He was tall, with a crew cut, and his voice was raspy from years of inhaling smoke from fires and cigarettes. (Willingham gave authorities permission to search the house: “I know we might not ever know all the answers, but I’d just like to know why my babies were taken from me.”) Douglas Fogg, who was then the assistant fire chief in Corsicana, conducted the initial inspection. The community took up a collection to help the Willinghams pay for funeral arrangements.įire investigators, meanwhile, tried to determine the cause of the blaze. Stacy worked in her brother’s bar, called Some Other Place, and Willingham, an unemployed auto mechanic, had been caring for the kids. Willingham and his wife, who was twenty-two years old, had virtually no money. Several stores along the main street were shuttered, giving the place the feel of an abandoned outpost. A small city fifty-five miles northeast of Waco, it had once been the center of Texas’s first oil boom, but many of the wells had since dried up, and more than a quarter of the city’s twenty thousand inhabitants had fallen into poverty. News of the tragedy, which took place on December 23, 1991, spread through Corsicana. According to the medical examiner, they, too, died from smoke inhalation. Kameron and Karmon had been lying on the floor of the children’s bedroom, their bodies severely burned. Willingham was taken to a hospital, where he was told that Amber-who had actually been found in the master bedroom-had died of smoke inhalation. “Based on what I saw on how the fire was burning, it would have been crazy for anyone to try and go into the house,” he said. “I received a black eye.” One of the first firemen at the scene told investigators that, at an earlier point, he had also held Willingham back. “We had to wrestle with him and then handcuff him, for his and our protection,” Monaghan later told police. As she was given C.P.R., Willingham, who was twenty-three years old and powerfully built, ran to see her, then suddenly headed toward the babies’ room. While he was talking, a fireman emerged from the house, cradling Amber. “My little girl was trying to wake me up and tell me about the fire,” he said, adding, “I couldn’t get my babies out.” Heading down the main corridor, he reached the kitchen, where he saw a refrigerator blocking the back door. He then charged through the front door, into a swirl of smoke and fire. One fireman, who had an air tank strapped to his back and a mask covering his face, slipped through a window but was hit by water from a hose and had to retreat. More men showed up, uncoiling hoses and aiming water at the blaze. A fireman sent word over his radio for rescue teams to “step on it.” Within minutes, the first firemen had arrived, and Willingham approached them, shouting that his children were in their bedroom, where the flames were thickest. Moments later, the five windows of the children’s room exploded and flames “blew out,” as Barbee put it. A neighbor later told police that Willingham intermittently cried, “My babies!” then fell silent, as if he had “blocked the fire out of his mind.”ĭiane Barbee, returning to the scene, could feel intense heat radiating off the house. He broke another window flames burst through it, too, and he retreated into the yard, kneeling in front of the house. Willingham told the Barbees to call the Fire Department, and while Diane raced down the street to get help he found a stick and broke the children’s bedroom window. He was screaming, “My babies are burning up!” His children-Karmon and Kameron, who were one-year-old twin girls, and two-year-old Amber-were trapped inside. She ran inside and told her mother, Diane, and they hurried up the street that’s when they saw the smoldering house and Cameron Todd Willingham standing on the front porch, wearing only a pair of jeans, his chest blackened with soot, his hair and eyelids singed. Smoke pressed against the ceiling, then banked downward, seeping into each room and through crevices in the windows, staining the morning sky.īuffie Barbee, who was eleven years old and lived two houses down, was playing in her back yard when she smelled the smoke. Flames spread along the walls, bursting through doorways, blistering paint and tiles and furniture. The fire moved quickly through the house, a one-story wood-frame structure in a working-class neighborhood of Corsicana, in northeast Texas.
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