CRIME

Two lives, two paths, now tragically intertwined

Gina Barton, and Raquel Rutledge
Milwaukee

One liked to make music; the other liked to dance to it.

Sylville Smith holds his infant son, who is now 2.

One wanted to be a cop and made it happen; the other wanted to be a veterinarian and did not.

Both were young and black and fathers of small sons. Both grew up in the same area. And when Milwaukee Police Officer Dominique Heaggan, 24, shot and killed Sylville Smith, 23, following a traffic stop, it was the spark that sent hundreds of African-Americans into the streets.

Today, more than a week later, the city remains shaken by the burning businesses, the looting, the destroyed cars, the utter fury of those involved. Smith's funeral on Friday will surely bring strong feelings to the surface again, as will the release of the video from the officer's body camera, whenever that happens.

COMPLETE COVERAGE: Milwaukee Sherman Park turmoil | Sequence of events

To the women who knew Smith and Heaggan the best, those who raised and nurtured them, that emotion has not ebbed. It is ongoing, mixed with more than two decades of memories of children whose lives, now, will forever be intertwined.

Committed, focused

When Heaggan was sworn in as a Milwaukee police officer three years ago, his mother was both terrified and proud.

“He worked really hard, and he accomplished it,” she said.

That work ethic began before Heaggan was 10, as he cut people’s grass and opened his own neighborhood “candy store.” When he was old enough, he would ride his bike to a golf course for a job as a caddie. He bought his first car with his own money at 16, according to his mother, Karen, who asked that her married name and her son's photo not be published for fear the threats against the family — already rampant — would multiply.

As a teenager, Heaggan decided he wanted to become a police officer. He graduated first in his class at W.E.B. DuBois High School, his mother said, and then performed clerical jobs as a police aide until he was old enough to join the force.

“He saw me, I always went to work, never stole, didn’t drink, didn’t get high,” his mother said. “I told him, ‘Being a young black man in the city, you’ve got to be careful. You’ve always got to think about the choices you make. If you make a good choice, there’s going to be a good outcome. With a bad choice, there’s a bad outcome. As a young black man if you make bad choices, you’re going to go to jail or you’re going to die.' "

Heaggan, along with two sisters, was raised by his mother and stepfather. Heaggan keeps in touch with his father (who did not return telephone calls from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel) and has several siblings on his father's side, his mother said.

From a young age, Heaggan performed rap routines with his friends. He and two others formed a group called “Young World” when they were 8 or 9 years old and competed in talent shows, even winning a few.

“He never talked about drugs, never talked about killing anybody,” she said. “Anything he was rapping about, it was positive.”

About a year ago, Heaggan and his friends made a rap video that included the line, "I'm (going to) start a riot like Baltimore.” It's a typical sentiment for the genre but has garnered national attention in light of the events this month.

That's not the only thing people latched onto.

Smith’s sister did a television interview saying the two men went to Pulaski High School at the same time. On social media and in conversations, the rumors picked up fuel. Heaggan had a history of fights. He knew Smith well. He and Smith were rivals. He had harassed Smith. The two had argued over a girl. Smith had filed a claim against the Police Department after he was hit by a squad car.

No proof of any of that has surfaced.

Heaggan spent all four years at DuBois, located inside Marshall High School, his mother said. The only trouble he ever got into there was a food fight, for which he and many other students received citations for disorderly conduct, she said.

“They are saying he’s a dirty cop, he’s a snitch. That’s not true,” she said.

It hurts his mother that people don’t appreciate how much her son loves being a police officer.

“He knew it was going to be difficult living in the area and being a police officer in the area, but he wanted to bring change,” she said. “He was putting his life on the line to help the community.”

Many of those in the neighborhood, some of whom knew both men, have turned against Heaggan since the Aug. 13 shooting. Except for a select few, even those he considered friends have failed to support him, his mother said. Shortly after the incident occurred, he left town for his own safety, according to police.

