororities and anyone with a stake in the lives of
college students and higher education in general should realize we
have a serious problem to address when it comes to alcohol
consumption." On occasion, Gordie had been known to have a beer or
two, his parents say, but he hated the taste of liquor and did not
have a drinking problem. A big guy - 6 feet, 230 pounds - he loved
life and was trusting to a fault. He cherished being part of an elite
"band of brothers" at Deerfield and may have made a fatal error, his
stepfather says, in assuming he had been blessed with an equally
loving band of brothers in Boulder. A sheltered world Gordie's father
lives in Idaho. After his parents separated, he moved with his mother
to Dallas when he was 3. He attended The Lamplighter School and St.
Mark's until 10th grade, when he transferred to Deerfield. The subject
of two books and one movie, Deerfield has a reputation for greatness.
Its alumni include King Abdullah II of Jordan and writer John McPhee.
Parents pay handsomely. Tuition costs more than $30,000 a year, but
total expenses, according to the school's Web site, run about $60,000
a year. Those who know the school say it's a loving but highly
sheltered environment in which students and teachers share a deeply
felt bond. As his mother says, Gordie and his friends had already
concluded that "the real world was not going to be the same."

Deerfield also champions versatility; Gordie was a prime example. He
played football and lacrosse, sang and danced and starred in plays,
and even founded the "Hugging Club." His stepfather interrupted his
eulogy here to ask the audience to hug the person next to them in
honor of Gordie. "Gordie was a golden retriever. He just loved
everyone," says Lee Wicks, the secretary of Deerfield Academy. "I
don't think it was within his frame of reference at all to think that
anyone could lead him into harm's way. He had been so loved by family
and friends here at Deerfield. So what experience had he ever had with
any group of people who would put him into harm's way?" He was so
trusting, she says, that Gordie would have given his newfound friends
every benefit of every doubt. It had been that way in Deerfield, so
why wouldn't it be that way in Boulder?

"Even if whatever was going down seemed a little scary, well, Gordie
would trust," says Ms. Wicks. "Because he was trustworthy, and because
he didn't have any meanness in him."

David Marcus, a journalist who spent last year as a fellow at
Deerfield and who was Gordie's adviser on the school paper, says
Gordie was the embodiment of the modern prep school ideal. "He was a
teenage Renaissance kid - a wonderful athlete, good student, talented
performer, columnist for the newspaper and an icon on campus.

"High school is usually about separating into cliques, so it's
astounding to see someone whose friendships span all the groups: boys
and girls, jocks and theater techies, Republicans and Democrats,
whites and blacks," he says. Drama teacher John Reese said in his
eulogy: "I don't believe I have ever known a student in my 36 years of
teaching that had a sunnier disposition - as you all know, Gordie's
was the brightest. And there wasn't a mean bone in his body to boot."

Band of brothers? The truth is, Gordie never wanted to go to CU. His
mom says he was a B to B-minus student who applied to nine colleges
and was accepted by one - CU. He hoped to transfer as soon as he
could, she says, with an eye toward Washington and Lee University in
Lexington, Va., so he could be closer to his "brothers" from
Deerfield. He had been at Boulder only two weeks and was hoping Chi
Psi would give him a niche among nearly 30,000 students. "To some
extent, he was blindsided by what he thought was this new band of
brothers," says Mr. Lanahan. "And they were not. They weren't really
brothers in terms of looking out for people they were entrusted with
protecting."

In the aftermath of his death, his mother and stepfather hope his
legacy will be one of change - change that can save lives.

"We simply won't accept the status quo," says Mr. Lanahan. "If six
more fraternity brothers have to die of alcohol poisoning, when are we
all going to say, 'This is enough'?"