I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

Theodore Roethke

On April 15, 1986, United States F-111, A-6, and F/A-18 attack aircraft struck military and government facilities in Libya in retaliation for the recent bombing of a Berlin discotheque frequented by U.S. servicemen. Warned at the last moment of the impending attack, Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi fled shortly before laser-guided bombs slammed into his compound.

Gaddafi’s outlandish uniforms, blustery speeches, and futile attempt to establish a “line of death” in the Gulf of Sidra made him the perfect fodder for comedians and political cartoonists, yet the ridicule merely distracted the American public from the realization that the Libyan autocrat was a vicious and unforgiving man who would not allow the attacks of April 15 to go unpunished.

Nine days after the air raids, a nuclear disaster near an obscure city in the Soviet Union captured the airwaves, and most of us quickly forgot the latest salvo in a complex and murky struggle between nation states.

Few, if any of the students who submitted applications to Syracuse University’s Division of International Programs Abroad in the opening weeks of 1988 were thinking about the bombing of Tripoli nearly 2 years earlier. Many of the applicants were sophomores who anticipate spending the opening term of their junior years overseas. A varied lot, the students collectively faced the prospect of spending nearly 4 months away from family, friends, and the familiar routines of college life. Their reasons for applying were equally diverse. Some sought expertise, others the opportunity to practice their craft and artistry in culturally rich cities. Several were following significant others overseas; more than a few realized that the opportunity to spend so much time abroad was unlikely to present itself again.

Among the locations, Syracuse’s London Center in Notting Hill was an especially popular choice.

Several hundred students departed for London during the first week of September. Many of them were poets, actors, artists, photographers, and writers—people with whom I had much in common. A disproportionate number of them were English, Theater, Communications, or Art majors. Had I attended Syracuse, I would know many of them quite well. Had I attended Syracuse, I might have been among them.


Spring, 1988. Chicago

A young woman watched the softening light bathe Chicago’s vast skyline in warm hues. Transfixed for a moment by the scene unfolding beyond her hotel window, she absorbed the scene through her enormous brown eyes. The encroaching darkness signaled an end to one of the most remarkable days of Karen Lee Hunt’s young life.

Karen Hunt. Chicago, Spring, 1988
Karen Hunt. Chicago, Spring, 1988. This image is a color-corrected photograph of the poster that appears on the Remembrance Week, 2013 page.

Karen, a sophomore majoring in English at Syracuse University, flew with her mother to Chicago with the intention of interviewing the notoriously reclusive editors of Playboy Magazine for a class project. The ambitious and risky project left relatively little time for her to pull things together before the due date, but the payoff made it all worthwhile—she would have one of the most unique feature articles in her magazine writing class, and stories to share with friends for months to come.

It had been a challenging day for the 20 year-old sophomore. Karen had done her best to reign in her nerves before the interview, but doubts nagged her from the moment she left Playboy’s headquarters. Karen was disappointed with her performance during the interview, lamenting that she “should have asked more questions.”

Peggy Hunt, who had accompanied Karen to Chicago enjoyed an extraordinarily close relationship with her daughter. The women would often lose themselves in long conversations about faith, school, and relationships. Peggy was often the first person Karen would call when she was upset or frustrated, and her mother had mastered the art of allaying her daughter’s concerns long ago. As darkness fell, she gently reminded Karen of just how special this trip was—few in her class could boast of anything approaching this experience. Peggy told her daughter that she should be legitimately proud of the hard work and dedication that led to the trip. The pep talk worked: Karen finally began to relax as concerns diminished.

Peggy smiled as the tension melted from Karen’s face. Inwardly, she couldn’t be more proud of her daughter than she was tonight. Karen had become a striking woman who was beginning to fully reach her potential. Though the interview came together earlier that semester, the trip to Chicago was the actually the culmination of years of work.

That Karen would go to such lengths for a class project was a reflection of her growing ambition and confidence. She aspired to be a writer from childhood, when she spent hours writing short stories with friends or alone in her room. She wrote her first poems in grade school and continued to hone and develop her skills through her teens, often sharing her work with friends and teachers. Her work was often reflective and sensitive, serving, as poetry often does, as a channel for her feelings.

Karen’s talent and capacity for empathy was on full display in the spring of 1981 when her neighborhood was touched by tragedy. A gruesome accident at Seabreeze Park claimed the life of one of the neighborhood’s teens, a girl a few years older than Karen. Shortly after the tragedy, Karen spotted two of the girl’s friends wandering along the street. The sight of them walking without their friend struck a chord within the young girl, who then worked for several days to produce a pair of poems she would eventually share with the fallen girl’s friends. One of these poems, “Somewhere, My Friend,” showcased Karen’s sensitivity and talent at the age of 13:

Something has happened
To keep us apart
But always and forever
You’re in my heart.

Someday soon
From now till forever
I’ll meet you again
And we’ll be together.

I’m not sure how
And I’m not sure when,
Together, Forever,
Somewhere my friend.

The poem would take on new meaning nearly a decade later.

In high school, Karen structured her coursework and activities around her ambitions, taking classes in photography, typing, and television production. In addition to her classes, she joined R.L Thomas High School’s yearbook, television, and literary magazine staffs. A competent student, Karen excelled in her English classes—hardly surprising, given her knack for spending hours with pen and paper at home.

As she approached graduation, Karen visited a number of colleges and universities, sweated out the admission process, and finally chose Syracuse University. The school’s reputation and broad selection of majors and courses were the strongest appeals, and she matriculated at S.U. in the fall of 1986.

Many freshman struggled with the transition from high school to college, particularly at a large, competitive research university, and Karen was no exception. Highly intelligent, Karen nonetheless found it difficult to strike a balance between her coursework, activities, and social life. Friends sometimes noticed that as a freshman, Karen sometimes lacked confidence in her abilities.

Karen Hunt (right) and roommates, December, 1988
Karen Hunt (right) and roommates, December, 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University: The Karen Lee Hunt Family Papers.

Her sophomore year marked the start of a personal renaissance. Karen was maturing at a staggering rate, gaining confidence and growing more adventurous with each passing week. She’d joined a number of clubs, started a serious relationship, and in spite of her quiet temperament, pledged Pi Beta Phi, one of the University’s sororities.

