My friend zombieinferno sent this to me last night. I had heard a little about this from our boss yesterday, but had no idea about the extent of what happened. I think everybody should read this.
"Sometimes things happen that when you look back at them, you realize that by instinct that the images of the events will be forever burned into your memory.
Last night I held a dying boy's head in my hands, after he suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the head and chest. His name was Kevin and he was 20 years old. I wish I could say that I knew Kevin but unfortunately our meeting was a sad one. I know that I will never forget him however.
The Chicago Police Department has a name for the area that I live in. They call it the "Twilight Zone" because of the frightening level of gang violence and tragedy that lays over these streets. I live just one block inside the unofficial eastern boundary of thishuge area, Western Avenue, where the gentrification of many ethnic neighborhoods is forcing low-income families and youth into a further westward battle to gain new 'territory' and placement from the ever-rising property taxes and rental levels. While one side of my street is diverse and full of artsy white kids and Hispanic, African-American and Asian families, the other side of the street is primarily Section 8 housing for African American and Puerto Rican families. It is also a well known area of gang violence and dispute, with many gangs such as the Cobras, Dragons, Manic Disciples all vying for the same turf. Living here I have never worried about the gangs or kids from the block interfering in my life, or that they were ever a threat to me. They knew I lived here too and there was a respect and even recognition among all of us. The only time I have seen violence rear its head has been where others have come into the neighborhood in some ill-conceived notion of vengeance and territorial authority.
Last night, about 11:30 I was sitting in my third story apartment looking, playing on the computer and talking with my fianc, Jenn. We were trying to relax for the evening and prepare for the beginning of our work week. All that was on my mind was upcoming class loads and work issues.
Then we heard three high pitches gunshots that were alarmingly close. I stood up and looked directly out the window since my view was barred by a sketching board I had placed early in the day to block the glare from my computer screen. Usually I have a clear view of the street below and keep an eye on the activity. What I saw now was bone-chilling and frightening as I saw a young man standing over the prone figure of another as he fired several more gun-rounds into him before motioning to run away.
Instinct kicks in at these moments, and Jenn and I both sprung to action. I grabbed my keys, and sprinted down three flights of stairs while she ran for her phone, called 911, threw on a robe and got a towel. I reached the middle of the street and was heading for the victim and saw the assailant and two others running westward on the crossing street when several more shots ran out as they came to an alleyway dividing the block. I realized that I was in the middle of the road and had no cover, and scanned to the left to see another dark figure crouched between two cars about twenty feet away. I was running back for some cover, but then decided that I needed to reach the boy instead when Jenn reached the street and yelled to some men taking the boy into the building that we knew first aid. A boy opened the gate and led us inside.
It was pure chaos. Even that doesn't describe it fully.
The apartment was full of people screaming and crying, as this young boy who I found out later was name Kevin lay bleeding on the floor. A young girl was cradling his head screaming. Women were holding each other, others just seemed panic-stricken. Jenn went to his left side and I went to his right so that we could try to assess what had happened and what we could do. We knew we had to do something and tried to find out from those around us where he was hit. Although as I looked into his face, it became apparent. Blood covered his mouth and head, as one bullet has pierced him through his right cheek and exited through the side of his skull and through his ear. Another one had entered through the side of his chest, and based on his labored breathing had caused some serious damage. It was obvious to both Jenn and I that he was also in danger of going into shock. I pushed the towel tightly against his head wound, and took his wrist in order to find a pulse. Jenn worked to put pressure on his chest wound and monitor his breathing.
His face is something I will probably never forget. His mouth covered in blood and tissue, as he coughed and struggled to breath. I checked his mouth for blockage and yelled for someone to get me a clean cloth to wipe away the blood in case we had to administer CPR. Waiting for the EMTs seemed like an eternity, with everyone screaming around us, and Jenn and I being so focused on his every breath and trying to keep everyone from crowding down on him. Jenn checked the rest of the side of the body next to her, while I did the same. His sweatpants were crumpled down around his ankles and a slowly emerging pool of urine grew around his waist as I looked for other wounds. His pulse was weakening so I checked against his neck, just as he coughed up blood and tissue all over Jenn and I. Right before the EMTs finally arrived, his pulse was stronger and his breathing had relaxed some, not a labored, but still forced. We checked the gunshot to the head once the paramedics came in, and it appeared at the time that the bullet had missed the brain. At the time I was hopeful that he might survive.
9 hours later, Jenn and I having spent 6 of those at the Area 5 Police Headquarters for interviews and viewing lineups of suspects, we found out he didn't make it.
I feel like I have a weight inside of me. A weight that grows heavier with each hour as I think about what has happened. A weight of realizing that I ran into a street where people were shooting at each other for no reason other than a boy was out on the sidewalk at night having a cigarette. A weight of realization that Jenn and I didn't stop to think about ourselves and in doing so could have been seriously hurt because that is the type of people that we are. The weight of realization that this death wouldn't be the end of it, because it was apparent that other acts of vengeance would occur... and there was nothing that I could do, that Jenn could do to prevent it. Just tonight as I stood at the Church kitty-cornered from our home as the temporary memorial to Kevin, I could hear gang members talking of how this wasn't the end of it, telling family members of Kevin that it wasn't over.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to make it stop. I don't want anymore families to be destroyed. But I am helpless.Individually, we are all helpless. We will continue to be helpless while society continues in the path that we have chosen.
Jenn and I couldn't save that boy last night. The paramedics couldn't save that boy last night. The doctors couldn't save that boy last night. The police couldn't save that boy last night. But society could have saved that boy a long time ago.
And I guess why I sent you this is you and I both are part of that society. Remember that. We all need to do something before it is too late."
"Sometimes things happen that when you look back at them, you realize that by instinct that the images of the events will be forever burned into your memory.
