| Or Does It Explode? |
[Oct. 27th, 2009|01:30 am] |
It was about a month ago when I was flipping through the LA Times during lunchtime at work when, in the back of one of the sections, buried underneath several pages of more catchy headlines, I read the article below about Kevin Harris. The thing about Kevin as described was that he saw good in everyone- and while I try to believe that, I know that I struggle to understand how there can be good in people that do such horrible things to others. Kevin’s last moments went something like this: Someone shot him while he was going about his own business and left him to bleed on the street. Since there was no apparent reason or connection, the shooter will probably never be found. And Kevin’s friends and family will continue to feel the pain of his absence, and strangers like myself who happened to be skimming the pages of the LA Times that day will continue to think about the random acts of violence that take out what sometimes seems like the most endangered species in this world- good people.
The newspaper was filled with frightening, terrible stories that day. Bombs, wars, scandals. But there was something about this story that was the most unsettling to me. Maybe it was the big photo with the story- he just looked like such a normal guy. Maybe it’s because this was right in our own backyard- you don’t have to go halfway across the world to find terror. And maybe it was because this story betrays what I hold most dear- the American Dream. Betrayed by the promise that if we stay out of trouble, trouble will stay out of our way and if we work hard, we can achieve great things. I wonder sometimes how much of the American Dream is still alive in some places here- and if the American Dream is in the ER on the surgery table- having suffered too many random acts of violence and hate, the doctors staring at each other, unsure what to do next. It makes me wonder how many more bullets the American Dream can take.
Last week we were visiting some schools in LA. In Watts, to be specific, which has struggled amidst poverty and gang violence. Some of the teachers said that the most difficult period for the kids is 6th period because they start to get anxious about whether they will be able to get home safely. You start to wonder, as you walk among the students, if any of these kids will be the next innocent kid unlucky enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and get caught in the crossfire, like Kevin. And then you start to have bad dreams about this. Is this the American Dream?
I remember reading this poem about a postponing of the American Dream in 11th grade:
Dream Deferred
By Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
And it makes me wonder- has the American Dream exploded from the barrel of a gun, aimed at a 21 year old with musical aspirations, in an attempt for the shooter to gain a sense of power in a life that would otherwise seem empty, uncontrollable, and inferior?
Or does the American Dream lie on a dark street in Inglewood, CA next to a dark green Camaro, bleeding to death and wondering why?
Or, maybe, is the American Dream hiding behind a dumpster in the alley around the corner, having sought safety there at the sound of gunshots, saddened and scared, waiting for things to quiet down and needing some coaxing to come back out?
And, as I walked around the school, I found myself unable to part with the power of the American Dream, thinking that it must be this last option and hoping that I was persuasive enough to bring it out from hiding.
From the Los Angeles Times:
Man shot dead in front of Inglewood music studio
A woman mourns the death of her 21-year-old son, who police believe was killed by a gang member. No suspects have been named.
Aspiring musician Kevin Harris, 21, worked at night at a music studio on West 118th Place in Inglewood. No witnesses have come forward. (Photo: January 12, 2008)
By Anthony Pesce
October 7, 2009
After her son was shot and killed on Sept. 20, Kathryn Harris was so consumed with grief she did not eat for days.
"My arms and fingers are starting to take on a skeletal appearance," she said. "I can't eat and I can't sleep. And I cry."
Kevin Harris, 21, was sitting in his parked car in front of a music studio in the 3300 block of West 118th Place in Inglewood when he was fatally wounded, authorities said. He was pronounced dead at a hospital about 40 minutes after the 8 p.m. shooting.
His mother wept as she described the phone call that came that night from her husband. She spoke of her frantic trip to the studio. "I put some water on my socks and tried to wipe up the blood. I wiped up as much blood as I could," she said. "I got down on my hands and knees and used my hands like they were a broom to sweep up the glass."
Inglewood Police Department officials have described the gunman as a possible gang member. Harris, however, was not involved in gangs and had no criminal history, said Inglewood Police Det. Jose Becerra. Kathryn Harris said police told her they believed the shooting involved a gang member because of the location and manner of her son's killing.
The night her son was killed, Kathryn Harris said, she knew something was wrong. She texted him and called him repeatedly, but there was no response. Then she got the call from his father.
Becerra said no witnesses have come forward and police have not named any suspects. Kathryn Harris said she was told that her son had just pulled up in his dark green 1995 Camaro when the shooting took place.
Kevin Harris, known to friends as Track Bully, learned to play the piano in a music class during his freshman year at St. Bernard Catholic High School, said Jimmique Parsons, his best friend.
Parsons said that the class taught Harris the basics, but that his friend was soon learning to play popular songs by ear. During his sophomore year in high school, Harris downloaded a music program that allowed him to compose, mix and loop basic beats, and from there he was hooked.
At first he would sample and mix songs from popular hip-hop artists, but Parsons said Harris quickly moved to composing his own music, then mixing it and looping it digitally with other instruments.
"He would go into the studio, play around on the piano for an hour or so, then start recording," Parsons said. "It was amazing; he would start from scratch."
Kathryn Harris said her son played on his high school basketball team and regularly went to church. His favorite color was white, she said, and she plans to bury him in a white suit.
After high school graduation, Harris worked a number of odd jobs during the day and spent his nights in the studio, Parsons said. He worked at Urban Outfitters, Vons and eventually at a mattress store while getting paid by the studio to mix tracks for local artists.
Kathryn Harris said she had devoted her life to making sure her son did not fall into the wrong crowd. She sent him to Catholic middle and high schools and read him the Bible.
Over the course of a two-hour phone interview, she sobbed for most of the conversation. She was at the cemetery, having just picked out where she would bury her son.
She recalled a time when he was 2 years old and she took him to a laundromat. She said she gave him a 100-piece puzzle to keep him entertained, and after a short period of time, he told her: "Done, Mommy, done."
"He has no gang ties whatsoever. I raised him preppy," she said. "He wanted people to be happy in general. . . . He saw good in everyone."
She said she was always nervous about the location of his studio and would stay up at night -- sometimes into the early morning -- until she heard him come home safely.
"They tell me God only gives you as much as you can handle," she said. "Well, God must think I'm really strong."
anthony.pesce@latimes.com
This article is from the Times blog The Homicide Report.
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