Today’s trip was born out of her surging confidence in her future potential. Earlier this spring, Day Hall held floor awards for the most successful and most ambitious students. Karen missed out on both awards. A frustrated Karen told her roommate, “I’ll just have to show them.”

Her trip to Chicago, her greatest adventure to date, generated a fair amount of buzz among the students in Syracuse’s vaunted Newhouse School. The quiet but determined sophomore was fast evolving into a student to be noticed.

The trip to Chicago was just the beginning. On March 30, the University mailed letters notifying applicants of their admission to the Division of International Programs Abroad. Karen Hunt was going to spend the fall studying at S.U.s London Center in Notting Hill. There couldn’t be a more ideal adventure for an English major.

Karen and Peggy spent the evening relaxing in the hotel. Calmer now, Karen sat on the hotel’s couch; her dark hair framed her face as she rested the point of her chin in her hand. Never fond of having her picture taken, Karen nevertheless mustered a smile as her mother snapped a shot.

It was the last photo Peggy Hunt would take of her daughter in the United States.

Day Hall, Syracuse University

Day Hall towered 8 stories over a drumlin someone long ago whimsically named Mount Olympus. The hill’s steep sides and rounded top served as reminders of New York’s unique geological past, though few students thought of glacial deposits as they slogged up and down the wooden steps that slithered up the hillside in an almost predatory manner. Though covered, the stairs presented a daunting final obstacle to students making their way back to their rooms after late evenings of classes—or even later nights on South Crouse or Marshall Street, particularly during Syracuse’s notoriously hostile winters. Nonetheless, Day and nearby Flint housed nearly 1,000 students between them as the dorms’ sweeping views of campus and town, shared dining hall, and close proximity to the main campus were appealing enough to partially compensate for the climb.

Students passing through Day’s 7th floor study lounge paid little mind to the woman seated amid a scattering of notes, papers, and magazines, enmeshed in the midst of a frantic all-nighter. The semester was drawing to a close—many of them had been there themselves, and others would be soon enough. Too engrossed in her work to pay attention to the occasional early morning passer by, Karen Hunt, just back from Chicago, frantically wrote, revised, and edited her Playboy project for Magazine Writing. Hours ticked by as the exhausted sophomore wove her memories and notes into the feature-length story until finally, as the sky to the east began to lighten, she wrapped her project in a cover. More exhausted and relieved than elated, Karen stood, stretched, and wandered off for a quick break before wrapping everything up. Perhaps she’d even have just enough time to catch a few hours of sleep before staggering down those infernal stairs on her way to Newhouse.

Wrapped in a Playboy cover, Karen’s project, the culmination of weeks of planning and work, sat briefly unattended on a study-lounge table. It was nearly dawn, hardly a popular time for wandering students to be about, when she left the lounge—yet something was amiss when Karen returned to the scene of the all-nighter a few minutes later. The project wasn’t where she left it. A cursory search quickly turned frantic when she realized that the project was nowhere to be found. Panic overcame her exhaustion—someone must have walked off with the project while she was away, leaving her faced with the very real possibility that the project that had taken weeks to plan and execute was gone.

Horrified, Karen called her mother before Peggy had to leave for work. Peggy did her best to calm her daughter and focus Karen’s thoughts, finally, suggesting that Karen gather some friends to make posters asking for the project’s return with no questions asked. A somewhat calmer Karen recruited a few friends who quickly set to work in hopes of saving her grade.

Somewhere in Day Hall, a student opened the free copy of Playboy conveniently left in the 7th floor study lounge the previous night.

Karen’s friends joined her in canvassing the dorm for any sign of the project. As hope faded, one of them saw something in a first floor stairwell—sheets of paper scattered on the floor near a Playboy cover. Surprised, disappointed, and a bit sheepish, the culprit tossed the project down the stairs. Nonetheless, the damage had been limited to a few wrinkled pages and several hours of abject panic.

Once everything settled, Karen and her friends knew they’d have a story to share and laugh about when she’d return from London—and for years afterward.

The near disaster was an unnerving start to the frenetic closing weeks of Karen’s sophomore year. The Playboy project was but one of several due before finals, and as she had been in high school, Karen was active in a number of clubs and organizations, particularly UUTV and WAER. In spite of the assignments, clubs, and a part-time job, Karen still managed to find time to join her friends for evenings of dancing at Bugsy’s on Crouse Avenue and hours of conversation afterward. Karen’s friends learned long ago that the introverted young woman was as comfortable in large groups as she was when alone with her words and thoughts, and they appreciated Karen’s wit, honesty, and empathy. More than a few marveled at her ability to read and analyze a situation before offering advice. Karen was confident in her judgement, and she was usually right. Her friends often felt blessed when she joined them on their outings.

Karen was particularly keen to reserve enough of her scarce time for her boyfriend, Mark; the couple had met as freshmen nearly 2 years before. Mark, a member of the gymnastics team, lived hours from Webster, and the long hours of practice in the gym and the hundreds of miles between their homes made their time together especially meaningful.

As busy as her life was, Karen could, as was her way, reflect on the past year while looking beyond the fall. As ambitious as the trip to Chicago had been, it would pale in comparison to the adventure that awaited her in London in the fall. It was exciting but daunting, and the repercussions of her trip to London were already weighing on her mind. She’d start a job at a corporation in Syracuse shortly after the end of the semester. The job would help fund the trip abroad, but it would also mean being away from Webster until the end of August. She’d leave for London in the first week of September. With the exception of weekends and breaks, Karen had been away from her family since last August. Now, she faced the prospect of being away from them through the end of December.

Independent and resilient, Karen was nevertheless unusually close to her family, often seeking advice or comfort through long phone calls and weekend conversations with her parents, Robert and Peggy. Karen was particularly close to Robyn, her younger sister. Robert and Peggy both worked at Xerox, and during her high school years Karen would often care for Robyn, 7 years her junior, until their parents came home. They’d have their occasional squabbles, but the sisters shared a powerful connection. Robyn was elated when her older sister returned from Syracuse; when she left, Robyn would cling to Karen. Karen was ecstatic about London, but the thought of being away from family, friends, school, and home for so many months weighed heavily on her.

The changes would continue at a breakneck pace beyond London, as Karen had joined Pi Kappa Phi that spring. The recently recolonized sorority’s house on Walnut Street would be Karen’s new home on campus for the remainder of her time st Syracuse University—at last, the daily trips up and down the Mount Olympus steps would be a thing of the past.

