If Tomorrow Never Comes

This past week also marked an anniversary that I always remember: Robert's death.

In September of 1990, I was dating a guy I worked with. Robert was a kind, sensitive, easygoing and funny guy. He had graduated from college in August but was still working as a bartender at the place where I was a waitress. We had been going out for a couple of months when Mark, a friend of his from Lubbock, came in town and they went out on the Saturday night. It was the first Saturday night he & I didn't go out since we'd been dating.

Robert & Mark went to a club where the bartender was also a friend. This club, the Mucky Duck, was in the Oak Lawn neighborhood. When they left around midnight, three guys looking for someone to rob assumed these two guys leaving together in this neighborhood must be gay and therefore good victims. Their lives are worth less, right? These lowlifes thought so.

Two of the guys approached Robert's truck, one on each side, where the truck doors were open and they were getting in. The guy on Robert's side had a gun and he said, "Throw'em down". According to witness testimony, Robert laughed nervously, not understanding the slang for "give me your wallets". Not appreciating being laughted at, the gunman shot Robert in the abdomen, then stood above him, saying, "This isn't a f***ing joke," then shot him in the chest. The gunman and his accomplice took the wallet out of Robert's pocket and the shoes off of his feet. Then, they took his friend Mark's shoes and wallet and left him there untouched, driving away in the getaway car being driven by a third guy.

Mark ran back inside to call 911. An ambulance came, but Robert died an hour and a half later.

I found out the next morning. I was getting ready for church when the phone rang, only half dressed when I heard the news, and all I could do was grab a coffee can full of pens and pencils and start throwing them until my family encircled me in a big group hug and I collapsed to a heap on the floor.

That night many of Robert's friends gathered at his former roommate's apartment (who had just gotten married) to tell stories and just talk about Robert. I wish I had a recording of that night; it was magical. I think it was the next day that I went to his parents' house and met his mother for the first time. She knew all about me. Heartbreak all over again.

The funeral was a two-hour drive away in his family's hometown of Henderson. There was a huge line of cars that met at our restaurant to make the trip. The owners had to staff our store with employees from another location because so many people were going.

Three weeks later, the criminals were caught because they were using Robert's credit cards all over town. Turns out maybe Robert laughed because he had no money.

In the armed robbery trial that I eventually attended (I think it lasted three weeks), we learned that the criminals had to be taught how to use a credit card. Lots of store clerks remembered them because they'd go on crazy shopping sprees at gas stations. I remember that one of the things they bought was a Notre Dame t-shirt. I remember this because a friend who was attending the trial was a big Irish fan and people looked at him when a witness gave that testimony.

Another thing we learned that I found disgusting was that the three guys, driving around after the crime, made up a rap about it.

It used to bother me that when I told this story, people often asked what color the perpetrators were. I don't hear that as much anymore. And anyway it is fairly unusual that in this case, the victim was white and the perps were black. But that really wasn't an issue during the trial.

During the sentencing phase of the trial, the attorneys on both sides brought in witnesses to try to influence the sentence. The shooter's former high school principal testified about all of the trouble he'd gotten into in school, bringing weapons, etc.

And after the shooter was sentenced to 99 years and a $10,000 fine, I remember how his mother lost it, breaking down into sobs and shouts in the corridor outside the courtroom. She too had lost her son, but the world became a safer place.

He was also tried for murder later. His accomplices who had testified in the armed robbery did not do so in the later trial, so prosecutors (including recently defeated district attorney Toby Shook--a hero in my book) used transcripts of their earlier testimony.

A friend of mine at school who teaches criminal justice recently looked up the shooter for me to find out where he was and when or if he was eligible for parole. (I remembered hearing he'd be eligible sometime after 2010. He's my age, and he was 21 when he went into the system.)
She found that he is indeed still locked up, but the two accomplices, who accepted plea deals to testify against the shooter, are not.

I used to think about writing a book about this. I took notes all during the trial, for instance. I wondered about talking to the convicted murderer. But it bothered me to imagine him enjoying the privilege of having me as a visitor, or feeling notorious or cool by telling his story. Still I wonder what led him to become what he did, a person who valued human life so little.

In 1994 when I was working at the ballpark, I recognized a woman in the bar. I told her she looked familiar, and she said, "I'm a lawyer. Do you go downtown much?" Immediately, I knew and blurted out, "You represented the guy who killed my boyfriend." She looked stricken and fled. She knew exactly who I was talking about. I never got the chance to tell her I didn't hold her accountable, that I understood she was just doing her job, that if he hadn't had a competent defense, his conviction could have been overturned.

I've seen Robert's parents and family a few times over the years. Sometimes I send his mom a card on Mother's day, because I know it's got to be painful for her like it is for me.

When I changed schools three years ago, I attended the Christmas-time "Coaches' Luncheon" during a school day. As I was about to sit down with my plate heaped high with delicious homemade dishes, I looked up and there were his parents. It turns out, the athletic director at my school is Robert's cousin, and she invites them each year since she's in charge and they live nearby. They were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.

This happened again recently when we signed Carmen up for soccer. Laurie, Robert's brother's wife, is the treasurer. I recognized her name and face immediately. She has a son, Conner Loring (whose middle name is the same as Robert's) who was born the year following his death. He was in Lauren's class since elementary and now they're high school sophomores together.

So life goes on, but not happily ever after for their family. In real life, murders are not followed by happy endings. His family copes, and many more remember. Robert was a great guy who touched many lives.

I still think of him when I hear two songs that were popular the year after he died: "If Tomorrow Never Comes", and "The Dance":

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared beneath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance