Another Day in the Death of America: A Chronicle of Ten Short Lives by Gary Younge
Authors: Gary Younge
Tags: Death, Grief, Bereavement, Family & Relationships, Social Science, Political Science, Violence in Society, Public Policy, Social Policy
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Asked how he was doing, he replied, “Not good. I just shot my best friend.” Throughout the night he kept asking for his phone so he could at least play games on it while he waited, worrying about where he would be sleeping that night, and saying he wished he’d stayed in Colorado with his mom. He eventually fell asleep for about half an hour before being woken by an officer and told he was being taken to Sandusky for questioning.
Inside, officers searched the property to discover a veritable arsenal. In Brandon’s room was a Remington 1100 shotgun, loaded and perched against the dresser with one round in the chamber and four in the pipe. Brandon says his father had originally left the gun in the kitchen but then moved it to his room when he had company over. There were also two other single-shot shotguns (a New England Firearms and a Winchester 370) near the closet. In the top dresser drawer were some marijuana in tinfoil and two rolled joints.
When asked later how many guns he had in the house, Jerry couldn’t quite remember. First he said seven or eight, only to recant, broaden the margin of error, and up the potential number, correcting himself to admit to between five and ten.
Brandon didn’t know Tyler’s address, but he could describe where his house was. The police went there to find only Tiffany and Ashley at home, who told them if they wanted an adult they should call their grandmother, Janet, who lived nearby. Janet came over shortly after midnight and was told the news. She called Lora. There was no reply. Shekept calling for well over an hour and took Ashley and Tiffany back to her place for the night. Lora’s cell phone was dead. She’d left it in the car to charge. When she came out, she saw several missed calls from her mother and knew something was up. She dialed Janet. “Are you on your way home?” her mom asked. “No. Why?” said Lora. “I think you need to come home,” said Janet.
Lora’s mother wouldn’t give an explanation over the phone, but that didn’t unduly concern Lora. She assumed Ashley and Tiffany had thrown a party and been caught by their grandmother. She cut the night short and headed back to Marlette. Night falls heavy here, cloaking the land in uncluttered darkness. On dirt roads in the middle of fields with no street lamps for miles, the flashing lights of stationary police vehicles announce themselves with the force of a lighthouse.
Because Brandon’s street was en route to her mother’s house, Lora saw the lights flashing where she had last seen her son and drove toward them.
“I turned down there and called my mom. I got right in front of Brandon’s house when she picked up.”
“Mom, do you have Tyler?” she asked.
“I think you’d better just come here,” said Janet.
“And then she put the sheriff-lady on the phone,” recalls Lora.
“Don’t go there. Just come here,” said the “sheriff-lady,” and Lora obliged.
“There’s been an accident,” the policewoman said.
“Okay,” said Lora, matter-of-factly.
“Your son’s in Lapeer County Hospital.”
“Okay,” said Lora. “Why didn’t you tell me that, because I just came through Lapeer.”
“No, Lora,” said the policewoman. “Lora, he’s been shot and killed.”
A year later, Lora is still upset at how the news was broken to her. “So she made me think one thing, like that he was injured, and then turned around and changed it to another story, like he was dead.”
When Lora was halfway home from Union Lake, Jerry was in the lobby of the Sanilac County sheriff’s office in Sandusky. It was two a.m.;he had been called on his way back from his truck run. It had been a long day. He’d been asked to come and pick up Brandon, but he had no idea why. They asked him whether there were any custody issues between him and Connie, whether he often left his son alone, his opinion about Tyler, and whether he thought the two of them were responsible. Asked if any of his weapons were
Inside, officers searched the property to discover a veritable arsenal. In Brandon’s room was a Remington 1100 shotgun, loaded and perched against the dresser with one round in the chamber and four in the pipe. Brandon says his father had originally left the gun in the kitchen but then moved it to his room when he had company over. There were also two other single-shot shotguns (a New England Firearms and a Winchester 370) near the closet. In the top dresser drawer were some marijuana in tinfoil and two rolled joints.
When asked later how many guns he had in the house, Jerry couldn’t quite remember. First he said seven or eight, only to recant, broaden the margin of error, and up the potential number, correcting himself to admit to between five and ten.
Brandon didn’t know Tyler’s address, but he could describe where his house was. The police went there to find only Tiffany and Ashley at home, who told them if they wanted an adult they should call their grandmother, Janet, who lived nearby. Janet came over shortly after midnight and was told the news. She called Lora. There was no reply. Shekept calling for well over an hour and took Ashley and Tiffany back to her place for the night. Lora’s cell phone was dead. She’d left it in the car to charge. When she came out, she saw several missed calls from her mother and knew something was up. She dialed Janet. “Are you on your way home?” her mom asked. “No. Why?” said Lora. “I think you need to come home,” said Janet.
Lora’s mother wouldn’t give an explanation over the phone, but that didn’t unduly concern Lora. She assumed Ashley and Tiffany had thrown a party and been caught by their grandmother. She cut the night short and headed back to Marlette. Night falls heavy here, cloaking the land in uncluttered darkness. On dirt roads in the middle of fields with no street lamps for miles, the flashing lights of stationary police vehicles announce themselves with the force of a lighthouse.
Because Brandon’s street was en route to her mother’s house, Lora saw the lights flashing where she had last seen her son and drove toward them.
“I turned down there and called my mom. I got right in front of Brandon’s house when she picked up.”
“Mom, do you have Tyler?” she asked.
“I think you’d better just come here,” said Janet.
“And then she put the sheriff-lady on the phone,” recalls Lora.
“Don’t go there. Just come here,” said the “sheriff-lady,” and Lora obliged.
“There’s been an accident,” the policewoman said.
“Okay,” said Lora, matter-of-factly.
“Your son’s in Lapeer County Hospital.”
“Okay,” said Lora. “Why didn’t you tell me that, because I just came through Lapeer.”
“No, Lora,” said the policewoman. “Lora, he’s been shot and killed.”
A year later, Lora is still upset at how the news was broken to her. “So she made me think one thing, like that he was injured, and then turned around and changed it to another story, like he was dead.”
When Lora was halfway home from Union Lake, Jerry was in the lobby of the Sanilac County sheriff’s office in Sandusky. It was two a.m.;he had been called on his way back from his truck run. It had been a long day. He’d been asked to come and pick up Brandon, but he had no idea why. They asked him whether there were any custody issues between him and Connie, whether he often left his son alone, his opinion about Tyler, and whether he thought the two of them were responsible. Asked if any of his weapons were
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