Ripples in the Surface - Rocks in Their Heads

On June 11th, Shanon Frank is scheduled to be sentenced. I was asked for a statement concerning how these actions had an "impact" on me. The following is my reply...
 ______________________

April 30, 2009

United States District Court Eastern District of Louisiana

Probation Office

Mr. *************

500 Poydras St. Room 505 New Orleans, LA 70130

RE: United States v. Shanon E. Frank Docket No. 08-196 “F”

Dear Mr. ******,

Thank you for your letter of April 28 and our preceding telephone conversation. Your letter issues an invitation for me to submit information concerning the impact that Mr. Frank’s offense had on me. (For the record, I am NOT seeking any financial restitution. Any restitution obtained should go to Susan P. Sharai.)

I don’t believe that any parent could sufficiently describe how the death of a relatively young child impacts their lives. How do you address the loss of a child, offspring, prodigy & student that you watched grow from and infant to a young adult? I’ll begin, but please have patience with my chronology, as this is very difficult to compile.

I watched as the doctor brought him into this world; held him and saw the look on his Mother’s face as she saw him for the very first time. I held him at an emergency room on more than one instance after he had developed an unexplained fever and was the recipient of a spinal tap. I literally felt his pain through my broken heart as I watched the huge orderly hold our little toddler bent in half like a willow switch as they inserted the needle to draw the fluid. Or after falling on a slippery floor and hitting his eyebrow on a window ledge. He actually broke out of the “Papoose Board” used to hold him down while the intern stitched the wound and I stood there crying like a baby.

I saw his fascination with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles turn into songs and dances that he and his brother would perform for hours on end. I can still hear the unmistakable sound of him scaling the crib rails and landing on the carpet in his room; then, the sound of his diaper rustling as he made a beeline for our bedroom. He’d tiptoe best he could and get inches away from his Mom or I’s face and say, in that unforgettable cartoon character like whisper-voice, “Can I come sleep with you?” This scene was repeated almost every night until he finally grew old enough to sleep on his own.

I saw his intelligence and social skills blossom and saw him as he entered the educational career of a gifted and talented student. I saw a child that was able to drop all semblances of racism through being a member of distinguished classes at Hynes Elementary, Lusher Middle & Ben Franklin High School. He belonged to the best of the best and they all loved and respected each other. Upon graduation, he eschewed offers from other schools out of state and attended Louisiana State University at Baton Rouge. He majored in biochemistry and was in the honors program.

There is an immense debt of gratitude that I owe Pierce and his brother that bonded us in a way that no one else can possibly imagine. Almost nineteen years of sobriety and life as a result of the concern and love of John and Pierce. I actually owe them my life.

He was a communicator and mediator, as much as he was thrust into that role for us. He was a go between with his mother and me. I could always count on him to track down and get a message to his brother, Johnny, when I needed to talk to him. He was loved by all of his friends and classmates, from Louisiana to St. Petersburg, Florida, where he took shelter with his Mom for Katrina. While there, he endeared himself to the students at St. Petersburg High School and build friendships that would have lasted their lifetimes. There is a page on the social networking web site, Facebook.com that is totally dedicated to the “Loving Memory of Pierce Sharai”. (I might add that even Mr. Frank is listed as a member of the group. How ironic.) 477 people whose lives were touched by Pierce took the time to sign in and write about how they felt. From one word cries to multiple paragraph tributes to the friend and confidant that we all lost.

Browsing the photographs show a typical nineteen year old college student, full of brass and ambition. With an attitude that said “I’m bulletproof” and the perceived ability to take on the world, Pierce’s spirit and infectious charm had its way with everyone he came into contact with. From co-workers to freelance jazz musicians and tap dancers on French Quarter streets, Pierce could fit right in and draw a smile.

We play recreational paintball. Had it not been for Pierce, I’d have never gotten into it. I remember the excitement in his voice when he called and told me about the first time he’d played. That was in 2001. Over the years, we all became more and more involved in it. Pierce was responsible for bringing his brother, John, into the game. The three of us have travelled to events all around the South. Since 2003, I’ve been a partner in Gunfighter Paintball Games; a paintball scenario game production company. My close friend and partner, Woody Lovill and I, put on scripted games for players locally. Pierce learned the mechanics of the game by the numbers. He was our Head Referee and ran the logistics for every game so we could make sure that the games ran well on the field. He was one of the best in the business. He is woefully missed by all of our staff and the players. There will never be anyone to replace him. He was unique in what he did.

