Post by Scumhunter on Feb 20, 2015 9:59:33 GMT -5
Admin Note #1: Based on crime location, our advice for anyone with information on this case would be to call Cook County Crime Stoppers at 1-800-535-STOP.
Anthony Pardon's tragic murder was mentioned during the last few years on AMW as part of their "Purpose Over Pain" segment- a group of mothers of murder victims who come forward and try to put an end to the "Stop Snitchin'" culture plaguing the streets. Below is an article from 2010 about the case:
On more than one occasion, Gloria Padron has written the wrong year -- 2004 -- on a check.
Anthony Padron (right) with his mother, Gloria, father, Jose, and brother George at their home on 59th Street. He was 15 when he was shot to death.
"Because my life stopped in 2004," she says.
To be precise, Mrs. Padron's life stopped on July 20, 2004, the day two unidentified men shot and killed her 15-year-old son.
Even now, she cries every day.
"We go to dinner and his chair is empty," she says. "We go to watch TV, his place is empty. And when we go to sleep, his bed is empty."
The Padron family is working with the Chicago Police this spring on a campaign -- Silence Kills -- to encourage people to come forward, even if anonymously, when they have information that can solve a serious crime.
But silence not only kills, it deepens emotional wounds forever.
The families of victims, already shattered, ache to know who killed their loved one. They ache to know why. They ache for justice.
"Most painful is, we don't know who did it, we don't know where they are," Mrs. Padron says.
"They know who we are. They know where we live. They know we have more kids."
Anthony was a son you'd be proud to call your own. You still can feel his presence in the family's former home, on 59th Place west of Kedzie.
There is the sculpted landscaping he created for the front yard. There is the mural of the Virgin Mary on his bedroom wall.
There is the store down the street where he once worked as a bagger, and the park where he played soccer.
Anthony wanted to be an architect. He had this idea that he and his father, Jose Padron, a carpenter, could go into business together.
Here's how Anthony died:
He was riding his bike to the store on an errand -- to buy pop for his father's birthday party a few days later.
Two men, later described as young and Hispanic, rolled up in a car alongside him on 60th Street. They called out to him and asked for directions.
When Anthony approached the car, one of the men pulled out a gun and shot him in the neck.
Back at home, Jose Padron's phone rang -- just once. He called Anthony's cell phone, but no one answered.
"We need to go for him," he told his wife, sensing something was wrong. "We need to look for him."
The Padrons were driving toward 63rd, repeatedly calling Anthony's cell phone, when somebody finally answered.
"Who's this?" Mrs. Padron asked.
"I'm a police officer," a voice replied.
"What happened to my son?"
"Who's your son?"
"My son Anthony."
"Is this his phone?"
"Yes."
"Do you know your son has been shot?"
Mrs. Padron screamed.
Four days later, on Mr. Padron's birthday, the family buried Anthony.
Mrs. Padron stood over her son's grave and vowed: "I will not stop till we find the person who did this."
But six long years have passed. What chance is there, really, that the killers will be found? And what good can any of us do?
We can help, to begin with, by rejecting a "code of silence," disturbingly widespread, that equates helping with squealing.
If we know something, we can tell the police.
Our hunch is that somebody does know something but is not saying. Perhaps they are afraid.
"One of the most prevalent reasons people cite for not reporting what they know about crimes is the fear of retaliation," says Phillip Hampton, director of the Chicago Police CAPS Implementation Office.
"Although reported retaliation is rare, the fear of being seen cooperating with police in many communities is real."
If that is the case, Hampton says, people can pass information along through "a trusted third party -- clergy, community leaders, friends, school officials."
You can text an anonymous tip to 274637. Type in CPD and the tip.
Or just write down a name, Gloria Padron says, and pass it along at Sunday mass.
"They could put it in the canasta, in the basket," she says, "where they collect the money."
The Padrons' house is empty now and for sale. The family has moved.
They could not bear to stay.
Thoughts? The only theory I have, besides the 7 zillionth someone needs to talk, is mistaken identity. Either that or these guys were gang members were upset for some stupid reason like they didn't know him and he was in their territory or something of the sort. It's a shame this murder is still unsolved, and I hope it still can even after 11 years.
Also, not to put Pakman on the spot, but I feel he might know more about this case than me, so I would be interested in hearing if he has anything to add. (This reminds me I'm also going to put HeadMarshal on the spot any time I post a Canada case from now on.
)disc.yourwebapps.com/discussion.cgi?disc=149495;article=129687;title=APFN
Admin Note #2: If you have any news-related updates on this case, please contact us here: amwfans.com/thread/1662/website-contact-form
