Bradburd Rus - All the dreams weve dreamed: a story of hoops and handguns on Chicagos west side

Copyright 2018 by Rus Bradburd

All rights reserved
First edition
Published by Lawrence Hill Books
An imprint of Chicago Review Press Incorporated
814 North Franklin Street
Chicago, Illinois 60610

ISBN 978-1-61373-933-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Is available from the Library of Congress.

Typesetting: Nord Compo

Printed in the United States of America
5 4 3 2 1

This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

for Frinda, Naja, and Malia Harrington

for Luther Bedford and Dorothy Gaters

... For all the dreams weve dreamed

And all the songs weve sung

And all the hopes weve held

And all the flags weve hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay

Except the dream thats almost dead today...

From Let America Be America Again,
Langston Hughes

SHAWN HARRINGTON couldnt find his car.

After a decade at Marshall High School on Chicagos West Sideas a student, teachers aide, and basketball coachhe had spent enough time in every corridor and classroom that his memory sometimes blurred. On the morning of January 14, 2014, he had hustled up three flights of stairs to keep from being late and tossed his coat onto the back of a chair in the special ed office. Now, after practice, he wondered if he misremembered parking behind the school.

Shawn was the varsity assistant under a man named Henry Cotton. Younger looking than his thirty-eight years, Shawn enjoyed an enviable level of trust and communication with students and players. He was open, friendly, and he knew when to joke and when to back off. He had overcome so much in his personal life that he was empathetic and compassionate about the struggles typical to Marshall kids.

Shawn checked on Adams Street, but his 2001 Expedition wasnt there, either. He cursed under his breath. The Eddie Bauer edition Ford SUV was his first decent car, a distinct two-toned job, light blue with a tan stripe. He had bought it used in 2012 for $3,500, a birthday present to himself. The car was functional, noticeable but not flashy, and he could fit seven Marshall players inside, eight in a pinch. It wasnt paid off yet, but it was insured. Or was it? An anxious moment passed as he tried to remember if his insurance was up to date.

Prior to the purchase, his travel routine was a taxi to Marshall, then the Green Line L train or CTA bus home. That simple travel schedule used to cost him about sixty dollars a week. He didnt relish even a temporary return to public transportation, although it was cheaper than the combination of car payments, insurance, city sticker, and gasoline. The car, however modest, was a sign that this kid from the neighborhood had made good. Besides that, the car was crucial. It allowed him to drive his oldest daughter to school every day, and it served as a sort of rolling counselors office for the players he drove home after practice each night.

Where had he left it? Rather than ponder his dilemma in the winter chill, he went back inside to the main office. Not until he jiggled his coat pocket did he connect the dots: his car was gone, and so was his second set of keys. On the coldest days, Shawn brought two sets. He would fire up his car after practice, lock up with the second set of keys, and run back inside to see which players needed a lift.

Somebody stole my car, Shawn told security guard Tyrone Hayes outside the main office.

Hayes greeted kids coming into school, checked IDs as they marched through the metal detector, and made sure the students were in their required uniforms. He had held his job for thirteen years, spent time as a coach, and, like Shawn, been a terrific player for Marshall. On patrol in the hallways much of the day, he kept an ear to the ground. Sympathetic about the car, he figured Shawn didnt need him, so he punched out to go home.

In the main office, Shawn found himself on hold with the police departments nonemergency number. Somebody stole his car right off Marshall property? He couldnt believe his bad luck.

Minutes later his cell phone buzzed. It was Hayes. Whats your license plate number? he asked.

Shawn hung up on the police and rattled the number off.

Im behind your car now, Hayes said. Driving north on Kedzie Avenue, he had noticed the Expedition parked facing south and swung a quick U-turn. In Shawns car were two brothers known to school authorities as the Twins. One sat behind the steering wheel, the other rode shotgun. The identical sixteen-year-old freshmen at Marshall already had a history of trouble and arrests.

The twins recognized Hayes and the Expedition bolted back onto Kedzie, heading south. After a few minutes on their tail, all the while giving Shawn the play-by-play, Hayes again pulled next to the car, honked, and rolled down his window. Yup, its the twins for sure, he yelled into his phone. Two more knuckleheads are in back.

Hayes moved slowly alongside, nearing a stoplight, waving and pointing. Pull over! He didnt want an angry confrontationwho knew what the boys carried in the car with them?although he figured it would not come to that. Hayes believed the twins understood he was a peacemaker, a compromiser, even if he ruined their joyride.

They took off again. Hayes continued to tail the SUV, winding down side streets. Soon the boys were sailing through stop signs and roaring through red lights. Hayes followed suit until they busted out of an alley onto a crowded street. He halted rather than risk an accident. He had kept Shawn on the phone the entire time. I lost them, Hayes said.

Ill just call the cops again, Shawn said. At least we know who did it.

Hayes said, Well get the car back when we see the twins at school.

The next morning, Shawn shared a taxi with his eldest daughter, Naja, whom he dropped off at Westinghouse College Prep, less than a mile from Marshall. Naja aspired to have the highest grade point average in her sophomore class and she hated to be even one minute late.

Back at Marshall, Shawn waited, seething, by the metal detectors with Hayes until the late bell rang. No twins. He trudged upstairs.

Shawn worked as an ESP (educational support personnel) in special education. He had earned his college degree in communications, but he did not have a teaching certificate. ESP workers make about $32,000 a year and are not part of the powerful Chicago Teachers Union. Its not a bad jobthe nine-month schedule gave him plenty of time in the summer to be with Naja and Malia, who was eight.

The Marshall building, well over a hundred years old, didnt have an elevator, but he liked the intense forty-second leg workout hoofing up to the third floor. Hed climb those stairs as many as a dozen times daily. On this day it seemed a long way to the top.

For three days Shawn took a taxi to work, with no clue as to his cars whereabouts. Finally, on Friday morning he got a call from the main office. Tyrone Hayes had nabbed one of the twins.

State Farm would reimburse Shawn the entire cost even if the vehicle were never recovered, so why was he so angry bouncing back down the stairs? He calmed himself as he approached the office. One deep breath, then another, the way hed always done before sinking an important free throw. It was just a stolen car.

Hayes couldnt get over the theft, either. Ballers and coaches had often enjoyed a protected social status in the neighborhood. I bet the good twin might show us where they dumped the car, he said quietly to Shawn before they went inside the office. Hayes thought of the pair as good twin and bad twin. One instigated the trouble and the other would get dragged along. Hayes believed that was how the theft had gone downand that dynamic would now help authorities recover Shawns car. The good twin had already fathered a child and was a little less inclined toward mischief.