Highland Falls is a picturesque town just north of Bear Mountain about 45 miles from New York City. It has a pleasant, bucolic environment with quaint bed-and-breakfast inns small shops, and the West Point Museum on its Main Street. There hasn’t been a homicide in the city in nine years – until Thursday, when 7-year old Jerica Rhodes was found stabbed to death in the parochial school, Sacred Heart of Jesus, where she was a first grader. Her father, Christopher Rhodes, has been arrested but has denied responsibility.

When word of Jerica’s murder was first announced, parents at the parish school were concerned that a killer could be loose in the vicinity. The panic soon turned to heartsickness at the idea that a father who supposedly loved his child might be guilty of such a horrific act.

I would not be writing about a family tragedy so soon after its occurrence were it not for what I heard a woman say on the Staten Island Ferry on my way into Manhattan Friday. The woman and her friend were discussing the murder. She, too, had a daughter at a parochial school, and at that time of the morning the news of the father’s arrest was not known. I heard her say, “You watch what I say. If the girl was black no one will be talking about this by next week. But if she’s white, you can bet we won’t hear the end of it.”

Such cynicism may be ugly to hear but it is well founded. In an essay entitled “Playing the Race Card,” the managing editor of readingpost.com, Vance Cureton, wrote that the disappearance of a black, Asian, or Hispanic woman does not become “a national obsession,” as the Laci Peterson and Chandra Levy disappearances did.

Likewise, the deaths of young black children who have suffered terribly at the hands of their caregivers rarely command public interest for any length of time. Hadji Williams, another black writer, notes: “They’re called “Amber Alerts” and “Megan’s Law” and not “Lakeesha Alerts” or “Shanita’s Law” for a reason.”

As it turns out, Christopher Rhodes is a black man, and I will wait to see how long Jerica remains in our memories. Certainly she will be mourned in her community. The communications director for the Archdiocese of New York, Joseph Zwilling, told me that the local parish would be holding prayer services in memory of poor Jerica.

The child was being raised by her grandparents after being abandoned by her mother as an infant. Her grandfather, Linwood Rhodes, is a retired police chief of Highland Falls. He looked as if he was in shock while being interviewed by reporters.

“Jerica lived with me since she was 5 to 6 months of age. My wife and I are really the only parents Jerica has known. She was born in Bridgeport. Her mother left her for unknown reasons,” he told a group of journalists.

Grandparents taking over the care of their grandchildren is not a new phenomenon, nor are these domestic circumstances restricted to any one race.

When I was 11 (decades ago) I went to an upstate farm in Walton as part of the Fresh Air Fund program. I was met at the train station by an elderly white man whose 8-year-old granddaughter was seated next to him. After the introductions were over, the little girl said: “Ooh, she’s so skinny!” I will never forget his response to her. “She’s not skinny, she’s slender.”

I knew right away that this was a kind man, and while I never did learn the reason why he and his wife were raising his grandchild, I knew she was lucky to have them in her life.

It’s a further indication of the Highland Falls grandparents’ concern for Jerica’s welfare that they sought a private education for her even though they are not Catholic.

Although the perception of race bias by writers like Vance Cureton and Hadji Williams and the woman on the ferry may be valid, one must remember that it is ultimately the editors and network programmers who decide how much attention is given to news incidents, not the public at large.

The death of Jerica Rhodes is every bit as heart-wrenching to the public as was the death of Lisa Steinberg. I look at that picture of a smiling Jerica and know that we are all diminished by her death. To paraphrase John Donne, we should ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for all our children.