[Congressional Record Volume 160, Number 74 (Thursday, May 15, 2014)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E754-E755]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




          SHANNON MELENDI'S DEATH STILL STINGS, 20 YEARS LATER

                                  _____
                                 

                        HON. ILEANA ROS-LEHTINEN

                               of florida

                    in the house of representatives

                         Thursday, May 15, 2014

  Ms. ROS-LEHTINEN. Mr. Speaker, on previous occasions I have spoken 
about the loss of Shannon Melendi, a beautiful girl who attended my 
alma mater, Southwest Miami High School, and whose life was taken 
tragically as a teenager in 1994. As their Congresswoman and friend, I 
thank the Melendi Family for keeping us vigilant. I would like to share 
an eloquently written story about Shannon by Anne (Martinez) Vasquez, 
Associate Editor at the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, which was published 
by the newspaper on March 25, 2014:

          Shannon Melendi's death Still Stings, 20 Years Later

       What I would give to relive those days of playing with our 
     collection of cheap drugstore makeup sprawled on the bedroom 
     floor as we plotted our outfits and gossiped about boys. 
     Shannon Melendi and I became fast friends at the cusp of 
     adolescence, when you dream of days still decades away and 
     fantasize about chapters in your life you've yet to write.
       Tears still sting my eyes when I think of the final chapter 
     of Shannon's short life: At 19, a sophomore at Emory 
     University, she disappeared on a Saturday afternoon after 
     going on a lunch break from her part-time job as a 
     scorekeeper at a softball field in suburban Atlanta.
       The year was 1994, 20 years ago this week. It would be 
     another painful 12 years before the man long suspected of 
     kidnapping Shannon confessed.
       Shannon's body was never found. There was no funeral, no 
     official moment to mourn. Instead, the last 20 years have 
     unfolded in surreal fashion, where life goes on for Shannon's 
     closest family and friends even as we've struggled to fill in 
     the blanks, a search for answers that never come.
       Only now, as I reflect on the twists and turns of my life, 
     do I realize the imprint that Shannon's story has left on my 
     soul, a silent narrative that has molded my evolution as an 
     adult and, ultimately, as a mother. The underlying lesson 
     lingering in my subconsciousness: If evil can strike on a 
     Saturday afternoon--snatching a smart 19-year-old with quick 
     wit, the president of her high school senior class, an 
     aspiring lawyer, a champion debater, the daughter of present 
     and caring parents--it can happen to anyone, anywhere.


                              Evil strikes

       I woke up on Tuesday morning, March 29, 1994, with my 
     father handing me a small clipping buried inside the Local 
     section of The Miami Herald. I found the concerned look on my 
     father's face puzzling, until I read the brief article, just 
     a few lines long, saying Shannon's parents had flown to 
     Atlanta after learning she had gone missing.
       The rest of the week was a blur until I went to see 
     Shannon's younger sister, Monique, who was staying with her 
     aunt and grandparents. She turned 14 years old five days 
     after Shannon disappeared, and I wanted to bring her a 
     present. I sought to revisit happier times, when the Melendi 
     family would invite me to join them on their vacations to the 
     Florida Keys. Endless summer days where I first learned to 
     water ski, jump waves and conquer my fear of treading open 
     water.

[[Page E755]]

       In the weeks and months--even years--that followed, Shannon 
     regularly paid me visits in my dreams. In many, I would 
     replay our last chance encounter, which took place just a 
     couple of weeks before Shannon disappeared.
       A complete fluke, I had spotted Shannon among a sea of 
     Spring Breakers in Daytona Beach, a rare place for either of 
     us to visit. I walked in her direction until she came into 
     clear focus. Yes, it was Shannon. For a few fleeting minutes, 
     we laughed and reminisced. We caught up on where our college 
     lives were taking us. We made plans to see each other a few 
     weeks later when she would be back in Miami visiting her 
     family. Then we hugged and went our separate ways.
       It was the last time I saw Shannon. I didn't know it at the 
     time, but it was my chance to say goodbye. She would be gone 
     before the month came to a close.


                          Fighting the monster

       As the years went by without word of what became of 
     Shannon, my dreams began to reflect the anger I bottled deep 
     inside.
       In one recurring dream, it's late in the evening in some 
     unnamed town in the middle of America. I walk into a 
     restaurant for a bite. The room is dark and bustling with 
     customers. I take a seat in a booth and see Shannon sitting 
     across from her captor. Her hands are not tied, but she's not 
     moving, not trying to escape. She's scared or drugged or 
     both, I reason. I approach their table, see a spark of hope 
     in Shannon's eyes and quickly find others who help me hold 
     down the man who had stolen Shannon from her family. We 
     pummel him. Shannon returns home.
       My anger also manifested itself in other ways.
       I made decisions determined not to cede power to the 
     monster. I fought the fear that evil could lurk behind any 
     corner.
       I jumped at the chance to intern at The Boston Globe rather 
     than spend the summer at a local paper. I walked to and from 
     my apartment many late evenings holding a stun gun wrapped in 
     a newspaper. Years later, as a reporter for The Miami Herald, 
     I'd live and work in Sao Paulo, Brazil, for several months, 
     riding the subway and making my way in another language in an 
     unknown city five times the size of New York City.
       I moved across the country to Northern California, where I 
     worked and lived for seven years. A visit to Yosemite, on 
     assignment in Mexico or vacationing in Vancouver, I'd imagine 
     crossing paths with Shannon and putting an end to the tragic 
     mystery.


