Series: Requiem For Heroin's Victims - Part 6 Of 6

THOMAS LEAMY: HEROIN TRANSCENDS THE CLASSES

It was an uncommonly mild winter day in New England on Jan. 3 when Thomas
Leamy's mother, Valerie, and his stepfather, Jim Lannon, stepped onto the
Honover Inn parking lot in Hanover, N.H.

The Lannons were nearly finished with their trip to visit Jim's daughter,
Colleen Lannon, who lived 17 miles away in Hartland, Vt. But surprisingly,
Colleen was waiting for them in the hotel lobby.

"I thought, 'Great, she got out of work early,'" Valerie recalled.

Colleen, however, fought back tears, burdened that destiny chose her to be
an unfortunate messenger.

"Tom was found dead in your house this morning," she told thm.

Valerie sat motionless on a couch in the lobby.

"I just couldn't believe her," she said.

Thomas Joseph Leamy, 25, of 1467 Bucklin St., La Salle died at 7:48 at his
residence that morning from a heroin overdose. A La Salle County coroner's
inquest jury Feb 24, 2005, ruled his death was accidental.

"My first thought was I had to get back and find out why, how," Valerie said.

Boys Will Be Boys

Thomas had a taste for things that would pump his adrenalin, whether it was
carving his way around moguls on a snowboard or pushing a speedometer to
new limits.

He broke his right leg on a swing set when he was 18 months old, then his
right arm about five years later while practicing gymnastics.

"He was all little boy," Valerie said. "I can remember when the doctor told
me it's a boy and I though, 'Oh my, what am I going to do with a boy after
having three girls?"

As an altar boy at St. Patrick Catholic Church in La Salle, Thomas
displayed a nice singing voice, whenever his parents were able to coax him
on stage.

His middle school teacher at St. Patrick's School in La Salle, Fran Zeller,
also noticed Thomas' talent when he hummed the refrain from a song in a
children's book titled "Love You Forever" every time he passed her desk.

"He was a cute kid...such a nice, gentlemanly young man," she said.

During his teen years, Thomas picked up a set of golf clubs and became a
low-handicap golfer. He also found a career path in La Salle-Peru Township
High School's welding course.

Thomas, like many teenage boys, also spent his fair share of time in the
principal's office.

The worst incident came in April 1995 during a computer class when Thomas
printed an off-handed joke to a friend that mentioned a bomb would go off
at the school.

It was days after Timothy McVeigh detonated a truck bomb filled with 5,000
pounds of explosive materials underneath the Alfred P. Murrah Building in
Oklahoma City, Okla., killing 168 people and injuring more than 800.

High school officials, in Valerie's opinion, overreacted to her son's quip
by calling the local police and then suspending him for close to a week.

"It was just a harmless joke to a friend," Valerie said.

Local police met Thomas during his late-teen years on five occasions from
1995 to 1999 for speeding, possession of liquor by a minor, unlawful
consumption of alcohol by a minor and operating an uninsured motor vehicle.
Add two seat belt violations, and he had built himself a decent-sized file
at the Illinois Secretary of State's Office in La Salle.

But, Valerie says, boys will be boys.

In November 1999, Thomas' love for welding, and some gentle persuasion from
his grandfather, Joseph Sheridan of Streator, who spent his career in the
U.S. Air Force, made the U.S. Navy look enticing. So he enlisted.

The Navy offered an opportunity to see the world while Thomas earned his
welding apprenticeships. When he left for civilian life, he would be ready
to work wherever he pleased.

Thomas excelled during his three years in the Navy. A performance
evaluation conducted June 12, 2002, stated he "needs little supervision and
routinely gets the job done by making things out of nothing."

He also took part in the repair operation of the USS Cole after 17 sailors
were killed in a terrorist attack on the Arleigh Burke class "Aegis" (air
defense) destroyer on Oct. 12, 2000, at the port of Aden, Yemen. A
Blackhawk helicopter made a special trip to pick THomas up from his ship,
the USS Duluth, and transport him to a support vessel assisting the Cole so
he could repair its propeller.

