On 03/27/03, at approximately 8:30 p.m., Officer Alexander Berkovitz, myself and Sgt. John Rife were dispatched to 4711 Crescent Road to assist EMS with a possible patient down with a gunshot wound. <

I approached the victim who was lying on the ground later ID'd by a school photo ID which was found in his back pocket, as Lawrence M. Williams. <

I asked Williams if he had been shot or stabbed and he replied, "Shot." Williams followed that up with "I'm done." Williams stated "I'm done. I'm done." <

EMS responded on the scene at approximately 8:38 p.m. At that time I asked Williams his name and he didn't respond. I noticed blood come out of his mouth and run down the side of his face. <

Medical staff worked on trying to resuscitate Williams for several minutes until Williams' doctor pronounced time of death at 9:32 p.m. <

Coroner Thorpe sealed the bag at 11 p.m. with tag 016484. <

- a homicide report by Madison Police Officer Rebecca Overland <

To you ... you see a young, troubled black man <

<

A memorial stone has rested in the peace garden at La Follette High School for a year now. <

A silver urn is kept at an aunt's apartment off the Beltline. <

They are the legacy of Lawrence "Mickey" Williams, a slight, smart, promising kid with an engaging smile and tattoo on his arm. He was silenced forever at age 19, a victim of an underculture of drugs and violence on Allied Drive. <

The streets of his youth - Chicago, Milwaukee and the former Simpson Street, Bettys Lane and Allied Drive in Madison - meant living amid poverty, crime and temptation. <

Mickey loved people and school and was humble, those who knew him said. And in truth, his criminal record was thin - driving with a suspended license in December 2001 and misdemeanor possession of cocaine in May 2002. <

But he made mistakes and died a violent death during a drug deal, and many saw another stereotype in cornrows and baggy pants. <

"Everybody goes astray," said his father, Lawrence Wilborn. "He got in with a crowd ... I can't be with him 24 hours a day." <

<

To us ... we see a young man who desired to do the right thing <

<

At the La Follette High School commencement in the spring of 2003, a husky man with a black hat and a sharp, two-toned blue suit strode the stage at the Kohl Center and accepted his dead son's diploma. <

The graduating class and the audience rose to their feet in his honor. <

"He wanted to graduate," Lawrence Wilborn said. "That was his goal. It hurt me to take his place. He should have been there." <

Mickey liked to draw, work on cars, listen to music and kid around. He had worked for two years at a pizza place at South Towne Mall until the eatery moved. And he worked at the school district's food service to earn credits, charming the women, who doted on him. He showed up for class despite often having to catch a 6:10 a.m. city bus to get there. He loved to get A's. <

Andrew Gipson, a Madison Metro driver and Mickey's half-brother, said Mickey intended to leave the drug trade. <

"I'm gonna go straight," he remembers Mickey saying. "I'm gonna do right. I've got to do what's right." <

<

To you ... you see a dysfunctional family and a culture of crime <

<

As usual, Mickey went to school on Thursday, March 27, 2003 - the last day of his life. <

About 5 p.m. Mickey hooked up with an acquaintance of six years, a drug user and sometime dealer with a criminal record, James E. "Maine Maine" Washington, 24. Their families had met on once-notorious Simpson Street, now called Lake Point Drive. Mickey had dated Washington's sister. And Washington called him "Lil' Mick." <

Mickey left his aunt's place on Allied Drive and drove off in his late-model maroon Olds Cutlass with the license plate on the dashboard. He stopped a few blocks away at an apartment rented by Washington's girlfriend on the 4700 block of Crescent Road. <

Mickey dropped off a $20 bag of marijuana, drove back to aunt Yolanda Wilborn's apartment and took a nap. Washington retreated to his girlfriend's place, smoked a marijuana blunt and went to sleep, too. <

In the early evening, Mickey left his aunt's again, not saying where he was going. <

He picked up Washington at the apartment on the 4700 block of Crescent Road. <

Washington, known to carry a .25-caliber semi-automatic handgun he called, "Little Brother," told his girlfriend he was, "Goin' to take care of business with Little Mick." <

Only Washington, who declined to be interviewed, knows what happened next, or why. <

But using evidence from the scene, eyewitness reports and interviews, the police have theories. Mickey and Washington, police believe, at some point parked in an apartment building lot on the 4600 block of Crescent Road. <

The two had a confrontation that began inside the car, and Washington shot Mickey twice. Two shell casings were found later near the vehicle, which was abandoned with the radio on and front doors wide open. <

Mickey began to flee on foot across Crescent Road toward a big field that leads to Allied Drive and his aunt's home. But he turned and headed toward the closest apartments, collapsing from fatal wounds in a nearby driveway. <

Meanwhile, Washington ran along railroad tracks behind the apartment buildings toward his girlfriend's place on Crescent Road, paralleling Mickey's path. A third shot was reported, but no casing was found. Washington tossed his gun. It was later found near the tracks. <

Breathing hard, sweating and looking nervous, Washington awoke his girlfriend and asked that she drive him to his mother's house. <

As they left the neighborhood, they saw two police cars speeding down Verona Road toward Allied Drive. <

The police told Mickey's family of the slaying later that night. It was devastating, unthinkable. <

The next morning Cory Walker, now a La Follette senior, picked up girlfriend Alisa Wilborn, Mickey's cousin and Yolanda Wilborn's daughter, on Allied Drive for school. <

