The headline on the front page of the Tribune read: “Police arrest 2 in Roscetti Case.” New men had been charged with the October 1986 rape and murder of 23-year-old Lori Roscetti. The four men previously convicted and imprisoned for the crime had been exonerated in December, but not before spending over a decade in prison. It was a landmark that perhaps many noticed but only a few paused to appreciate. One of them was a man riding the Red Line during the evening rush.
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He leaned against a pole close to the doors because there was no room for him to sit. He was a black man who looked to be in his mid to late 30s, and he’d boarded somewhere between Grand and North and Clybourn, while the train was still underground. His clothes were stretched out of shape and covered with dark stains, and every few minutes he would turn to apologize to Jesus as if the savior were standing right next to him. And like Ralph Ellison’s invisible man, he was sure that a white man had pushed him.
“The next time that four black men go to prison for raping a 23-year-old white woman when they didn’t even do it….The next time, y’all better”–he paused, as if searching for the right phrase, the proper suggestion–“boycott the justice system!”
People were looking through windows, at the backs of heads in front of them, down at the floor. Anywhere but at the man who was speaking.