Thomas was proud of his work, especially after the Navy awarded him a
special commendation for contributing to the assistance of the Cole.
Valerie even keeps pictures of his welding projects in her photo album.

In 2003, Thomas left the Navy. It was a decision, he would later confess to
Valerie, that he regretted.

Civilian Life

After the Navy, Thomas moved to Foster City, Calif., near San Francisco to
live with his sister, Tricia Leamy.

He found a welding job for a security gate company, R&S Erection of San
Mateo Inc. His job took him to the homes of many famous people; from
professional athletes to presidents of major computer companies such as
Oracle co-founder Lawrence Ellis.

Tricia said Thomas could "charm the pants off of anybody." At times, he was
invited to socialize with very wealthy and prominent businessmen.

"He was really happy to live here and he loved the area," Tricia said. "His
job expanded his dream of wanting more."

But in California, money is everything and everywhere, Tricia said. The
attitude is opposite the laid-back, open-armed temperament found in the
Midwest. And although Thomas was from an upper middle-class family, he
often was labeled a simple tradesman from a hick town in Illinois.

"It's so difficult out here because people are, well, stuck up in some
cases," Tricia said. "You have to try real hard to fit in if you don't have
money, but once you break that barrier people are friendly - to a point -
and more accepting."

Regardless, Thomas made a few acquaintances and friends. He found a
girlfriend from a wealthy family, but her expensive tastes made it
difficult for his wallet to keep up in the relationship. He also couldn't
seem to make enough money to move out of his sister's apartment.

As months passed, Thomas felt smaller and smaller, despite doing a job he
loved. He didn't make enough money to live on his own, and he didn't seem
to fit in completely with the locals.

"I think seeing all of the money people made there made him feel that being
a welder wasn't enough for him," Valerie said. "He felt like he expected
more out of himself, and since his sister was doing so well, it probably
added to his frustration."

Tricia is a salon manager in Burlingame, Calif.

Thomas moved back to La Salle in November 2003, but life didn't get better.
He couldn't find a good welding job in the Illinois Valley.

When he finally found a decent job, Thomas failed the pre-employment drug
screening, admitting to Valerie that he occasionally smoked marijuana. But
the Leamy family would later discover that wasn't all.

By February 2004, Thomas had grown into a different man. The once-charming
person who practiced punctuality religiously now was staying out until
sunrise and sleeping well into the afternoon. Friends would call the house
and he would quickly leave before anyone could ask where he was going. When
he returned, Valerie would question him, but he became defensive.

"It made me upset and worried," she said. "He was living at home so I felt
like he should tell me where he was going. But then I also wondered if I
was being too intrusive."

All of the Leamy family's worries were justified when Tricia and her sister
Tara Leamy came to La Salle to visit around Valentine's Day 2004.

Thomas had been gone for nearly four days. He didn't call or even come back
home to change his clothes.

Tricia and Tara went to his favorite bar, 9th Street Pub in La Salle, and
talked to a bartender who knew him. The bartender, Eric Deisbeck, told her
that he was with one of Thomas' best friends, Tricia said.

"I was furious," Tricia said. "I knew where (he) lived so I went there
ready for a fight."

Instead, she was invited in by Thomas' friend's mother, and told that
Thomas was upstairs in a remodeled attic that her son used as a mini-apartment.

When Tricia walked in she found Thomas and his friend quietly watching
television.

I'll never forget how easy it was to get him to leave," she said. "He just
stood up and said, 'Let's go.' It wasn't the battle I thought it would be."

Thomas' friend declined interview request made by the NewsTribune.

Tricia drove Thomas' car while Tara left in hers for Valerie's house. On
the way, Tricia pulled into Veterans Memorial Pool parking lot in La Salle
to talk.

That's when he poured it all out. He showed me the needle marks on his arms
and told me what was going on," she said.

Tricia asked Thomas how they could stop it. Thomas said he needed to leave
Illinois and asked to move back in with her in California.

"I told him no problem, but there would be ground rules," she said.

