Now on paid administrative leave, he is driven to retain his job with the band while portraying the university president as soft on hazing and blaming those under his tutelage with paying only lip service to his warnings about longtime band rituals.Įarly on, the band's culture of secrecy even influenced the police investigation. White, who has spent 50 years with the band as a student through his latest position as band director and chairman of the music department, told "Outside the Lines" in the presence of his attorney that he was unaware - until that night - of the brutal hazing ritual as well as all the inner workings of the band's secret society of unsanctioned subgroups - claims that ring hollow with some current and former members. Attempts by the Champion family to find out exactly what happened to their son - and why - have been met by silence from many of the 350-some band members (some facing potential criminal charges) and school administrators. The investigation found that Robert's death was the culmination of a university administration's inability to weed out physical hazing despite multiple incidents and warnings over a period of several years. "Outside the Lines" spoke with dozens of witnesses and former band members, including two who, for the first time, publicly shared what happened on Bus C and in the minutes after Robert collapsed. 19 found a tragic and violent scene that was simply part of the culture within Florida A&M's profitable and best-known ambassador - the Marching 100. But an "Outside the Lines" investigation of what transpired the night of Nov. That Robert, a band leader who enforced every rule, and an outspoken critic of hazing stepped onto Bus C for any reason other than to break up a hazing ritual seems inconceivable to those who knew him outside of the FAMU band. And, as with others who go through it, members pummeled and kicked Robert as he crossed Bus C, making his way from the front to the back, the bus rocking and swaying all the while as it sat parked in the back lot of the Rosen Plaza Hotel. The ritual has gone on at least two decades, former band members say. White didn't tell the Champions the FAMU drum major had been beaten to death by perhaps a dozen or more fellow band members in a brutal hazing ritual known as Crossing Bus C - the letter referencing the chartered bus assigned to transport the band's percussion section. But now he lay dead, beaten so badly his body had gone into fatal shock. The equivalent of a quarterback in one of the most celebrated college marching bands, Champion just hours earlier had high-stepped his way through athletic drill routines during halftime of the Florida Classic, a weekend social built around the season-ending football game between the FAMU Rattlers and rival Bethune-Cookman Wildcats. Robert Champion was pronounced dead at 10:36 p.m. Mustering his most comforting tone, he says, "Miss Champion, I'm sorry to tell you, but Robert's gone." He is calling from an Orlando hospital and checks to make sure she is not alone before delivering the news. She calls back with word for the Champions to stay off their home phone, that band director Julian White will call shortly.Īfter nearly an hour, Pam Champion answers the phone and hears White's voice. She reaches a young woman who says she will take an elevator to the lobby of the hotel in Orlando where the band is staying in search of information. She calls a handful of bandmates' cell numbers her daughter has given her. Pam begins to pray with her husband, Robert, by her side. No one from the university has called, so there are no answers. The news from her daughter, Brittany, has been relayed by a friend in the band. Or he collapsed from the rigors of a high-intensity band performance in the Florida sun. Maybe a heart ailment has gone undetected. Her 26-year-old son is a solid 6-foot-1 and 235 pounds, a weight-room regular, a drum major and prominent figure in the FAMU Marching 100 band. They paralyze her mother: Robert collapsed. Her youngest daughter, at college in North Carolina, spits out words, rapid fire. The phone rings in the family's Atlanta home. It's a Saturday night, the week before Thanksgiving, and Pam Champion's only son is in Orlando for Florida A&M's last football game of the season. You have reached a degraded version of because you're using an unsupported version of Internet Explorer.įor a complete experience, please upgrade or use a supported browser
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