Memories of Marcus: A Sad Saturday In Berkeley - Guns And
Weapons On Us Streets
22 July 2010By Jane Stillwater
Every Saturday morning, me and my granddaughter Mena
do pretty much the same thing. First we walk over to
Sconehenge on Shattuck and buy Mena a carrot-zuchini
muffin. Then we walk up to Whole Foods on the corner
of Telegraph and Ashby and get some bacon and eggs
from their "salad bar" breakfast buffet. For just two
or three dollars, you can pick up enough bacon and
eggs to keep you going all morning.
And then it's on to the Claremont branch of the
Berkeley Public Library for the toddler story time.
Mena loves books. Plus they've got a great Lego table
in the children's section.
After that we walk up on College Avenue to pick out a
balloon at Sweet Dreams toy store. Today Mena wanted
an orange balloon. "Watch out for trees," the sales
clerk said. Right you are. Last week's balloon ended
up getting popped by a balloon-eating tree.
Next we turn right on Russell Street, go to Nabalom
Bakery, get a nice slice of cheesecake for only two
dollars and listen to a jazz band playing oldies on a
keyboard, ukulele and slide guitar. And then we walk
back home down Stuart Street.
That's pretty much been our schedule every Saturday
for the last year or so, rain or shine. But today was
different. Today me and Mena were on a mission --
everywhere we walked, we collected flowers. Sorry,
Stuart Street gardeners, but it was for a good cause.
After the library and the cheesecake and the walk, we
went home, got some chalk and went over to write "I
love you" on the sidewalk where young Marcus Mosley
had been killed Friday night.
I've known Marcus since he was four years old. He used
to play with my son Joe. Joe and Marcus were born just
three months apart. Joe will turn 31 this October.
Marcus will not. Hearing about Marcus's death was like
a punch in the gut for me -- but it must have been so
much more terrible and even a whole lot worse for his
mother. I can't even imagine what it would be like to
lose a son. I can't even imagine the anguish that his
mother must be going through right now.
I remember Marcus when he was seven years old, playing
football with Joe and Nigel out in the play area next
to Nigel's home. I remember it like it was yesterday.
And now Marcus is gone. Shot and killed in a drive-by.
"Maybe Marcus was up to no good," someone said. I
don't the freak care! I don't care if he was a saint
or a devil or an avatar in disguise or whatever. I
just want Marcus back here, back home -- and ALIVE.
Today at a benefit concert for Arnieville, Michael
Parenti spoke about the tragedy of Marcus's death and
equated Friday's waste of human life here in Berkeley
with the daily waste of human life that is constantly
going on all over the world -- as the oligarchs and
corporatists who own America spend all our wealth on
weapons, guns and instruments of death instead of on
life. And Parenti is right.
Imagine a world where guns and weapons are no longer
allowed to be manufactured and sold and promoted as
being the best way -- the ONLY way -- to solve
disagreements or settle feuds. What if mothers all
over the world no longer had to cry out for their dead
sons? What if the only loud, scary, popping sound we
were to ever hear again would only be caused by Mena's
balloon running into a tree?
What if all of us mothers of the world finally united
together and said, "No more! Enough! Not one more
mother's son more will ever have to die under the
gun."
I think that Marcus would have liked that.
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