The teacher read a statement containing the words took his own life last night, and then a name, Cameron Lee. It was November 4, 2014, a few days after homecoming and maybe a month before college applications would start making everyone crazy. After a few minutes the teachers filed out, each holding a sheet of paper, none talking. Gunn High School, about 1,900 kids waited. Through the windows, they could spy the teachers packed in there. Now one of them, Alyssa See-Tho, was waiting outside the choir room for first period to start. In many parts of town, you can hear the warning of a passing train just about everywhere: the quad at Palo Alto High School the tables at Piazza’s grocery store, where kids from Gunn High School hang out after school the kids’ bedrooms after midnight.Ī few students had gotten in early to take some photos dressed as Scooby-Doo characters, part of an annual volleyball-team tradition. A bee goes in search of jasmine, stinging no one. The air is again still, like it usually is in spring in Palo Alto. “Ew, how old is that gum?” “The quiz is next week, dipshit.” On the road, a minivan makes a left a little too fast-nothing ominous, just a mom late for pickup. All at once life revives: a rush of bikes, skateboards, helmets, backpacks, basketball shorts, boisterous conversation. Then the gate lifts up, signaling that it’s safe to cross. The alarms ring and the red lights flash for a few seconds more, just in case.
The kids wait until the passing train forces a gust you can feel on your skin. But a Caltrain at a crossing registers more like an ambulance, warning you fiercely out of its way. A Caltrain coming into a station slows, invites you in. Too fast to see the faces of the Silicon Valley commuters on board, only a long silver thing with black teeth. Five cars, double-decker, tearing past at 50 miles an hour. The kids on their bikes who pass by the Caltrain crossing are eager to get home from school, but they know the drill.
First, from far away, comes a high whine like angry insects swarming, and then a trampling, like a herd moving through. Over the course of their existence, the band has shared the bill with such bands as Biff Naked, SR-71, Unified Theory, P.O.D., MxPx and others.The air shrieks, and life stops. In 2000, the Vancouver, B.C.-based band recorded and self-produced their independent album debut, ‘Ordinary Heroes,’ catching the attention of Eric Godtland Management (Third Eye Blind, The KGB), which then came aboard as Dakona’s management team. Lead guitarist Brook Wistanley, bassist Shane Dueck, and keyboardist Jess Bouma round out the line-up. Earlier this year, the band staged an SRO benefit concert in Canada to raise money for teen suicide prevention.įounded in 1997 by first cousins Ryan McAllister (lead vocals) and John Biondolillo (drums), Dakona has emerged as one of the northwest’s most forceful and popular bands. Proceeds from the concert will go to the Mental Health Association of Westchester, NY, Teen Suicide Prevention Program.ĭakona’s concern for the issue of teen suicide prevention stems from last year’s suicide death of a fan of the band’s in Vancouver. The event takes place May 26th at The Masters School in Dobbs Ferry, NY, just outside of New York City. Recently-signed band Dakona, currently hard at work on their debut album for Maverick Recording Company, will take a break from recording to headline a benefit concert to help teen suicide prevention. Dakona, Newly Signed Maverick Band, Set To Headline Teen Suicide Prevention Benefit Concert
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