"She was crying," he said, tears welling in his own eyes at the memory a year later. "I thought it was something I did. She told me Mickey was dead." <

"The day was horrible," said La Follette school minority services coordinator Michelle Olson. "It was a mass of kids, sobbing." <

"There were audible screams in the hallway that morning," Assistant Principal Kelly Lynaugh said. <

The homicide remained unsolved for two weeks. <

Police, linking a cell phone taken from Mickey, the gun and other evidence to Washington, arrested him on April 12, 2003. Washington said he had shot at others who had jumped him and Mickey. <

In September, Washington pleaded guilty to first-degree reckless homicide. <

And two months later, with supporters of Mickey and Washington in the courtroom, a Dane County Circuit Court judge sentenced Washington to 10 years in prison followed by 14 years of extended supervision. Another judge sentenced him to six years in prison for violating terms of his release after a two-year sentence for armed robbery. <

At the sentencing, Washington spoke only once, whispering, "I'm sorry." <

Loved ones, overcome with sorrow, cried and hugged in the courtroom. <

It would have been Mickey's 20th birthday. <

<

To us ... we see loved ones who try the best we can, guided by our hearts and our courage <

<

Lawrence Miquel Williams was born in Chicago to Lawrence Wilborn and Sandra Lynn Williams on Dec. 5, 1983. <

His brief life seems an unfulfilled journey to find a better place. <

"Mickey," short for Miquel, attended Betsy Ross Elementary School in Chicago, but moved with his mother, brothers and sisters to Racine when he was 10. They relocated to Milwaukee three years later. <

The family had already suffered gut-wrenching anguish. <

Lawrence Wilborn had lost a 1-year-old son, Kevin Williams, who hit his head in an accidental fall. <

Mickey got the tattoo, "RIP Kevin," on his right arm in his little brother's memory. <

And Yolanda Wilborn, who last sheltered Mickey, lost a 10-year-old daughter, Dominique, in a fire in Chicago. <

At age 14, Mickey left the dangers of Milwaukee to live with his aunt, Savanna Wilborn, on Simpson Street in Madison. He later stayed with his dad on Bettys Lane on the Southwest Side until the father moved to Florida in 1999. Mickey then moved in with aunt Yolanda Wilborn and uncle Robert Reeves on Allied Drive. <

"Mickey moved from home to home," Alisa Wilborn said. "Every time he didn't have a place to stay, the family was willing to give him a place to lay his head." <

Lawrence Wilborn valued the importance of letting Mickey stay at La Follette, teacher Julie Evert said. He showed up for his son at school when needed, and when he couldn't come from Florida, Mickey's aunts stood in. <

And on graduation day, Lawrence Wilborn attended rehearsal, took a seat among the seniors and made his heartbreaking stroll to receive Mickey's diploma. <

The family had left Chicago to find better schools and a better life for their children only to have Mickey fall to a bullet. <

"I was trying to get him away from trouble," Lawrence Wilborn said. <

<

To you ... you see another potential that failed <

<

On his first day of high school, Mickey was so excited that he seemed to bounce everywhere, La Follette's Lynaugh said. <

And through the years, an A on a simple test could inspire him to bop down the steps singing, "I am s-m-a-r-t." <

He was the kid with the Kool-Aid smile. <

But he was also supporting himself - in neighborhoods full of drug users and dealers. <

"The environments you're around leads you to certain activities," Olson said. "If you want money and see people making money the easy way..." <

Mickey never flaunted any cash he made, except once, when he wore a crisp outfit - tan T-shirt, black Gucci pants and black boots - to school on his birthday, Walker said, smiling at the memory. <

And despite the way he died, Mickey was fulfilling his potential, those who loved him said. <

"He didn't fail," said friend Quinesha McNeal, a senior at La Follette. "He graduated." <

<

To us, we see a friend, our family, a hope that life can be better with a goal and determination <

<

On the day he died, Mickey had finished his resume for a job interview two days later, Evert said. He had already grabbed an application for Madison Area Technical College. <

Walker, remembering Mickey's pride in changing the oil on his Olds Cutlass, thought he might someday be an auto mechanic. <

Everybody thought he would make it. <

"He wanted a job," Evert said. "He wanted to earn money." <

<

Lawrence's life and lessons will mean that much more <

When more of you can see life like us <

When more of you become we <

<

Lawrence Williams was more than how he died, those who knew him said. <

And understanding him can help the community confront deep challenges in neighborhoods such as Allied Drive, they said. <

"In society," La Follette social studies teacher Bryan Grau said, "there's a divide between us and them." <

<

<

Bryan Grau wrote the poem quoted in this story in memory of Lawrence Williams shortly after his death on March 27, 2003. <

<

To us <

To you <

From Lawrence <

To you ... you see a young, troubled black man <

To us ... we see a young man who desired to do the right thing <

To you ... you see a dysfunctional family and a culture of crime <

To us ... we see loved ones who try the best we can, guided by our hearts and our courage <

To you ... you see another potential that failed <

To us ... we see a friend, our family a hope that life can be better with a goal and determination <

Lawrence's life and lessons will mean that much more <

When more of you can see life like us <

When more of you become we <

<

Contact Dean Mosiman at dmosiman@madison.com or 252-6141, and Andy Hall at ahall@madison.com or 252-6136. <