My first drive by...

May 14, 2011

Well, I've just seen my first dead body in the street. Only took an hour for the police to put a sheet over the corpse. Young black male, no belt, faded sagging blue jeans, red shorts, grey wife-beater, very indigenous, wooly 'fro, face-down across the street from Ammons Community Center. DOA at 16:25. Drive-by, three shots.

It was a perfect spring day. Not too hot, just comfortable enough for kids to be outside playing. The little league games had just finished up, a great afternoon for hanging out. I was just getting my strength back after being waylaid by some kind of bug that snuffed out my voice for the better part of the week. I was following up emails and getting caught up on projects I didn’t have the focus or fortitude to complete and do a few loads of laundry.

I was in the midst of forward a link to an article about the return of urban radio to the airwaves when shots rang out. Three distinct pops punctured the slow urban samba of a late sunny afternoon, immediately followed by the screech of sudden departure by car.  An eerie stillness commandeered the neighborhood as I raced to my deck to see what could be seen.

A woman daintily pranced catty-corner to someone lying in the street next to the curb, face down. I realized that I was seeing the aftermath of a drive-by, only this wasn’t TV. I went back inside to call 9-1-1.

My hoarse voice calmly relayed the location and details after what seemed like an eternity of recorded messages urging me not to hang up. I gave the dispatcher my name, number and my cell number as I was going to see what else I could learn. He mentioned that several other calls were coming in about the same incident and suggested that I remain inside.

Ignoring the advice I grabbed my cell and keys, locked the door then went outside. Less than 500 feet away, near the intersection of Bedford Avenue and Kirkpatrick is where the young man lay in between here and there. I thought I saw him move.

The cops arrived on the scene just after I walked to the corner. People materialized from everywhere. A few appeared to know the young man. Police officers secured the area and shooed onlookers away. The yellow crime scene tape went up wrapped around utility poles. A pair of uniformed officers approached the young man. One examined him with gloved hands. Neither made an effort to attend to his injuries.

The crowd grew as onlookers gathered to watch and offered their commentary.

“It’s going to be a long, hot summer.” (It’s only May).

“There were a couple of women out here there other night fixin’ to knife-fight.”

“You can hear ‘em racing up and down the street all hours of the night firing guns.”

“When I heard the shots I immediately got down,” said one man casually as his leashed lapdog checked out the real estate.

Young mothers with their children strained to see who was lying in the street. One young lady was visibly distraught, repeatedly sobbing “On my god!” An middle-aged woman was hysterical in denial – “That can’t be… it be can’t be.” She had to be physically restrained as others attempted to comfort her.

The EMTs arrived in what seemed like about 20 minutes after the first shot was heard. They seemed to be slow motion –- there was no urgency at all. Maybe the call had become too routine.

The murmured conversations were broken by the drama of screams and cries of family members arriving on the scene cloaked in horror and disbelief.

The medical examiner’s vehicle pulled off just before 6 p.m. 90 minutes later, the neighborhood resumed its day in a grotesque normalcy of business of usual