When they returned home, Thomas, Tricia, Tara and Valerie sat down at
Valerie's kitchen table and he showed his mother his arms.

"That was the hardest thing he had to do in his life is tell his mother
that he was using heroin," Tricia said. "I've never been more proud of him
or of my mother for the way she handled herself."

Valerie never raised her voice. She only asked how they as a family could
overcome his heroin addiction.

The next day, Valerie and Thomas' father, David Leamy of Peru, gave him
$1,000 cash to pay for gas and bills, bought him groceries, and helped him
pack for Tricia's apartment in California.

"La Salle, Illinois was not where he should be," Valerie said. "The
influences were too bad."

David felt likewise.

"I thought, yes, he has got to get away from these people," he said.

A Second Chance At Life

California was cruel to Thomas when he returned in March 2004. His former
employer wouldn't take him back, so he settled for work in the pro shop of
Presidio Golf Course & Clubhouse in San Francisco.

But living on a pro shop employee's wages in California isn't easy.

"He called me when he was out there and told me he went looking for heroin
once, but he couldn't find it, so he never looked again," David said. "I
knew he had quit at this point. I was sure of it."

Thomas' friend from the Navy offered to let him stay for a month at his
house in Albuquerque, N.M. There were plenty of good jobs, so the plan was
to find a suitable welding job and begin a comfortable life.

The plan backfired when his friend's wife nixed the idea.

With no options and little hope for a future in California, Thomas quietly
moved back to La Salle in early June 2004, spending the first few days in
the seclusion of a single room at the Kings Inn in Peru.

"Someone knocked on my front door and it was him," Valerie recalled. "I
said, 'You're my son, you don't have to knock.'"

Thomas felt shame, as if life had defeated him, and the thought of facing
his family in failure clawed at his heart.

"He didn't want to disappoint us," Valerie said. "He felt like he had failed."

Thomas lived with his mother and stepfather in their tri-level home on
Bucklin Street again. He found a construction job at S&N Concrete through
his friend Nick Ewing, whose father, Sam Ewing, owned the company.

It didn't last.

Thomas had a problem waking up on time. When he did answer his alarm clock,
Valerie noticed he would go into a hallway closet then walk into the bathroom.

Suspicious, she waited for him to leave for work one morning, then
investigated. Hidden in a back corner of the closet under a couple empty
shoeboxes were a syringe and spoon, blackened from the flame of a lighter
and melted heroin residue.

Valerie laid the contraband on her son's pillow and waited for him to come
home. She confronted him that evening.

"I didn't know what to do," she said. "I told him he would not live here
and be a user. I told him he would soon learn what it's like to live like a
bum on the street."

Thomas agreed in August 2004 to enter a five-day detoxification program at
Rosecrance Substance Abuse Treatment Centers in Rockford. He lasted less
than three days.

Immediately after a heroin user stops using, his or her body begins the
natural process of detoxification. For heroin addicts, it feels like hell.

Heroin destroys the human body's pain threshold. So when users try to stop,
the pain from the symptoms is three times what a healthy person would
experience, said Cheryl Piper, director of nursing for Rosecrance Harrison
Campus in Rockford.

During the first six to 12 hours, addicts feel "dope sick" - similar to a
hangover from alcohol, but much worse. Then flu-like symptoms appear, along
with muscle cramps, stomach pain, vomiting and cold and hot flashes.

"People think the symptoms are no big deal, but the problem is the addict
has destroyed his or her pain threshold," Piper said. "Everything is to the
extreme and it lasts for three days until the symptoms start to weaken.
Many can't sleep for two days straight, so they are awake when they go
through the torture."

Fear of detoxification is one of many reasons heroin addicts have trouble
getting clean, Piper said.

It's much easier for them to just use again rather than go through all of
that pain," she said.

When Valerie picked up THomas from the facility, he told her he would
rather detoxify in the comfort of hishome. But his plan failed.

Thomas tried working again at S&N Concrete while detoxifying, but his
withdrawals were severe. One time, during a job in Streator, he was
vomiting so harshly that employees took him to his grandfather's house in
Streator.

