Mail from hell: a package bomb cost Janet McWilliams her hands. But she refuses to give up

Airman, April, 2004 by Tim Barela

Janet McWilliams is no longer afraid of the dark. She no longer panics if she has to go to the grocery store by herself. She no longer trembles when she opens her window blinds in the morning.

But she's still not entirely at peace. There are too many painful reminders. Brandon Waiters made sure of that when he sent her a package bomb July 31, 2001, that blew off her hands and nearly killed her. Nevertheless, Jan, a master sergeant at the time, made sure Brandon, then a senior airman, did not win.

She survived.

"I'm sure that wasn't in his plans," said the former first sergeant, who retired from the Air Force in July 2003. "I wasn't going to let Brandon beat me."

The nightmare begins

Sergeant McWilliams has never had any illusions about her career as a first sergeant.

"It's a calling," but it's also often a thankless job, said the first sergeant, who was with the 342nd Training Squadron at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, at the time of the attack.

"First sergeants don't get people in trouble; they get in trouble all by themselves," she said. "But they need someone to blame for their problems. [Since first sergeants are the people they see when much of the disciplinary action takes place], we often get the blame. It's the 'shoot the messenger' mentality."

Enter Brandon Walters.

Airman Waiters walked into her office May 8, 2001. He was prior military--Navy--and he was entering the Air Force to attend the electronic principles school at Lackland.

"He was unkempt. He needed a haircut, a change of clothes and a shower," Sergeant McWilliams said.

Lack of personal hygiene wasn't his only quirk,

"I'd try to talk to him, and he wouldn't respond," she said. "It took me three attempts to get his attention. Even then, he wouldn't make eye contact. He was also touching things that weren't his. He was very fidgety. He started talking to himself and giggling. Just very odd behavior."

His antics didn't stop there. Every place the airman went, Sergeant McWilliams got a telephone call. He was rude; he complained bitterly about having a roommate; he stole food from the dining facility.

Then came the straw that broke the camel's back.

Airman Waiters automatically became a class leader because of his prior military time and his age, 29. One day, his instructor left the classroom for a moment. No sooner had the instructor left than he ordered the class to "swab the decks." Everyone looked at him like he was joking.

"Swab the decks!" he repeated more forcefully and obviously agitated. The other students refused for fear they would be electrocuted since they were working with electronics. Incensed, Airman Waiters began yelling so loudly that another class leader came running.

"Most of the students are 18 or 19 years old," Sergeant McWilliams said. "They were petrified of Brandon. When I heard about the classroom incident, I knew I had a powder keg here."

'Beware, beware, beware'

Sergeant McWilliams called her commander and told him that Airman Waiters was a "time bomb waiting to explode." Little did she know how prophetic those words would bc.

"We felt like Brandon had become a threat to the other students and the staff," she said. "He had issues, and this is a guy who was training to eventually work on nuclear weapons! My commander told me, 'Shirt, I want him evaluated.'"

Airman Walters spent nearly three weeks in the hospital. Doctors diagnosed him with narcissistic personality disorder, which is characterized by a grandiose sense of self-importance and a lack of empathy for others. They recommended he be medically discharged.

June 22, 2001, Sergeant McWilliams handed Airman Walters his discharge package and a ticket home to Utah.

"That really set him off," she said. "He lost it." Ranting and raving, he blamed the first sergeant for his trouble.

Then, almost as suddenly as the tirade began, he stopped yelling and became eerily calm, she said. In almost a whisper, he said, "Beware, beware, beware."

It was one of the few times he looked her in the eye. She described his eyes as dark and piercing, like those of a shark.

"It gave me chills," she said. "To be honest, it scared the living crap out of me. I had a bad feeling about this guy. After I'd left him, I literally sat down and trembled."

Security forces drove him to the airport the next day, but he never got on the plane.

According to Sergeant McWilliams, one of the last things he said was that he wasn't going to Utah. He had unfinished business in San Antonio.

"When my commander told me that Brandon hadn't got on that airplane, I wasn't surprised, but I was scared," she said. "Dan [her husband] and I went on full alert."

Malicious mail

Sergeant McWilliams never relaxed after that.

"I was always looking over my shoulder," she said. "I'd never park in my parking spot. I drove different vehicles."

In July 2001, Sergeant McWilliams asked for a transfer. July 21 she got her wish and transferred from the 344th to the 342nd Training Squadron.

The first shirt had been at her new job only 10 days and was working on some award packages in her new office when she spotted a parcel sitting on the end of her desk.