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4 Chicago Tribune | Section 1 | Sunday, August 7, 2011 B
CHICAGOLAND
My sister Gina received herfirst cellphone as a birthdaygift a few days ago.
Until recently, Gina hadinsisted that a cellphone wastoo complicated for her, aplausible statement given howmany things she finds hard.
For years, she found bathingcomplicated, so she rarelystepped into a tub or shower.Brushing her teeth felt compli-cated, so her teeth went bad.Cleaning her room felt likeclimbing a mountain, so herroom devolved into a jungle ofjunk with a skinny path to theunmade bed. In the finalweeks of her old cat’s life, shefound it too complicated topick up the cat feces on thecarpet, so she neatly laid apaper towel over each set ofdroppings.
When Gina was little, doc-tors said she had an IQ of 34,and though they were farwrong, the right diagnosis hasnever been clear. Mild autism.Borderline personality dis-order. The verdict seems tohave changed almost as oftenas her medications.
What is clear is that Gina isdifferent, so she always livedwith our mother and ourmother lived with the ques-tion: What will happen to Ginawhen I die?
Gina worried too. As Mamagrew frail, Gina often climbedin her bed in the middle of thenight to weep.
“Honey,” my mother wouldsoothe her, “you’ll be OK,” andmy siblings and I, uncon-vinced, told our mother we’dmake sure she was.
In the months leading up tomy mother’s death, Gina beganto change. She calmed down,some. She took pride in mak-ing Mother’s morning coffee.When one of my brothers or Ibathed our mother, Gina heldthe towels. When we’d liftMother off the portable com-mode next to the sofa whereshe slept, Gina was quick tosay, “I’ll empty it.”
But after Mama died, webraced for Gina’s familiarrages. We talked about how tohandle her when she burstinto shrieks at the memorial.
On the morning of the serv-ice, she found me while Iwashed my face.
“Do you think,” she began.“Do you think it would be OKif I don’t go? I just. I just thinkthe best way for me to honorMom today is to take a showerand brush my teeth and go outon the bus.”
And that’s what she did.With clean hair, in new
brown capris and shin-highsocks from Target, she rodethe bus from store to store thatday, along a route she rides forhours almost every day just forfun. She visited with clerksand pharmacists she considersher best friends, telling themher mom was gone.
“Mom would be proud ofme for being independent,”she said when she got back.
In the year since, Gina haslived alone, next to one of ourbrothers. She has given up softdrinks, after years of a dozen aday. She has gone to the den-tist, and her teeth, minus sev-eral that had to be pulled, arewhite again.
She showers.And now, thanks to two
brothers, she is a modernwoman with a cellphone. Icalled her on it last week.
“I’m doing a lot of things Inever thought I’d be doing,”she said with a big laugh. “Liv-ing alone! And a cellphone!”
I try to understand mysister’s transformation, to trustthat it will last. It’s one of themost mysterious and beautifulthings I’ve ever witnessed,though maybe it’s no morecomplex than this:
When your greatest fearcomes to pass and you survive,you discover who you reallyare.
Mary Schmich
Troubleddaughtergrows up
Three years later, the detectiverealizes she got a little too close.
After years of answering callsabout children who were hit andhurt or left alone, this one — a babyboy wrapped in three plasticshopping bags and tossed out athird-story window just minutesafter his birth — had finally gottento her.
So she did what she had to —she worked on the mystery thatwas handed to her in a manilafolder on that summer morning in2008. She took the case andfigured out who did this to thenewborn, who miraculously sur-vived.
But she also turned her atten-tion to the infant boy, who was leftalone and named “Beacon Wil-son” for the corner in Uptownnear where he landed that morn-ing.
For several weeks, Chicago po-lice Detective Jennifer Ryle visit-ed the hospital, rocking Beaconand at times singing “You’ve Got aFriend.” She brought him a rosary,a blanket and toys.
Three years later — having lostcontact with the baby she oncethought she’d adopt — Ryle hasstarted a foundation in Beacon’sname to provide a small measureof comfort to the abused andneglected children encounteredby police officers every day.
She and other officers areraising money to buy teddy bears— custom-designed and named“Beacon” — that officers can giveto children on calls of abuse,domestic violence or other trau-matic events. The soft, brownstuffed animal may be their oneconstant in the rough days after-ward.
“I will say this now, lookingback: I did get very, very close tothis case. I was very affected by it,”Ryle said recently. “If and when Iever get another case like this … Iwould do it again. I could notconsciously stay away and not gothere and feed him and touch him.I still found out who did it, and Istill got to give this child anopportunity to feel touch.”
Beacon was found on the streetat 2 a.m. that July day by apasser-by who thought he heard acat wailing. He was taken to ahospital in critical condition.
Ryle, at the time a special-victims detective who had justreturned from maternity leaveafter giving birth to her secondchild, was assigned the case whenshe got to work that morning. Shestopped by the hospital to talk tothe doctors and nurses and makesure Beacon was secure. Whenshe peeked in on him, he wasconnected to so many machinesshe couldn’t even tell his race.