We also opened a paintball pro-shop in 2004. Pierce was there all the way, from moving in the fixtures to painting the racing stripes on the walls. Every day I walk into the store I think of him because of the faint red paint stain on the carpet by the door where he dripped paint when he stopped paying attention to what he was doing. He worked on markers (guns), especially his own. And he loved to play. He was a member of our paintball scenario team, The Hired Gunz; one of the oldest paintball scenario teams in the Deep South. Despite being a legacy member, he was never looked upon as such and was respected by opponents and peers alike. Since he has been gone, a great deal of the enthusiasm is gone from the game.

These seemingly material accomplishments are nothing compared to losing my hope. Susan and I were blessed with two sons. Each grew up in their own manner and each took their separate roads. The oldest, John, has chosen his path in life and is well on his way to a successful career, marriage and a family of his own. My pride in John’s ability to handle himself is exceeded only by my confidence that he will complete whatever task he sets out to do.

Pierce had aspirations that seemed cemented in his desire to succeed. He had told me at a younger age that he wanted to be a doctor. He refined that desire to a career as a neurosurgeon. We used to have a private joke in where he was to become a highly successful neurosurgeon with a big home and a pool with a cabana house. I would come and live in the cabana house. We would toss that phrase back and forth, “Remember the pool house!”

But now I sit here with the realization that this is an exercise in futility. I sincerely believe that nothing I write in this document will have any effect on Mr. Shanon Frank’s sentence. Besides the obvious reasons, (His actions lead directly to the death of my son…), Mr. Frank is a drug addict. He has been arrested before this incident more than once, for either taking drugs or selling drugs. He knew, beyond any reasonable doubt that I could ever come across, that the heroin he sold to the group of young people that included my son, was of a deadly potency.

I’m sure that Maddie Prevost’s parents can relate when it comes to this entire group of bottom feeders that provided the poison that killed her and Pierce. The relationship here was that there were weeks between the deaths of these two children. Between using it themselves and seeing the results, they had to know what it was capable of. They just didn’t care. I make that same assumption that he is a drug addict again, so I call to mind the actions of a drug addict.

The actions of a drug addict, especially a heroin addict, revolve around doing whatever is necessary to obtain his drugs and doing those drugs. This cycle rises to repeat until the addict overdoses and dies or is incarcerated and severed from his supply. Had Mr. Frank not been caught selling or doing drugs, he would not be in the position he is in now. In my eyes, Mr. Frank is guilty of no less than murder. He sold the poison that killed my child. He knew what he was doing before AND when he did it. If he had sold a packet of strychnine and it would have killed someone, he would be guilty of murder. Why not mark this heroin as an instrument of death as would be any other poison or weapon? Simply because there was a bigger fish to catch? We’re told that we must understand that because there is no other choice.

Those of us who love Pierce continue to ask the question, “Why?” Why would such a brilliant young man with a future that shined so bright take such a risk? The thrill? The high? Peer pressure? You might as well blame Hollywood, for I don’t think we’ll ever have the answer to that, or many other questions. Pierce played in a game that, unfortunately, cost his life. Mr. Frank has travelled his merry way until arrested and put in jail. He even had the nerve to go onto Pierce’s memorial Facebook page and sign in; leaving a photo of him holding what looked like a gun! A shallow attempt at faux remorse, or someone with a sick sense of humor?

So because he helped get a “bigger fish”, the Justice Department recommends a few years off his sentence. We start at fifteen years. He gets three off for being a good citizen and ratting out his supplier. That puts him at twelve years. If he gets the standard 2-for-1 “good behavior” time credit, he’ll be out in six. (This may be wrong, but it is my perception.) With any luck, he’ll get out and do what any addict does upon getting out of jail; (Because you KNOW he’ll be able to score in prison. He won’t go his whole term without feeling the effects of his drug of choice.) He’ll hook up with the first old pal he can find that has any chance of scoring. He’ll score his smack and shoot it up as fast as he can. And I hope the first shot stops his heart.

