I can't say I'm one of those people that knew Cori Desmond well. I wish I could be one of those people, but I'm not. I'm just one of those people who have been drawn to the news of her murder and had to--just HAD TO--be at her service today.
I will give you what backstory I can. I'm a musician, and as such we musician folk have been known to play at the local pub now and again. When I moved to my new home of the Beach Cities of Los Angeles, I had the fortune of being hired to play a number of joints in my neighborhood. It's what a new musician does to build a crowd and make a buck or two. That's how it was when I had a resident Wednesday night at the BAC Street Lounge in Redondo Beach. I would go every weekend and do my stupid little cover gig (a nomenclature which will more than likely be capitalized in the near future) and be on my way. In my travels I met a girl who was local to the bar scene there, who had been a regular bartender and patron. This was my first meeting with Cori. She was a lean, cool, bubbly girl who instantly radiated...
Glee.
Can I say that without it sounding much too much gayer than it is?
Just. Out-and-out. Downright. Gayety.
I'm sure she got mad, upset, drunk, pissed--any of those other things you might put on someone. But all I got from every meeting or seeing Cori was just outright glee. She had a smile that lit up any space you happened upon. I never got a chance to really sit down and talk with her, but I did see her and say hi to her several times. And you just could not leave the room without remembering her and that damn cheerful smile.
That smile haunts me today. Today I took a personal day. I didn't see it coming, and I wish I could have just gone about business as usual. But today I had to stay in my community and pay my respects to someone that I can honestly say that my days will not be the same without seeing. This is no crush or infatuation or anything like that. I just have to say a very special girl has been wiped from the face of our planet, and I've been personally effected by her loss.
So much so that I was compelled to attend her service today. This will probably come of as some kind of review, but I'll really try to stick tot he facts. I have to say; it's probably one of the most beautiful memorials I've attended. I'm no stranger to loss or funerals. I've lost a lot of important people in my life: my cousin Larry, my Aunt-in-Law Karen, my Grandfather, my Aunt Sandy. Friends, colleagues, and all. The older I get, the more good people pass from this earth. I will probably have a whole other entry about that soon, but not now. Anyway, there I was, smack-dab in this church, mourning the passing of a friend I hardly knew, but felt somehow connected to.
I didn't do it for me. I didn't do it for anyone else. I just needed to BE there. Maybe for my new home and my community. Maybe to just lend my support to the family that had this girl stripped from them. I just had to be there.
I'll admit, it was long. 2 hours, to be exact. But it was the best two hours I spent today. I can't give the play-by-play. I won't cheapen the thing by doing that. I can say that we filled a huge church, and a family grieved, and we grieved with them. I will say the pastor, John Cusick, as eloquent, moving and respectful. I remember him saying, in a prayer, something like “and respectfully to whatever you believe, we say this in Jesus' name...” I found that actually very appropriate. No one was hammering any gods or mandate on anyone today. Any more than anyone was mandating that we all feel sad, or happy or angry. We all felt it all. Several family members came and gave appreciation for Cori. And it was all moving. Cathartic. The music, the sermons, eulogies, the image and video tribute, the memory cards. It was all as perfect as it could be. Every person in that room was there for a singular purpose, to send this angel that was lost to us skyward.
Yes, forgive me. It's lofty. It's trying to be poetic. And if it feels like I'm trying to blow it all out of proportion for a my own selfish blog, forgive me. But I was moved. Not only by the loss, not only by the ceremony, but by every thing that happened after.
We Irish know that after a good funeral comes a wake. Sad to say I didn't attend the main reception because I didn't feel close enough to the Desmond clan. I wouldn't just intrude upon a “Family and close friends of the family” get-to-gether. But I did go to the bars that Cori was last seen at. I wanted to drown my sorrows with the people that were there the night she was taken from us. So there it was that I went back to my local taverns, Bogey's and The BAC Street. And I was happy to engage people that I'd seen several times there but had never introduced myself to. One thing about a loss, you can't ignore the person you sit across the bar from any more. You're feeling the hit. He is to. About time you shook hands and exchanged names.
There's a whole gamut of things that has gone through my mind today. I know there's blame, and rage, and fear. Really, a lot of fear. I heard the story of how some people in town blame the staff at Bogey's for not letting Cori in when she was beating on the door at 2:30AM. How maybe, if someone had just let her in, this would all be different. Then I hear stories about how several other women in the neighborhood, also bartenders, have been attacked. One was even recently attacked and nearly abducted, like Cori. I try to console my friend who now feels the looks and hushed whispers from a community that's asking “why didn't you just let her in?” To those people I can only say that hindsight is 20/20, that even that act might not have changed anything, and that people have to be allowed to do their jobs.
This is a tragedy. And it's shocking. We're all dumbfounded by this. We're all shaken. But you can't blame the bar industry, or the city, or anyone else.
Except for the son of a bitch that did this. And he will see his day of justice.
What I would say is that the local law enforcement needs to WAKE UP. There are bad people on our streets. There are gangs, and perverts, and all of that. Burying it will not change what's happening. There are the Beccas and the Coris and the Chantelles of this town, and it's high time we all started looking out for each other.
I was mugged once, and this is the only common thread I have with what's happening here. I watch the news today, and I see story after story about an assault here, a beating here, a murder there.
There has been a murder here, on my turf. Someone I may not have been really close to, but was nonetheless relevant. A scholar, and artist, a friend.
I'm venting. Really, sorry, venting. And I've only really captured half of the moment today. I don't know if I did it justice, but it's out there.
I wrote some kind of hollow words on the “memory card” they gave us all to fill out during the ceremony. I guess I've paraphrased it here, and I hope I've expounded on it somewhat. Maybe that's some kind of closure for me. I'm sure it's only scratching the surface for everyone else.
Godspeed, Cori. I feel cheated that I never got to tell you what an angel you were. I'm sure everyone else does, too.
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