It would take Ryle about amonth to track down the new-born’s teenage mother, who afterdelivering Beacon in her apart-ment, wrapped him in the shop-ping bags and dropped him outthe window. The teen pleadedguilty to attempted murder andwas eventually sentenced to fiveyears of probation, communityservice and mandatory counsel-ing.
Throughout her investigation,Ryle returned to the hospital everyday, rocking Beacon, bringing himthe gifts and making a baby bookof photos, including of the nursesand doctors who took care of himduring his first few weeks.
But then she came for a regularvisit only to discover just the bagof comfort items that she hadcollected for Beacon. No one hadtold her of the decision to take himfrom the hospital.
“I was heartbroken,” said Ryle,who has not seen Beacon again.
Ryle left the items behind,
telling the nurses to donate them,all the time wondering if Beaconwould remember her.
She never forgot about him —the case file is still close at hand atwork. But last year, after the birthof Ryle’s third child, Beaconflashed back to her mind. AndRyle decided to find a way tocomfort the other children incrisis whom cops come into con-tact with, especially those whohave to be forcibly removed fromtheir homes.
The assignment is gut-wrench-ing, a task that can make even thetoughest cops shudder or tear up.
“It’s just the fear in the child’seyes when a stranger is takingthem out,” said Detective KurtKourakis, who is working on theproject with Ryle.
Because of the urgency andtension, there is no time to collecteven a toy or blanket for the child,Ryle said.
That’s how she settled on hand-ing out teddy bears, giving chil-dren something they can cling toand a way to remember the last
time they were with their family.For now, the stuffed animals
will be given to officers in two ofthe city’s five police areas on theNorth and South sides. Ryle andKourakis would like to raiseenough money through The Bearsin Blue Foundation to take theprogram citywide, with annualpurchases of about 5,000 bearscosting about $6.50 each. A fund-raiser is set for Sunday at Fulton’son the River at 315 N. LaSalleDrive.
The bears will be given toofficers most likely to come incontact with children, includingspecial-victims detectives and su-pervisors in the districts whotypically have to respond when achild is removed from a home.
Kourakis said he thinks mostofficers, even if a little wary at first,will figure out how much comfortthe stuffed animal can offer.
“I would tell the child every-thing is going to be OK,” Kourakissaid. “Here’s a friend … and he’lltake care of you. You’re not alone.”
A spokesman for the IllinoisDepartment of Children and Fam-ily Services couldn’t say Fridaywhat had happened to Beacon,but Ryle has been told that he hassince been reunited with hisfamily and is healthy and doingwell.
Ryle has stopped handling spe-cial-victims cases and switched tofinancial crimes instead. The an-guish of the job became too much,she said.
Custom-designed teddy bears like this one will be given to some Chi-
cago officers who frequently respond to situations involving children.
BRENT LEWIS/ TRIBUNE PHOTO
In baby’s honor, copsraise money for toys to ease kids’ traumasTeddy bear programinspired by appalling2008 abandonment By Annie SweeneyTribune reporter
The Chicago Bears organiza-tion and the city Park Districtspent Saturday trying to recoverfrom fumbling one of the fewevents at Soldier Field that manyBears fans can afford to attend.
Friday night, Bears fans weredragged into a decadeslong dis-pute over the condition of thefield, when the annual Family Festpractice was canceled becauseunwatered sod was separatingand deemed unsafe for players.
The botched practice was madeworse by the fact that it wascanceled after a large crowd hadarrived at the lakefront stadium,only to learn the team had re-turned to its offseason practicefacility in Bourbonnais.
“It’s a joke,” Brian Urlacher, theBears’ star linebacker, said Sat-urday. “I don’t understand (why)they can’t have the field ready. Itsucks for the fans because I’m sureit was a pain in the butt to getdown there with all the traffic andeverything.”
The condition of the stadiumgrass has long been a point ofcontention between Bears playersand team management. Manyplayers consider the natural turfsubstandard, preferring artificialturf. Management, which had thefield designed to the organiza-tion’s specifications, argues thatthe natural turf is safer. Mean-while, the Chicago Park District,which owns Soldier Field, hasdone its best to remain neutral.
On Saturday, everyone wasseeking to fight off a blitz of badpublicity.
“We are certainly disappointedwith Friday’s incident, which wasthe result of human error and amiscalculation of how quickly thegrass would dry after a series ofheavy rains,” said Park Districtspokeswoman Jessica Maxey-Faulkner in an emailed statement.
Maxey-Faulkner said the dis-trict is “confident that the fieldwill be in playable condition forthe Aug. 13 preseason game.”
To get there, SMG, the stadiummanagement company that hasrun Soldier Field for the ParkDistrict since 1994, had crews outwatering the playing surface.
Company spokesman LucaSerra acknowledged the effortwouldn’t likely appease disap-pointed fans who fought rushhour and Lollapalooza traffic Fri-day evening.
“This is the worst way youcould have that customer experi-ence go wrong,” Serra said.
