A Mother’s Pain: Two Sons, Two Murders

NEW YORK —  Mother’s Day, 1993, was unusually cruel to Gloria Rodriguez.

That was the day her 32-year-old son, Richard, home on Mother’s Day for the first time in years, was shot to death as he sat in a small, nameless park near her Bronx apartment.

Richard died just 25 feet from where his younger brother was gunned down less than two years before.

Two sons. Two murders.

“I still can’t believe it,” Rodriguez said more than a week after Richard’s killing. “Both of them. My only two children. It’s unbelievable.”

Despite an arrest in the case, investigators still do not know why Richard was shot or whether his slaying was connected to that of his brother, Luis.

Richard had been “asking around” about Luis’ death, but police have no evidence suggesting that his questions led to his own slaying, said Detective Kim Royster.

In a neighborhood where violence regularly strikes down young men, Rodriguez is not alone in her sorrow.

The twin killings are proof of a “culture of violence” engulfing the city’s minority communities, the Rev. John Flynn said in a eulogy at Richard’s funeral.

“We’ve lost a generation of people--people who find it so easy to kill,” he said.

Last year, 31 people were murdered in the neighborhood, the Fordham section of the central Bronx. That is not high when compared to the notorious South Bronx, but the area has its share of gang and drug activity.

Rodriguez said her two sons mostly stayed out of trouble when they were growing up.

Shortly after midnight on Dec. 14, 1991, 27-year-old Luis was shot in the head and body in the park two blocks from the family home. His slaying was never solved.

Richard appeared to have escaped the neighborhood. He joined the Marines at 18 and spent most of the next 14 years moving around the country.

He married and had three children. He rose through the ranks and became a recruiting sergeant in Twenty Nine Palms, Calif.

The service “was really just his life--he loved the Marines,” recalled Lisa Corbo, a cousin.

When Richard was transferred to Massachusetts in February, he began to spend more time visiting the old neighborhood.

“This was the first year in so long he was with me on Mother’s Day,” his mother said.

After eating, Richard and a cousin went to the park, a concrete triangle lined with wooden benches and maple trees. A white metal cross and plastic red flowers nailed to one of the trees marked the spot where his brother was slain.

About 9:30 p.m., Richard’s killer emerged from a doorway, walked up behind the two men, drew a .38-caliber gun and, without saying a word, shot the Marine four times in the back, police said.

Nineteen-year-old Amaury Bonilla was arrested the next day and later charged with murder.

Today there are two memorials in the little park. Across from Luis’ cross, a small altar, a candle and dried flowers honor Richard.

And according to some residents, the place finally has a name: “Death Park.”