102 S. Broadway, Denver. This storefront used to be a bar called Sebastian’s Grill. On Nov. 8, 2004, Desi Rodriguez was bartending. It was just a part-time temporary gig to earn extra money for Christmas.
A fight broke out, a stupid argument provoked by an insult of the Denver Broncos. Bouncers kicked both parties out. About 2 a.m., one of the men returned. Rodriguez already had closed, and only a handful of regulars remained inside. But he recognized the man and unlocked the door, taking a step outside.
Witnesses would say later that Rodriguez, seeking to smooth over any hard feelings, offered to buy the man a drink. In response, the man pulled a gun and shot Rodriguez nine times, killing him. The gunman then ran down the sidewalk, spraying the plate-glass windows with bullets before hopping into his waiting brother’s car. The shooter and the driver are now in prison.
On Sunday, more than 50 people gathered in front of the former bar for the unveiling of a sign. White with red lettering, it reads: “Violence not tolerated in this neighborhood.” And, beneath that, a heart and: “In loving memory of Desiderio Rodriguez Sr. 1972-2004.”
Rodriguez’s mother, Helen, said a few words. The piece of paper upon which she had written her notes trembled in her hand.
“Helen, no crying,” said her youngest daughter, Reanna, encouraging her mother. Behind me, a man named Joe Cannata said: “No, you go ahead and cry, Helen.”
His daughter, Lynn, was stabbed to death in 1987 by her boyfriend. She was 20 years old and almost seven months pregnant.
Most of the crowd is made up of family. I do not mean only the family related to Rodriguez by blood or marriage but the family they never wanted and now need: the two prosecutors who tried Rodriguez’s killer, and the other mothers and fathers whose children have been murdered.
Cherri and Bill Lusk of Parker. Their son, Bryan, was stabbed to death after a fight Feb. 5, 2007. He was 31 and had a 9-year-old daughter. Berkie Harris Pejko of Denver. Her son, Jesse, was knifed in a parking lot Jan. 17, 2008. He was 22. Conrad Duran of Denver. His son, Eloy Conrad, was jumped and then stabbed Jan. 3 of this year. Eloy was 25 years old and had a 5-year-old daughter. Conrad Duran keeps a blog. His last entry reads: “This has been the most horrific, life-shattering, arduous and tumultuous time, I will ever know. … I hope I can stay sane.”
These parents huddle together on the sidewalk, and they wait to talk to me. They speak with a quiet urgency. They tell me their children’s names, and they describe their fatal wounds, inscribing them upon their own bodies — he was stabbed here and here — and traffic goes by on Broadway, and a restaurant patron eats a late-afternoon meal, and passers-by wend their way through the crowd.
“After the funeral, my husband sat here in his chair and he busted out bawling,” Helen Rodriguez tells me. “He bawled and bawled. It was the first time he’d really broken down, and he said, ‘You know what really makes me mad?’ ‘What?’ I said. He said: ‘That the world is still going.’ “
It is the silence they cannot bear. They could not have known in how many forms it exists. The silence that occupies the space their children once did. The silence that blanketed their families after the shock, the funerals, the trials. And, over time, the silence that suggests we are powerless to prevent such violence and so have no choice but to acquiesce to it.
No, says Helen Rodriguez: “It’s unacceptable. It’s unacceptable to lose your son, for children to lose their father. I never want another parent to go through this. It’s five years later, and it’s not OK, and it will never be OK, and I have to do something.”
Three years ago, she and her daughter Reanna began working on the sign campaign. They see its equivalent in the Mothers Against Drunk Driving memorial-sign program. It is Helen’s hope that the city will adopt the idea and that memorial signs will go up at every scene where someone was murdered so that we can at last see the epidemic with which we are confronted.
Desi Rodriguez was a single father. He raised three boys, his son Desi and his two stepsons, twins Mikey and Bobby, whom he loved since they were babies. All three were at Sunday’s unveiling. The twins are 19 now, one about to enter college, one planning to become a firefighter. Desi is 18. He’ll graduate from Jefferson High School this year and wants to become a police officer.
Desi and his father had a tradition. Each time his father dropped him off at school, they would reach across their seats and tap the other’s heart. A reminder. You are here. You will always be here.
Tina Griego writes Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Reach her at 303-954-2699 or tgriego@denverpost.com.
For more information on the memorial signs, please call: Voices of Victims, 303-777-0112
