![[Comment]](cmnticon.gif)
Houston Press, May 4, 2000
Houston, TX
(E-Mail: feedback@houstonpress.com )
( http://www.houston-press.com )
Bullets After Brunch
Marc Kajs repeatedly asked the police for protection. They said they
couldn't do anything until his stalker physically harmed him. Eight bullets
later it was too late.
By Wendy Grossman
The headlights flashing in Marc Kajs's rearview mirror were familiar.
The light blue Honda Prelude had been following him for 20 miles that day.
The 28-year-old waiter had worked the dinner shift at Urbana, and now he
just wanted to go home and get to sleep – he had to get up early Sunday
morning
to serve brunch. But the Prelude was behind him again, honking and then in
front of him swerving, trying to run him off the road. This had been
happening for months. At the stoplight, Marc's ex-boyfriend, Ilhan Yilmaz,
got out of the Prelude, walked up to Marc's window and pounded on it,
threatening to kill Marc. He said he was going to ruin both their lives.
If Marc didn't love him, Ilhan didn't want anyone to have him – and Ilhan
didn't want to be alive either.
After three bouts, Marc was too scared to drive the hour down Veteran's
Memorial Parkway. That country road feels like it has 500 stoplights, and
Marc knew that the small lawn mower repair shops and thrift stores would all
be closed after dark. No one would hear him if he screamed. Scared, Marc
turned his car around and drove to the Montrose police substation at 802
Westheimer. Ilhan followed Marc inside the storefront while Marc made a
report.
Marc told the officer on duty that he was scared. He told the officer
that he didn't feel safe – he didn't think his friends and family members
were safe either, because Ilhan had been threatening their lives, too. Marc
wanted help; he wanted protection; he told the officer that he wanted to get
a restraining order and to prosecute Ilhan for harassment.
It was a Saturday night, and the domestic violence department was closed
on weekends. The officer on duty gave Marc an incident number and told him
to come back Monday.
Sunday afternoon Ilhan made good on his threat: Both he and Marc were
dead.
Marc's family says that Marc went to the police for protection and was
repeatedly turned away. By not protecting her son, the police sent Marc to
his death, Gloria Swidriski feels.
Now, two years later, Marc's parents have filed a $50 million lawsuit
against the city. His parents want someone to be held accountable for
Marc's death. The family says Marc's requests for help were ignored and
wants to know why.
Gloria thinks it might be because Marc was gay. After Marc's death, a
sexual assault specialist from the Montrose Counseling Center told reporters
that officers might have dismissed Marc's troubles with Ilhan as a
"catfight." As an example of "the limitations of the police department,"
Melissa Martin of the Montrose Center talks about Marc in all of her
same-sex domestic violence presentations. "They really fell down on the
job with Marc," she says.
Marc's family believes that Urbana let Marc down, too. The owner, John
Puente, knew that Marc was having problems with his ex, but Puente never
banned Ilhan from the restaurant to protect his employee. Marc wasn't
killed inside the restaurant – he died on the sidewalk out front – so
Puente argues that it isn't his responsibility. Marc's parents are
outraged that Puente just stood silently on the patio and watched Marc die.
"At Marc's funeral, the priest said: 'Don't look for revenge. Look for
justice,'" says Marc's stepfather, Ed Swidriski, sitting at his kitchen
table. "That's what we're doing here."
A theater arts major at the University of Houston, Marc wrote poetry
about candy kisses and Sunday afternoons. Marc drank Skyy martinis and
cosmopolitans – he was the first to get to a party and the last to leave.
If the invitation for a Friday-night party said "till ?" he stayed until
Sunday.
"I couldn't get him out of the house," remembers his friend Chris
Prestigomo. Marc had a handful of best friends and people who loved him and
who spoke with the Press for this article. This story is told from those
interviews and from police reports.
Marc was smart, he was funny, he was quick-witted. He always won when
they watched Jeopardy, Chris says. Marc and former restaurant owner Donna
Gruber stayed up all night telling jokes, laughing. "He was a walking
sitcom," Donna says. "He was my addiction." Marc wanted everyone around
him to be happy. He wrote on the first page of his journal that he was
waiting
for someone to take him away. He wanted someone whose mind he could get
inside, someone he could connect with.
Marc met Ilhan at JR's, Donna remembers. Ilhan had thick, black brows,
cropped dark hair and an almost permanent five-o'-clock shadow. Marc felt
sorry for Ilhan, says Gloria, because Ilhan was all alone. He didn't have
anyone – his friends and family were an ocean away in Turkey. Marc was a
Hispanic gay man who was very in the closet. He had a secret side he didn't
show everyone. Ilhan was a butch, straight-acting gay guy. He became
Marc's first serious relationship.
