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|Victim taken out to ambulance |

On December 6, 1989, classes were in session at the École Polytechnique at the University of Montreal, located on the north slope of Mont Royal. It was the largest engineering school in Canada, with about 5,000 students enrolled at that time. A six-story yellow brick building housed the classrooms and offices.

To the students it seemed like a normal day, if cold and drizzly. It was the last day of the session, with final presentations going on in different places. About 60 students sat in classroom C-230, on the building's second floor. It was just after 5 p.m., and the sky had darkened. For some, that made it easier to focus on the lecture offered by two students about the mechanics of heat transfer. The incident that day, only minutes away, would be covered extensively in Montreal's Gazette and the Toronto Star.

A thin, young man with a shaved head (according to one source, though others say he had shaved only his beard) and a white baseball cap, had been sitting for a while on a bench in the hall outside the registrar's office. Those who passed noticed that he wore jeans, work boots, and a blue-striped sweater, but because he also wore a gray parka, they could not see the design on the back — a skull wearing glasses, as reported later in The Gazette. He had a green plastic bag with him, although no one realized that inside was a lethal weapon, and beneath his sweater he had strapped on a sheath containing a six-inch hunting knife.

He looked agitated, as if he were waiting for someone who had failed to arrive. He made eye contact with no one, but his attitude was clear in his stiff posture and grim expression. When an employee in the office asked if he needed assistance, he got up, grabbed his bag without a word, and walked away. She didn't think much about it. The end of the semester was a tough time for students, and many were tired.

A few minutes after 5 p.m.,the halls had cleared and no one was about — no one who could raise an alarm. People in the offices were preparing to leave for the day. That, at least, would work in his favor.

With care, he removed a lightweight Sturm Ruger Mini-14, .223-caliber semi-automatic rifle from his bag, recalling how he had told the clerk at Checkmate Sports not long before that he was going after "small game." The clerk hadn't grasped the significance of the comment. Still amused by his little secret, the armed man strode toward classroom 230 (some say 303). This was the moment. He had attached a high-capacity banana clip magazine so he could fire 30 rounds in quick succession, and he had plenty of ammunition. He was ready. No one would forget this day. Small game, indeed.

As the lone man entered the room, a few people looked over at him and he offered a slight smile, as if to apologize for the interruption. He looked at the women, as if to make certain of where they sat. Used to students arriving late, Professors Yvan Bouchard and Adrien Cernea both ignored him.

But then the grinning man in the baseball cap ordered them all to pay attention. "Everyone stop everything," he insisted. Professor Bouchard looked over, annoyed. He squinted as if trying to remember who this student was.

In French, the young man asked the 10 female students to get up and move across the room. He then told the men to leave. No one moved. A few people laughed, as if this were some kind of joke. That was the worst thing they could have done. He had been humiliated enough in his 25 years. On this day, of all days, he was not going to be treated in that way.

Lifting his rifle, he shot twice into the ceiling. It was no joke.

"You're all a of bunch of feminists!" the man shouted, his eyes now alight with anger. "And I hate feminists!"

This time, he ordered the women to get up from their seats and the men to leave. A few moved to obey, but others remained confused. They wondered whether they should try to overpower the gunman, protect the women, or leave. The choice as to what was best was unclear. But after a few moments, the male students and teachers walked outside. In weeks to come, many of them would have nightmares about this moment, reliving it over and over, wishing they had acted differently.

When the 10 women had moved into the specified corner, the gunman explained his reason for being there. According to survivors who spoke later to police or reporters, he told them that he was there on behalf of males. "I'm fighting feminism." Women had been taking employment and opportunities away from men, he said, and feminists needed to be taught their place.

Nathalie Provost tried to tell him that they were not necessarily feminists, but this only enraged him. He lifted the rifle again and, as they screamed for mercy or tried to leap out of range, he methodically shot them from left to right. All were hit. Provost was shot three times.

