at command central
This is not how I intended to start my blog. I had planned to start with something innocuous. But three men were shot last night practically at the base of my apartment building, and two of them have died. And I have to write something because it has been very disturbing.
On the news they said there have been twenty shootings in two weeks. Last week it was a four-year-old boy, who thankfully will recover, physically anyway. News is never the same when it is around the corner in someone else's neighbourhood. When it happens on your doorstep it isn't news at all. It's reality. It's forensic crews and news crews and the garage to your building closed because the road is now 'command central'. It's white shirts piled on the curb where the blood has been darkening all day in the hot sun.
It was shortly before four a.m. when I was awakened by five gunshots. They were loud and thick and very near, and there was no mistaking them for anything else. I am on the fifteenth floor, facing south to Maitland, at the corner of Wellesley and Homewood. A man on the eleventh floor facing west said the shots were quiet, like children's firecrackers. It must have been the difference in direction and height, because the shots I heard were very loud.
When I looked out my bedroom window, I could see men on the sidewalk at the corner of Maitland. It is a well-lit corner and usually the transvestite sex-workers are walking it, but they are done work by that hour. A man was down on his back, his legs splayed and another man on his knees, holding the man's head. There were four, maybe five men. Gunsmoke was drifting up and thinning out. I didn't look long because I knew it was very bad. The man already looked dead and all you could hear was voices, asking or telling someone to call 911, to get an ambulance, men groaning in pain and disbelief.
I couldn't believe how quickly my heart went into high alert. I was not calm. I called 911 and it rang, and rang and rang. More than ten rings, maybe fifteen, because I was in disbelief that no-one was picking up. I actually wondered if I had dialed the wrong number, but couldn't imagine how. Finally, a man answered and asked if I needed police, ambulance or fire, and I just told him there had been a shooting and where it was. He said, oh, I need an ambulance then and said he'd connect me, and then the phone went dead. I thought, a man is dying and bleeding to death, and this is taking much too long. I dialed again, and the system was probably overloaded, because again I waited, but by that time I could hear sirens and I could see a police car driving straight through the centre of Allan Gardens a block away. I hung up and within minutes there were three to four police cars, but the ambulances were still not there. Though they appeared within another few minutes, they seemed to be moving too slowly, in another time warp. 911 called me back and asked if the ambulances had arrived yet.
At 6:30 a.m. there was a knock on my apartment door. The police were canvassing the building; there were at least four on my floor. But I saw no-one run off, heard no car. The officer said there was another shooting close by and they were trying to piece things together. At Bloor and Jarvis police were stopped by men in a car, trying to get a shooting victim to a hospital. The last I heard, they believe this man was also shot on Homewood. He died, as well as the man on the sidewalk. A third man, whom I did not realize was shot until ambulance attendants assisted him, appeared to be shot in the shoulder.
Life is just so fragile. Death as close as minutes and seconds.
On the news at noon, it was being reported that many of these shootings have been in public housing areas. The closest public housing around here that I'm aware of is a couple of blocks away. A couple of blocks can be a huge change in a city like Toronto. The Jamestown complex is nearby, but I shop there and walk by it often, and mostly it is immigrant families going about their business, raising their families. Police are suspecting a connection with the Phoenix, a concert hall over on Sherbourne. Last week the police cited 'gang wars'. The men I saw last night were strong young men, all seemingly dressed in white. They didn't appear to be juveniles and that kind of ranging is not a common sight, even in the early morning hours. It is believed the victims knew their assailants, and I believe it.
I am pretty sickened by this whole event. I have however, been impressed with the City-TV news crew I've watched from my balcony, and with the many, many patrol officers. I am intrigued and impressed by the detectives and the forensics teams. From my birdseye perch I can see their variously coloured plastic markers laid out carefully, watch them take their measurements. I think the man lying full-length on the sidewalk, a tall, strong man, was dead as he fell. But the seeming delay of the ambulances is difficult to appreciate.
Don't have any more to say on this right now.