Beyond all of this loomed the greatest changes of all—graduation in the spring of 1990, job hunting, and a strong likelihood of a wedding. Half of Karen’s college career was behind her; the remainder was shrouded in uncertainty. At times, she was driven and career oriented, so much so that she sometimes told her friends of her intention to drop out of school to start her own magazine. Yet she faced moments of uncertainty as well, as she was well aware of the challenges of becoming a journalist and of balancing a frequently nomadic profession with her deep connection to her family and her commitment to Mark.

She’d worked hard to improve as a student; now, in the final days of her sophomore year, so many things finally seemed to be falling into place. Friends and professors noted her growing sense of maturity and confidence, but inwardly, the thought of spending months away from family and friends loomed large in Karen’s thoughts. She’d be away until December 21, the longest night of the year.

An observer wouldn’t see these struggles reflected in Karen’s huge eyes. Although she was born counselor with a knack for discerning the inner workings of other people’s minds, Karen preferred to keep her deepest concerns veiled, expressing them only to family and the closest of friends.

Summer, 1988. Syracuse and Webster, NY

Karen had worked since her sophomore year in high school. In recent years, she’d spent her summers at Xerox, where she had the chance to use the company’s then revolutionary Star 6085 system. That experience, coupled with her skill as a typist and her skill as a proofreader, landed her a job in CIS Corp’s word processing department during the summer. A few workers chuckled at Karen’s habit of tucking her legs up and canting her head to one side as she typed intently for hours at a time. Karen proved herself to be a bright, friendly addition to the department, and her coworkers appreciated her charming personality and grammatical skill.

Karen Hunt (right) with roommates, December, 1988
Karen Hunt (right) with roommates, December, 1988. Photo Credit: Robert and Peggy Hunt.

Karen shared an apartment with several other students who were spending the summer in Syracuse, often caring for them when someone was waylaid by an occasional illness. This was the first summer she’d spent away from her family, and though the weeks away from her parents and Robyn were difficult, the job offered her the chance to earn enough money to fund the trip overseas, and the independence fostered by spending several months with roommates in an apartment would also serve her well in London.

Weekends afforded her the opportunity to make the 90 minute trip back to Webster. During one such visit about 2 months before she was scheduled to leave for London, Karen’s unspoken anxieties finally manifested themselves in a nightmare that involved something horrific happening to her flight. The dream was hardly an unusual one for someone about to make a long trip, but the visions were disturbing enough to make her second guess the entire venture.

Syracuse’s Division of International Studies Abroad was competitive, especially for the more popular locations, and London was the most popular of all. Karen had spent weeks anxiously awaiting a letter from the program. Her hopes were realized at the end of March. It was the next step in her personal evolution, a chance for her to challenge the world and herself on a new stage. She’d barely been able to contain her excitement over the final weeks of the semester. Yet as the summer began to wane toward the day of departure, doubt began to insinuate itself.

Her semester in London would change her; it would give her a chance, perhaps her best chance, to become more worldly. It would also mean spending over 3 months in a strange land away from her family, friends, and boyfriend. Webster, M Street, Crouse, Newhouse, and the Hall of Languages, all the familiar places, would be 3,000 miles away. That familiarity was now a clarion call beckoning her to stay home.

The once uncertain and introverted woman had traveled to Chicago for a class assignment, pledged a sorority, and made a name for herself on campus. No one think less of her for returning to campus in the fall, but she might never have such an opportunity again.

Indecisive and dejected, Karen wandered into to the kitchen to talk things over with Peggy. Her mother listened intently as Karen related the nightmare and laid out her concerns. At one point, she said “Maybe I shouldn’t even go.”

Eventually she looked directly at Peggy and asked if she believed that things happened for a reason. Karen and Peggy often had these kinds of conversations—Karen had a lifelong fascination with spiritual and philosophical questions—and the women found themselves engrossed in a long discussion about fate and purpose. By the afternoon, they agreed that there was a design to the scheme of things. What will be, will be.

Thousands of DIPA students had made the trip abroad; dozens of them had similar conversations with family and friends, and all of them came home safely. London’s allure was too strong; Karen never cancelled her reservation.

She’d leave in a matter of weeks.

September 5, 1988

Karen was many things to Robyn: a caretaker in the hours before their parents came home, a protector, a counselor, a sister, and a best friend. Karen’s knack for saying the right thing at the right time was a blessing for the 13 year-old who was wending her way through the awkward years of early adolescence; Karen’s absence was a bane. This had been the hardest year of Robyn’s life. The sisters had never spent so much time apart, and with Karen leaving for London the next day, the long weeks between visits would pale in comparison to the nearly 4 months Karen would be away.

Karen Hunt, early fall, 1988
Karen with her fellow students on an early fall outing in 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University.

Eighth Grade would start the next day, but Robyn’s thoughts were of her older sister who even then continued to pack everything she’d need for the upcoming semester abroad. Despondency engulfed her as she sat on her bed. She was almost in tears when Karen slipped quietly into her room. The older sister climbed on to the bed holding a tape recorder in her right hand. Karen had a playful side, and the device would give her the chance to amuse her sister while giving Robyn a small but precious gift—a recording of her voice.

Karen began an impromptu recording session with a hint of mischief in her voice: “Um, the date is September . . .” Unsettled, Robyn begged her sister to stop: “Karen, no, don’t. Then I’ll listen to it when you’re gone and I’ll be sad.” Pausing for a moment, Karen asked why. “What if something happens?” Karen shrugged off the suggestion and started recording again:, “Oh, she’s going to be so sad . . . today is September 5 and tomorrow is September 6th and I’m leaving for London, and Robyn misses me.” Karen’s voice trailed off with a warm lilt as Robyn protested in the background. She emulated a reporter broadcasting from London, faked some accents, and finally increased the playback speed to produce a ridiculously high-pitched voice that finally got Robyn to giggle. Karen’s antics took a bit of the edge off the sadness of the impending departure.

September 6, 1988

Karen stared at the house for a few moments. Between school, the summer job, and the trip from London, she had never been able to spend much time in the Hunt’s new home.

Her meticulously packed bags filled the back of the car. Robert, Peggy, and Robyn joined her; the family backed out of the driveway, eventually driving west toward Rochester International airport. She’d reverse the trip in a few months when her feeder flight would land in Rochester, and she’d finally have a few weeks to spend with her family before returning to Syracuse for the remainder of her junior year.