Thousands of people have shared a Facebook photo of Heaggan in uniform, some of them adding furious and threatening comments. More than 1,600 people have shared his mother's address, with the sentiment “If you can’t get him, get his momma,” she said. Police have been stationed 24 hours a day outside her home.

She will not allow Heaggan’s only son, 4, to play outside; he's too young to understand why.

The shooting remains under investigation by the state Department of Justice, which so far has refused to release footage from Heaggan’s body camera. Not surprisingly, that has led to more rumors: The tape is being doctored; Heaggan's story has to be adjusted to match what it shows.

“It’s difficult being a young black man and being a police officer,” his mother said. “They say, ‘You’re not black. You’re blue.’ ”

'Soft soul'

Smith’s mother, Mildred Haynes, has had a difficult life, according to Katherine Mahmoud, who was Smith's godmother and virtually a second mom. She lived with Smith and his mother for years when Smith was young.

Katherine Mahmoud, Sylville Smith's godmother, helped raise Smith when he was younger.

Smith’s dad was incarcerated much of his life. His mom was loving and caring, Mahmoud said, and involved with her son, her only child. She made sure he stayed in school and provided for him in every way she could.

Haynes’ issues with addiction made it tough for the young boy to succeed, according to Erin Blaedow-Chontal, one of his grade school teachers. In response to an online statement after Smith’s death that said “you can’t act like an animal without consequences,” Blaedow-Chontal wrote that Smith tried hard to learn to read, staying at school before and after class, in part because “he had no place else safe to go – including home.”

As much as Smith tried to make good choices, he “learned the lesson from grades 3-8 that ‘doing the right thing’ didn’t fix s**t. It didn’t feed him. It didn’t change his mother’s drug problem. It didn’t make his mother or father available. It didn’t help him read any better even though he busted his ass…” Blaedow-Chontal wrote on Facebook.

Mahmoud described Smith as a “soft soul” but said growing up in that environment meant he couldn’t show it. Having cognitive disabilities made it that much harder. He had to act tough to survive.

“You put on a persona for people and adapt to your surroundings,” she said.

He loved animals — “hamsters, snakes, dogs, cats, turtles, you name it” — and wanted to be a veterinarian. He also loved kids. Smith did not like people to raise their voices at children. He adored his 2-year-old son, who was with him a majority of the time, Mahmoud said.

And he was always dancing. He would dance in competitions, in basements, at clubs, anywhere he could. He sometimes won prize money.

Whether dancing or not, he was always surrounded by ladies, Mahmoud said. “Sylville could get any woman that walked this earth,” she said.

Smith didn't have a traditional job. He picked up Social Security disability payments. He liked to draw and made some extra cash designing tattoos. He made some money on the streets; he was arrested — though never convicted — on accusations of drug possession and robbery.

He had been shot twice.

As recently as last year, Smith “expressed regret for ‘some gang stuff he couldn’t get out of’ and how happy and proud he was to be a father,” Blaedow-Chontal said. His own father, recently released from prison, has expressed regret for not being a good role model.

Smith had been arrested nine times but convicted only once — for a misdemeanor, carrying a concealed weapon. After that, his mother encouraged him to apply for a concealed-carry permit, according to Mahmoud.

“She always said, ‘Do it the right way. Get your license. Do it the right way.’ ”

He remained eligible because he did not have a felony conviction. Because records about gun permits are kept confidential under state law, the Journal Sentinel could not confirm whether he had one.

When Smith got his new guns, Mahmoud said, he was excited to show them off.

“He wasn’t running around like, ‘I got this gun and I’m going to come rob and kill you.’ He was just showing off his new piece. A lot of kids from the community do that,” Mahmoud said.

According to police, when Smith was killed, he was holding a gun that had been taken in a Waukesha County burglary.

Friends, noting that Smith had been stopped by police so many times, wondered why this one was different. Why did this one leave Smith dead?

Mahmoud said Smith complained repeatedly about the police harassing him but that both she and Haynes thought it was the typical stuff that most men in the community face.

“Welcome to black male adulthood. That’s how we looked at it.”