                         Anger turns into fear

       Then I became a mother and the anger gave way to fear.
       My firstborn was just shy of two years old when Colvin 
     ``Butch'' Hinton III, a man with a history of harming young 
     girls, confessed to kidnapping and murdering Shannon. Hinton, 
     an umpire at the softball field where Shannon kept score, 
     said he had set out to commit murder on March 26, 1994. He 
     had targeted another woman but changed his plans when he 
     spotted Shannon.
       Hinton said he held Shannon at knifepoint, tied her up in 
     his home, repeatedly raped her--in between catching a movie 
     at a local theater in an effort to create an alibi--and 
     ultimately strangled her in the early morning hours of March 
     27.
       The unspeakable details resurfaced my dormant pain.
       As my son's independence blossomed--and with that his 
     ability to walk away from me at a department store or at a 
     park--I found myself fighting a constant unease. I wanted--
     needed--to know where he was at every moment.
       Most parents take their children to the park to relax, sit 
     back and let their kids play. That will never be me.
       I'll never forget spending one afternoon at a local water 
     park with several of my son's friends. The other mothers 
     positioned their chairs in the shallow water to chat and 
     sunbathe. They didn't fuss, completely confident that their 
     kids were safe. I stood the entire time, sloshing through the 
     kneehigh water to make sure my son emerged from the labyrinth 
     of slides.
       Dealing with my vigilant watch is a reality my children 
     have learned to accept: My 9-year-old son understands why 
     last summer I had him skip a field trip to the water park. My 
     4-year-old daughter recites to me how I shouldn't speak to 
     strangers. I live in constant battle with myself, wrestling 
     with a deep-seated desire to fuel my children's independence 
     while also fighting a fear that harm may come their way.
       Both of my children know, to varying degrees, Shannon's 
     story. They know the world can be cruel, but they also exude 
     a spirit of boundless optimism. They see themselves as the 
     superheroes who can change the world.
       I hope they do.


                  Timeline: The Shannon Melendi murder

       March 26, 1994: Shannon Melendi, a South Florida native and 
     19-year-old Emory University sophomore, vanishes on a 
     Saturday afternoon from her part-time job as a scorekeeper at 
     a softball field in suburban Atlanta.
       March 27, 1994: Shannon's parents, Luis and Yvonne Melendi, 
     get word that Shannon has been missing for more than 24 
     hours. They make arrangements to fly to Atlanta. In the 
     ensuing weeks, volunteers and friends plaster streets with 
     ``MISSING'' posters bearing Shannon's photo. Print and TV 
     media in South Florida and Atlanta follow the story closely.
       April 6, 1994: A caller to an Emory University hot line 
     claims he is holding Shannon captive. As proof, the caller 
     leaves a ring belonging to Shannon, enclosed in a bag, inside 
     the pay phone where the call was made.
       April 12, 1994: Police search the home of Colvin ``Butch'' 
     Hinton III, an umpire at the softball field the day Shannon 
     was last seen. Hinton has a criminal record of sexual 
     assaults.
       September 1994: A fire damages Hinton's home.
       October 20, 1994: The Melendi family and friends of Shannon 
     attend a vigil and press conference at Emory University on 
     what would have been Shannon's 20th birthday. Luis and Yvonne 
     Melendi keep Shannon's story alive in the local and national 
     media for years to come.
       March 26, 1995: Southwest 48th Street in Miami-Dade County 
     is renamed Shannon Melendi Drive. The street runs in front of 
     Southwest Miami Senior High School, where Shannon was class 
     president and a prominent student.
       June 1995: A federal grand jury indicts Hinton for arson, 
     suggesting Hinton set fire to his home to collect insurance 
     money.
       January 1996: Hinton is convicted of arson and sent to 
     federal prison.
       December 2003: Hinton is released from federal prison.
       August 2004: Authorities arrest Hinton, using a grand jury 
     indictment that accuses Hinton of murdering Shannon Melendi.
       September 2005: A jury convicts Hinton of murder. He is 
     sentenced to life in prison.
       June 2006: The Georgia Supreme Court upholds Hinton's 
     conviction.
       July 17, 2006: Hinton confesses to kidnapping, raping and 
     murdering Shannon, after his appeal was denied.

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