Karen Hunt and friends, London
Karen Hunt (2nd from left) and classmates in London. Early Fall, 1988.

The trip was the product of events set into motion last fall and winter. This was the culmination of months of waiting, planning, excitement, and anxiety. In the back of her mind, she wondered if this was really happening, but the sight of the airport dispelled any doubts. Karen Lee Hunt was about to embark on the greatest adventure of her life. She was going to London.

Travelers scurried about Rochester International Airport as the Hunts checked in and placed Karen’s bags on the conveyor. Karen, Robyn, and Peggy posed for a few photos. A small crowd of well-wishers shared heartfelt farewells with her, then with a final glance at her friends and family, Karen turned and walked through the passenger tunnel to the plane that would whisk her away to New York City. She’d pass through this same terminal on December 21, just under 4 months from now.

The plane ascended, passing over Fairport as it headed southeast. Karen watched Rochester slip behind her.


JFK’s cavernous interior dwarfed Rochester’s diminutive terminal. Karen dragged her luggage, heavy with a semester’s worth of belongings, to the appropriate gate. The conveyor spirited the bags away toward the waiting plane.

The 747’s designers made the interior as anodyne as possible, and the soft light and muted colors of the cabin presented a welcome contrast to the frenetic terminal. Karen took her seat; within an hour, the four massive Pratt & Whitney engines spooled up, driving the jumbo jet toward the Atlantic. Lifting off from the tarmac, the once ungainly aircraft climbed gracefully over Long Island. For the second time, Karen watches a familiar sight vanish behind her.

As the giant airliner flew east toward Heathrow, Karen became a part of a small biannual migration of college students. Over two hundred Syracuse University students were heading for London. Among them were two of Karen’s sorority sisters, Alexia Tsairis and Julianne Kelly. Twin brothers Jason and Eric Coker made the trip as well, as did Theodora Cohen, Nicole Boulanger, Richard Monetti, and a host of others. All were enrolled in S.U.’s DIPA program, though a number of the students hailed from a several other colleges. Collectively, they were some of the brightest, most talented, and most ambitious students at their respective schools.

Several flights bore them to London’s Heathrow Airport, where the nervous, giddy students gathered their bags and suitcases and collected their thoughts as best they could.


Exhausted and jet-lagged from the long trip, the students made their way to Syracuse’s London Center, then located in Notting Hill, by bus, taxi, and tube. Though most of them had already been awake for the better part of 24 hours, they still had much to do; a brief orientation preceded a frantic scrum—these were the days before online searches and prearranged housing—as students scrambled to find roommates and housing in the unfamiliar neighborhoods around the center, which was located in Kensington Park Gardens in 1988. Students banded together to defray the cost of housing only to discover, much to their consternation, that rent was charged by the occupant rather than by the room.

Though stressful and taxing, the search for roommates and housing produced often unconventional living arrangements that would foster lasting friendships and memories. Elizabeth St. Hilaire had agreed to room with Shannon Davis before they’d left for London. The two women found a small flat and a pair of unexpected roommates in Frederick “Sandy” Phillips and Suzanne Miazga; Elizabeth and Suzanne instantly become fast friends. Theo Cohen roomed with some friends around the corner.

Alexia Tsaris and Julianne Kelly joined Sarah Phillips in a flat on Elgin Crescent, a shop-lined street popular with students due to its close proximity to the center.

Karen Hunt and her new roommates rented a flat in Campden Hill Towers, an imposing modern building in Notting Hill Gate. Several blocks from the center, the flat’s location afforded the women easy access to a number of shops, restaurants, pubs and, crucially, the Notting Hill tube station.

Notting Hill, 1988
The map below shows the locations of students’ flats, local pubs, and other sites frequented by the Syracuse students in the fall of 1988.

September, 1988. Notting Hill

In 1988, Notting Hill was intriguing mix of diverse ethnicities, local shops, galleries, and pubs. The neighborhood, formerly known for it’s squalor, was in the midst of its transformation into the upscale, trendy neighborhood it is today. Boutique stores and fashionable restaurants sprouted up near the decrepit buildings that reminded visitors of the neighborhood’s harder times in the 60s and 70s. Gentrification hadn’t yet rendered the neighborhood unaffordable to college students or stripped away too many vestiges of the town’s local color, and the mix of slick shops and old local pubs added to the area’s mystique.

Karen Hunt at Stonehenge, 1988
Karen Hunt (left) with fellow students at Stonehenge. September, 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University.

The students were curious by nature, and it didn’t take long for many of them to venture out to explore the vast and strange new city they would inhabit for the next few months. Their flats radiated out from 24 Kensington Court Gardens, Syracuse University’s London Center in Notting Hill, which served as both an academic and social hub for the young adventurers, and the students quickly learned the ins and outs of their adopted hometown. The Uxbridge Arms, the Prince Albert, and Frog & Firkin were among their first discoveries—perhaps the pubs’ atmosphere reminded the Syracuse students of some of the bars on Marshall Street and South Crouse Avenue. Their trips would soon extend throughout London and, in the ensuing months, many would make their way to the mainland.

The staff at Syracuse University’s center usually had a number of planned trips deigned to encourage the students to bond and explore England’s rich heritage. Among the first was a trip to Stonehenge in late September. The weather was already turning colder when Karen joined several of her new friends. The young Americans wandered about the cryptic stones dressed in windbreakers to ward off the chill from the strong breezes on the plain. Though the dark circles under their eyes spoke of the strain of the flight and the hectic opening weeks of the semester, Karen and 2 of her roommates posed for several photos before Stonehenge. The wind mussed their hair, but the young women’s grins radiated their delight.

They’d been in England for less than a month, but Karen, her friends, and most of the students already had a sense that this fall was going to be special.

October, 1988. 24 Kensington Court

Karen developed a love for photography in high school, and London presented an endless supply of subjects; she often toted her Minolta SLR with her on trips or walks with friends, capturing church interiors, classmates, and landscapes on roll after roll of film. Though many found her photogenic herself, as is so common with photographers, she preferred to be behind the camera.

Despite her passion for film, she didn’t consider herself artistic, though she appreciated and enjoyed the arts. Mark, an artist majoring in Illustration, would often draw small sketches on envelopes and in letters—Karen enjoyed her boyfriend’s artistic romantic gestures. He’d love London, with its museums and studios, and she hoped they could make the trip together one day.