Last night I held a dying boy's head in my hands, after he suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the head and chest. His name was Kevin and he was 20 years old. I wish I could say that I knew Kevin but unfortunately our meeting was a sad one. I know that I will never forget him however.
The Chicago Police Department has a name for the area that I live in. They call it the "Twilight Zone" because of the frightening level of gang violence and tragedy that lays over these streets. I live just one block inside the unofficial eastern boundary of thishuge area, Western Avenue, where the gentrification of many ethnic neighborhoods is forcing low-income families and youth into a further westward battle to gain new 'territory' and placement from the ever-rising property taxes and rental levels. While one side of my street is diverse and full of artsy white kids and Hispanic, African-American and Asian families, the other side of the street is primarily Section 8 housing for African American and Puerto Rican families. It is also a well known area of gang violence and dispute, with many gangs such as the Cobras, Dragons, Manic Disciples all vying for the same turf. Living here I have never worried about the gangs or kids from the block interfering in my life, or that they were ever a threat to me. They knew I lived here too and there was a respect and even recognition among all of us. The only time I have seen violence rear its head has been where others have come into the neighborhood in some ill-conceived notion of vengeance and territorial authority.
Last night, about 11:30 I was sitting in my third story apartment looking, playing on the computer and talking with my fianc, Jenn. We were trying to relax for the evening and prepare for the beginning of our work week. All that was on my mind was upcoming class loads and work issues.
Then we heard three high pitches gunshots that were alarmingly close. I stood up and looked directly out the window since my view was barred by a sketching board I had placed early in the day to block the glare from my computer screen. Usually I have a clear view of the street below and keep an eye on the activity. What I saw now was bone-chilling and frightening as I saw a young man standing over the prone figure of another as he fired several more gun-rounds into him before motioning to run away.
Instinct kicks in at these moments, and Jenn and I both sprung to action. I grabbed my keys, and sprinted down three flights of stairs while she ran for her phone, called 911, threw on a robe and got a towel. I reached the middle of the street and was heading for the victim and saw the assailant and two others running westward on the crossing street when several more shots ran out as they came to an alleyway dividing the block. I realized that I was in the middle of the road and had no cover, and scanned to the left to see another dark figure crouched between two cars about twenty feet away. I was running back for some cover, but then decided that I needed to reach the boy instead when Jenn reached the street and yelled to some men taking the boy into the building that we knew first aid. A boy opened the gate and led us inside.
It was pure chaos. Even that doesn't describe it fully.
The apartment was full of people screaming and crying, as this young boy who I found out later was name Kevin lay bleeding on the floor. A young girl was cradling his head screaming. Women were holding each other, others just seemed panic-stricken. Jenn went to his left side and I went to his right so that we could try to assess what had happened and what we could do. We knew we had to do something and tried to find out from those around us where he was hit. Although as I looked into his face, it became apparent. Blood covered his mouth and head, as one bullet has pierced him through his right cheek and exited through the side of his skull and through his ear. Another one had entered through the side of his chest, and based on his labored breathing had caused some serious damage. It was obvious to both Jenn and I that he was also in danger of going into shock. I pushed the towel tightly against his head wound, and took his wrist in order to find a pulse. Jenn worked to put pressure on his chest wound and monitor his breathing.
His face is something I will probably never forget. His mouth covered in blood and tissue, as he coughed and struggled to breath. I checked his mouth for blockage and yelled for someone to get me a clean cloth to wipe away the blood in case we had to administer CPR. Waiting for the EMTs seemed like an eternity, with everyone screaming around us, and Jenn and I being so focused on his every breath and trying to keep everyone from crowding down on him. Jenn checked the rest of the side of the body next to her, while I did the same. His sweatpants were crumpled down around his ankles and a slowly emerging pool of urine grew around his waist as I looked for other wounds. His pulse was weakening so I checked against his neck, just as he coughed up blood and tissue all over Jenn and I. Right before the EMTs finally arrived, his pulse was stronger and his breathing had relaxed some, not a labored, but still forced. We checked the gunshot to the head once the paramedics came in, and it appeared at the time that the bullet had missed the brain. At the time I was hopeful that he might survive.
9 hours later, Jenn and I having spent 6 of those at the Area 5 Police Headquarters for interviews and viewing lineups of suspects, we found out he didn't make it.
I feel like I have a weight inside of me. A weight that grows heavier with each hour as I think about what has happened. A weight of realizing that I ran into a street where people were shooting at each other for no reason other than a boy was out on the sidewalk at night having a cigarette. A weight of realization that Jenn and I didn't stop to think about ourselves and in doing so could have been seriously hurt because that is the type of people that we are. The weight of realization that this death wouldn't be the end of it, because it was apparent that other acts of vengeance would occur... and there was nothing that I could do, that Jenn could do to prevent it. Just tonight as I stood at the Church kitty-cornered from our home as the temporary memorial to Kevin, I could hear gang members talking of how this wasn't the end of it, telling family members of Kevin that it wasn't over.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to make it stop. I don't want anymore families to be destroyed. But I am helpless.Individually, we are all helpless. We will continue to be helpless while society continues in the path that we have chosen.
Jenn and I couldn't save that boy last night. The paramedics couldn't save that boy last night. The doctors couldn't save that boy last night. The police couldn't save that boy last night. But society could have saved that boy a long time ago.
And I guess why I sent you this is you and I both are part of that society. Remember that. We all need to do something before it is too late."
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
runelateralus:
Ah yes...I have heard many things about that game turning strong big men into crying little babies. I still have to try it one of these days...too bad Siren is coming out this week, so I have to hold off on it.
thurmis:
wow, that's harsh, and area 5 isn't all that far from where i'm living right now...