Twenty years ago today Erin Vanderhoef, her children Christopher, Jimmy, and Dara, as well as her unborn child Hannah, were murdered by Richard DeLong in Springfield, Missouri. The bodies were found the next day by a neighbor hoping to borrow some sugar. The murders rocked Springfield. Personally, the murders rocked my own world. As pastors of the church where the children attended, I accompanied my dear friend Jim to positively identify the bodies at the morgue. Following that, our church held the funerals for the five members of the Vanderhoef family. I still remember well the caskets lined along the front of the church auditorium with the four accompanying hearses outside the church building.
But there is more to this story that you need to know. I encourage you to read the following blog by Tim Shawhan, who was a Sunday School teacher to Christopher. This is a sweet story that will encourage you on this anniversary date of their deaths.
For Of Such Is The Kingdom Of Heaven
by Tim Shawhan
“Mr Tim, Mr Tim! Look what I got for Christmas!” I heard the eager-child voice and the unmistakable rapid slap of small running feet grow closer and louder in the hallway outside my Sunday School classroom until both burst simultaneously through the doorway carrying with them a rush of air and a wisp of a little boy. The rush of air held the dry bite of a South Missouri January morning – Sunday, January 3, 1999, to be exact. The wisp of a boy held, in his appearance, a moment in time that remains sealed in my memory.
All arms and legs with a mop of thick dark hair and wire-rim glasses that mimicked his wiry frame, 10-year-old Christopher Franklin was as excited as I had ever seen him. “Look, a brand new Bible!” Christopher skidded to a stop in front of me, his outstretched hands displaying with pride a dog-eared, paperback KJV Bible that looked like it had come from a thrift store.
“Wow dude, that is awesome!” Though I knew it intuitively, a glimpse of his insecure smile and pleading eyes clearly confirmed to me that this child deeply desired my approval and blessing upon his newly treasured Christmas gift. I was all in. In spite of my stoic nature, I had learned how to speak to children in a tone of amplified excitement by observing my wife, who was very good at it. “That has got to be the best Bible I’ve ever seen!” I exclaimed.
Chris’ face lit up. “I know!” he said. Then, wheeling quickly to the door, he shot out of the room as fast as he had come in. “Gotta go,” he proclaimed as he disappeared down the hallway. The bus that brought Chris to church that morning had run late, delivering him in time for Children’s Church but too late for my Bible class. Chris had made a special point of seeking me out before the start of Children’s Church so he could show me his new Bible.
I shook my head and smiled, a little surprised but happy that Chris had placed such a high value on my approval, and absolutely ecstatic that he was so excited about owning his own Bible. That would not have been the case as little as one month ago. It had been in that very classroom three weeks prior to this day that Chris had come to understand the hope available to him through faith in Jesus Christ. It changed his young life. Chris Franklin had been a child desperately in need of hope.
Each year since, twenty years now, the dry bite of a new January takes me back to that day in 1999, and each year I replay this scene in my head. It was the last time I saw Chris Franklin alive. On January 19, 1999, ten-year-old Christopher Jamie Lee Franklin was brutally murdered.
Chris Franklin was a bus kid, one of hundreds that our church buses gathered up every Sunday morning to be taught and ministered to in our Sunday School and Junior Church programs. It was, and still is, a wonderful outreach ministry. Most of our bus kids were at-risk children to one degree or another. Chris and his siblings were at the extreme end of the at-risk scale.
The children were known as the Vanderhoef kids, Chris being the only one to carry a different last name even though all three of the children apparently had different fathers. They lived with their single mother, Erin Vanderhoef, on an impoverished street in Springfield, Missouri that carried the well-deserved nick-name “meth alley.” Christopher had a nine-year-old little sister named Darlene and an eleven-year-old brother named Jimmy. Erin was pregnant and overdue to deliver a fourth child, a little girl, whom she had decided to name Hannah. Hannah was actually Erin’s eighth child. Four previous children had been taken from her by the state and given up for adoption when she lived in North Dakota. Missouri was supposed to be a fresh start.
Life was not easy for the Vanderhoef kids. Erin made $200 a week at a local McDonald’s but it did not stretch nearly far enough. Keeping the kids clothed and fed was a challenge. The children lived in squalor. My wife and I had, on one occasion, attempted to visit Chris at his home. No one answered our knock but I was able to clearly see inside the home through the screen door window. Trash and garbage was piled knee-high throughout the rundown little rental house. The place appeared to me to be uninhabitable. The living conditions were horrible. “We must have the wrong address,” I told my wife. Sadly, that was not the case.
Erin had been, as I discovered later, on probation with DFS for failure to provide sanitary living conditions and adequate supervision for her children. She often left the kids home alone while she was at work or visiting her latest boyfriend in Joplin, an hour’s drive away. He was the most recent of a string of boyfriends to whom the children were expected to address as “Dad.” His name was Richard DeLong and he was soon to acquire a new title – “Mass Murderer.”
In spite of their circumstances, all three children were reported to be happy and reasonably well-adjusted. They certainly did not fall through the cracks of the social welfare system. Two churches (including the one I attended), the Salvation Army, and multiple state agencies were involved in making sure the temporal needs of the children were met. The Vanderhoef kids were not going to starve or go without shoes and clothing. There were enough people involved in their physical welfare to keep that from happening. Care for temporal needs, however, will not give an impoverished and neglected child hope for the future. Only Jesus can do that.