Ilhan was smart, so he could keep pace with Marc's quick wit. Ilhan had
a mechanical engineering degree, and contemporary business management
degrees from schools in Istanbul and Ankara, Turkey. He was in Houston on a
four-year student visa from Sivas, Turkey, to get his MBA at UH-Victoria.
People remember Ilhan as quiet and kind.
Living at home in Klein, Marc told his parents he was looking for an
apartment nearer to downtown. The 25-mile commute was too much. He showed
up during dinner one night with Ilhan and a U-Haul. "You look like
brothers," Gloria remembers saying. She thought they were almost identical,
except Ilhan was taller and quieter and smiled less. Gloria and Ed
Swidriski say they never knew Marc was living with Ilhan. It never
occurred to them to think that their son was anything but straight. But
whenever they stopped by Marc's one-bedroom efficiency to visit or fix
Marc's car, Ilhan was always there. Ilhan was a polite, charming young man
who was always calm and
courteous. He always offered Marc's parents a Coke and asked them to sit
down. They thought Ilhan was just a friend.
About six months after moving out, Marc called Gloria around 3 a.m. His
voice sounded muffled, choked, like he'd been crying. Gloria heard a female
friend of Marc's in the background prompting him to go ahead and tell her.
Tell her what? Ilhan had been beating him up, Marc said. Ilhan had
threatened to call and tell her himself, and Marc didn't want Gloria to find
out that way. "I'm gay," he told her. She didn't believe him. "I thought
you knew," he said.
No. Marc always hung around girls. Pretty girls. He had girlfriends;
he took a girl to the prom. And Gloria had always thought of him as manly.
"It's not like he had dolls and aprons and I combed his hair like a little
girl," she says. "He always had baseball hats, basketballs and a tricycle –
little boy stuff." The only time she had doubted Marc's heterosexuality was
when she had found a book of matches from a gay club. She asked him if he
went there. When he didn't answer, she told him she hoped he wasn't gay.
After the phone call, Gloria figured Marc was experimenting. Sometimes
young men experiment, she says. She hoped it was a phase he'd grow out of.
Gloria doesn't like talking about the fact that Marc was gay. She didn't
join PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) or slap a rainbow
bumper sticker on her car, partly because she's a hard-core Catholic.
Gloria was able to push the idea of Marc and Ilhan being lovers further out
of her mind that summer, when Ilhan got married. His four-year student
visa was
running out and he wasn't taking classes. Marc's parents and friends
suspect it was a green-card marriage.
Marc kept calling Gloria, saying Ilhan was beating him. He told her not
to tell Ed. Ed's a big guy who isn't into pink triangles. Marc wouldn't
visit Gloria for days after these calls; when she did see him he was always
wearing long-sleeved white linen shirts. Gloria thinks Marc was waiting for
his wounds to heal. Friends saw Marc with a bloody lip and a black eye.
After three months of Marc calling his mom saying his boyfriend was beating
him up, Ed grabbed the phone from Gloria and told Marc to move out, that he
couldn't stay in that apartment. Ed and Gloria drove their van over to
Marc's and packed up his stuff. Marc didn't want to take the dishes or
silverware or the dining room table he and Ilhan had bought together,
because he didn't want to leave Ilhan with nothing.
Marc showed his parents that the bedroom door was off its hinges. He
said Ilhan had tried to come after him with a knife. Ilhan laughed. He
said Marc couldn't leave – he owed him money for tuition – but Gloria had paid
his tuition. Ilhan said Marc owed him $30 for the phone bill. Gloria wrote
Ilhan a $40 check.
"Victims of domestic violence don't get killed when they stay," says
Sergeant Sandy Kline of HPD's Family Violence Unit. "They only get killed
when they leave." Domestic violence is about control. It's like having a
dog that runs away, she says. If your dog leaves, you have to go get it,
bring it home and chain it up. As soon as Marc moved out, the stalking
began. Ilhan followed Marc to his friends' houses or waited for Marc to
leave work and then trailed him. "When it first started, we made a game out
of it," Donna remembers. "We felt like The Dukes of Hazzard. Making a
right and a left, ducking down alleys. We always lost him." But never for
long. Ilhan cruised Montrose searching for Marc's car. He called all of
Marc's
friends, either making threats or hanging up. Most of them had caller ID;
if it read "pay phone," they didn't answer.
Maybe Marc didn't take the stalking too seriously at first because it
was familiar. Marc was used to being adored, idolized and fiercely loved.
Marc's father died of leukemia when Marc was 11. Since then his mother took
him everywhere – even on dates with Ed. Whenever Marc was out, he had to
check in with his mother. He was used to her calling up his friends' houses
trying to find him.
