WHEN VALRITA Gordon's son joined the Army National Guard, Val knew that, sooner or later, he'd likely be deployed to a war zone.
If he were killed in action, she'd feel devastated by the loss of her only child but comforted knowing that he'd died in service to his country.
He'd always been her hero. If he were to perish at war, he'd be America's hero, too.
Pfc. Terrence Jerome "TJ" Davis, 18, did lose his life, one week after he finished boot camp at Fort Leonard Wood, in Missouri. He was killed not in battle on foreign soil but in the war fought every day on Philadelphia's streets by fools who think that manhood is proven with a gun.
The boy accused of his murder, Antionne Russell, 15 at the time, has been charged as an adult for the crime. But his lawyer, James Lammendola, has petitioned Common Pleas Judge Benjamin Lerner to move Antionne's trial to juvenile court.
(Lammendola also has contended that Antionne was not at the crime scene and was mistakenly identified.)
The District Attorney's Office fiercely opposes the move. It has asked Val to write a "victim impact" statement, to be read at Antionne's pre-trial conference next week, to explain how TJ's death has shattered those who loved him.
Writing the letter has been wrenching - and complicated, as Val is one of those rare souls whose heart is big enough to hurt for those who hurt her.
So, while she very much wants Antionne tried as an adult, she also feels almost breathtaking compassion for Antionne. She even prays for him. She can't help it.
Because every time she thinks of TJ, she thinks also of the boy accused of killing him. For her, the two are now forever linked.
"I could feel hatred for Antionne, but then I would feel hatred every time I think of TJ," says Val, 45, a clerk in the city's Licenses and Inspections department who lives in Mantua with her husband, Kevin.
"I cannot have that. I weep for what has become of Antionne's life. He could spend forever behind bars and bricks."
The waste of it overwhelms her. So, she prays for him and for his family. And she would like the city to pray along with her.
"If my own son had done something so stupid," she says, "I'd hope people would pray for us, too."
On the night of Oct. 17, TJ and two buddies were at an arcade at 40th and Spruce streets, celebrating his return from boot camp a week earlier.
He was in a great place. In 2007, with his parents' permission, he'd withdrawn from George Washington Carver High School - which "wasn't working for him," says Val - to join the National Guard.
While at boot camp, he had earned his diploma, graduating a month before his class at Carver. He'd been accepted into Temple University to study engineering and, through a separate military program, by 2010 would have reached the rank of second lieutenant.
He also had a new girlfriend several years his senior who saw the good man that he was becoming. Val knows that, had TJ lived, the couple's deepening friendship would've evolved into something permanent and beautiful.
"He was coming into his own," says Val. "I was so proud."
And he was proud of his mom. Val was a month from ordination as a minister. TJ was so inspired by her preaching at Open Fellowship Outreach Baptist Church, in West Philly, that he'd shyly asked if he could give her sermon ideas for future use.
"I told him I'd be thrilled and would tell everyone where my ideas came from," she says.
She never got the chance.
According to TJ's friend, who testified at Antionne's preliminary hearing, on Oct. 17 a fight broke out at the arcade among boys none of them knew.
Later, as TJ and his friends left the arcade, Antionne allegedly approached them, gun in hand, and squeezed off shots that killed TJ and injured his friend, Ronald Morman.
Once police identified Antionne as a suspect, Val posted "wanted" fliers in the area, with Antionne's face on them. While doing so, she ran into the Philly cop who'd been the first officer to respond to TJ's shooting.
"He told me he held TJ's hand while they waited for the ambulance," she says. "He told me I'd raised a beautiful son. TJ could've been a gang-banger for all he knew, but he treated him with kindness and humanity. I cried and hugged him right through his car window. I was so glad TJ wasn't alone."
When Valrita reads her impact statement next week, she'll say how terribly TJ is missed by scores of aunts and uncles, step-siblings and friends. She'll say how she told all of them that street revenge would be a disservice to TJ's life, that the best justice is meted out in court.
That's why she'll ask that Antionne be tried as the man he allegedly pretended to be, for the man-sized consequences that resulted.
But, she'll also tell the judge, if Antionne is convicted, the boy will forever be in her prayers.
Because that's where her TJ is. *
E-mail polaner@phillynews.com or call 215-854-2217. For recent columns:
http://go.philly.com/polaneczky. Read Ronnie's blog at http://go.philly.com/ronnieblog.
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