WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE WHO DON’T LEAVE TRAUMA
The first time June Thomas saw a dead body, he was in fifth grade. The body, a man, was in the alley behind his house. He had been shot. ❚ Thomas’ father told him to get on to school — the man wasn’t doing anything to bother him. ❚ “I thought about that all day at school,” Thomas said. ❚ When he was 16, he saw a woman stab a man with a kitchen knife and run away. The man pulled the knife from his arm, chased the woman down and stabbed her. They both died. ❚ When he was 18, he was at an after-bar party, where a pregnant woman broke up with a guy she was seeing, because her boyfriend was about to get out of jail.
“She told him she didn’t want to deal with him anymore, so he shot her up,” said Thomas. “I saw the holes in her side and you could see the baby.
“They both died.” Thomas, 48, has lived on the 3200 block of North 9th Street most of his life. He operates Aaran Groceries in a small, bright yellow building at the corner of North 11th and West Burleigh streets. It sits in the 53206 ZIP code, the most distressed, impoverished and crimeridden of the city.
Yet there he stays. In Milwaukee, therapists, social workers and criminal justice reform officials are focusing new attention on the well-being of those who suffer traumatic experiences as children. They are trying to identify and understand how to build resiliency — the grit and determination needed to survive. For many, part of the healing process is moving away.
Less attention has been paid to those who grew up in violence and poverty and, decades later, remain. Those for whom the traumas keep coming.
Over the years, Thomas has
heard hundreds of gunshots, lost dozens of friends and relatives.
“I’ve seen people get cut up in the face and neck,” he said. “Just all over.”
Thomas has never seen a counselor. When he was a child, such a concept was unheard of in his neighborhood. These days? Thomas is more worried about the next generation, and spends his free time mentoring African-American boys.
“I’ve seen a lot of bodies and a lot of people hurt,” he said. “That stuff stays on your mind. Sometimes I see it in my sleep and sometimes I just think about it.
“It’s hard to explain, but I know it’s not right.”
Many makeshift memorials
In many Milwaukee neighborhoods, makeshift memorials to honor victims of violence — often tied to trees or anchored to the base of streetlights — are a sad fixture of daily life.
Within three blocks of Thomas’ house are three memorials. Thomas knew all three men.
The first memorial is for his nephew, Marvin Thomas, 37, who was shot and killed after a brief quarrel with another man on Nov. 15, 2011. It features several stuffed animals tied to a tree along with a purple, artificial carnation bouquet.
The second memorial is for Kevin Williams, 32, who was shot the evening of Jan. 29 on North 10th and West Ring streets. He died at the scene. His picture is tied to a tree, a faded sign reading: “In Loving Memory of my Brother.”
The third is for Kevin Williams’ brother — the one who put up the sign.
Erik Williams, 28, was killed Aug. 12, less than a block away. Witnesses say he was trying to shield his 4-year-old son, who was shot four times but survived. His memorial features teddy bears and a dozen silver, red and blue star-shaped balloons.
As of Dec. 10, of the 94 killings in Milwaukee: 83 percent of the victims were shot; 76 percent were black; 72 percent were between the ages of 18 and 39; and 78 percent of the victims were men, a Milwaukee Journal Sentinel analysis found.
Though total homicides are down from 139 in 2016 and 118 in 2017, the city’s homicide rate this year is running at about 11.6 per 100,000 people. That’s on pace with Chicago, which has drawn national headlines for its gun violence.
Just hours after Erik Williams was killed, Thomas was sitting behind Plexiglas at his store. As customers came and went, he tried to process it all.
“Erik was a good friend of mine,” he told one. “He was a good father. He didn’t mess with anybody.”
He paused.
“For them to just open fire on a crowd like that and hurt Doobie, too?” he said, referring to Erik’s son. “That don’t make any sense. Doobie is only 5 years old. He lost his daddy and almost lost his life.”
Hours after the police tape had come down, customers flowed in and out of the store, some buying chips and soda, many offering Thomas condolences. A smaller group gossiped about what they heard happened.
One woman, who came in to buy cigarettes, motioned for Thomas to come from behind the counter. She gave him a hug and told him the shooters were just jealous of Williams.
Bit by bit, more details come out. Just an hour before the shooting, Williams was at Thomas’ house. The two friends had planned to catch up over a few steaks Thomas had put on the grill.
“Then he got a call and told me that he had to go pick up Doobie,” Thomas said. “He didn’t even get a chance to eat, but he told me that he was going to come right back.”
The two were regular volunteers at a nearby community garden, where each Saturday morning during the summer, dozens of African-American boys participate in the “We Got This” mentoring program.
Thomas said the two had been talking about how the neighborhood was improving.
A customer told Thomas that nowhere is safe anymore. Thomas shook his head in sadness.
When he heard about the shooting, Thomas quickly drove to the scene.
“I jumped in my car and drove down there. Erik was just lying in a pool of blood, face down, and they were putting Doobie in an ambulance.
“I stayed there until the coroner took his body away.”
Thomas told a customer how once, in the summer of 2016, he was at Little Caesars Pizza on North 92nd Street and West Capitol Drive when he suddenly felt ill and started coughing up blood. Thomas has high blood pressure and is on dialysis, and couldn’t breathe.
Williams, who was there, rushed him to the Ascension St. Joseph Hospital emergency room on North 51st and West Burleigh streets.
“He saved me and I wasn’t there for him,” Thomas said. “This is going to haunt me forever.”
One man assured Thomas there was nothing he could have done.
“If you were there, it could’ve been two dead men instead of one,” he said.
Impact echoes through generations
Studies have shown the impact of living a lifetime in trauma is similar to that of soldiers who have experienced combat.
What’s more, the impact can echo through the generations.
According to the latest figures: Twothirds of the children in the city’s 53206 ZIP code live in poverty; of the 29,000 residents, 45 percent live below the poverty line ($25,100 for a family of four); and 66 percent of the homes are headed by black women.
“Poverty and trauma are directly connected, and we can’t talk about one without talking about the other,” said Reggie Jackson, head griot, or storyteller, at America’s Black Holocaust Museum. Jackson studies disadvantaged communities and uses that information to hold community discussions.
Reggie Moore, who manages the City of Milwaukee Office of Violence Prevention, said the city’s 19 homicides in August — the month Erik Williams died — is one measure of how much work needs to be done.
In one case, Robert Taylor, 41, was shot and killed and two others were injured Aug. 9 at a Citgo gas station at North 27th Street and West Capitol Drive. Taylor was a father of five children.
How to get help
To better help people in crisis situations, all 600 Milwaukee firefighters and EMTs have received training from the Milwaukee County Behavioral Health Division, said Reggie Moore, head of the city’s Office of Violence Prevention.
For help, call (414) 257-7621 or go to http://wraparoundmke.com/programs/ mutt/
Within 48-hours of a referral being made, the mobile crisis team reaches out to the family, Moore said. The unit has assisted 600 families in three years.
“What people don’t understand is the impact a death leaves on a family, on children and a community,” Moore said. “His children will grow up without a father, and the impact of his death will impact his family for years and maybe even decades.”
Police said the shooting was the re-
“What people don’t understand is the impact a death leaves on a family, on children and a community.” Reggie Moore City of Milwaukee Office of Violence Prevention manager