What felt like hide-and-seek shifted into creepy
I'm-standing-at-the-gas-station-at-the-corner-and-I'm-going-to-kill-you
calls. Ilhan stopped wanting to know where Marc was and started warning him
that he was going to die. After a few threats, Marc realized that Ilhan
wasn't joking and called 911. The police wrote "threat to life" in the
logbook, but there's no report of any further investigation, and the tape
has been recorded over.
A few weeks later Marc was at Heaven dancing to the best club music in
town. Marc loved to dance – that's how he and Donna first became friends –
and years before he had won tickets to the Thriller tour in Laredo's "Dance
Like Michael Jackson" contest. Marc was grooving to disco music on the
dance floor, surrounded by walls covered in video screens. Ilhan followed
Marc
into the dark concrete club and told Marc he wanted him to come home. Marc
wanted to dance. Ilhan started screaming at Marc and attacked him. Ilhan
was escorted out of the club. Marc and his friends filed a report to a
moonlighting HPD officer. The officer wrote down their driver's license
numbers, but HPD has no record of the report. Officials told Ed and Gloria
it must have been destroyed months later in a fire at the club.
One burly bouncer pulling him out of a club didn't yank Ilhan out of
Marc's life. Ilhan kept calling and following and finding Marc. Feeling
hunted, Marc lived out of his car, crashing at different friends' houses
each night so Ilhan wouldn't know where he was. Marc kept moving. A few
weeks
after the Heaven disturbance, Marc was at another friend's garage apartment
on Driscoll Street when Ilhan stormed into her apartment and started
threatening to kill both her and Marc. After they told him to leave, Ilhan
stood outside throwing rocks at the window, according to the police report.
At 4:29 a.m. Marc called the police.
According to police reports, Marc told the officers that he and Ilhan
had lived together for almost a year but that Marc had moved out six weeks
before and Ilhan had been harassing him, trying to get him to move back in
ever
since. Marc mentioned the earlier threats and the Heaven disturbance, and
an officer jotted them down. Marc wanted Ilhan to be given a trespass
citation, something official and formal that would make him go away. When
the cops arrived, Ilhan had left the window, but he was still circling the
neighborhood driving past the apartment, watching. At the corner stop sign
an officer pulled Ilhan over for a routine traffic check. Ilhan told the
officer that while he was vacationing in Turkey, Marc had stolen a check and
made it out to himself. Ilhan said he was just trying to get his money
back.
(Marc's family says Ilhan had told Marc to forge the check to pay some
bills.) Ilhan handed over documents from Compass Bank showing that a
forgery had occurred. Ilhan had proof, documentation, evidence – all Marc
had was fear and a witness who saw and heard Ilhan threaten Marc's life. The
officer could have issued a warrant for Ilhan's arrest for making terroristic
threats; instead he dismissed the trespassing and threat-to-life accusations
and pursued the forgery. On the report filed, Marc switched from being the
complainant to being the suspect.
Marc started working at Urbana, a trendy Montrose restaurant with
mosaic-stained glass doors, when it opened in September 1997. He was a good
waiter who cared about food and asked the chef all the right questions about
how the entrées were prepared. Like most gay guys, Marc had a crazy
ex-boyfriend story that made everyone laugh. But Marc's psycho ex wasn't
just a staff anecdote – he was a regular. Even when Marc wasn't there,
Ilhan ate at Urbana two or three times a week, leaving $20 tips.
Ilhan quit school and started delivering pizzas for Papa John's. That
schedule meshed with his main activity: driving around town searching for
Marc. In his Prelude with tinted windows, Ilhan followed a regular route
past all of Marc's friends' houses, JR's, Pacific Street, the movie theater
and Urbana, anywhere he thought Marc might be. He wanted to know where Marc
was at all times; he wanted to know why Marc wasn't with him. "We ran into
Ilhan all the time," remembers Marc's friend (and fellow Urbana waiter)
Johnny Hooks. "He was a constant presence. He was always hovering in the
background."
Ilhan broke into Marc's car (his grandmother's 1987 off-white
Oldsmobile) three times. Once he smashed the back window and stole Marc's
new brown leather jacket. In the pocket was Marc's psoriasis medicine, and
Ilhan
wouldn't give it back. Another time Ilhan stole Marc's books so he couldn't
go to school. The last time, Ilhan took Marc's Compaq computer out of the
back of the car. Marc's parents told him to go get that computer – they had
paid for it. Marc did. Ilhan called the police and reported the burglary.
According to a late-November police report, Ilhan told the officer that he
and Marc had been lovers until he threw Marc out. Ilhan admitted that Marc
hadn't taken anything that didn't belong to him, but Marc had broken the new
lock Ilhan had installed. The officers encouraged Ilhan three times to file
charges.