The men waiting outside heard the shots and the agonized or frightened screams. They could hardly believe what was happening. At least 20 rounds had been fired. A few ran down the hall to raise an alarm and find someone who could call for help, while others waited.

Then the gunman came out and strode past them. No one tried to stop him. No one dared. He aimed the rifle precariously at them and they backed away, allowing him to leave. He fired at several other students on that floor, and three more were hit, including two women. Then he continued on his way.

When the male students ran back into the room to help the women, they found a gory spectacle. Six were dead. The others needed immediate assistance. The wall behind where they had been standing was sprayed with their blood. Those who were still alive were crying or moaning.

A student called for emergency assistance, but the gunman had already found his way to another part of the building. And even when the ambulances arrived as fast as they could, the paramedics were instructed to wait until the police had cleared the building. So those inside could not yet be helped. Few people waiting outside realized what a nightmare was happening in the halls.

The news spread fast through the building that a maniac was shooting people, and those on other floors could hear the screaming and gunfire. A few managed to get behind locked doors where they waited in a panic, unsure if they were really safe. Those students who saw the gunman walk by reported later that he was smiling. "Nothing crazy," said one, "just like he was having a good time."

One female student was trapped inside a room the gunman entered. He aimed and fired, but the clip was empty, so he walked away, sparing her life. She quickly locked the door.

Inside a stairway, he bent over his gun. A student running down the steps heard him swear over his lack of bullets, fled past him, and then heard a shot fired. Apparently the man had reloaded.

He returned for the prey he had missed, but could not get past the locked door. He shot at the lock, but it still hindered him, so he went in search of easier targets. The woman's quick thinking had saved her.

He passed three people lying in the hall in pools of blood — his handiwork — and came into view of a young woman walking down a stalled escalator. The man lined her up in his sights and hit her, knocking her down the rest of the steps.

Remaining on the second floor, he saw a woman locking an office from the inside. He could see her through the glass, so he fired and hit her. She was recently married and was just an employee who had stayed a little late. But she was a woman. That's all that mattered to him.

Satisfied, the rampage killer returned to the escalator and went down. His next stop: the first floor cafeteria, where more than 100 people had gone for dinner. Students running through had urged them all to flee, but many had dismissed the warnings as last-day pranks. Those few who decided to leave did so quickly. Many remained and continued with their meal or indulged in the free wine offered that day to celebrate the term ending. Around them hung signs wishing them a Happy New Year a year that some would never see. For them, it would be their last drink.

One student who saw the shooter later told the Gazette how the slight, young man seemed to have a real facility with his weapon. "He had his rifle in both hands, pointing up above his shoulder, like he could slip it down and fire real fast."

Apparently when he spotted only men, he left them alone, but if they were with women, they might become targets as well. A few were hit, but mostly in the arm or shoulder.

Ten minutes into his rampage, the gunman entered the cafeteria, walking past the festive red and white balloons. He spotted a woman in line to get food, lifted his rifle and shot her, even as her husband was swept to the floor by the sudden stampede. Two other women were shot as well, and were left slumped in their chairs.

By that time, police had arrived and assembled outside. Several went to cover the exits, lest the gunman slip away, but it took nearly 20 minutes before they decided to enter. They were not certain where he was and did not wish to endanger anyone. Calls went to a dispatcher for more ambulances, and those wounded students who could walk on their own went to meet them at the roadblocks.

Inside, the shooter climbed the escalator to the third floor, where he fired at a woman and two men, and then passed classroom B-311 with windows that allowed anyone in the hallway to see inside. Surprisingly, class was still in session. No one had thought to warn these people to get out. Two professors and 26 students were inside, proceeding as if nothing was happening.

Two young men and a woman were in the middle of giving a presentation on a platform. Maryse Leclair was the female student, in her final year of the program, and her father was the director of communications for the city police. She didn't know it, but he was on his way. And he could not know that his daughter was in danger.

"Get out, get out!" the gunman shouted.

