At the beginning of 1998, Lloyd learned that he was about to lose his job. Levi Strauss, in a cost-cutting measure, was closing eleven of its plants in the United States—including the one in San Angelo—and moving the operations to the Caribbean and Mexico. After more than twenty years of being a company man, he was unemployed.
Marshall introduced his dad to Terrell Sheen. Following his advice, Lloyd went into business as a self-employed contractor. He worked almost exclusively for Sheen.
In May of 1998, Marshall graduated from Water Valley High. Beneath his yearbook photo, he wrote:
My fondest memory is being attacked at Primarily Primates by a Black Leopard.
His parents purchased an ad in the yearbook to celebrate his graduation just as they had for Wendi two years earlier. It read:
Our bouncing baby boy. How the years have flown. As a tiny baby, you were always hard to hold back when you saw something you wanted. Look at you now, pointed in the right direction, a strong mind and body. You’re unbeatable. Hold on to your dreams and you will succeed because you’re a winner. Just know and remember we love you very much and could never be more proud of you than we are right now. No matter where you go or what you do, remember you’ll always be in our hearts.
Love,
Dad, Mom & Wendi.
Marshall did not plan to move away from home in the fall—he had a full scholarship to Angelo State University. He would not, however, join Wendi there. His sister had accomplished something that not many were able to do: She completed all of her prerequisite courses and was accepted into the only College of Veterinary Medicine in the state, at Texas A&M, after just two years of undergraduate studies. Only 20 percent of veterinary students enter the school on that fast track. Wendi was moving to College Station, heading east to a different physical environment, a more challenging academic situation and a whole new world at Texas A&M.
At more than 30,000 students, the population of the university was larger than the surrounding town. It sat on a huge expanse of rolling acres—a trip from a class on the east side to another on the west side was so far to travel that students without cars resorted to bicycles to get across campus on time.
The social fabric was enriched by a wealth of tradition. Originally an all-male school, A&M had been co-ed for decades, but many of the Corps ideals remained an integral part of the experience. Football was king, and the legend of the twelfth man ruled every game—all the students stood throughout all four quarters, indicating their symbolic willingness to step on to the field and help the team.
The annual bonfire before the gridiron contest with the University of Texas was the stuff of legend. For weeks, students, wearing decorated hardhats called “pots,” headed to the cut site to chop down trees that were hauled to the construction site. There, they stacked a pyramid of logs that reached to the sky with an outhouse in UT’s burnt orange and white colors perched on top before the fire was lit. Wendi was a student the year the tradition came to a tragic end. On November 18, 1999, a nearly completed stack collapsed, killing twelve students. A pall spread across the campus as universal grief consumed the entire student body.
Wendi plowed into her course work with the same enthusiastic determination she’d demonstrated in high school. The demands of the curriculum were high—some say veterinary school is more difficult than medical school because of the need to learn about multiple species.
First-year studies—forty hours over two semesters—included gross and microscopic anatomy, microbiology, physiology and clinic work. The veterinary school at Texas A&M was the only one in the country to offer hands-on training for the first-year student. At this level, it was all elementary animal care, working with the colony of teaching animals at the school, becoming comfortable handling their patients, checking vital signs and drawing blood.
All the while, Wendi was immersed in a field of study with a whole new vocabulary so extensive that it took most students two years to master it all. In the summers, she worked as an assistant at Terrell Sheen’s veterinary clinic in San Angelo.
Wendi delved into parasitology, pathology, pharmacology, toxicology, surgery and anesthesia classes—another forty hours or more with the addition of electives—in her second year. The last year of classroom studies focused on small and large animal medicine and surgery. For the first time, Wendi got experience in the operating room.
The fourth year of veterinary medicine took Wendi out of the classroom and into thirty weeks of basic care rotations and twelve weeks of clinic rotations that allow students to determine and hone in on their career path whether with small or large animals, a mixed practice or non-clinical work. During this part of her studies, Wendi put in a lot of time at the campus veterinary hospital under the direct supervision of a faculty member.
She worked hard at her course of studies, but did take some time to socialize. She became pregnant and had an abortion. Then she began a sexual relationship with Jason Burdine, another student at A&M. Wendi soon moved on to a boy named Chase. Although they were intimate, she never learned his last name. After Chase, she started up with her next sexual partner, Ryan Reitz.
Ryan and Wendi lived in the same trailer park. When she’d received a piece of his mail in error, she called. The relationship started from that happenstance. When Ryan attempted to end it, Wendi played the pregnancy card again.
At first, Ryan did not believe her. He thought he was infertile. He accompanied Wendi to the doctor and received confirmation that she was with child. Judy and Lloyd met with Ryan’s parents to discuss the repercussions of the situation and to make plans for the future.
The Reitz family was in agreement. Ryan would support the child, but he would not marry Wendi. Judy was furious. “If he’s not going to do the right thing, then we want nothing to do with him,” she snapped as she stormed out of the room.
Counting up the days, Wendi realized that Ryan wasn’t the only paternal suspect. She had no idea of how to contact Chase, but she knew where to find Jason Burdine. She told him that he was the father.
Initially, Jason wanted nothing to do with Wendi or the child. He thought about it for a while, though, and had a change of attitude. “You’ll never get to see the baby,” he threatened Wendi. He vowed to take the infant away as soon as it was born.
In this hostile environment, Wendi carried her second pregnancy to term, while performing the required rotations to earn her veterinary degree. Her son, Tristan, was born on October 29, 2001. Judy moved to College Station to care for the infant while Wendi finished school.
DNA samples went to a lab. Ryan Reitz was eliminated as the possible father. Wendi called and let him know. For some bizarre reason, she jotted a note to him suggesting that he should come up and see the baby. Ryan passed up the invitation without comment.
The DNA evidence should have made the paternity clear. Not everyone, however, seemed to receive the same results. Jason Burdine insisted that he’d read a DNA report that eliminated him as the possible father. Years later, Judy Davidson said, in sworn testimony, that Jason was the father. In the same series of depositions, Wendi swore that she did not know the paternity of Tristan.
Nonetheless, Jason visited Wendi soon after Tristan’s birth and then again right before Wendi left College Station after her graduation from veterinary school on May 10, 2002. Jason did not maintain contact with Wendi after her move.
As Wendi’s brother Marshall said, “She always seemed to find the wrong guy.”