For New Year's, Ilhan bought himself a gun. Marc's threat-to-life
reports were on file, but Ilhan hadn't been charged with anything, so HPD
approved the sale. By this time, Ilhan was calling Donna constantly,
sometimes four or five times a night. Sometimes he'd repeatedly dial
Donna's number, let it ring and then hang up. She banned him from her
Clear Lake barbecue restaurant, Gruber's. Ilhan kept calling.
"You're going to be the first to die," he said.
Donna has a gun too; she wasn't scared. "Get your ass over here," she
said. "I'll pop one in your butt."
Ilhan told Marc's friend Johnny that all he wanted from Marc was his
house keys back and he'd leave Marc alone. Johnny got Marc to hand over the
keys, but Ilhan didn't go away. "This is serious," Johnny remembers telling
Marc. "He's never going to leave you alone." Marc laughed. He made a
joke.
He said: "You're just jealous that you don't have a stalker too." He said
Ilhan would never touch him. "If he did, I'd kick his ass," Marc joked.
On March 6, the day after his 32nd birthday, Ilhan came to Urbana and
threw a bullet-riddled target at Marc. "This is going to be you," he said,
and stormed off. Marc called the police, then his parents. He told Gloria
that an officer had told him they couldn't do anything since Ilhan hadn't
physically harmed him. After that, Marc was too scared to walk to Urbana's
parking lot by himself. His co-workers escorted him to his car.
Ilhan called Marc's parents' house constantly. Marc blocked the number,
so Ilhan called from pay phones. Ilhan tried to make Gloria worry that Marc
was hanging out with dangerous people. He told her that he protected Marc
and that Marc was safe with him. He told her he had served in the Turkish
army. Other times he called Marc "a no-good slugger" and told Gloria that
his military training would enable him to kill Marc. He loved Marc, so he
could destroy him.
"I love Marc," Ilhan told Gloria. "I love him more than you do."
Four days before the final encounter, Ilhan was following Marc. Marc
drove to the Montrose substation, but Ilhan came in too. The officer later
told Marc's parents that he could tell that Ilhan was obsessed with Marc and
that Marc just wanted the relationship to be over. The officer wanted the
two to make up, to say that everything was okay. Ilhan was a manipulative
man and Marc didn't like to argue, so they said everything was fine and they
left. No report was written.
Two nights later Marc and Johnny got off work at Urbana and went to see
the ten-thirty showing of the rerelease of Grease. Still clad in their
black jeans and white shirts, the two went to the River Oaks Plaza on West
Gray
next to T.J. Maxx. Knowing Ilhan had followed him, Marc parked in the
mini-lot behind the theater so Ilhan couldn't see his car from the street.
Marc and Johnny laughed and danced and sang the familiar songs all
through the movie. They had a great time. When they walked out, Ilhan
drove his car between Marc and Johnny. Ilhan got out of the car, twisted
Marc's arm behind his back and threw Marc up against the wall. It was like
one of the TBird fight scenes with Craterface, but no one was on a
motorcycle and
no one was singing. And this time the fighting was real: Ilhan started
choking Marc.
Johnny ran inside and yelled for someone to call 911. He doesn't think
anyone did, because it was after midnight and the 17-year-olds were trying
to close up. Back outside, Johnny threw himself between Marc and Ilhan.
Ilhan
was yelling, and Marc was yelling back. Johnny told Marc to shut up and get
in the car. Marc started the car, doubled back, opened the door for Johnny,
and they sped off. They went down the street to Cecil's, a straight bar
that's always filled with a dark, smoky haze – a good place to hide.
Over a pitcher of Honey Brown beer, Marc said Ilhan hadn't done anything
like that before. Johnny told him to go to the police, to get a restraining
order. Marc said okay.
"Promise?" Johnny asked him.
"I promise," Marc said.
But Marc put it off. In the morning it didn't seem so bad. Then it got
dark. That's when Ilhan followed Marc up Allen Parkway threatening Marc's
life. That's when Marc went to the police and said he was scared. That's
when they told him to come back Monday.
Afraid to leave the police station, Marc stayed inside until well after
Ilhan had left. Marc got home at 5 a.m. Sunday, scared and shaken. He told
his mom he was tired of running. He put a piece of cold pizza in the
microwave, but he didn't eat it. He was too tired, too angry. He told his
mother that he was outraged that at the station the police didn't have his
reports on file; he wanted to know where they were. Sunday morning Gloria
wanted Marc to stay home. She almost didn't wake him up to go to work. She
wanted Marc to quit his job, buckle down and graduate college. She's a
teacher; education is important to her. Marc told her staying home wouldn't
keep him safe, despite his mother's shotgun, because Ilhan knew where he
lived. If he stayed home, Ilhan could come to the house and hurt her and
his little brother and sister, and Marc didn't want to put them in danger.
Marc grabbed his black Cirque du Soleil baseball cap, put it on backward
and walked out the door. He got into his car, blew Gloria a kiss, honked
twice at the corner and waved good-bye.
