The accident
11:30 p.m.
Just another Saturday night and the doorbell rings. Mike Liscombe opens his front door to two teenage boys with distraught faces. His wife, Kathy, is asleep.

“I can remember them telling me that my son had been in an accident,” Mike said. “What are you supposed to do when someone says that to you? I did the first thing I thought of. I went [to the scene].”
Roughly 15 minutes later, Mike and his son Craig, now 29, arrived at the scene of an accident that would change their lives forever.
Their minds raced, muffling the sounds of surrounding sirens. In front of them lay a 1998 Honda Prelude that had flipped at least five and a half times across concrete, and numerous times in the air: a totaled 2-ton pile of metal that once held the lives of 16-year-old Jacob Liscombe and 17-year-old Brad Boss.
That night, a similar scene was taking place in the Boss’ home, only instead of opening
the door to two teenage boys, Susan Boss opened her front door to a sight no parent wants to see.
“A couple of Brad’s friends had called and asked if I had heard anything about an accident or if I had already received any calls, and then I was opening the door to a police officer who informed me about Brad,” Susan said.
Kids are invincible.
What started as a good time for the two former FHN students turned deadly that night, on March 5, 2005. A party. A drink. A bet. According to reports the two boys agreed to a street race. They were headed Southbound
on Highway 94 and Jungs Station at 95 mph, when the bet became more than a game, but rather a bet that would end their lives when the car struck a guardrail. Also according
to the police reports Brad was at the wheel at the time of the accident with Acute Ethanol Intoxication, meaning there was alcohol in his system. Both bodies contained measurable levels of alcohol and THC, which is the hallucinogen
marijuana. Jake’s brother remembers the night, and their last conversation vividly.
“I was on the phone with him and he was telling me how they were getting ready to race,” brother Zach, now 21, said. “Then the next time I saw him he was on the side of the road with a sheet covering him. I was just mad then.”
Less than an hour after Jake had been identified, cars lined the subdivision streets of the Liscombe’s home – the house filled with friends and family that had already been affected by the accident.
“Everyone was devastated,” Kathy said with watering eyes. “It’s safe to say [Jake] may have been the most well-liked kid in the whole school. He wanted to be everybody’s friend. He always came through the door asking
who needed a hug. There’s just no way to ever describe how it feels to lose a son.”
The Boss family was experiencing the same sense of loss on this night. Like most they were still thinking, “How could this happen to us?”
“He was a very social kid,” Susan said. “I would say he was like the golden boy. Then, once he hit 16, he started experimenting.
He had that circle of friends that he started to hang around with, and it was his sophomore year going into his junior year when I think he started to get pulled into the peer pressure. That night it took his life. You think it can’t happen, but it’s scary now, because I saw that it could.”
Two lives were lost that night, including
one that would have soon hit a milestone in his life. Brad would have turned 17 that following Tuesday.
The aftermath.
The Monday after the accident, Susan went to the funeral home; it was the first time she had seen Brad since Saturday night.
While an emotional mother visited her son one last time, FHN was becoming a place of mourning. Students lined up to sign lockers, signs, and cards in memory of their friends. Both lockers were removed. Jake’s holds a spot in his bedroom, where the signatures of his classmates signed that day are clearly visible. Many couldn’t even make it through the whole school day, but grief counselors from North and other schools in the district were ready to talk when the students were ready.
“I went to the school with Zach, who was a senior at the time, and remember walking
into the commons and was amazed at all the kids,” Craig said. “It was like they were all packed into that one room to remember him.”
One room. One place. Just as friends gathered together in the commons that day, friends and family gathered together at Baue Funeral Home. The funeral was held five days after the accident and at the time it was Baue’s largest. A 75-car procession followed Jake – a loved friend, son, student, and athlete. Brad is buried in Collinsville, the town his mother grew up in.
Also in memory, bracelets were sold for $5 to put towards a memorial: two stone benches that sit in the presence of FHN, right where bus riders everyday come and go, and act as a reminder that kids are not invincible.
The Liscombes themselves initiated the memorial. It was what they wanted to do.
The weeks and months following the accident were harsh on both families, but Susan
was able to find comfort in the students themselves.
“Brad’s friends have been amazing,” Susan said. “They’ve touched me, and it’s their support that made us survive losing Brad.”
The Liscombes continued to speak out to the students, coming back to their sons’ school a year after the accident. They stood in the gym in front of 1,000 faces, faces of innocent teenagers just like Jake and Brad. Some of those faces knew their story, and some would be greatly affected, hearing it for the first time. Next to their three sons, Mike and Kathy told their story at the pre-prom assembly hoping to reach their audience.
“It’s just sad that kids listen to kids more than they listen to their parents,” Mike said. “We wanted to speak then. It was hard, but it always will be.
“I think when kids knew what happened
to us and Jake, it scared the hell out of them. But eventually, they all went back to being teenagers again. Kids are invincible. There’s a place and time for everything, and they think they are.”
Four years later.
2009. Since the assembly, neither family
has spoken publicly about the accident, but live with its affects everyday.
“It takes time to heal,” Craig said. “You always know he’s there. You always think it’s going to be the person next door until it’s your door [the police] knock on. The worst thing is there’s nothing you can do to bring him back.”
Each day they walk by his bedroom, now filled with his memories, photos, and bears made out of his clothes, knowing Jacob will no longer walk into it. Now, what hits them hard is the reason their brother and son is no longer here.
A party. A drink. A bet. That’s where it started for these two teen boys on that March 5 night. Mike and Kathy weren’t even aware that Jake drank. Susan, on the other hand, had noticed a change in Brad’s behavior, but never would have thought he would make the choice he did. Both boys’ parents had talked to them about drinking and driving and thought that it would be enough. But one decision changed it all.
“We know kids do it,” Susan said. “They have fun, but you have to set limits. You have to have boundaries. They think they’re invincible. I was always a mother who watched him pull out of the driveway and made sure he had his seat belt on. He was a responsible kid, but in a wild spell. I never would have thought Brad would get behind the wheel to race. I only hope that young adults listen and know that it could happen to them.”
A Change.
Today it’s the same decision that kills millions
all over the world. In fact, two in every five Americans will be involved in an alcohol-related crash in their lifetime. Society watches families like the Liscombes and Bosses lose so much, and still make the same mistake.
“You can’t put your kid in a bubble,” Mike said. “He was having fun, but it gets to a point where the chances of hurting yourself don’t matter. You have to be dumb enough to have the responsibility to do that to yourself.”
Shortly after the accident, English teacher Dawn Jones started the PACE club, now known as TASC, which would hopefully bring out the responsibility in students according to Principal Darlene Jones. The goal was to get a group to come together and be proactive about the issue of drinking and driving. TASC may have been the one healthy thing the school got out of the accident.
“They touched a lot of people,” Darlene Jones said. “I wish I could say people remember and have changed, but I don’t think I can say that. Kids just think it won’t happen to them until they think about a life ending.”