I did not know Darlene, “Dara” as her friends called her. Jimmy had been in my class the previous year. He was an energetic handful but no more so than any other 10-year-old boy. I’m told that Christopher, like most little brothers, behaved in a similar manner to Jimmy when they were together. But I did not know Christopher as “Jimmy’s little brother.” The Christopher I knew was different, like his last name was different. He was, in fact, different from any child I had previously worked with. It is in that sense that he holds a special place in my heart and mind.
From the day he had promoted to my Sunday school class in August of ’98, Chris Franklin had been a hard case – sullen, indifferent, even hostile. He sat alone and did not interact with the other kids. There was a melancholy in his demeanor that I have not often seen in a child. Chris was smart. He was exceptionally smart. I believe it was because of his unique intelligence that he perceived the reality of his life’s circumstances in a way that was unusual for a child of only ten years. He seemed to have a level of awareness much more akin to that of an adult, and a recognition of the hopelessness that accompanies deep poverty.
I was beginning my fifth year of teaching fourth grade Sunday school at our church and Christopher was the personification of my reasons for deciding that this year would be my last. I knew that the Word of God provided the only answer for Christopher and the other children that I dealt with, but I felt that I had been ineffective in the teaching of it. It must be the case as I did not seem to be making any difference in their lives. I was certain that I was failing to make a difference in Chris’ life. To say I was discouraged would be an understatement. Yet, in spite of that and in spite of my decision to quit teaching, I was determined to stay faithful to the responsibility until my term expired in August of ’99.
But then, in November of ’98, something extraordinary happened. Chris Franklin began to take an interest in the Word of God. Our fourth grade curriculum taught through the first five books of the Bible. I loved it. I spent a lot of time teaching the book of Genesis, mostly because every fundamental doctrine of the Bible has its seed in Genesis, but also because Genesis is loaded with science. I love science. Fourth grade boys love science. Maybe that was the hook that first got Chris interested. I discovered later that science was his favorite subject in school. I began each class by handing out classroom Bibles to those who wanted to follow along and did not have one of their own. Chris did not have his own and had never been willing to accept one from my hand, until that day in November.
Over the next few weeks Chris’ attitude in class transformed. He began to take a Bible every time it was offered to him and diligently followed along in the lesson. He listened as I taught. He asked questions and engaged in the classroom discussions. One Sunday in early December, at the end of a lesson on Noah and the flood, Chris Franklin made the decision to place his trust in Jesus – and I saw for the first time a light of genuine joy in his eyes.
On January 20, 1999, a sixteen year old neighbor entered the Vanderhoef home to borrow some sugar and unwittingly stumbled onto the scene of the worst mass murder in the history of Springfield, MO. The bodies of Erin and all three of her children lay in different rooms of the house. All of them had been strangled to death sometime the day before, on the 19th of January. Erin’s unborn child, Hannah, had died inside of her and was regarded by the state of Missouri as the fifth victim.
Hannah’s father, Richard DeLong, was a long time meth addict. He used meth to pay an accomplice to lure Erin out of her house to buy doughnuts while Richard, with the help of his new girlfriend Stacie, strangled Erin’s children one at a time. His primary target was Erin but he did not want to leave the children as witnesses. When Erin returned he strangled her and, in doing so, killed his own unborn daughter. DeLong’s new girlfriend had wanted Erin dead. DeLong dutifully carried out the request.
That was twenty years ago. Shortly afterward, I decided to change my mind about giving up my Sunday School class that year. In fact, I continued teaching fourth graders for another seventeen years. All during that time I never again thought about quitting, I never got burned out, I never tired of the work. I can thank Chris for that. An unlikely heart attack finally forced me to accept the fact that it was time to pass the work on to those who were younger and more energetic.
Richard DeLong and his accomplice, Harold Lingle, escaped the death penalty and are rotting in prison somewhere for the rest of their lives. Stacie Leffingwell died in prison of AIDS before she ever went to trial. The murder of the Vanderhoef family sent the residents of Springfield into shock for a brief period of time, but the city recovered quickly. Gated communities have since sprouted up around town like mushrooms – and the social issues of poverty, child neglect, and drug abuse that surrounded and led up to this awful crime still exist and are, if anything, worse than ever.
There were a lot of people, including myself, involved in the lives of the Vanderhoef kids. We all tried as best we knew how to help them, to nurture them, to guide them to adulthood. Ultimately, we all failed them. The sin and evil of this world are too powerful, the human heart is too wicked, and human ability is too feeble.
But there is one Person who did not fail Chris, or Jimmy, or Dara, or Hannah. They are safe with Him today. It was He who said “Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto Me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” I was present to witness the new hope shining in Chris Franklin’s eyes the day he put his trust in Jesus. I believe if Chris were still present in this world he would want to tell you about it. But he is not here, so I am telling his story. I think he would be glad about that. I think he would want others to know what he knows about the love of Christ.
I look forward to seeing Chris again some day, although I expect that before I ever catch sight of him I will hear his excited voice calling to me – “Mr. Tim!, Mr. Tim!… Because we will be in heaven, and he will no doubt have something awesome to show me.
In Memory of Christopher Jamie Lee Franklin 8/7/88 to 1/19/99
Tim Shawhan has been married for over thirty-five years to the light of his life, Rebecca. They have three grown children and six grandchildren. Tim is a Bible student and Bible teacher of over twenty years to young boys. He and his wife are faithful members of their local church. He blogs at https://unassailablegospel.com/. This post originally appeared here and has been edited to match the twentieth anniversary of their murder.
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