Alexander Stewart
He’s a Legacy of Love That Nobody Can Forget
Told by Barbara Greene
Written by Laurie Grobman
As she drove from her mother’s home in Reading on May 16, 2012, Barbara Greene turned the corner and noticed barricades alongside the GoggleWorks Center for the Arts parking lot but thought nothing of it. Several hours later, in Philadelphia, she received a call from
her daughter Amber. “Mom, please tell me, Did you see my brother last night?” I said, “Yeah. He was on his way to work. And I was at your grandma’s house.” Amber screamed into the phone, “Please tell me that he didn’t wear red and black like me. Tell me he did not have the colors that I have on.” Barbara knew he’d been wearing a red sweatshirt, black jeans, and black sneakers.
Barbara’s daughter screamed into the phone. “Oh my God, they shot and killed my brother.”
Alexander Stewart, 24, was shot on the 200 block of Walnut Street and later died in the GoggleWorks parking lot in Reading on May 16, 2012. A young woman approached him asking for help with her car. When he stopped to help her, Alexander was attacked and beaten by several men. A Black Belt, Alexander resisted. A video showed the assailants
taking his hat, wallet, and then his shirt, waving it in front of the camera. The oldest of the assailants shot him in the back. Alexander was found deceased in the parking lot around 5 am.
Because of the neighborhood, law enforcement suspected that Alexander was involved in drugs. But Barbara was determined that her son would not be “just another number in the neighborhood because I know what kind of person my son is.” She paid for the autopsy that cleared his name.
The two years until all six defendants were found guilty or pleaded guilty were hell. Barbara would show up for court only to have that day’s hearing or trial canceled, and she felt that victims’ families had fewer rights than defendants. A detective told her that her son was murdered because he was racist, and Barbara had him taken off the case.
When asked to speak in Court, Barbara spoke with strength and deep sorrow: “My son was a gentle guy. And then he was shot in the back. It hurts my soul to see somebody take his life like that over $48.”
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Alexander moved back into the family home in Reading in 2008, across the street from his grandmother who lived alone, in the same neighborhood he lived in as a boy. Alexander lived by himself and paid all the bills. Alexander was a kind, loving, and happy person who looked forward to his birthday not for the presents, but for the cake.
Alexander was thriving. He was working nearby at Can Corporation and had taken over one of the more difficult can-making machines. The machine had been run by the same person for over 25 years, but he was ready to retire, and nobody wanted to run it. Then Alexander said, “Well, I’ll give it a try” and picked it up easily. Everybody loved him at work. He brought in good food, too, because he was a chef. He collected money to bring pizza to students at a nearby college.
Alexander planned to own a business and eventually have a family. He worked 12 hours a day. He had a girlfriend. He loved family, and “he was like the king around his little cousins. They all looked up to him, and he gave him advice with young men when they became teenagers.” He had an “old soul” and was mature for his age.
But Barbara hadn’t known until her son was killed how beloved he was in his Reading neighborhood. People flooded the funeral and the court hearings.
“I had so many different stories about what my son did, and it was kind of overwhelming to me because he never talked about what he did for people. He never shared that.” One woman told Barbara that her son was always at her house on a Thursday to bring her groceries in as he was coming in from work. A child told her Alexander gave her treats and walked her across the street for school. He also talked a man down from engaging in violence during a domestic dispute.
To show their love, people flooded Alexander’s funeral. It was a four and a half hour viewing, and Barbara didn’t know more than a quarter of them. In court, extra security was called in because of the number of people.
In her grief, Barbara was overwhelmed by these crowds. She didn’t want to hear so many people talking about her son. It hurt too much. Now Barbara understands the words her mother told her: “He’s a legacy of love that nobody can forget.”
Barbara’s grandchildren are 10 and 13. Her grandson reminds Barbara of Alexander: “The things he says, and the way he smiles. And he opens the door for people that come in. And that’s how my son was when he was a boy.”
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The pain is deep: “You just don’t know how devastating that is. He was taken from me. But you just don’t understand.” It was devastating to be in court right after she’d buried her son. She was just functioning for two years. She was a zombie. But she was there in that courthouse fighting for her son.
The first time she saw a therapist, Barbara asked, “What can you do for me? You don’t know how I feel. This is like ripping my heart out, putting it on the ground, chopping it up into pieces, and putting it back. I wouldn’t wish this feeling on my worst enemy.” She thought the therapist, Linda, would tell her not to come back. But Linda said, “I’ll see you next Tuesday.” The next time, Barbara challenged her again: “How can you know how I feel? How can you possibly help me? Why did you become a therapist?” Linda then told Barbara that her daughter died 35 years ago. Barbara stayed.
When the appointment ended, Barbara met Michelle, a woman whose son was murdered in Reading. Michelle heard Barbara give a speech at a Violence Awareness event at GoggleWorks and wanted to speak with her, so Linda called her into the office. Barbara stayed during the session, and she and Michelle stayed four hours afterwards talking. Barbara offered herself to Michelle because she understood Michelle’s shattered heart. Barbara often consoled Michelle in the middle of the night and spent many days with her in court. Barbara offered support, and she received it in return. “It was two ways because you can’t really understand what we’re going through inside. And when you’re talking to a person and they say that you’re not alone and all these emotions are running inside you, it’s almost like there’s somebody that understands me too.”
Barbara was accompanying another mother who had lost a child to court. Doing so became so important to Barbara, given how difficult it was for her as she fought for justice for her son. Linda recognized Barbara’s strength and compassion and arranged for her to meet Debbie (Deb) Zimmerman Andrews, a mother who’d lost her two children in a house fire. Barbara and Deb met Dee Taylor and Tara, and they launched Mothers on Earth, Angels in Heaven, a support group for mothers who lost children.
Recently, Barbara took her mom and her sisters to the Poconos. A woman was screaming and crying in the bathroom. Barbara asked how she could help. The woman told her she lost her daughter and son. Barbara told her to breathe. “Just breathe.” The woman asked, “How do you understand?” Later that day, when Barbara and her mother were doing arts and crafts, this woman came over and hugged and thanked Barbara for comforting her.
Barabara understands all too well that words matter to a grieving mom: “Look, let’s just breathe. And if she wants to talk about it, it’s fine. If she doesn’t, give her a hug, that’s it.”
Barbara understands that “Everybody grieves differently, but mothers whose children are killed have the same loss, and it shatters and it’s devastating. The pain is going to be there for the rest of your life. It never goes away.” And Barbara is here to help them.