‘He’s securing the gates of heaven now’
Jemel Roberson was a surprise baby, born to Beat rice and John Roberson when his mother was in her mid-40s. And perhaps no one was more excited about his arrival than his half sister, Deanna “Scharron” Green, whowas 17 at the time andwas allowed to choose his name.
“I always tell people, ‘This is the sister I always wanted,’” Green said. “He used to laugh at it, like I was calling him a girl. But to him, he knew that I was glad that I had a sibling. He used to call and talk to the kids, and when I’d get on the phone, he used to be like, ‘What’s up, sibling?’”
For some who learned his name this week, Roberson has become another symbol of racial bias in policing, another blackmanshot and killed by a white police officer. InRoberson’s case, itwas while subduing a shooting suspect at a bar in south suburbanRobbins wherehewasworking as a security guard.
But friends and family remembered him as caring, playful, sometimes mischievous as a child, someone who might break into song for no
apparent reason but who also was quick to lend a hand.
“Jemel was the life of the party,” said Joel Quarles, who grew up with Roberson in Wicker Park. “You canwalk into a dry area, and Jemel is going to make it lively. He was a people person. He didn’t seek for attention, but … was all about seizing the moment, youknow, just capturing the moment of fun and life.”
Roberson, 26, was the father of a young sonnamed Tristan. A talented musician known in Chicago’s gospel music scene, he performed at numerous churches and had been scheduled to start playing organ at New Spiritual Light Missionary Baptist Church on Sunday, the day he died.
Multiple relatives and others who knew him said Roberson aspired to be a Chicago police officer; somesaid he had planned to take the police application exam in December.
At 6-foot-5, Roberson hadlong been tallandlanky; he played varsity basketball at Lane Tech College Prep, where dozens gathered for a memorial in his honor Friday evening. In recent years he’d bulked up, in part because of his career aspirations. Several people referred to him as a “gentle giant.”
Lane Tech Assistant Principal Edwina Thompson, who saw Roberson recently, said he no longer was the string bean she knew when hewas a drummer for the school’s gospel choir.
“The last time, I’m like, ‘Are you in the gym every day?’” Thompson said. “He was not the little, skinny, eager young man Imet way back in 2006.”
But what’s most striking in her memory, she said, was Roberson’s “willingness to improve his craft and his humble spirit.”
“He wasn’t an arrogant musician,” Thompson said. “He was eager to learn and to help. When he was here helping the gospel choir, we weren’t paying him. Hewas just willing to learn, and wanted to be able to practice that, but also wanted to perform.”
The discipline paid off, as Roberson’s skills on the organ made him an indemand musician across the city, said Jill Jackson, a cousin of Roberson’s mother.
“The churches were offering him different incentives for him to come play for them,” Jackson said. “They paid himwell.”
The Rev. Walter Turner, of New Spiritual Light church, said Roberson always was full of laughter and eager to lend a helping hand. He would play for churches that needed musical help “at the drop of a hat.” His generosity, on top of his talent, convinced Turner to bring Roberson on as the full-time organist.
Relatives said he’d taught himself to play on the organ his parents had in the second-floor apartment in Wicker Park where he grew up.
His mother is a longtime Chicago Public Schools employee and currently works with special needs children at Pritzker Elementary School. His father was a self-employed plumber and handyman.
John Roberson was a disciplinarian who would ground his son if he didn’t finish his homework, recalled another childhood friend, GarretTaylor— who also recalled that Roberson would sneak out anyway.
The elder Roberson died of a heart attack when his son was a freshman in high school, family members said, and young Roberson struggled with the sudden loss.
But rather than turning toward negative influences, he sought out young men at his church to mentor him, said Green, his half sister.
“We knew he was missing that father figure,” she said. “Most boys and young men like that, they turn to the streets. But my dad always told him, you find a church and you stay in it. Don’t get me wrong, he had his moments. But most young men in his situation would go to the streets. My dadwouldbeproudof him.”
Green’s daughter, Myeisha, saidRobersonwas always “overprotective of me and my cousins,” foreshadowing his later interest in security and policework.
“Like, ifwe got into some trouble with the boys, he would be there to protect us,” she said.
At the memorial for Roberson at Lane Tech on Friday night, friends shared memories fromhis time as a student there. They held candles, balloons and signs and chanted the names of people shot and killed by police in the Chicago area, including Rekia Boyd and LaquanMcDonald.
Roberson’s name was scrawled repeatedly in chalk across the sidewalks in front of the school, his first and last name overlapping in varied hues. Orange streamers surrounded doors into the building, a color meant to symbolize gun violence prevention.
“He was one of the first friends Imade,” Tali Arroyo told the crowd, her voice shaky with emotion. Arroyo metRoberson as a freshman in high school. His tall frame and big grin made him quickly recognizable in the halls, she said. He struck up natural friendships with his fellowstudents.
“I’m here because I’m really mad,” she said. “I’m just really upset.”
Anti-violence advocates Friday called on the Cook County prosecutor’s office to file charges in Roberson’s death and asked the crowd to attend a Nov. 28 meeting of the Midlothian Village Board, the governing body of the southwestern suburb.
Said Quarles, the childhood friend: “That was my brother, thatwasmy friend. He was a great kid. He was the one that went against the grain, that overcame peer pressure, never succumbed to what others had done.”
The last time he saw Roberson was about six months ago, outside an apartment building where Roberson was working security.
“He’s securing the gates of heaven now,” Quarles said.