My son is nineteen years old, and happily catching up on all sorts of games on his computer this summer, in the dark, in his room, coming out for meals, renting movies with his friends because they are all too poor to go out, cheerfully bringing down his laundry, and occasionally allowing us a few sentences of conversation. And he is alive.
On July 4th another boy, his same age, was gunned down just one long block away from our home. Here is what happened:
You may know two things about Chicago: a lot of gun violence and a sincere effort to outlaw guns. We live in Evanston, just the other side of the street from Chicago, the home of Northwestern University and a town that is famously liberal and exemplary in it's diversity.
There are wealthy and famous people who live in Evanston. There are also poor neighborhoods, with low-income housing, and street gangs. Most families in Evanston are like mine, middle-class and in the middle. The absolute poorest neighborhoods in my city are still clean, kept up, and house people of various incomes. However, about once a year, two young black men get angry at each other, one shoots, one dies and the other goes off to jail. The guns are always illegal. Drugs deal are often involved. No one wants to mention specific gangs, but everyone knows which ones are involved. The Black community gets very angry and frustrated because these are their own children killing each other. The White Community offers kindness, sympathy, expresses horror, and often remembers these boys as playmates of their own children, years ago in elementary school.
Leslie Calvin was one of those boys. He wasn't an import, but one of our own, going to the local magnet elementary school and ETHS, the high school. He should have been in my own son's grade, but the name was not familiar. It's a very large school. Leslie Calvin was also known to the police. He had been arrested, charged, and yet no witnesses could be found when it was time to build a case against him for a shootout last year on Howard. The police knew him very well, they had been able to impound his car because of drugs.
On July 4th we had just left a friend's house and were walking a short way back to our home. First we heard the sirens screaming down Ridge Ave., the backbone of Evanston. First two squad cars, then more police cars, then the fire engine and ambulance, and then more cars. By the time twelve had gone by we knew that something big was up.
Walking toward our home, we saw flashing lights and police officers walking around purposefully. Several of them. Then I saw the officer with a rifle. "Who are we looking for?" I asked. And was told there had been a shooting at Ridge and Hull, that the shooter was about, that we should go into the house and lock our doors, and we did. I called each of my children on their cell phones to make sure they were inside. We waited, and within a half an hour the police presence was gone.
Here is what happened: Police were called for what looked like a traffic accident. A car had crossed two lanes, smashed into a hydrant and then took down a parkway tree. When the first responding officer arrived, it became obvious that the driver had been shot. Someone had stood on the sidewalk and shot and killed Leslie Calvin while he was driving his car, in broad daylight, on the 4th of July holiday.
Police don't have a suspect, or not that they are telling us. After learning about his arrest record, the belief around the neighborhood is that this was a gang or drug deal gone bad, wrong, strange, or an act of revenge. Oh yes, Leslie Calvin was the father of a baby girl.
We live in what we consider a safe town, in a safe neighborhood and we know our neighbors. Our children went to their neighborhood schools. I ride my bike right down Howard to the grocery store.
My son and Leslie Calvin lived within ten blocks of each other. They attended comparable schools, the same high school and had the same teachers, the same city services, the same recreational opportunities, the same beaches, the same playgrounds, the same movie theater, the same libraries, the same bus system, the same mayor and city council, the same caring ultra-liberal social network that provides new clothing and free lunches, school supplies and free beach tokens to lower income families.
The schools have social workers, psychologists, extensive programs for children with learning disabilities, free testing for vision and hearing, free vaccination clinics, free lunch in the parks during the summer, scholarships for every camp and sports team, a summer jobs program for youth, a city employee for youth services, dozens and dozens of churches, and much, much more. A democratic dream come true.
But it wasn't enough for Leslie, his grieving mother, his baby, or his church community. It wasn't enough to save him from gangs, drugs and guns.
And, what worries me so much, is that this is now normal for us. This year's murder, this year's shooting, this year's cause for cursing and tears. The police do their jobs, they set up stings, they work together with other towns, every year they bust a gang and win convictions.
Now, back to my son, who is interested in Journalism as a craft. I suggested to him, that since he and Leslie were the same age, that it would be interesting to do some research, talk to people, find out about the school, the services, how people had tried to help Leslie along the way. He smiled at me and said no. That there are too many people in Evanston who don't want to hear what he could already tell them. Once again I've been reminded that my two cheerful children know much more about gangs and drugs and youth violence in Evanston than I ever will.