Benny A. Lyde was a 21 year old college senior at Long Island University, living in Brooklyn, NY. He lived on Lincoln Place in Crown Heights. Not too far from my home. In 2005 he suffered a murderous death by gunfire – all because of some beef that had nothing to do with him. His death went mostly unnoticed in the public eye – as if no unordinary tragedy had transpired. As if we hadn’t just lost a bright, young model American citizen. He was on the honor roll. He had a job and helped his mother pay bills – at the age of 21. He helped run a literacy program in East New York, Brooklyn and mentored younger children in his community. Children looked up to him. And he was looking forward to a shining future as he was finishing up his degrees in Business Management and Computer Science. The world was his. His mother has said he would reevaluate his life’s goals every five years. In 2005 (what would become his last year here), he aspired to be the first Black president of the United States.
A couple of weeks ago, I was taking a Saturday stroll from my house to the Brooklyn Museum. I walked into a crowd of people on that beautiful, warm, sunny Saturday. The air was perfectly crisp and the sun was gentle, not too demanding. The event in Crown Heights that afternoon was a street naming ceremony at Lincoln Place and New York Ave for “Benny A. Lyde Street”
I think I now know the taste of bittersweetness. His murderer has been captured. His mother was able to speak of him without a gush of tears. And in spite of the clear blue late summer’s sky, there was no justice.