Karen Hunt, September, 1988
Karen Lee Hunt (right) in London early in the fall semester, 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University: The Karen Lee Hunt Family Papers.

Patricia Utermohlen’s Art History class afforded students the perfect opportunity to visit London’s finest galleries, and Karen enjoyed the frequent field trips. The class even made it as far as Paris. Attentive in class, Karen would watch slides and follow lectures intently before quietly slipping out of the classroom. Though Karen was a quiet student, her enormous eyes would leave a deep impression on Professor Utermohlen.

Karen’s professors were an interesting if confusing lot. At Syracuse, as was common at American colleges, students and professors generally distanced themselves from one another outside of the classroom. In spite of England’s reputation for social stratification, the opposite was true here. Professors would often encourage student to join them in a round or two at a local pub or conversations in cafés or coffee shop. Initially put off by thought of fraternizing with their teachers, the Americans would resist, much to the amusement of the faculty, who would chide them for their puritanical sensibilities. As was always the case, many students would eventually find themselves joking and enjoying hours of discussion with the professors as the semester wore on.

For her part, Karen kept to the company of her new friends and roommates. Together, they wandered about the Gate, Portobello Road, and London itself. Each adventure seemed to uncover something new or unique.

Outside of the classroom, the quiet, gentle young woman was an ardent explorer. Though Karen’s teachers might not have seen this aspect of her personality, her friends had a chance to see Karen’s adventurous nature and marveled at the fact that the woman who could spend hours lost in writing was just as content on the floor of one of Notting Hill’s many clubs. From the moment she arrived in London, Karen knew that she had less than 4 months to do things that she would, or could, never do back home. She saw several musicals including the recently released Les Misérables, visited museums, danced in clubs, and even attended a KISS concert. Karen’s tastes in music leaned toward INXS and Steve Winwood; the hard-rock band’s music wasn’t normally part of her musical repertoire, but their live performances were legendary—and this was yet another chance to experience something new.


Enraptured by the park’s beauty and the simple gestures of its occupants, Miriam Luby Wolfe captured the scene in her journal: “I am sitting as I always sit, on a grassy slope under a tree—surrounded by infinite shades of green and yellow. My shoes are off, and I sit Indian style. People look at me as if I’m odd. It’s the most touching and wonderful park scene I’ve ever seen.” Like Karen, a fellow student in Utermohlen’s Art History class, Miriam had taken a summer job away from home; she sang and performed for audiences at Darien Lake, a theme park southeast of Buffalo. Though the job took her hundreds of miles from her Maryland home, Miriam appreciated the opportunity to put her talents to use.

A tall, slender woman with bright blue eyes, Miriam was one of a number of Theater majors in London that fall, and she immediately immersed herself in the experience. By October, she’d traveled to Wales, the Netherlands, and France, recording almost all of her experiences with a sophistication that belied her 20 years. While many of the DIPA students tended to cluster together during trips, Miriam and a couple of friends would frequently split away, often engaging locals in long, deeply philosophical conversations or witnessing sights, such as the darkening of the Eiffel Tower, many of her classmates missed.

Philosophical and intelligent, Miriam looked within, carefully chronicling the scope and nature of every change wrought by her new home and companions.


Unlike some of his classmates, a semester in London wasn’t high on his list of priorities in the opening months of his sophomore year, but when his girlfriend applied for the program, Christopher Jones hesitantly decided to follow her to Notting Hill.

Jennifer, his earnest younger sister, died of hepatitis during an exchange trip to Ecuador in January. Her death cast a pall over the gregarious English major, but his qualms about spending time overseas stemmed from a sense that he wouldn’t enjoy traveling. After considerable soul-searching, he joined Erica and the others at JFK on September 6.

In London, Chris’s humor and outgoing personality endeared him to many of his peers. He and his roommates would periodically post flyers in the Center advertising parties at their flat, and the gatherings were immensely popular with the DIPA crowd.

In quieter moments, the tall man with the mischievous spirit often reflected in his hazel eyes would write long, playful, and occasionally introspective letters home. The trip to London was changing him. Chris’s mother, Georgia Nucci, once described him as provincial, but Europe piqued his curiosity—he frequently left London for trips to the mainland—and made him more worldly. Yet he clung to the prankster within, once writing that he didn’t want to grow up. The parties would continue throughout the term.

Late October, 1988, Heathrow Airport, London

It was 6 in the morning when a woman staggered into the terminal, freshly disembarked from a flight from New York. Heathrow was a mob scene even at that hour. Exhaustion clouded thought and vision alike, frosting the chaotic scene with a touch of the surreal.


Peggy and Karen Hunt, France, 1988
Peggy and Karen Hunt in France. Late October, 1988. Photo Credit: Robert and Peggy Hunt.

The shout came like a jolt. Scanning the throngs for the speaker, she spotted the young woman standing in the crowd. Dark, wavy hair flowed down her impossibly long neck, framing a pair of huge brown eyes. Karen Hunt’s appearance was as distinctive as it was welcome.

Peggy and Karen had discussed the possibility of a visit from home before Karen left for London, but nothing had been formalized until recently. Peggy’s new job left her with fewer vacation days, and she was equally concerned about impinging on Karen’s experience in Europe.

Karen’s classes were going well, and she’d enjoyed her trips in and around London as well as the company of her roommates and ever-growing circle of new friends. The living arrangements, the distance from families and friends, and the immersion into new, if not quite completely foreign culture, fostered a deep sense of connection among the students, bringing them closer while encouraging their independence. Karen was no exception. Ostensibly quiet by nature, Karen’s gentle demeanor and ability to be outgoing when the situation called for it allowed her to develop a wide and disparate circle of friends at Syracuse. The same was true in London.

As at Syracuse, many of her new friends in London found her to be an intelligent, intuitive, and kind companion blessed with a penchant for giving remarkably useful advice and for smoothing the waters when necessary. Karen was deeply curious about the inner workings of people’s minds—her mother once said that Karen wanted to get into people’s heads to figure out what made them tick—and her long conversations with friends gave her the chance to peer into their thoughts.