Sunday brunch in Montrose is fun. Bellinis are bottomless, and mimosas
feel mandatory as people drink off their hangovers eating thick, rich foods.
At some places waiters dance on the tables, music blares and people discover
who did what to whom the night before. At Urbana, patrons sit under
pleasant fans on the fenced-in covered patio watching the palm trees sway
slightly in the breeze. The people who eat there are in their Sunday best,
wearing expensive dark-framed glasses and armloads of crystal beaded
bracelets.
People skate by, walk their dogs or stagger into Einstein's for a Sunday
bagel.
Marc called Donna that morning. He told her he was scared. She came to
Urbana, sat at the solid cherry bar and ate brunch. Between tables Marc
told Donna he hadn't been telling her everything and that he needed to talk.
Donna says he showed her the bullet-riddled target. When his shift ended,
Marc walked with Donna to her red Mazda MX6, parked in the first spot. They
were going to get some drinks at the Blue Iguana and hang out until Marc's
dinner shift started. It was a bright, sunny day. They felt safe.
Donna put the keys in the ignition, then spotted Ilhan walking toward
them across the parking lot with a .25-caliber handgun. Ilhan was
clean-shaven, and his nails were bitten to the quick. Before Donna could
think to scream or turn the key, Ilhan fired a shot through the passenger
window, hitting Marc in the chest. The glass shattered, and blood covered
Donna's legs, soaking through her sundress. Sure that she had been hit,
Donna ran inside Urbana and climbed into the cabinet under the coffeemaker
to hide. Puente herded customers inside. Someone called 911.
Marc got out of the car and tried to wrestle the gun from Ilhan. Ilhan
was six foot and 158 pounds of muscle. Marc was shorter and never went to
the gym. Since this wasn't the movies, Marc wasn't strong enough to gain
control of the gun and let good champion over evil. Since this was real
life, Marc turned and ran. Ilhan followed, still shooting.
Then Urbana manager Craig Anderson (who didn't return calls from the
Press) jumped over the patio railing and yelled at Ilhan to stop. Ilhan
shot Marc twice more in the right thigh. Under the palm tree in front of the
Chinese consulate, Marc fell. He never said a word; neither did Ilhan.
Ilhan looked at the manager, then emptied his gun into Marc. Ilhan
fired eight bullets in all, hitting Marc three times in the face, twice in the
thigh and once each in the neck, chest and groin. He reloaded, pressed the
gun to his own skull and pulled the trigger.
Marc was dead on the spot. Ilhan died a couple of hours later at Ben
Taub General Hospital.
Marc always said he wasn't going to live past 30. His favorite book was
John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany, and the soundtrack to The Doom
Generation is in his CD collection. The opening line of his unpublished
novel says that life isn't short: It's too long.
Gloria played Janet Jackson's "Together Again" at Marc's funeral and
quoted the W.H. Auden poem featured in Four Weddings and a Funeral. "He was
my North, my South, my East and West. . . I thought that love would last
forever; I was wrong." Gloria still has two children; she sees Marc in
their eyes and smiles. But the bullets that killed him shattered her. She
relives the shooting like a moment out of a Time-Life Books commercial. She
remembers sitting in her bedroom, reading, when she felt a pain in her
chest.
The pain was so intense she lay face down on the bed, the same way Marc
sprawled on the ground. Then the phone rang and she knew it was her Marc.
She knew he was gone.
Gloria was so depressed after his death, she couldn't do her housework
and cook for her family. And Gloria is an immaculate woman who counts
ironing as her most relaxing hobby. No matter how many sleeping pills she
takes, she wakes up at 1:30 a.m. (the time Marc called her from the police
station) and can't sleep until 5 a.m. (when he got home). She's still
waiting up for him. Some nights she tries his bedroom door, hoping he'll be
in there, sleeping. Safe.
Pictures of Marc are on the piano and in the bookcases. She still has
his contact solution and shaving cream in the bathroom cabinet. The clothes
Marc was wearing when he died are in a box. Blood shows through the tape.
There are three candles burning on her stove, two for Marc and one for his
departed father. Marc named the miniature rabbit, Cadbury, whose cage is in
the corner of the kitchen, and Marc's voice is still on the answering
machine. Gloria listens to it every day. "It makes me think he's somewhere
else," Gloria says.
Gloria can't stand to see pictures of Ilhan with Marc. Talking about
Ilhan makes her cry. Talking about Marc makes her cry. She still calls his
friends and their relatives, wanting to talk about Marc and keep his memory
alive. Some stopped answering the phone or returning her calls. Relatives
have asked her not to talk about Marc because it's too upsetting. They
can't take her tears or the fact that she can't get past her anger and loss.
Maybe the lawsuits will give Gloria some closure and help her sleep.
