The Murder of Ryan Thornton: A South Side Story

If anybody has a Chicago story, it’s Ryan Thornton, who was murdered April 23, 2017, at the age of 30, a father of four. Ryan, AKA Fly, was a friend of mine. Later, he faced murder charges. Opposite of the serious charges he was facing, Ryan smiled a lot, cracked jokes and generally kept his spirits up. Still, sometimes, he’d stare at a wall for long periods of time, his thoughts probably tumbling through his head. Getting to know Ryan, it was hard to see him as a gunman.

In 2011, a man murdered another man on the southside of Chicago. Although there was video footage of the shooting, the grainy video could be used only to verify someone had been shot and to estimate the approximate height of the shooter. The circumstances surrounding the shooting are murky at best, but Ryan stood probably four inches shorter than the average man.

Ryan dreamed of a house outside of the hood and feasts for his family.

Ryan could have had his own standup, had he put his mind to it. Not one to shy away from laughing at his own jokes, he could make an entire room double over. Even though goofiness defined his aura, steel laced it.

Whenever he talked about money, light glinted in his eyes. He’d spent most of his life a street hustler, but he dreamed of a house outside of the hood and feasts for his family. He wanted to provide the life he never had for his children.

Sometimes, I’d see Ryan and ask how life was treating him. He’d say, “It ain’t all bad, but it ain’t all good either.” It’s a simple statement, but it’s profound. Within it, a slither of hope breathes within a vessel of pessimism. But Ryan wasn’t a pessimistic person; he was a realistic person.

“I’m still out on bond,” Ryan said.

Oftentimes, he’dsay, “This shit ain’t gone be easy” when talking about a goal he had. “But I gotta get it done,” he’d say. His view of the world held a certain power in its rawness. In it, he acknowledged the trials to come but vowed to overcome them at the same time.

The last time I saw Ryan, I was squinting and rushing to find air conditioning in a restaurant. As I walked down the street, somebody called my name, and my jaw dropped when I saw it was him. It’d been over three years since I’d last seen him. Today, though, he hopped out of a car that had to have been waxed earlier in the day.

“I’m glad you beat your case,” I said, thinking of how long it had been since I’d first heard he’d been charged.

“I’m still out on bond. The prosecutor keeps pushing my court dates back. They ain’t got good evidence,” Ryan said, sighing. His eyes found a place in the distance only he could see.

Ryan could possibly go to prison for life…

I searched for words that didn’t come. It had been years, and he still had a murder case hanging over his head. I shook my head.

“I just had a son,” he said, smiling.

“That’s what’s up,” I said, bumping fists with him. “Well, you got this, bro.”

“I’m hoping so,” he said.

That was my last time seeing Ryan. When we parted ways that day, a heaviness weighed in my heart. Ryan could possibly go to prison for life, and he’d just had a child. The reality of it left my stomach turning.

I felt sad for Ryan. I’d known him for years now, and he was a genuine person. I wasn’t a judge or jury, but Ryan wasn’t a murderer. He was a man, a father of four, a human being just trying to make it.

I can’t describe the feeling when I found out…

A few weeks after our conversation, I was scrolling Facebook and saw, “RIP Fly”. My heart skipped because I just knew it couldn’t be Ryan. I checked his profile, and it looked normal. It hadn’t had much activity, but Ryan didn’t necessarily post all day long. Then, I remembered he had added me from a newer page, and that’s where I saw the news.

Ryan had been near Washington Park, near the University of Chicago on the south side. As he sat in his car, another car pulled up alongside him, and somebody inside pulled the trigger. Ryan was hit in the face and a couple of other spots. He’d tried unsuccessfully to pull off as he was being shot at.

I can’t describe the feeling when I found out about his murder, other than disbelief. I had just spoken with him, listened to his plans surrounding his kids and girlfriend and shaken his hand. His kids needed him. They deserved to have their dad in their lives. But the news was true. Ryan had been murdered.

His life was cut short, but his story keeps him alive.

When I think of Ryan, I get a sinking in my stomach. His murder makes no sense to me, yet he still isn’t here. I feel a pang in my heart for his children who are growing up without him, unable to see his smile at their graduation or hear his voice calling their names.

In the end, hundreds of people die in Chicago every year, but each of them have a story. Ryan was a man, a father and a realist. He was a dreamer well aware of reality and how to navigate it. He wanted to go places, see things and do more. His life was cut short, but his story keeps him alive.

* It does not appear that anybody was ever arrested in relation to the murder of Ryan Thornton.

J. Reed is an Author and Adjunct English Instructor, who teaches Critical Thinking, Rhetoric and English Writing. When he isn’t working, he’s writing or making a pretense of working.