Her friends in London were open with her; many of their discussions centered around the seemingly timeless disputes between 20 year-old adults tasting true independence for the first time and their parents. The discussions, complaints, and fights struck a chord within her. Nearly 2 months had passed since she left Rochester; now, with the mid-term break approaching, Karen thought about her own relationships. More independent than many her age, she nonetheless enjoyed a close relationship with her family. Karen began to feel increasingly homesick as November approached, and she asked Peggy, the only member of her immediate family with a passport, to join her for a week during the mid-semester break.

Peggy Hunt was delighted to receive the invitation, and the joy of seeing her daughter in Heathrow cut through her exhaustion after the red-eye flight to London.

Karen Hunt at hoverport in Boulogne-sur-Mer, 1988
Karen Hunt approaching the hoverport in Boulogne-sur-Mer, late October, 1988. Photo credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University: The Karen Lee Hunt Family Papers.

Together, the two women explored London, then traveled to France for several days, taking in what they could in the relatively short time they would have together. They feasted on pastries in Paris, dined on the Seine, and spent a portion of the last day France at Versailles where a kindly tourist photographed mother and daughter together.

Work had just begun on the Channel Tunnel that year. In 1988, the fastest means of traversing the English Channel from the coast was by hovercraft, massive, fast, quintessentially English craft that could “fly” on cushions of air across the channel at 60 knots. Karen and Peggy departed France for Dover at the Boulogne-sur-Mer hoverport, though Karen found the loud, clattering engines and choppy trip unnerving.

Karen and Peggy spent much of their time together lost in conversation. One night in London, Peggy discussed the details of an old relationship with Karen who, listening intently, began to relate the conversation to her own relationship with Mark The couple had been together for over 2 years, and the likelihood of their marriage after graduation was one of the factors behind Peggy’s visit—she knew that this would be one of the last opportunities she would have to be with her daughter on this kind of a trip. The conversation grew steadily more serious and intense. Then someone said something funny.

Curious about the commotion, Karen’s roommate found the two of them shrieking with laughter.

Karen’s friends in Syracuse believed that she was maturing more quickly than most. Nearly 2 months in London had accelerated the maturation. Peggy couldn’t help but notice the changes in her daughter. The independence and challenges of living abroad had added a new level of depth and maturity. As Karen cooked meals and guided her around town, Peggy thought, “My little girl is growing up.” It was the timeless, bittersweet thought of a parent who sees her daughter at the threshold of adulthood.

One evening shortly before Peggy left London, Karen reflected on her future. Her mother lay in the bed next to hers; both women were getting ready to call it a night. They were both together in Notting Hill. The thrum and rush of traffic, mingled with a distant a strain of music, drifted into the room. In less than two months Karen would step off the connector flight to greet her family and boyfriend in Rochester. She would be back at Syracuse University in the spring, home for what might be her last summer with her family, then back to Syracuse as a senior. Beyond that lay graduation—and in spite of her desire to write for a magazine—uncertainty.

Karen expressed her uncertainty to her mother that night, telling Peggy “I really don’t know what kind of work I’ll be doing once I graduate from college—I just want to do something where you and dad and everyone can be proud of me.” As in Chicago months earlier, Peggy realized that she couldn’t be more proud of the young woman sharing the room with her.

As the women continued to talk, Karen thought about the connection she shared with her family in light of the tensions between her friends and their parents. She looked over at Peggy and said, “We’re lucky to have such a close relationship.”

“Very Lucky,” Peggy thought. “Very lucky.”

November, 1988, London

Alexander Lowenstein watched his friends bowl another frame at the alley. Handsome and fit, the man with the sandy brown hair preferred the waves off Montauk to the constrained interior of the bowling alley. Disinterested in the game, he turned his attention back to the intriguing girl seated near him, The two chatted for some time—only later would he learn that he’d been talking to Stella McCartney, Paul’s daughter. His friend’s wouldn’t be surprised at his luck; the gregarious young man had a knack for earning the trust of strangers.

Karen Hunt with fellow students, fall, 1988
Karen Hunt with fellow students, fall, 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University.

Like many students, Alexander had traveled extensively that fall, making it as far as the Soviet Union where he spent hours lost in discussion in a hidden location. A senior majoring in English, Alexander was considering a change of focus after graduation, but he never lost his passion for literature. On a trip to a gallery, Alexander found himself mesmerized by portraits of the late English Romantic poets. Byron’s visage enraptured him, inspiring him to write, “a shame he died much before his time . . .Too many of them did.”

Alex spent most of his time with his girlfriend Beth; Rick Monetti, another close friend, often joined the couple on trips and visits to local pubs. Karen Hunt’s Pi Beta Phi sisters Alexia Tsairis and Julianne Kelly were also frequent visitors.

On warmer days, Alex would join Sandy Philips, Timothy Cardwell, and others for pickup games of American football in one of Notting Hill’s many parks, where bemused locals would watch the young men and women rush, dodge, and tackle each other. As Thanksgiving approached, November’s chill signaled an end to football as the students turned toward more sheltered distractions.


Somehow, between an internship, 21 credits of coursework, voice lessons and frequent trips, Miriam Luby Wolfe was able to lay the foundations for a project aimed at expanding Syracuse’s Theater program. “The Ad Lib Theater Project” was the product of Miriam’s close collaboration with Theodora Cohen and several other Theater majors. Miriam and Theo, the originators and primary movers behind the project, spent hours discussing the finer points of launching the alternative theater in the spring.

The semester had a powerful effect on many of the students. Miriam articulated this transformation in one of the last entries in her journal: “The past two days, I’ve felt like part of the city—with the pulse of it, the current, its heart. Maybe it’s the people I’m getting to know. I’m getting stronger in myself every day.”

Karen Hunt and a friend with Bobbies, 1988
Karen Hunt and a friend with Bobbies. Notting Hill, fall, 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University.

Yet the falling temperatures hearkened the approach of Thanksgiving. This would be the first Thanksgiving away from home for many of the students. The London Center hosted a holiday dance and Thanksgiving dinner to give the students a sense of connection with home, and the students welcomed the chance to gather collectively in the face of the hectic final few weeks of their time in London.

