A couple of weeks ago, the newspaper ran a few paragraphs about a nighttime shooting outside a McComb convenience store. A 43-year-old man was killed.
I cringed at the victim’s name: Rodney James. I suspected this was a guy I worked with in Pike County Youth Court in the 1990s, when he was a teenager.
When his obituary came in, it confirmed that: Rodney T. James. I remembered that his middle name was Torrel.
It brought back a ton of memories about my time as a volunteer for the Court Appointed Special Advocate program. I really enjoyed the challenge of working with several teenagers during my time in CASA, even though the demands of my job and my family didn’t allow me the time to do everything I would have liked.
Rodney’s situation was unusual, and Youth Court Judge Thad Leggett and CASA coordinator Patti Brabham gave me all the details in advance.
Rodney’s mother was deaf and mute, so I would not be able to communicate with her. Both Rodney and his younger sister knew sign language, though, and they were my translators.
I actually bought a book on sign language in a feeble attempt to learn how to do it. I was able to memorize the gestures for all 26 letters, but never had the time or the ability to learn how to sign words and phrases, like you see people do on TV when a mayor or governor is speaking during an emergency.
Rodney and his sister were nice kids. They were always well behaved. They lived in White Acres, right across the street from the McComb police station and the Boys and Girls Club.
I can’t remember what Rodney did that got him into Youth Court. He was probably just misbehaving at school.
Most likely, he was acting up to get a little attention, which I learned through CASA is what a lot of children do. I was glad to set aside 60 or 90 minutes a week to go see him. I think he enjoyed the extra attention. He was never shy or shut down. We always had things to talk about.
I kept information on all the boys I worked with in a CASA folder, but I apparently tossed it out several years ago. My involvement with the program lasted only a few years.
Without those documents and notes, I don’t remember many of the details of the cases. It’s the little snippets that stuck with me. Like when I was trying to talk to his mother. I’ll accept points for giving it the old college try, but I was a lost cause with sign language.
In the early 2000s, when I was editor of the paper, Rodney came to see me. He asked for a job. I was more than happy to get him on in our mailroom, but within a few weeks I got a note from his manager asking me to release him.
“He does not want to work,” the note said. I remember that snippet all too well.
I saw him one time between then and when he died. It was years ago. He was trying to find some lawns to mow.
His visitation was last Thursday. I went by Memorial Gardens Funeral Home about 5:15 p.m. A few people were there and told me about Rodney’s mother and his sister. I was sorry I didn’t get to see them. They probably wouldn’t have remembered me. That CASA program was a lifetime ago.
Rodney, wearing a suit in the casket, looked good. He had a beard and really didn’t look anything like he did as a child, but there was a large display in the room with four pictures of him at various ages.
I took a photograph of the display with my phone. The picture at the top left was the young man I remembered.
Life is not fair, and Rodney didn’t get the opportunities that other kids had. Any help I provided, in all honesty, was minimal. I just didn’t want his story to end with a gunshot. There was more to tell.