She just wants someone to admit that there was something more they could have
done to help her boy. After the killing, Mayor Lee Brown went on the news
saying the police department had handled the matter the best it could.
Councilwoman Annise Parker says that unquestionably there's homophobia in
the police department but she hasn't seen evidence that it affected Marc. She
says there was nothing more the police could have done to help him. "If
someone wants to get you bad enough, there's not anything anyone can do,"
Parker says. Even with the Secret Service, people still shoot the
president, she says. Kline, of the Family Violence Unit, agrees.
Protective orders, pieces of paper, don't work unless the person abides by
them, and if the aggressor is bent on killing himself too, he won't care
what the punishment
for the murder is because it won't apply to him. The only thing officers
can do is tell the victim to "stay safe," avoid work and places the batterer
expects the victim to be; women's shelters take men too.
Gloria has filed a federal suit against the city for violation of Marc's
constitutional rights, due process and equal protection. Attorneys Robert
Rosenberg and Stephenie Shapiro argue that the police created a dangerous
situation by not enforcing domestic violence laws and ignoring the stalking
and terroristic threats. The lawsuit also deals with the fact that HPD
didn't have anyone on staff to help Marc that weekend, when it's known that
most domestic violence happens on the weekend. A state court lawsuit has
also been filed against Urbana and the owner of the property, BTI/Hawthorne
Square, LTD., for failure to provide appropriate security. The attorneys
argue that the owner of Urbana failed to protect his employee. He knew
Ilhan was a threat, but he didn't ban Ilhan from the restaurant. Maybe that
wouldn't have prevented Marc's murder, but it would have given Marc one more
safe place to be. Donna banned Ilhan from her restaurant, and he went away.
Maybe Ilhan would have steered clear of Urbana. Owner Puente says Marc's
death is not in any way his fault. Marc was not shot inside the restaurant,
he died on the sidewalk out front – and Puente doesn't even own the land the
restaurant is on. As for it not being Urbana's property, the lawyers argue
that the restaurant knew they were in a high-crime neighborhood and could
have asked the property owner to hire a security guard to patrol the parking
lot and protect patrons. Urbana stayed open for dinner that night; it did a
pretty good business, Puente says. Customers left stacks of cards saying
what a great guy Marc was. Puente never sent a sympathy card, or flowers,
or went to Marc's memorial service or funeral.
The police chief, C.O. Bradford, said Marc's death was an unfortunate
tragedy. "I don't want it to be just 'an unfortunate tragedy,'" Gloria
says.
"It shouldn't have been a tragedy." Bradford told newscasters that he
couldn't find any reports Marc had filed, except for the one 11 hours before
his death. One report is not enough to gauge how serious a stalker is. A
few months later HPD discovered two more reports that Marc had filed.
Since Marc's death, HPD's Family Violence Unit has been decentralized,
and it's now open downtown from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. on the weekends. Officers
have gone through "sensitivity training" too, but they said they would have
gone through that regardless. There were four deaths as a result of
domestic violence in April, Kline says. There are 25 officers and a
three-foot-tall stack of 2,500 reports. She tries to document and pursue
everything, but domestic violence is hard to prove and even harder to prevent.
That's not enough for Gloria. Marc's unpublished novel says he didn't
want to end up just another cross on the side of the road. Right now,
Gloria says, that's all he is. She wants more – because her son is gone
and she can't ever have him back.
• E-mail Wendy Grossman at wendy.grossman@houstonpress.com .
NEWS from GAYBC Radio -- www.GAYBC.com
Friday, May 5, 2000
THE OTHER SIDE OF HATE CRIMES:
Why is an Anti-Gay Killer in S.F. Getting a Light Sentence?
Today, on GAYBC.com, find out why some gay bashers are getting light
sentences. San Francisco Board of Supervisors President Tom Ammiano will
appear LIVE, today, in the 11:00am Pacific hour / 2:00pm Eastern, to discuss
a shocking case. The convicted killer of a gay man, who attacked his victim
outside a gay bar, may spend just one year in prison, instead of receiving
the 15-year sentence most observers expected. "The verdict shows how
entrenched institutional homophobia is and how much work still needs to be
done in order for gays and lesbians to obtain justice in the legal system,"
Ammiano told the San Francisco Examiner.
Find out why one anti-gay killer may get off light, and what you can do about
it. Tune in to the Mike Webb Show, today at 11 Pacific / 2 Eastern, on
GAYBC.com. Call in and participate in the program live.
------------------------------------------------------
S.F. Examiner - April 29, 2000 - Page A1
Castro rally over plea bargain for killer
- Ammiano calls for protest on sentencing of gay man's slayer
By Rachel Gordon
of The Examiner Staff
Board of Supervisors President Tom Ammiano is spearheading a rally in the
Castro on Sunday to protest the plea bargain agreement that gave the killer
of a San Francisco gay man a five-year sentence in a case painted as a hate
crime.