The dinner also announced the final weeks of the semester, weeks of projects, finals, Christmas shopping, and packing. Some of the students were able to fit in a last round of trips to Scotland or the mainland. Most found themselves lost in the rush, though the frantic dash to complete the term could only do so much to distract them from the fact that they had spent nearly three months away from family, friends, and partners. A few including Karen Hunt, Miriam Wolf, and Alexia Tsairis, had visitors from home earlier in the month. Others, like Chris Jones and Alexander Lowenstein, were fortunate enough to spend the semester with their romantic partners. Yet the visits from or presence of loved ones, welcome as they were, couldn’t remove the edge from the sense of homesickness permeating the center and dozens of surrounding apartments.

The center had a final organized trip to Scotland in the final weeks of the semester. Karen Hunt checked her finances; she had enough to cover the trip north. This might have been her last opportunity to explore the U.K. with impunity, but the trip would eat into the budget she’d allotted for presents. It’s was relatively easy decision for her—Scotland could wait. She’d have that much more to pack for the trip back to Webster.

Her feeder flight was scheduled to descend into Rochester International at 11:30 on the night of December 21st. That would give her 3 days to take the edge off the jet lag before the 25th.

This would be an amazing Christmas.

December 9th, 1988. Notting Hill

Karen wanted to write a novel. That project was years away, but she spent hours writing stories and poems, often sharing them with her roommates.

More privately, she recorded her experiences and thoughts in neatly-penned entries in her journal. Twelve days before she was scheduled to leave London, she added her final entry from Europe, an excerpt from Theodore Roethke’s “The Waking”:

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

The poem seemed to mirror the blend of optimism and uncertainty in her mind, and the second line echoed the subject of a conversation in a distant kitchen months ago. What will be will be.

She looked forward to writing her next entry in the welcome familiarity of her bedroom in Webster.

December 11, 1988. Webster

The ground lay frozen under inches of snow as winter announced its presence in upstate New York. Ice crystals filled the winds, swirling around streetlights to form a beautiful, unexpected cascade of refracted light.

Karen Hunt (right), fall, 1988
Karen Hunt (right), fall, 1988. Photo Credit: Robert and Peggy Hunt.

If the Hunts missed the show, it was for the best of reasons. With a week of finals and packing ahead of her, Karen took what was probably her last opportunity to call home. She and Peggy fondly reminisced about their adventures in London and Paris in November, though Karen’s anxiety about the long days ahead of her often intruded into the conversation. The grinding end-of-term routine of projects and studying had left her with no time to shop for presents, and the stress of the coursework left her anxious and exhausted. As she had done so often before, Peggy soothed her daughter, reminding her that she’d be home among family and friends in another 10 days. Somewhat mollified, Karen was much calmer when Robyn joined the conversation.

Karen kept photographs of Robyn pinned on her mirror in London as a constant reminder of her deep connection with her younger sister. She kept another symbol of that connection closer still—a thin anklet of pearls on her left leg. Robyn made the anklet for her at a summer camp several years earlier. This was likely the last chance she’d have to speak to Robyn until she arrived in Rochester International, and the sisters talked for some time. Robyn proudly told Karen of her latest feat—making the varsity cheer leading squad as an eight grader; Karen congratulated her, and both shared their excitement at seeing each other in a matter of days.

Bob, Peggy, and Karen finalized the details of Karen’s return. She’d take an 8 hour flight from Heathrow to JFK, then a feeder to Rochester International, reversing the trip she’d made 3 months ago. As she was booked on Flight 103 the last of the 3 flights chartered to take the DIPA students home, Karen wouldn’t arrive in Rochester until 11:30pm

Karen Hunt (left), and friends. Fall, 1988
Karen Hunt (left), and friends in her flat. Notting Hill, fall, 1988. Photo Credit: Robert and Peggy Hunt.

Karen’s boyfriend would drive from Syracuse to join the family in welcoming her home when she walked, giddy but exhausted, off the feeder flight to Rochester.

Mark lived near Albany, several hours away from Karen’s home in Webster. Though the distance limited the time the couple could spend together in the summers, this worked to their benefit during fall, as Karen and Mark were already accustomed to the challenges of long-distance relationships. Both had perfected the art of writing long, heartfelt letters; Karen would mail tapes to him, and both would spend hours talking over the phone in conversations that would last well into the morning.

Mark’s phone bills often ran into the hundreds, but the sound of Karen’s voice was worth the expense. The final bill was a bit much though, and in spite of the longer practices in the gym and his own academic work, Mark put his artistic talents to good use to cover the bill by producing illustrations for students’ reports and projects, pulling several all-nighters to get everything done.

He’d have enough cash on hand to buy a pair of earrings and a dozen red roses for Karen on the 21st.

December, 1988. Notting Hill

Karen Hunt and Friends. December, 1988
One of the last photos of Karen Hunt (center) before the tragedy. December, 1988. Photo Credit: Robert and Peggy Hunt.

Karen and her friends knew the days of parties and gatherings were coming to an end, so they crammed in as much as possible between assignments, shopping, and finals. The flatmates bought a Christmas cake to celebrate the upcoming holiday, and several of them ventured out for a last get-together in a friend’s flat. Though tired, the women posed and smiled for the obligatory photographs. Karen wore a Christmas sweater Peggy had left last month as a symbol of the season and a reminder that, within a few days, she’d be spending the holiday at home.

In spite of her tight schedule, Karen was finally able to fit in some of shopping. The gifts included a beautiful Wedgewood teapot for Peggy. She’d also procured liquor-filled chocolates, boxer shorts, and a teddy bear. Karen was especially proud of the gift she’d bought for Robyn. She’d found the rare Japanese Guns n’ Roses album in one of London’s many music shops. It would give her fits as she finished her packing on December 21.

She disliked Guns n’ Roses. The coincidence wasn’t lost on her, but Robyn would no doubt love the album, which wasn’t available in the United States.

December 20, 1988. Notting Hill

A number of students changed plans at the last-minute, shifting flight times forward or backward, or changing dates altogether. Erica Elefant was one of several who opted to travel to France before leaving for home. Christopher Jones, tried to convince his girlfriend to join him on the flight home. “It’ll be a party flight,” he told her. He was scheduled to leave on Pan Am 103.

Erica deferred, though she assured him she’d be home from Europe in no time. She reminded him to take it easy on the flight, as he was scheduled to work the next day.

With her roommates scattered, Karen Hunt chose to spend the night with a friend and her flatmates, Tim Cardwell and Kenneth John Bissett. Tim and John would join Karen on flight 103 the next day.