They looked at him but no one moved. No one knew what to do. One student later told reporters that the gun had looked like a toy. It was hard to take this man seriously, especially on the last day of the term.

To emphasize his point, he aimed the rifle at Maryse Leclair and shot her. She gasped and fell to the platform, blood staining her shirt from the wound to her abdomen. Then he turned the rifle on students sitting in the front row. They dove for cover beneath the desks. The man was serious.

Two women tried to get out a door near the platform and were shot for their efforts. The gunman then aimed at other students attempting escape through a second door and fired, hitting them. As people hid beneath desks, the madman strode up and down the rows as if looking for something. He shot until his clip was empty, reloaded, and shot again. People who had been hit and were still alive groaned in pain. Others gasped in terror.

The man hopped onto a desk and went from one desk to another, shooting as he went, looking specifically for females who were hiding. He hit four students.

Maryse Leclair was down, but still alive. She pleaded for assistance, which attracted the gunman back to her. Those who survived this bloodbath recalled for the newspapers what he did next. The strange young man sat down next to the wounded woman, quietly pulled a knife from the sheath strapped to his body, and used it to stab her in the heart. She screamed in surprise and pain. This violent act shocked those who were watching. The man had no mercy, but there was nothing anyone could do. He pulled the knife out and then plunged it in twice more until the girl lay silent, blood gushing from her wounds.

No one dared to move. No one wanted to draw his attention. "We were trapped like rats," one student later told the papers. "He was shooting all over the place."

Clearly this crazy man was bent on absolute destruction. For all they knew, he might kill them all. Canadians knew little about such incidents, but it was clear that this angry man had an agenda. Every movement was full of purpose. He rose to his feet and walked over to the professor's desk. They waited to see what he would do next. Without a word, he laid his knife down, along with his remaining ammunition. He removed his cap and placed it on the table. The room was deathly still. People hardly dared to breathe. This man was up to something but his actions masked his intent. Still, he seemed emotionally spent, as if he had done what he came to do.

Even as the police prepared to enter the building downstairs, he removed his parka and wrapped it around the rifle's barrel. Someone in the building pulled the fire alarm, which jarred everyone.

The gunman said, "Ah, shit." He turned the rifle's barrel toward his own face, pressed the muzzle against his forehead, and pulled the trigger. The rifle exploded, blowing off part of his skull and he fell to the floor. No one moved. The place smelled of hot metal, gunpowder, and fresh blood. But clearly it was over.

The professor moved out of his hiding place and in a shaky voice told the class it was safe to leave. He suggested they not look at the man. Many fled, but a few remained to see if those who had been shot could be helped. Four were dead, including Maryse Leclair and the other two women. Another young man was wounded in the hand.

In the corridor, those who filed out encountered others who needed assistance. Many would have trouble forgetting what they had seen.

As police came in, Maryse Leclair's father went from one floor to another to assess the situation. Through a window in the third-floor corridor, he saw a young woman lying on a platform, on her back. He stopped. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was his daughter. Rushing to her, he realized that she was among those who had been killed. But more horribly, she had been stabbed as well as shot.

On other floors, other police personnel encountered grim scenes of their own. Sylvain Brouillette, one of the first officers to arrive at the scene and not much older than the students, recalled his experience for the Canadian Press. "A few people had blood on their faces. I saw a student jump from a window. Everybody was crying and yelling." Since reports had located several areas of the shooting, he had been prepared for a squad of commando-type shooters.

There had not been a mass killing like this since 1975, when 13 people had died from being herded into a storage room in the Garganttia Nightclub, which was then set on fire. That had supposedly been a contract killing in which innocent people had died, but no one could make any sense of this one.

The authorities soon learned that the suicidal gunman was Marc Lépine. It would take a while to piece together why he had caused so much slaughter, but he had stated enough about his intent for students to tell reporters that his rampage had been anti-feminist. He had wanted to shoot only women.

Adapted From: ttp://notorious_murders/mass/marc_lepine

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