Kirkwood comes to grips with tragedy
Of the St. Louis American
On July 4, the Reid family loaded into its minivan and headed to Kirkwood Park for the annual fireworks display.
Mom sat out this year’s event, but our daughters, Bryson and Blaine, dodged a few early raindrops and enjoyed the spectacular show.
My family always went to Kirkwood Park on the Fourth of July, going back to the 1960s, when black families were not always greeted with a smile or respect there.
But we always went. As the fireworks have exploded over my hometown, I have always felt proud to be black, an American and from Kirkwood, in that order yet at the exact same time.
The next day, July 5, Kirkwood’s soul would be ripped apart like never before. Before the evening came to a close, Kirkwood Police Sergeant William McEntee would be unmercifully gunned down in Meacham Park.
His alleged assailant, Kevin Johnson, would be the subject of a region-wide manhunt and his younger brother, 12-year-old Joseph Long, would be dead after collapsing while being interrogated by police about Johnson’s whereabouts.
The younger boy’s death came 90 minutes before witnesses say Johnson brutally shot the police officer.
While he might have been overcome with grief for his younger brother, if he is guilty, the irrational Johnson forgot that his own antisocial behavior brought the police to his doorstop on this hot Tuesday afternoon.
Too many African-American men forget that there is a price to be paid by family members when they run afoul of the law. Yes, sometimes it can mean death to an innocent.
The murderer may never realize that each of those bullets that pierced the slain officer’s body tore holes in the good works and sacrifices of hundreds of black families who have lived in Meacham Park or Kirkwood dating back to the early 20th century.
Kirkwood and Meacham Park will heal. They will never be the same.
Like much of the United States, Kirkwood was segregated and still is racially divided by invisible lines.
A few black families lived in Kirkwood “proper” in earlier days, but the overwhelming number of black families resided in Meacham Park until the 1960s.
When my father’s family moved from Fulton, Mo., in the 1950s, they moved to Meacham Park.
My grandfather was one of the Kirkwood School District’s first black teachers. He was respected, but never became a principal or administrator because of his race.
My grandmother was a part-time domestic. Together they raised and sent two children to Lincoln University and also saved enough money to purchase a house in Kirkwood.
Then known as Baden Terrace, the southeast corner of Kirkwood was the first place that black families could buy homes outside of Meacham Park.
My parents would buy a home in central Kirkwood in 1961. My mom still resides there.
My family now lives in that home that was purchased by my grandparents many years ago. It’s our piece of history, our piece of Kirkwood.
The Kirkwood Police Department did not patrol Meacham Park when I was a child. In fact, it would not protect and serve its residents until shortly before Meacham Park was annexed. That responsibility previously belonged to St. Louis County police. Kirkwood wanted no part of Meacham Park – until it was time to build a Wal-Mart and other stores along Kirkwood Road. Then, suddenly, Kirkwood needed and wanted land – black people’s land.
Some black families and business owners sold their homes to developers and immediately moved. Some held out. Some are still upset with how the entire political and legal process played out.
Ultimately, the population dipped dramatically and the development, which includes Wal-Mart, Target and other retailers and restaurants, is a booming success.
This certainly brought to surface lingering racial strife, but at no time did blacks declare war on the police or white people, as you might have ascertained by reading the Post-Dispatch over the past week.
In fact, the police and black residents of Kirkwood and Meacham Park have had an ongoing dialogue for years. Police Chief Jack Plummer is not a stranger to Meacham Park residents, nor was it out of place for him to attend Long’s funeral or a prayer vigil last weekend in Meacham Park.
Yes, the police most likely stop motorists more often in Meacham Park than in Kirkwood. Yes, they stop black motorists more often than whites. Yet, Meacham Park is not a bubbling cauldron of racial strife or a cop-killing waiting to happen.
Crime is nowhere near the level it was years ago. Yes, there is drug dealing in parts of Meacham Park, but there is new housing and a new attitude as well.
There is the flame of hope in Meacham Park. Most of us who live there and in Kirkwood are praying that the murder on July 5 don’t extinguish it forever.
What is missing from what you have read in the Post-Dispatch or viewed on television is the perspective of those who have lived and worked in Kirkwood and/or Meacham Park for many years.
There is my mom, Erma Reid, a former teacher in the Kirkwood School District for 30 years and currently the director of Rose Hill House elderly apartments.
There is Kem Mosley, the founder and CEO of the respected Mosley Construction firm. There is Audrey Gooch, a stalwart of Kirkwood and St. Louis-area civic works. There is former Kirkwood councilman Paul Ward, who was twice elected to the city’s highest governing body. There is Alvin Miller, a successful executive and former Notre Dame football player. There are the members of the First Baptist Church of Meacham Park, the longtime anchor of the community.
There are hundreds of others.
No one seems to have reached out to black residents of Kirkwood and Meacham Park such as these. Death and racial strife sell more papers and bring higher ratings than middle-class stewardship.
The story in the eyes of Post columnist Sylvester Brown and reporter Ron Harris begins and ends with the race question. They either chose to ignore the overall community’s reaction or failed to understand the dynamic that forged Kirkwood and Meacham Park into one of St. Louis’ most respected suburbs.
The grieving family, as should be, has been given the opportunity to tell their story. They say Long would not have died if the police had been more concerned with his health than in arresting Johnson.
The police department has countered with a timeline that it says proves that police were not slow in trying to save the boy.
What matters most, though, is that two people are dead and a third will most likely join them when he is put to death by the State of Missouri years from now.
Before I am accused of not understanding the grief of the family, note that my son, Chandler, is buried in the same cemetery where Long’s funeral was held. My late father, who died at 56, and my grandparents are also buried there.
Chandler Arthur Reid died of natural causes after we found his lifeless body in his bed on the morning of June 22, 1991, when my wife and I lived just outside of Washington, D.C.
I handed Chandler to paramedics knowing I would never hold him again.
The minutes that we waited for an ambulance seemed like hours. The ride to the hospital was an eternity. Within days of being one of the happiest men on Earth, I was flying with my son’s body back to St. Louis so he could be buried in Kirkwood.
I understand the pain of losing a child all too well. It’s not the moment of death that haunts you. It’s the fact that you have lost your future. You never get it back.
Sgt. McEntee’s wife and children lost their future with their loved one. He will never see how his children turn out in life. They will never again get to make him proud.
Their family should recover, in time. But they will never forget July 5, just as I’ll never forget that day in June. No one in Kirkwood or Meacham Park will ever forget the horrible night of July 5.
Police searched house-to-house in Meacham Park throughout the night as a police helicopter kept circling above. It went on until dawn.
It was a restless night for me. I didn’t feel endangered, but I felt sad for what was sure to transpire over the next few weeks. I felt the same way after the September 11 terrorist attacks. The present was sad and painful, but the coming days would indeed be frightening.
As this chilling night played out, my wife reminded me that 6-year-old Bryson had lost one of her baby teeth that afternoon.
While fear hovered over Kirkwood and Meacham Park, the Tooth Fairy visited our residence.
Bryson awoke the next morning with a snaggle-tooth smile and gleefully ran into our bedroom to tell us of the Tooth Fairy’s kindness. Later that day, we went to the Kirkwood police station to place flowers on a memorial for Sgt. McEntee, and we said a prayer for him and his family.
Our odd little community will survive. We will try to understand why people are amazed at the fact that there was a diverse crowd at a funeral for a little black boy whose brother allegedly killed a police officer. We’ll try to explain how it is that black and white people with differing incomes and political views can actually debate subjects on some level other than race.
And we’ll find a way to find understanding. We always have. We always will.