December 21, 1988. Notting Hill and Heathrow International Airport

Though she was never a fan of the group, Karen was more annoyed with Guns n’ Roses than usual at the moment. The fragile album took up an enormous amount of time as she tried to pack it in a way that prevented it from shattering in the plane’s baggage compartment. Her suitcases were almost bursting with clothes, presents, and mementos from her months in London, including programs from concerts, musicals, and plays, a Frog & Firkin t-shirt, sheaths of letters from home, and rolls of undeveloped film. Nestled safely in one of the bags was her journal filled with a semester’s worth of memories.

Karen Hunt with friends, December, 1988
Karen (2nd from left) poses with friends in one of the last photos before the tragedy. December, 1988. Photo Credit: Robert and Peggy Hunt.

She left Campden Hill Tower for the last time, taking the bus to Heathrow. Karen watched the streets and neighborhoods she’d become familiar with slide away as the bus entered unknown locales. Many of her classmates had already left on one of the two earlier flights chartered by Syracuse University, but Karen would join thirty-four of her classmates on the third flight, Pan American 103.

Several blocks away, Annie Lareau bid farewell to Theodora Cohen on the sidewalk near their flat. Brilliant and outspoken, Theo had made a name for herself in her high school theater, and her transition to Syracuse University’s competitive Theater Department had only fueled her enthusiasm. Theo spent her summers working in local theater productions and with Miriam Luby Wolfe, she envisioned forming a more experimental and politically oriented theater at Syracuse in the spring. As the cab pulled up in the rain, the young woman with the stunning soprano voice smiled at her friend and jetéd off the sidewalk to the waiting taxi.

Karen, Miriam, Alexander, Theo, Chris, and 30 other DIPA students made their way to Heathrow’s vast terminal. Many of the students brought delicacies and treats to share with their classmates on the trip home. Others bought candies and snacks at the airport. The mood was light and festive; the semester had been long, exciting, and arduous, and most of the students’ thoughts had turned to home in recent weeks. They’d be with their loved ones again in a matter of hours after a joyous flight to New York.

Students gathered together for some last-minute group shots in the terminal while outside the Pan Am 747, “Clipper Maid of the Seas,” sat heavy and massive as the loading tunnels extended to its side. Flight 103 was running a bit late, but the delay was nothing out of the ordinary.

Karen Hunt (right), with roommates. December, 1988
Karen Hunt (right), with roommates shortly before the bombing. December, 1988. Photo Credit: Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University: The Karen Lee Hunt Family Papers.

At last, the passengers embarked as handlers placed the last of the luggage containers in the plane’s cavernous holds. Karen took seat 31K next to the window on the right side of the plane near the trailing edge of the wing. Kenneth Bissett, the Cornell student in whose flat Karen stayed last night sat next to her. Both aspired to be writers; their shared interest would spark a conversation between the new friends all the way home. She gazed out the window, taking one last look at the city that changed her and silently bid farewell to her home for the past 4 months. She would have time enough to reminisce at home. She’d be exhausted when she landed in Rochester where there would be greetings, questions, and finally, a familiar bed waiting for her when she arrived in Webster. It was all 10 hours away.

Pan American Flight 103 taxied down the runway, turned, and gathered speed. Over 350 tons of plane, passengers, and cargo slipped into the evening sky at 6:25, London time. There were 259 people on board, far less than capacity, particularly given this busy time of the year.

The plane gained altitude as headed north before turning toward New York, seven hours and thousands of miles away. It eventually reached cruising altitude: 31,000 feet, 6 miles above sea level. Captain James MacQuarrie throttled back the engines. The aircraft and its passengers were set for a routine trip across the Atlantic.

NATS Air Traffic Control Center. Prestwick, Scotland. 7:02:50 P.M. GMT.

Alan Topp watched with concern as the transponder signal from Pan Am flight “Clipper 103” vanished. His concern turned to horror a moment later when the single radar return began to multiply on the screen; the echoes fanned out, then faded from the monitor. Ashen-faced, he called his supervisor over.

December 21, 1988. 7:10 P.M. GMT. Park Place, Lockerbie

She lay silent and motionless in a small yard. A modest apartment building sat a few feet away, one end crushed, part of the roof slanting toward the ground like a giant flap. An unusual orange glow filled the air, the product of rooftops burning half a mile away. A portion of the light reflected off the low-lying clouds, illuminating a nearby street sign bearing a commonplace name: Park Place.

Flashing blue lights drew near. All else was stunned silence or roaring flames, save for the distant wail of sirens.


Cox, Matthew, and Tom Foster. Their Darkest Day: The Tragedy of Pan Am 103 and Its Legacy of Hope. New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1992. Print.

Fish, Mike. “The Nightmare Didn’t Go Away.” The Post-Standard [Syracuse] 21 Dec. 1988, sec. A: 1+. Print.

Foster, Tom, Stephanie Gibbs, Matthew Cox, Karen Nelis, Jonathan Salant, and Maurice Smith. “The Darkest Day: The Bombing of Pan Am Flight 103.” The Post-Standard [Syracuse] 7 May. 1989: n. pag. Print.

“Karen L. Hunt, 20.” Syracuse Herald-Journal [Syracuse] 23 Dec. 1988, sec. A: 6. Print.

“Karen Lee Hunt, 20.” Syracuse Herald-Journal [Syracuse] 18 Jan. 1989, sec. A: 8. Print.

Hunt, Peggy, and Robert Hunt. Personal interview. 27 Dec. 2013.

Iannetta, Jessica. “SU London Alumna, Faculty Still Commemorate, Feel Loss of Students.” The Daily Orange. N.p., 7 Oct. 2013. Web.

Mitchell, Patrice. “A Year after Flight 103.” Times-Union [Rochester] 4 Dec. 1989, Evening ed., sec. A: 1a. Print.

Pan Am Flight 103/Lockerbie Air Disaster Archives at Syracuse University (Photos).

“Students Were Pursuing Their Dreams, Exploring Their World.” Syracuse Herald-Journal 23 Dec. 1988, sec. A: 6-7. Print.

Terror and Tears: The Story of PanAm 103. YNN, 2008. Web.

There are 2 comments
  1. Kevin Keating

    Lived at 64 Campden hill towers and remember well the night before the disaster as the Syracuse students enjoyed a leaving get together. I always remember the silence the next evening coming from there apartment and the sad feeling has stayed with me forever Rip Karen

  2. […] London, 1988 […]

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