On Feb. 5, 2005, Mike Panus collected three friends on the way to Huskies in Storrs. They danced. They closed the bar down. 

After an early morning stop at Subway, Panus, 24 at the time, dropped off a friend. Then another friend.

Minutes later, his car hit black ice as it traveled around a curve on Route 169 in Lisbon. Panus, whose blood alcohol content was twice the legal limit, overcompensated. The vehicle slammed into a tree.

In photos, the driver’s side is so mangled it’s almost unrecognizable. But it was the passenger, 23-year-old Richard Bronson — a gym comrade and fellow Eastern Connecticut State University student — who died.

“It was my responsibility to bring my friends home safely,” said the former U.S. Marine. “And I didn’t.”

Now 36 and living in Moosup, Panus wants to make a career of motivating others with his story.

‘A different sort of relationship’

When police showed up to the home of Randy Bronson, a retired Groton Town police sergeant who used to do death notifications himself, it was the first time he heard Panus’ name.

“He describes Richard as his friend, but it was a new, budding friendship,” Bronson said. “At first, I felt he belonged in prison. I pushed for that during the trial.”

But because of his work in law enforcement, Bronson had friends in corrections. They told him Panus wasn’t a normal prisoner. He kept his head down. He took other inmates under his wing.

Within a year of Panus’ July 2007 sentencing, Bronson visited Panus in Brooklyn Correctional Institution — an encounter he described only as “emotional.” He began to change his mind about the man who was driving the car that night.

When Panus became eligible for parole near the beginning of 2011, Bronson spoke on his behalf. When Panus began compiling dozens of documents so he could get his second-degree manslaughter conviction pardoned, Bronson wrote a letter in support.

Panus received that pardon on March 3.

“We have a different sort of relationship than many in our situation,” Bronson acknowledged. “But it would not benefit us or anybody else for him to be punished the rest of his life.”

Finding a purpose

The first time Panus told his story in front of a crowd was in November 2005, when he addressed 16 Plainfield High School students. 

“Despite some initial jitters, Mike proceeded to tell his story,” high school social worker Melanie Ericson wrote in a letter describing the encounter. “No matter what the future may hold for Mike, I believe that he is very committed to helping other young people.”

It was Bronson who encouraged Panus to continue talking about his past. Bronson, who had spoken during a drunken driving presentation at the Naval Submarine Base in Groton, thought it would be have more impact if the drunken driver also spoke.

He worked with Brooklyn Correctional Institution to make it happen.

Panus knew his story affected others. But when he was released to a halfway house in early 2011, the self-described “31-year-old college graduate” set to work trying to get a job in his field: marketing.

Friends gave him a desk job at the gym where he and Richard grew closer. Soon he moved on to other sales jobs in sports. Along the way, he had a shot at higher-profile gigs.

Each, upon learning of his past, turned him down.

'One person at a time'

At first, Panus shrugged off the praise he received for his talks.

“People would approach me and say, ‘I’ve never seen anyone capture a crowd like you do,’” Panus said. “I would be like, thanks, but ... I have a job.”

Then he realized that job wasn’t fueling his passion.

“I knew I wanted to share (my story) early on,” he said, “but initially it was just about giving back and trying to help people make better decisions. Now it’s turned into my purpose.”

Panus brings his story to colleges, high schools, military bases and businesses, tailoring the message for each and focusing on finding the positive. He tutors and substitute teaches in the meantime so he can help support his daughter, 2-year-old Bella, whom he raves about. He dreams of becoming nationally known.

For now, texts and other messages keep him going. Recently, a man he met in Big Y and later talked to for an hour thanked Panus for making a difference in his life.

“It’s one person at a time,” Panus said.

Keeping Richard's memory alive

On the day of Panus’ sentencing, Bronson handed a judicial marshal a laminated card with a photo of his son on one side and a prayer on the other. He wanted Panus to carry it with him in prison.

Panus still carries it today.

“If you live in the past and can’t accept what has happened, then you’re taking away from right now,” he said of his positivity. “But I still say the same prayer for Rich’s family and friends every night.”

Panus also has supported the Richard Lee Bronson Memorial Fund, which has given scholarships to students and just last year donated almost $20,000 in equipment to the town of Griswold.

The charity golf tournaments Panus arranged before becoming a father, Bronson said, were instrumental in keeping the fund alive.

For those reasons and more, Bronson said he supports Panus' pursuit to become a full-time motivational speaker.

“He’s certainly not going out there and becoming rich on my son’s memory,” Bronson said. “He’s out there trying to affect other people’s lives.”

l.boyle@theday.com