Church Shooting in Fort Worth: “Evil Walked In Our Building That Morning”
On Thursday, January 2, 2020, Kate Moore Branson prepared to direct the funeral for Richard White, 67, of River Oaks, Texas. The service would be like any of the others she had overseen during her 30-year career … except that White was her husband’s best friend. And he was the victim of a church shooting. And Branson, along with 241 of her fellow parishioners, had personally witnessed his tragic death.
A good funeral
Amid these already incredibly difficult emotional circumstances, Branson also had to orchestrate a service to accommodate more than 500 mourners and a contingent of reporters. On top of that, she had to manage the special security requirements and access accommodations necessary for the wheelchair-bound governor.
“From a funeral director’s perspective, it was one of the hardest funerals I’ve done,” Branson, a director at Fort Worth Funerals & Cremations, recalls. “But it was a good funeral. Only someone in the industry will understand what that means.”
Branson and her husband, Terry, who is also a veteran funeral director, planned the service with a “Big Chief tablet and a number two pencil.” They brainstormed every intricate detail required for an unusual service like White’s, from the governor’s needs to the family’s requests.
“One of the things I’ve said for many decades is ‘if it’s mentionable, it’s manageable,’” Branson says. “If it’s important enough for the family to mention it, I will manage to make it happen.”
“Like a cannon”
The Bransons first put pencil to paper on Sunday night, just hours after White’s death. It was an unimaginably long day for Kate, who was attending services with her mother at West Freeway Church of Christ Sunday morning when a lone gunman stood up and began firing.
“The first shot was like a cannon,” she recalls, noting the acoustics designed to amplify the acapella singing in the Church of Christ. The shooting took place during the communion portion of the service, when the parishioners were seated. When she heard that first shot, Branson, who is a member of the church’s volunteer security team, instinctively pushed her 86-year-old mother to the floor and turned to face the gunman.
“I pushed my mother with one hand and pulled my gun with the other,” Branson says. However, 2.3 agonizing seconds later, it was all over. In that stunningly brief period of time, the gunman’s bullets had reached Richard “Rich” White and Anton “Tony” Wallace. Just as a third bullet embedded itself in the wall above the altar, parishioner Jack Wilson took aim and killed the gunman with one shot to the head.
A church on lockdown
Branson found herself, along with five other parishioners, with weapons drawn on the gunman, “waiting for him to wiggle.” He wasn’t going to move, though, after Wilson’s accurate shot. Wilson was not only the head of the church’s volunteer security team. He was also a former reserve sheriff’s deputy and firearms instructor.
After getting everyone off the floor and back into the pews, the entire congregation moved to the church’s fellowship hall. At the same time, emergency workers transported the injured and law enforcement secured the sanctuary. Branson recalls that cell phones were “blowing up” as the news of the shooting spread throughout the town. She was finally able to get through to her husband, Terry, to share the terrible news of his dear friend’s serious injury.
“I told him to get to John Peter Smith Hospital — Fort Worth’s trauma hospital — as quickly as he could,” Branson says. “I told him, ‘It’s Rich.’”
Later, Terry Branson called his wife to share the terrible news that White had not survived the shooting. Kate Branson had to pass this information along to their minister, who was also a very close friend of White and his wife.
“It’s been 30 years,” Branson says, “and that was the hardest notification I’ve ever had to give.”
No one was allowed in or out of the building as law enforcement completed their initial investigation, which included interviewing all 242 parishioners. Branson took charge of practical matters, like feeding the crowd with whatever was in the church’s food pantry.
A community comes together
Outside the locked-down building hundreds of members of law enforcement, press, family members, friends, and even the lieutenant governor gathered. The Texas Rangers also came to help.
“When the Texas Rangers pull into your parking lot, you know they’ve arrived,” Branson says fondly. “But it was wonderful, and comforting, to know they were all out there for us.”
Although the parishioners were allowed to go home Sunday evening, they came back together for a vigil the next night. As the church’s congregation gathered inside the fellowship hall to honor those they had lost, around 600 people held candles and prayed outside the church.
“That Monday night, we just sang,” Branson recalls. “We sang a lot. It was really beautiful.”
Branson and her fellow parishioners have been overwhelmed by the community’s support. In the days following the shooting, the town’s Chick-fil-a, a local barbecue restaurant, and a church with a mobile kitchen made sure everyone at the scene and at the funeral were well-fed. Members of the congregation volunteered to manage the emails, messages, and 100-plus pieces of mail the church received each day during the first week. And a neighboring church offered their sanctuary for Rich White’s funeral services.
Funeral for a friend
Branson and her husband quickly “switched into funeral mode” Sunday night to plan and execute the services for White. They received White’s body at the funeral home on Monday.
“When we were working on Rich …” Branson trails off. “It is what it is. But you have to remember that you’re human. That’s our friend. That’s our brother. You get mad, you yell and scream. But then you put on your black suit and you walk through the door. You have a job to do.”
Part of Branson’s job was meeting with members of the Secret Service and Department of Public Safety on New Year’s Day to walk through logistics for the funeral the following day.
“There are so many moving parts,” Branson says. “We need to know who the governor needs to see, if he wants to eat. We walked through everything.”
Branson says that Governor Greg Abbott and his wife Cecilia were on vacation when they heard about the shooting. They turned around and came to Fort Worth to attend and speak at White’s funeral.
“At the funeral the Governor said, ‘Cecilia and I are with you. The state of Texas is with you,’” Branson recalls. “He’s a wonderful man, and his wife is one of the most charming, down-to-earth people I’ve ever met. I loved them before the funeral, and I love them even more now.”
Healing in the aftermath
It’s been just a little over a month since the shooting, and the congregation and the community have started the slow, painful journey toward a new normal. The church is meeting in its old sanctuary as the one where the shooting took place is being completely remodeled.
Kate and Terry Branson have hosted programs focused on helping children deal with grief. Terry Branson has a degree in psychology, and the two have helped families grieve for a combined 80 years. Although most of the children “are doing alright,” Kate Branson says parents are struggling with how to talk to them about what happened. “They want to know how to grieve themselves and help their children at the same time,” she says.
Another church member, a retired FBI and ATF agent and state policeman, is sharing a church security presentation with parishioners that he originally created for law enforcement. Outside counselors from crime victims assistance and mental health organizations have also been onsite to work with witnesses and families.
As for Kate Branson, she’s coping with the loss of her fellow parishioners and friends as well as the others. She’s quick to say that just because she’s a career funeral director, she’s not immune to grief and sadness.
“The day it doesn’t affect you is the day you need to quit,” says Branson. “Evil walked into our building that morning, but he didn’t walk out. We will survive.”
