Baltimore Sun

Deadly month crushes hope

City’s death toll is down, but September brought violent relapse

- By Sarah Meehan, Tim Prudente and Jessica Anderson

The future held such promise for Johnathan Greenidge. The 6-foot-7 offensive lineman made all-conference at Southern Arkansas University. He told his family the Baltimore Ravens showed interest. He told them he would buy them a house.

But his NFL dreams faded, and the dimpled 26-year-old was gunned down around the corner from his family home Thursday in North Baltimore. He became one of 37 killed in a September that closed as the city’s deadliest month in more than a year.

Nearly half the killings — 17 — happened last week. And the bloodshed continued unabated into October. By 10:30 a.m. Monday, police found a man shot to death in Southwest Baltimore. Three hours later, another body.

September’s violence smashed growing hopes for a peaceful Baltimore. Last year closed with 342 people killed in Baltimore — the highest homicide rate among any major U.S. city. But the pace of the killing has slowed.

Some 233 people have been killed in Baltimore this year. That’s 33 fewer people than by the end of September 2017. Police and city leaders had expressed guarded optimism before the deadly September. Sixty-four people were also wounded by gunfire last month.

At a crime walk Monday evening in Riverside — a typically peaceful neighborho­od that was shaken last week by the Pugh

shooting death of 25-year-old Timothy Moriconi — Mayor Catherine Pugh defended her crime strategy. Aside from September and April, she said, crime in the city has trended downward.

“We have to stick to it,” she said later, adding that she believed many recent killings had been retaliator­y, gang-related incidents. Pugh said a permanent police commission­er should be named by month’s end — a deadline city officials had announced previously.

Earlier Monday, police cars dotted Greenmount Avenue in blocks notorious for crime. At police headquarte­rs, interim Commission­er Gary Tuggle announced increased patrols across the city and the cancellati­on of leave for officers over the next three days.

“We’ve scrubbed this building for personnel who can be on the street,” he said.

Some of the killings this past month have been random, Tuggle said. Others resulted from robberies, he said, or were tied to disputes. At least two killings were domestic in nature.

“You can’t control human behavior at the end of the day,” he said. “If somebody is intent on pulling the trigger against somebody else, it’s probably going to happen. But the deployment­s that we are doing are meant to sort of intercede or disrupt what might be going on.”

Tuggle also lamented that the department did not have enough officers. “We simply don’t have enough police. That’s the bottom line.”

On a hill in Riverside Park, someone laid out pieces of paper bearing the names of everyone killed this year in Baltimore. On Monday evening, Buddy Kaiser, 64, stuck wooden skewers in them to keep them from blowing in the wind.

Nearby, city leaders stood on a picnic table to reassure residents.

“This kind of showing shows how much you all care,” Pugh told a large crowd gathered beneath a gazebo before the crime walk.

To resident Jill Franklin, the mayor was paying “lip service” to public safety while delivering few specifics on crime or on the investigat­ion of Moriconi’s death.

“I want to believe her,” Franklin said. I’m surprised she’s here. I’m glad she’s here. But the city’s so out of control that unless she has a magic wand, I don’t see what’s going to change.”

On Monday, police also named five men killed over the weekend. The youngest was 17-year-old Beaontray Ellis, shot to death Friday near McCulloh Homes in West Baltimore. The oldest was 46-year-old Donald Lee Jackson, killed Sunday in the Saint Joseph’s neighborho­od of Southwest Baltimore.

Their families and others across Baltimore continue through the rites of grief: meeting pastors, planning funerals, tearfully picking obituary photos. Families such as Johnathan Greenidge’s.

Raised by his grandparen­ts and mother, Jacqueline Cousins, a longtime nurse at Maryland Shock Trauma Center, Greenidge attended St. Francis of Assisi School and Calvert Hall College High School. Baltimore Mayor Catherine Pugh holds the name of one of the city's homicide victims during a gathering at Riverside Park to raise awareness of violence in the city.

The cheerful, towering teenager was a familiar sight around the neighborho­od.

He starred on the Cardinals’ football team and graduated in 2009. Calvert Hall coach Donald Davis recalled him as an affable young man. Davis said he was shocked to learn of the killing.

Greenidge played on the offensive line at Southern Arkansas. Back home, his family watched all the games on TV.

“It’s a terrible thing. A young man who has his whole future in front of him. A young man who is trying to figure out life. It’s just awful,” Southern Arkansas coach Bill Keopple said.

Greenidge married in Arkansas and had a son. He graduated in the spring of 2016 with a degree in criminal justice, the coach said.

Keopple recalled their last conversati­on. Greenidge thanked him for the chance to play and said he appreciate­d his time on the team. Greenidge had his young son with him. The coach said Greenidge was considerin­g law school and profession­al football.

At 280 pounds, he had the size for the NFL. He soon converted his grandparen­ts’ basement into a weight room to train.

“Going to a smaller school, he was overlooked,” his cousin said. “He just wanted to prove himself.”

Meanwhile, he worked nights at McCormick and Co. in Hunt Valley. His wife and son remained in Arkansas.

Thursday morning around 10:50 a.m., police were called to Chateau Avenue in Greenidge’s neighborho­od. They found him shot in the driver’s seat of his car, the engine still running. He was pronounced dead 30 minutes later at the Johns Hopkins Hospital. Police said they have no motive.

“It’s just a tragic loss. He’s someone we consider a part of family here,” said Keopple.

Greenidge had no criminal record. Maybe he was mistaken for someone else, his family wonders. Maybe it was jealousy?

“We have zero answers right now,” said Williams, his cousin.

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KENNETH K. LAM/BALTIMORE SUN

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