If Pain Had A Sound.......................

"We were getting ready to go to bed, just ate supper and got the kids to bed," said Jones. "When I looked up I heard shots and she fell to the ground and I rolled over the bed on to the ground. The kids came in, I got them settled down and I ran downstairs." Corey Jones, husband of Helen Ragan


In a city where killings, shootings, and stabbings, are as common as house sparrows, it takes a hell of a lot to shock the senses. This one delivers a jolt like exposed hot wires in standing water. Helen Ragan was killed by one of several bullets fired into a pair of Town Homes. But sprayed bullets are nothing new in this city. Helen drove a school bus, but being a regular person caught in the crossfire isn't uncommon, it happens all the time. Young, old, innocent, dirty, from gang bangers to Gardeners, dope dealers to convenience store clerks, getting killed either randomly or with deliberate intent is something that no longer shocks us, and barely gives us pause before we move on from one to the next. The area where this thing happened, 116th and Holiday drive is no stranger to crime, violence, and black folks. In the 70's and 80's this 4 or 5 block complex of apartments and conjoined townhouses was mostly occupied by working class whites, it was quiet, clean, and peaceful. On the surface, at first glance, the buildings haven't changed much, but the faces have. When black folk fled the urban core, they went to places like south Kansas City, Grandview, Raytown. Much like their white counterparts, these people soon discovered that you can run but you can't hide. The bad seeds followed the good ones, and like bad seeds are want to do, they grew into weeds that slowly choked the life from everything they came in contact with. The end result, regular working class folks, decent people, with wolves at the door.


It was these hard facts of life that barely gave me pause when I saw the first news reports about the murder of Helen Ragan. Then more info slowly came in . Mother of 4, school bus driver, wife, killed inside her home behind the seemingly safe barrier of walls as warm light spilled from the windows. Still it was just another bit of bad news, certainly nothing new. Then her husband gave an emotional plea to her killers. Turn yourselves in. He might as well have been Jacques Cousteau, pleading with sharks to become vegetarians. Might as well beg the clock to roll back a day. It wasn't his plea that moved me, it was his voice, his face, the pain so deeply embedded in each. Helen's widower, Corey Jones, had this to say "The only thing we heard was gunfire, and when we heard gunfire, she dropped to the floor. She fell right beside me," Jones said. "This is not right for killing my wife like this. She's an innocent hard-working woman."

Jones on the surface looked like a guy who had been toughened by life. Wide trails of tears pouring from tired eyes, shell shocked eyes. His voice deep, and his speech, simple working class with a hint of the south coming through. But there was something else in his voice. An almost childlike tone, it was pain, loss, and bewilderment. If those 3 emotions had a sound, it would be exactly the sound of Jones voice. Even though he didn't speak these words, his voice relayed them crystal clear, " what do I do now?"


Now the speculation begins. Why that house? Who where the shooters sending those bullets to? What was the motive? The moronic comments will come hard, fast, and dripping in vile and ignorance. The comments in the various media websites accompanying the story are already rife with them. Mostly ignoring what matters, a life lost, and turning it into tirades about stop snitching or conceal carry laws, blaming it all on politics or race. Claiming nobody cares because of the victims race, or that it is somehow someones fault other than the killers.


The tragedy more often gets lost among the bullshit. Arm Chair Activists, commentators, journalists, news reporters and bloggers, myself included. We all pile on, point fingers, try to explain away what is unfathomable. In our arrogance, puffed up and full of ourselves, secure we know better than anyone else, the real voice, the one that matters gets muffled. The only voice that matters in the murder of Helen Ragan, is that of Corey Jones. It's the sound pain makes as it comes to a head. We would all do well to listen, quietly, respectfully.