You asked how this all had an impact on me. In so many words, I am destroyed; saddened; I have nightmares; I cry for no obvious reason; anything I look at or hear that has anything to do with Pierce sends me into a crying jag or into a depressive episode; I hate Mr. Frank. I can’t even manage to feel pity for his parents. At least they have their son. Mine is gone. I am bitter and hate filled for the person who destroyed a huge part of my life, a huge hope for my life. I go through life suspicious of everyone who was involved with the incident.

So there it is. If I could put rage, pain, remorse, anguish, terror and several other words in a can, you’d have how this has impacted my life. I say “MY” life. But the lives this tragedy has been pressed upon go on and on. Family, friends and everyone whose existence Pierce Taylor Sharai touched. Thank you, Shanon Frank for destroying so many lives with one selfish action. Fifteen years isn’t enough.

Thank you for the opportunity to voice my concerns.

Sincerely yours,

John E Sharai, Sr.
____________________________________________________

Laaaaadies and Gentlemen! We Present...

One of the premier events of the Paintball world is Rick Chard's Extravaganza. Held at the Aitport Crowne Plaza Hotel, it is a industry show that doesn't allow spectators off the street. Lots of friends and companies we work with. Good food and fun. Get to see Ben and Bonnie and John Amodea and Bea and Mke... Should be fun. In Wednesday - out Friday lunchtime...

365 Days of Missing You

Not much to say here. It's all in my heart. We all miss you more than anything in the world. For me, that will never change...

Beware of Tuesday's Fat

January 12th marked the Feast of the Epiphany; the day where is is believed the three wise men presented their gifts of the Magi, (Frankincense, Gold and Myrrh), to the Christ child. In New Orleans, though, it is also known as the "Twelfth Night". It marks the beginning of the Dionysian festival of Carnival that lasts until Fat Tuesday; Mardi Gras; Carnival Day; Shrove Turesday or the day before Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent.

Long has it been a South Louisiana tradition, to participate in this extended party from it's beginning to end. Unfortunately, in the revelry and ignorance that goes on during the event, (just watch COPS), young people have an increased ability to secure alcohol and drugs on a more relaxed scale. I have but one thing to say to the parents out there who truly love and care for their children...

Fight it. Fight it with all your heart. Fight it until they get mad at you. Fight it until they are positive that you care. Fight it without the beer in your own hand or while waving good-bye on your way to Pat O'Briens. If you love your kids and you want to avoid the chance of seeing him or her lying dead in a casket, have the good sense to understand that young people under the age of twenty-one have no business drinking alcohol. PERIOD. To show any tolerance in this issue places a misguided twist in these chldrens' minds that it is in some way permissible for them to drink. It's a two month period of vigilance and care.

But believe me... it's better than losing them forever...

Speaking of APPLE Trees...

Being an Apple fan but not of great financial means, I was interested when they came out with the I-Pod Shuffle. My sweetie got me one for my birthday in September. It was great, as I didn't have a radio in the car I was using, so I could have music on my commute.

In early December, it failed. I called Apple and they arranged for a replacement. It was, of course, necessary to provide my VISA debit card number to ensure the return of the defective product. It would not be charged if the unit was returned by the date specified.

Long story short, up to this point, got replacement; sent back old one via DHL. New unit had small scratch, but so what? Story over - no harm, no foul...

Right.

On December 20, Apple Store charged my debit card $75.04 for a I-Pod Shuffle that Karen only paid $49.50 for. In calling them, and after an hour and a half telephone torture, it was found that they THOUGHT I had not returned the unit. After supplying them with the DHL numbers, they found that alas, it was their mistake and they had found my unit. Apology-blah-blah. If I would then call Customer Relations, they would arrange to get my money back.

ANOTHER aggravating call and I was told that in 5-7 days I would get the money that they shouldn't have taken in the first place back. I was entirely pissed, but their robots can only answer with "We're so sorry" and "I know how you feel". Thoughts of Uncle Albert came to mind.

This morning, SURPRISE!. no money... SO, I called Apple. Amazing as it was, they had a problem with something being rejected on my refund and it had not been processed. But a supervisor had just seen the problem and arranged for my refund to be pushed through... in 5-7 days... Of course, this may have something to do with the time limit you have at YOUR bank for disputing a charge. I gave them the five days before I would go to my bank. Let's see what happens...

The moral of the story is... The bigger they are, the harder YOU fall.