A jury last year deadlocked on whether to convict the defendant, 27-year-old
Edgard Mora of South San Francisco, of second-degree murder. At the time,
District Attorney Terence Hallinan, who was engaged in a fierce re-election
battle, vowed to retry the case.
Instead, his office on April 12 struck a plea bargain with Mora for
involuntary manslaughter, in which he was sentenced to three years. Another
two years was added to the sentence for a hate crime.
If he had been convicted of second-degree murder with the hate crime, Mora
would have faced 15 years to life for the killing and an additional three
years for the hate crime. Now, he may be out of jail in less than a year with
credit for time served.
"This evokes memories of Dan White's inappropriate sentencing," Ammiano said
of the ex-San Francisco supervisor who assassinated Mayor George Moscone and
Supervisor Harvey Milk in their City Hall offices in 1978. White, using the
now-infamous "Twinkie defense" was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to
seven years and eight months for the killings.
"The verdict (for Mora) shows how entrenched institutional homophobia is and
how much work still needs to be done in order for
gays and lesbians to obtain justice in the legal system," Ammiano said.
Added Tommi Avicoli-Mecca, who is organizing the protest rally, "This is
mainly to show that the queer community is angry. We're not just going to let
this pass."
The rally is scheduled for 3 p.m. at Harvey Milk Plaza, Market and Castro
streets. Organizers expect about a half-dozen speakers, including Ammiano,
the Rev. Jim Mitulski of the Metropolitan Community Church and a
representative from the anti-hate crime group Community United Against
Violence.
The case has received widespread attention, particularly in the gay media,
since the incident occurred on March 12, 1998.
According to police reports, Mora was admittedly drunk and angry when he
stumbled upon a leather bar in the South of Market and came across the
victim, Brian Wilmes, who was leaving the bar.
Police say Mora hit Wilmes once in the jaw. Wilmes, 45, was knocked
unconscious, fell back and hit his head on the pavement. He died from his
injuries two days later. Mora allegedly called Wilmes "faggot" prior to the
attack.
Mora's attorney said during the trial that his client never intended to kill
Wilmes and that he didn't know the victim was gay. Mora told a probation
officer that he was remorseful for what he had done and did not act out of
hate-motivated bias.
Ammiano on Monday plans to officially request a public hearing
to look into the handling of the Wilmes case and to see what, if anything,
can be done to assure that hate crime cases against gays are dealt with
adequately in the criminal justice system.
The jury at Mora's trial last year deadlocked 9-3 on whether he should be
convicted of second-degree murder. Representatives from the district
attorney's office were not available for comment Friday.
===
DR. LAURA'S WEB SITE PROMOTING EX-GAYS AGAIN
Well, it seems that 3 weeks of silence on gay issues was all Dr. Laura
could stomach. After her brief attempt to keep quiet on gay issues, in
order to save her multi-million dollar deal with Paramount Television,
she's now trumpeting on her home page - www.drlaura.com - a book about
"healing homosexuality", like it's some illness. The book is called
"Coming Out Straight," and the forward is written by Laura Schlessinger
herself. Gee, and Paramount giving her an audience of 20 million people
won't be helping her hawk these anti-gay books, not at all. So much for
Paramount's "promise" that Dr. Laura's days of going after gays were now
over....
Please read the excerpt from Dr. Laura's site - at the bottom of this email
- then feel free to give Paramount another call at the phone numbers just
below, and tell them that "she's back, you broke your promise." Seriously
folks, this is completely offensive. Paramount's senior management has
made it clear that they view gay civil rights as not nearly as worthy a
cause as compared to the civil rights of other minorities. If Paramount
thinks it ok for someone to say that we need to be "cured" of being gay,
like it was some venereal disease, then they need a stern lecture about
civil rights and bigotry. And you, my friends, are the folks to give it to
them.
Once again, were the target blacks or Jews, Paramount would never deign to
defend this kind of thing. But since it's gays and lesbians, why not make
a quick buck off of our pain, all in the name of the 'freedom of speech'
that only seems to apply when gays are slurred.
PARAMOUNT/VIACOM PHONE NUMBERS
1. SUMNER REDSTONE, CEO of Viacom (which owns Paramount)
tel. 212-258-6310
fax 212-258-6311
Message: "Why is Viacom supporting prejudice - cancel the Dr. Laura show."
2. KERRY MCCLUGGAGE, Chmn. of Paramount
tel. LA 323-956-5076, NYC 212-258-6269
(He shares the NYC # with Co-President Joel Berman), fax: 323-862-1823
Message: "Cancel Dr. Laura" [same message for the rest of the calls below].
