From our archives: Michael Soles’ first media interview

Editor’s note: This story originally was published in The Wichita Eagle on Dec. 15, 1986. It includes Soles’ first media interview after the mass shooting on Aug. 11, 1976.

Ten years ago a troubled teenager rode an elevator to the top floor of the Holiday Inn in downtown Wichita. He carried two rifles and a lunch pail full of bullets.

It was 2:45 on a drizzly Wednesday afternoon when Michael Soles opened fire.

For 11 minutes, the sound of shots from a bolt-action deer rifle echoed through downtown Wichita. When the shooting stopped, three people were dead or dying. Six others were wounded.

Larry Ade of Wichita still keeps a street sign as a reminder of how close he was to death.

''The first shot hit the street sign, " he said. "The second shot opened up the side of my head."

Denise Guseman of Derby still carries pieces of a bullet next to her spine. ''It's in my neck and they won't mess with it, " she said.

Today Soles has a $1.05-a-day job at the prison library at the Kansas State Industrial Reformatory in Hutchinson. After 10 years in prison, he says he's retained his religious convictions and that his parents still visit regularly. The soft-spoken Oklahoma native with red hair and freckled arms hopes to have a community college degree by June.

Last week, in his first interview since the shootings, Soles also said he had resolved the inner conflicts that drove him to the top of the 26-story hotel on Aug. 11, 1976.

''I did not have control over what was happening at that time, " he said. "I did not even know what was going on at the time. Whether people will understand that, I don't know."

Although Soles received three consecutive life sentences, state laws at the time ensured that he would be eligible for parole after 15 years. Now, two-thirds of the way toward that first parole hearing, Soles is not optimistic about getting out.

''I don't know . . . I feel I would have just as much right being out as most of these others, " he said as inmates were escorted past a windowed interview room just three barred iron doors from the front entrance of the prison. "I worked hard at alleviating what problems I had. I believe I deserve a chance.

''I feel I have gotten things under control. I feel that the problem that caused me to be here has been totally removed from my life. What caused me to be here was a buildup of tension that I didn't know how to deal with. If a person doesn't have a proper release for a buildup of tension, it could happen to anybody."

But for the victims, especially for the relatives of those who died, some of the wounds will never heal, according to Jack Middleton, a police chaplain who is president of the August Eleven Council, a non-profit corporation formed to help victims of the shootings.

''I don't know that I believe in rehabilitation enough that I could be confident that it would not happen again, " Middleton said. "I stood up on Holiday Inn last August and looked out the window . . . I can't exactly understand a person who shoots people who have done him no harm. I can't compute that one."

''It's the same world - maybe more pressure-oriented than it was 10 years ago in August, " said Ade, now a vice president of a Wichita investment banking firm. "The shame of it would be if it would happen again."

''I don't really know, " said Guseman. "Someone sitting in prison forever? I don't know if a cell's going to help him any. If he's eligible for parole, I ain't going to stop him. I don't feel he's going to harm me again. But I wouldn't want anyone else to get shot.

''It's a hard world, " she said. "It's a hard world for me. It's a hard world for him. It's a hard world for everybody."

''I think he was basically shooting at society, " said Guseman's sister, Penny, who also was wounded in the attack. "He just wanted to show everybody he couldn't handle it."

The Gusemans, who were without medical insurance, say they're still trying to recover from the financial effects of the shootings. They also had no insurance on the car Denise crashed after she was shot.

''I still have metal in my neck, and I crunched my knees pretty bad, " she said. "My knees hit the dash real hard."

During his trial, Soles testified he didn't remember much about the shootings. Psychologists speculated that Soles couldn't cope with a lost job and being rejected by a girlfriend.

''I just started shooting at things that caught my eye, " he told a jury that later rejected his plea of not guilty by reason of insanity.

Soles agreed to an interview on the condition that he not be photographed and that he not be asked to discuss the crime. But he frequently used his case to illustrate his views on such topics as capital punishment and the state's sentencing laws.

Sentencing laws that carry flat sentences, he said, would eliminate tension among prisoners, who now must get the approval of a parole board before they can be released.

Wearing horn-rim glasses, jeans and a faded blue shirt with three yellow pencils in one pocket and a prison ID clipped to the other, Soles paused occasionally and fumbled for words.

''Dad gum it, I've always had problems getting words out, " he said at one point.

As for capital punishment, he said, "I honestly feel that no person has a right to take another person's life except in self-defense.

''Anybody who takes another person's life needs to be examined - needs psychiatric help. This I can see even in my own case. I agree, there is a need to separate them from society for the time being. But so they can get the help that they need."

Soles said he was helped somewhat by five years of counseling with prison psychologists who tried to find out why he "blacked out" that day.

''I pretty much had to work with myself on that, " he said. "They themselves feel that everything has been worked out because they were the ones who stopped the sessions."

A typical day for Soles now begins shortly before 7:30 a.m. - the time he reports to the prison library.

''I end up with 21 bucks a month. I just barely get by with getting what I need and a few items I want from time to time. Like some food and coffee. There's only so far $21 can go.

''Most people get money in from their folks, and I do not like to ask my folks for anything. Every once in a while they'll send in a small money order. I do not ask for it unless there is emergency. I do not like having to get money from home.

“Me and my folks love each other. We still care. There's been nothing to sever that. They still visit every month-and-a-half or 2 months."

After work, he said, he returns to his cell, which has a radio and television.

''I go in and try to block things out."

This story was originally published May 3, 2017 at 1:43 PM with the headline "From our archives: Michael Soles’ first media interview."