At our shop I can refund a card charge IMMEDIATELY. The card processor may take a day or two to get it forwarded. Apple is so freaking big, I'm sure they can stretch anything the way they'd like.

If you buy Apple, beware. It's too bad, because if I had not seen or called in either instance, they would have made a fast $75 off of me. I wonder how many other people they screw like this?

Shame on you Apple.

Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree...

...with anyone else but me.

New Day! New Look! No more lower case all the time. New outlook. Sunday was Pierce's Birthday. He would have been twenty years old. Karen & I went out to Audubon Park. The "Fly" is a section of the park that runs along the Mississippi River. When I was a teenager, we used to listen to bands play and drink wine on Sundays. Of course, that was in 1975. A great deal has changes since then. The roadway enters the area, runs along the river and ends up coming out near where Tchoupitoulas St. would go through the park if it did. Coming into the area, you cross a set of rails, a you do going out. Following the road a bit further, you see the giraffe enclosure marked by green wooden, then chain-link fence with green slats. Just past that fence you see a huge old majestic oak tree on the left that is aptly named, "The Tree of Life". Standing at the roadway and looking directly through the oak at the interior corner of the giraffe fence, is Pierce's tree.

It's a small, but healthy live oak tree that stands about as tall as I do. Walking up to it held mixed emotions for Karen and I both. We both shed tears as we thought of the symbolism the little tree held. Since we have no permanent grave or tombstone to come to when thinking of his final resting place, this was apropos for my dear boy. We had gotten some plastic colored bells on gold tone chains, a small angel that said something about earning his wings, a birthday balloon & a small card. We took our time and strung the bells, all the while feeling brighter as we worked. I had a ball chain on my LSU coin holder that I used to secure the little angel on the tree. Karen placed the ballon in the support stick while I wrote on and attached the card. My only prayer being that he is somewhere that he feels no pain and can be happy...

Take care, our angel... wherever you may be. Our hearts are with you and we love you very much.

"happy birthday to you" is an empty phrase...

sunday will bring your twentieth birthday, mr. pierce. i've placed a memorial in the times-picayune with a photo of you giving me your, "i'm about to do something goofy, dad", look. i took it at the Ben Franklin graduation ceremony. it seems like it was just last week that you donned your green cap & gown and ascended the stairs to receive the diploma that you worked so hard to earn.

i hope you can see what i put in the paper. i hope you can see that we love you and miss you terribly. i miss you constantly. i handle it as i can, best i can. every one of us deals with it in our own way. i suck at dealing with it. everything around me reminds me of you. the last scenario game was completely screwed up for me because at every juncture i was turning for you, going to ask if you had done something, ran a prop, calmed a situation. but i found nothing at all. nothing but your memory and my enduring, pain. i still find myself crying every day, at least once.

i SCREAM inside that I miss you! i ask if the hurt will ever end. i pray to a God who does not seem to listen to my pleas to make this all just a nightmare that i will surely wake from soon. no. no waking. cruelty from the void. i miss you, little boy. your tiny cartoon voice that endeared my heart to you forever. the bond with your brother that you gave back to me that had all but vanished in the wind. your willingness to be silly; your recklessness to a fault; the adrenaline tells me that it is stone cold and starkly true. you rest somewhere unkown to me and all the others who love you. will we ever see you again?

what's left to say? questions? anger? rage? again, that it hurts? that i long to see the shit pile that sold you your demise get what he deserves - go to prison and have another inmate with an ax to grind, slit him from asshole to earlobe while raping him in the shower? that i hope he watches his own blood flow down the shower drain along with the life from his fragile body? that he deserves no less than what he gave you? how could you think you were invincible? how could you deprive everyone who loved you so much and wanted so much for you? that same success for your self? how can i wish such pain on someone else, especially his parents?

Pierce, i will never recover from your loss... ever. so i wish you happy birthday for Sunday. never again can i celebrate the sobriety that you and your brother were so instrumental in helping me achieve on the day after your second birthday. but i can assure you it is still there... eighteen years, my son. i love you more than you will ever imagine. i hope you can celebrate on Sunday. i think karen and i are going to try and meet you at your tree. help me find it... dad

GFG "Meet the Jones" 2006
Assisting on the Dr. Yak Show "taping"