If you can do even more, call the following Paramount employees:
FRANK KELLY, Co-Pres. Domestic TV:
tel. 323-956-4543 fax 323-862-1838
JOEL BERMAN, Co-Pres. Domestic TV
tel. 323-956-5773
STEVE GOLDMAN, Exec. VP
tel. 323-956-5982
JOHN NOGAWSKI, President - Distribution Domestic TV
tel. 323-956-8999 fax 323-862-3404
MICHAEL MISCHLER, Exec. VP - Mktg.
tel. 323-956-5516 fax 323-862-1023
BOBBEE GABELMANN, Exec. VP Current Programming
tel. LA 323-956-5508, NYC 212-258-6654
fax 323-862-0282 and 323-862-1188
RICHARD LINDHEIM, Exec. VP
tel. 323-956-5020
JOHN WENTWORTH, Exec VP Media Relations
tel. 323-956-5394 fax 323-862-3756
MICHELLE HUNT, Head of Media Relations
tel: (323) 956-8266 fax: (323) 862-1323
----------------------
The excerpt from the book on her Web site reads:
http://www.drlaura.com/reading/index.html?mode=view&id=29
Excerpt from book jacket:
Richard Cohen, a former homosexual, now married with three children,
struggled for most of his life with unwanted same-sex attractions. He tried
desperately to find professionals who understood his condition and help him
heal. Because “it was so difficult to explain myself to therapists, who
didn’t have a clue,” Cohen eventually became a psychotherapist and
developed both a ground-breaking understanding of same-sex attractions and
a comprehensive treatment plan for healing homosexuality. Coming Out
Straight not only details Cohen’s personal journey out of homosexuality but
also recounts his experiences helping thousands of men, women, and
adolescents heal their gender identity…
In simple language, Coming Out Straight presents the basic causes of
same-sex attractions, a clear model for recovery, and stories of
individuals who made the change. The book has three parts: In Part I, the
author shares his own story and the root causes of same-sex attractions.
Part II presents a four-stage model of recovery and healing. Part III
discusses the healing of homophobia by overcoming fear and hatred of
homosexuality.
While the book is meant to educate therapists, clergy, and other
professionals, it also assists those who struggle with their own same-sex
attractions, as well as their loved ones. Coming Out Straight sets forth an
easy to understand primer on homosexuality both for family members and
friends of homosexuals, as well as for the general public. It will open the
door to a new, happier, and fulfilling heterosexual life.
Prisoner's sexuality alleged motive for killing
MUSKEGON, Mich. (AP) * A state prisoner has been accused of
strangling his cellmate because he was gay.
Authorities late last week issued an arrest warrant charging Michael
Glenn Keep, 29, of Grand Rapids with the April 12 murder of Paul
Edward Chmiel. He is expected to be arraigned sometime this week.
Authorities say Chmiel, who was openly gay, died after he tried to
trade sex for a cigarette.
"It's extremely disturbing that it appears the sole motive is the
sexual (orientation) of the victim," Muskegon County Prosecutor Tony
Tague told The Muskegon Chronicle in a story Monday.
Tague said Keep, a prisoner at Muskegon's Brooks Correctional
Facility, objected to being lodged with a gay person and found Chmiel
offensive because of his sexual orientation.
Killing someone because they are gay is not considered a hate crime
in Michigan, because state law does not include gays as a protected
group.
Michigan State Police Detective Sgt. Gary Miles said Keep admitted
the killing in a written confession.
According to the detective, Keep became offended after Chmiel
approached him. He told authorities he grabbed Chmiel's chest,
breaking three ribs, before pushing the victim's neck up against a
bunk railing, strangling him, then dropped him to the floor.
Chmiel lay dying in the cell for about an hour before Keep dragged
his body into the hallway and walked outside to smoke a cigarette,
Miles said.
"It was a pretty vicious death," Miles said.
Keep was sentenced to between two and seven years in prison in 1998,
Miles said. However, he faces more time because of continuing crimes,
including an escape, while in prison.
Chmiel, 43, was serving a three- to 10-year sentence for felonious
assault and arson and was sentenced in Alpena, records show.
The death is another example of terror gay people suffer, said Sean
Kosofsky of the Triangle Foundation, a Michigan civil rights and
anti-violence group for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender
people.
There were eight reported anti-gay slayings in Michigan last year,
more than anywhere in the nation, he said.
"This is a terrifying example of how fear and loathing of gays
results in the most horrific of crimes," Kosofsky said. "By the
murderer's own admission, his own hatred of gays led to an irrational
and brutal murder."
![[Home]](homeicon.gif)
![[Up]](upicon.gif)
![[Previous]](previcon.gif)
![[Next]](nexticon.gif)
www.glinn.com Copyright © 2005 by GLINN Publishing Corporation