In 1960, Mark was a first-grader at Crystal Spring Elementary School. In 1980, he became an assassin.
Photo Courtesy of the Virginia Room, Roanoke Public Libraries
It all started at a USO dance in Fort Worth, Texas, in 1953. David, a staff sergeant in the Air Force, could not take his eyes off Diane, a student nurse. After a brief courtship David and Diane were married, and 10 months later, the couple celebrated the birth of their first child, a son named Mark. David left the military and began a career with Amoco.
By all appearances, the family was a model of middle class domestic life, but inside the home there was tension. Compounding matters Diane worried about her toddler son, who had a habit of rocking back and forth, almost trance like. The family’s pediatrician assured her that his rocking motions were nothing to worry about and that Mark would outgrow it
In 1960 Amoco transferred David to its branch office in Roanoke, located at 200 South Jefferson Street. The family rented a house at 2124 Crystal Spring Avenue. To those in the South Roanoke neighborhood it was the old Dawson home, occupied by A. R. Dawson and his wife for some 30 years. For Mark, now a first-grader at Crystal Spring Elementary School, this was a formative time and playing along the tree-lined streets of South Roanoke provided his first vivid memories of childhood.
Decades later, Mark recounted their South Roanoke home with its “big spooky attic” and some of his school classmates. The home bordered the lawn of First Presbyterian Church whose grass spread beneath sprawling oaks. It was here that Mark often played by himself.
Mark was befriended by First Presbyterian’s pastor who noticed Mark playing in the church yard. He tasked Mark with keeping a vigilant eye on the block. “I took the job very seriously. I would walk around the church grounds and keep an eye on the place. It was like a security guard would do. I thought of myself as the guardian of this church, and I would walk around it every day to see that everything was all right,” Mark recalled later.
At school, Mark encountered difficulty making and keeping friends, perhaps due to his family’s moving three times in Mark’s first seven years. The young boy also had thoughts and ideations that differentiated him from his playmates.
One such occasion was on a walk with a friend and their coming upon a cat that had been hit by a car. Noticing the blood and the protruding entrails, the boys were mesmerized by the sight. Mark remarked, “Oh, isn’t that too bad.” His friend interpreted Mark’s comment to be lighthearted. “God saw that!” the friend retorted. “God has this book in heaven and every time you do something wrong, He makes a little mark on it. If you get too many marks you’re going to hell!”
Mark, the church guardian, ran home crying. He was now on God’s bad side and punishment was looming. Diane managed to soothe her troubled son, assuring him that God was not mad at him.
Sometime later, Mark was pulling his wagon along Crystal Spring Avenue and noticed men carrying a coffin into First Presbyterian Church. People were crying, and Mark sat in his wagon entranced. He had never seen a coffin, had never been to a funeral and did not know until later that the black box contained a dead body. It was all new to him. “It was fascinating, seeing this great emotional turmoil and not knowing what was happening,” Mark remembered.
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