On the news they said there have been twenty shootings in two weeks. Last week it was a four-year-old boy, who thankfully will recover, physically anyway. News is never the same when it is around the corner in someone else's neighbourhood. When it happens on your doorstep it isn't news at all. It's reality. It's forensic crews and news crews and the garage to your building closed because the road is now 'command central'. It's white shirts piled on the curb where the blood has been darkening all day in the hot sun.
It was shortly before four a.m. when I was awakened by five gunshots. They were loud and thick and very near, and there was no mistaking them for anything else. I am on the fifteenth floor, facing south to Maitland, at the corner of Wellesley and Homewood. A man on the eleventh floor facing west said the shots were quiet, like children's firecrackers. It must have been the difference in direction and height, because the shots I heard were very loud.
When I looked out my bedroom window, I could see men on the sidewalk at the corner of Maitland. It is a well-lit corner and usually the transvestite sex-workers are walking it, but they are done work by that hour. A man was down on his back, his legs splayed and another man on his knees, holding the man's head. There were four, maybe five men. Gunsmoke was drifting up and thinning out. I didn't look long because I knew it was very bad. The man already looked dead and all you could hear was voices, asking or telling someone to call 911, to get an ambulance, men groaning in pain and disbelief.
I couldn't believe how quickly my heart went into high alert. I was not calm. I called 911 and it rang, and rang and rang. More than ten rings, maybe fifteen, because I was in disbelief that no-one was picking up. I actually wondered if I had dialed the wrong number, but couldn't imagine how. Finally, a man answered and asked if I needed police, ambulance or fire, and I just told him there had been a shooting and where it was. He said, oh, I need an ambulance then and said he'd connect me, and then the phone went dead. I thought, a man is dying and bleeding to death, and this is taking much too long. I dialed again, and the system was probably overloaded, because again I waited, but by that time I could hear sirens and I could see a police car driving straight through the centre of Allan Gardens a block away. I hung up and within minutes there were three to four police cars, but the ambulances were still not there. Though they appeared within another few minutes, they seemed to be moving too slowly, in another time warp. 911 called me back and asked if the ambulances had arrived yet.
At 6:30 a.m. there was a knock on my apartment door. The police were canvassing the building; there were at least four on my floor. But I saw no-one run off, heard no car. The officer said there was another shooting close by and they were trying to piece things together. At Bloor and Jarvis police were stopped by men in a car, trying to get a shooting victim to a hospital. The last I heard, they believe this man was also shot on Homewood. He died, as well as the man on the sidewalk. A third man, whom I did not realize was shot until ambulance attendants assisted him, appeared to be shot in the shoulder.
Life is just so fragile. Death as close as minutes and seconds.
On the news at noon, it was being reported that many of these shootings have been in public housing areas. The closest public housing around here that I'm aware of is a couple of blocks away. A couple of blocks can be a huge change in a city like Toronto. The Jamestown complex is nearby, but I shop there and walk by it often, and mostly it is immigrant families going about their business, raising their families. Police are suspecting a connection with the Phoenix, a concert hall over on Sherbourne. Last week the police cited 'gang wars'. The men I saw last night were strong young men, all seemingly dressed in white. They didn't appear to be juveniles and that kind of ranging is not a common sight, even in the early morning hours. It is believed the victims knew their assailants, and I believe it.
I am pretty sickened by this whole event. I have however, been impressed with the City-TV news crew I've watched from my balcony, and with the many, many patrol officers. I am intrigued and impressed by the detectives and the forensics teams. From my birdseye perch I can see their variously coloured plastic markers laid out carefully, watch them take their measurements. I think the man lying full-length on the sidewalk, a tall, strong man, was dead as he fell. But the seeming delay of the ambulances is difficult to appreciate.
Don't have any more to say on this right now.
posted by Kathy O'Brien at 2:42 pm
1 Comments:
even sadder...
I was mildly assuaged of some fears when it was first reported to be gang-related. Now, the reports are that these guys were just out for some music and parked their car in a very well-lit place.
And I feel a little ashamed at grasping that 'gang-related' scenario. It smugly made me feel alright because I'm not a young male caught up in a gang scenario.
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