25 years after Philly’s largest mass murder, a community reflects
Family members of Lex Street Massacre victims Calvin Helton and George "Jig" Porter were among those who commemorated their lives on Sunday.
Twenty-five years after Calvin Helton was killed in what remains the deadliest mass shooting in Philadelphia history, his mother, Veronica Conyers, feels frozen in time.
Her son, forever 19 in the West Philly rowhouse where he was killed execution-style with six other people ranging from 15 to 54 years old, and Conyers, left to spend the years since fighting to keep his memory alive.
“I’m not healed,” she said of losing her firstborn, who dreamed of being a Navy SEAL. “I want everybody to know the truth behind this massacre.”
These days that truth is shared with anyone who will listen and at annual vigils where the victims’ lives are celebrated. There’s Samuel “Malik” Harris Jr., 15; Tyrone Long, 18; George “Jig” Porter, 18; Ronnette Abrams, 33; Edward Sudler, 44; and Alfred Goodwin, 54.
Despite the notoriety of what came to be known as the Lex Street Massacre, Conyers remains hurt by how the deaths never garnered protests, and how the interest in the homicides came in the form of sensational headlines.
The shooting, after all, took place in a house known for drug activity during a turbulent period in the neighborhood, when residents complained of rampant drug dealing and concerns over safety.
Conyers felt public sentiment regarding the homicide was sealed, doomed to be forgotten, once police and prosecutors attributed the shooting to a drug-turf dispute.
It would later turn out the killings stemmed from a dispute over a car trade and a broken clutch. But Conyers felt the damage had been done by police and media reports.
“They slandered my son’s name, saying he a kingpin and he was drug dealer,” she said, adding he was a good student and never gave her any trouble.
The initial bungle in the investigation, which involved allegations of coerced confessions by police, also stunned legal minds at the time. Four men spent 18 months in jail and faced a possible death sentence, only for charges to begin to be dropped just as the first trial was set to begin. Those men would go on to successfully sue the city for $1.9 million for their imprisonment.
Police arrested brothers Dawud Faruqi and Khalid Faruqi in late 2002, as well as Shihean Black and getaway driver Bruce Veney in connection to the murders.
In the various trials, it was revealed Black traded his Chevrolet Corsica for Porter’s Dodge Intrepid. But Porter blew the Corsica’s clutch and when Black wouldn’t trade the cars back, Porter used his spare key and took back the Intrepid.
Black would find Porter on the 800 block of North Lex Street and an argument escalated into a shooting.
Black pleaded guilty to first-degree murder and the brothers were convicted of seven counts of first-degree murder. All three received seven consecutive life sentences. Veney, who was the getaway driver, pleaded guilty to third-degree murder, receiving 15 to 30 years in prison.
Tameka Porter, George’s sister, has led the annual vigils that take place every Dec. 28. She feels a lot of hurt from how public sentiment placed blame on the victims for being in that house.
“No one is at fault but the killers,” she said.
Even so, Porter tries not to think about what people might say. “It doesn’t matter how he died or who did it, he’s gone.”
Her brother and Helton were best friends, she said, recalling that both were smart, charming, and loved to flirt with girls. Her brother never got in trouble or was arrested for drugs, she said. That’s what she wants people to know.
On Sunday, Porter held the annual vigil at Lucien Blackwell Community Center. The neighborhood looked drastically different after a Philadelphia Housing Authority effort in the aughts to revitalize the area, building 18 new homes.
It was an intimate affair, though it did not set out to be so.
Porter and one of Helton’s cousins talked about how they wanted to celebrate all that the victims meant to them. Councilmember Jamie Gauthier echoed the sentiment.
“Today is about honoring them,” she said. “It is about holding space for the survivors, and it is about standing with families and with our community members here in Mill Creek and across our city who continue to carry the weight of gun violence.”
Conyers stayed quiet, holding back tears. She wore a sweatshirt that read “Lex St. Fallen Soldiers.” On it was the now-very faded photo of her son.