SMG’s contract runs out in2012. Maxey-Faulkner noted thatpast performance goes into newcontract decisions but describedthe company as “an industryleader in stadium management.”
Some Bears once again lobbiedfor artificial turf, which had beenreplaced by the natural grass in1988.
Kicker Robbie Gould said theSoldier Field grass “isn’t the bestsurface to play on.”
Serra said the mishap occurredbecause the grounds crew wastrying to provide the players withthe firm field the team prefers forpractice, so it stopped wateringthe grass.
But the sod dried out tooquickly and pulled apart, he said.
“Obviously, there was a mis-calculation,” Serra said.
The decision to cancel theevent happened so late in the dayFriday because Bears coach LovieSmith and general manager JerryAngelo had to inspect the fieldthemselves, according to Serra.
“We let them know early in the
afternoon what was going on withthe grass,” he said.
Bears spokesman Scott Hagelsaid team officials “didn’t take thedecision lightly.”
“We determined it wasn’t safefor the players to practice on thatfield,” Hagel said.
That’s small consolation toMike and Megan Garza, whosurprised their 6-year-old sonDamien with tickets to Friday’spractice.
“This is his first time,” saidMike Garza as he walked awayfrom Soldier Field with his wifeand son, who was wearing a DevinHester jersey. “He really wantedto see them play.”
Tribune reporters Cynthia Dizikesand Vaughn McClure contributed.
Surface tensions still boiling
Sprinklers shower the grass at Soldier Field on Saturday, a day after the annual Bears Family Fest practice
was canceled because the sod was too dry and deemed unsafe for players.
KERI WIGINTON/TRIBUNE PHOTO
Fest fumble dragssad Bears fans into big turf battle overSoldier Field grassBy John ByrneTribune reporter
To donate to the Bears in Blue
Foundation, go to thebears
inblue.org or send a check to the
Chicago Patrolmen’s Federal
Credit Union Headquarters, 1407
W. Washington Blvd., Chicago, IL
60607.
Bears in Blue
Product: CTBroadsheet PubDate: 08-07-2011 Zone: ALL Edition: SHD Page: MAINCHILAND1-4 User: croyer Time: 08-06-201122:03 Color: K
2
By Mary SchmichSunday, August 7, 2011
My sister Gina received her first cellphone as a birthday gift a few days ago.
Until recently, Gina had insisted that a cellphone was too complicated for her, a plausible statement given how many things she finds hard.
For years, she found bathing complicated, so she rarely stepped into a tub or shower. Brushing her teeth felt complicated, so her teeth went bad. Cleaning her room felt like climbing a mountain, so her room devolved into a jungle of junk with a skinny path to the unmade bed. In the final weeks of her old cat’s life, she found it too complicated to pick up the cat feces on the carpet, so she neatly laid a paper towel over each set of droppings.
When Gina was little, doctors said she had an IQ of 34, and though they were far wrong, the right di-agnosis has never been clear. Mild autism. Border-line personality disorder. The verdict seems to have changed almost as often as her medications.
What is clear is that Gina is different, so she al-ways lived with our mother and our mother lived with the question: What will happen to Gina when I die?
Gina worried too. As Mama grew frail, Gina of-ten climbed in her bed in the middle of the night to weep.
“Honey,” my mother would soothe her, “you’ll be OK,” and my siblings and I, unconvinced, told our mother we’d make sure she was.
In the months leading up to my mother’s death, Gina began to change. She calmed down, some. She took pride in making Mother’s morning coffee. When one of my brothers or I bathed our mother, Gina held the towels. When we’d lift Mother off the portable commode next to the sofa where she
slept, Gina was quick to say, “I’ll empty it.” But after Mama died, we braced for Gina’s fa-
miliar rages. We talked about how to handle her when she burst into shrieks at the memorial.
On the morning of the service, she found me while I washed my face.
“Do you think,” she began. “Do you think it would be OK if don’t go? I just. I just think the best way for me to honor Mom today is to take a shower and brush my teeth and go out on the bus.”
And that’s what she did. With clean hair, in new brown capris and shin-
high socks from Target, she rode the bus from store to store that day, along a route she rides for hours almost every day just for fun. She visited with clerks and pharmacists she considers her best friends, telling them her mom was gone.
“Mom would be proud of me for being indepen-dent,” she said when she got back.
In the year since, Gina has lived alone, next to one of our brothers. She has given up soft drinks, after years of a dozen a day. She has gone to the dentist, and her teeth, minus several that had to be pulled, are white again.
She showers. And now, thanks to two brothers, she is a mod-
ern woman with a cellphone. I called her on it last week.
“I’m doing a lot of things I never thought I’d be doing,” she said with a big laugh. “Living alone! And a cellphone!”
I try to understand my sister’s transformation, to trust that it will last. It’s one of the most mysterious and beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed, though maybe it’s no more complex than this:
When your greatest fear comes to pass and you survive, you discover who you really are.
Troubled daughtergrows up