When Valerie picked him up, he told her it was just the flu.

"I believed him - that's how stupid I was," she said. "He was using again
and I knew it. I knew it because people I really didn't like began coming
over to the house."

As if heroin wasn't bad enough, Thomas was charged in September 2004 with
improper turn at an intersection, driving on a suspended license, driving
an uninsured motor vehicle, improper passing on the shoulder,
squealing/screeching tires, and driving under the influence of alcohol.

But two months later would be worse.

A Road To Recovery

On Nov. 10, 2004, Thomas left his mother Valerie's house with some of his
new friends. The next day, Valerie got a call from Edward Hospital - Linden
Oaks in Naperville. Linden Oaks is the hospital's drug rehabilitation facility.

Thomas had been admitted overnight after overdosing on heroin.

The friends Thomas was with that night became scared when he began to
convulse after injecting a dose of heroin into his arm on the ride back
from Chicago. Those same friends stopped at a nearby gas station in
Bolingbrook, dropped him off on the sidewalk, called 911 anonymously, and
left him to fate.

Hospital paramedics responded to the call, and fortunately for Thomas, an
ambulance crew saved his life.

While at the facility, Thomas filled out a survey from Superior Air Grand
Service Inc. - the company that owned the ambulance service that revived
him at the gas station.

He marked an 'x' in each "excellent box" on the survey, adding on the
comment line below, "Great service, they saved my life + I'm extremely
thankful for their speedy service."

The charge for his stay at the drug rehabilitation facility and emergency
room visit was $1,229.50. The ride in the ambulance cost $600. Additional
charges for other things such as medical supplies cost $3,887.75. In all,
Thomas' first overdose cost $5,717.25, plus the $10 to $20 he spent on the
actual bag of heroin.

"I wish that after his first overdose I had taken him to Hurst Funeral Home
and have him plan out his own funeral," Valerie said. "But I don't know if
that would have helped."

Thomas sore he would clean up. But he again refused professional help,
telling his family he would do it on his own.

Valerie gave him everything he needed to curb the painful effect of
detoxification such as buying him over-the-counter sleeping pills so he
could sleep through the agony. By Dec. 2, he had a breakthrough.

He pleaded guilty to traffic charges and was sentenced to 20 days in jail
and alcohol counseling.

With 10 days credit, Thomas served 10 days in La Salle County Jail that
month and was released before Christmas. The sentence prevented him from
using heroin.

By the end of December 2004, Valerie could tell Thomas meant his oath of
sobriety. His place at the dinner table was never open and his appetite
returned - evidenced by the 15 pounds he had gained. He often joked with
his family and had no problems talking to anyone. If Valerie needed to help
around the house, he was first to volunteer.

Thomas also began putting his resume together, confident that he would pass
a drug test.

Everything was going his way, especially when his ex-girlfriend, Nichelle
Giordano, re-entered his life on Dec. 26 when she returned to visit family
and friends i nearby Coal City from her new home in Tampa, Fla.

She and Thomas made plans for him to move to Florida with her after he
completed the counseling requirement of his drunken driving sentence. His
father even paid his court fines to expedite the process.

"When we left for Boston on New Year's Eve, I for once wasn't worried about
Tom," Valerie said. "Everything was fine."

Uninvited Guests

The night Valerie and Jim left for Boston, Thomas and one of his best
friends, Chris Smoron of La Salle, went to Peoria to celebrate the New Year.

Early the next day, after Chris left, two of Thomas' newer friends, Phillip
Castelli of Princeton and Tiffany Pratt of Peru, knocked on the front door
of the Lannon house.

According to La Salle Police Department reports, which included statements
from Phillip and Tiffany, the trio left the Lannon house in Valerie's 2002
Honda CRV for Chicago to purchase heroin. Tiffany drove because Thomas and
Phillip had revoked driver's licenses.

Phillip told police THomas purchased an unspecified amount of heroin then
gave some to him and Tiffany for driving him to Chicago. Later that night,
they injected the heroin.

"I talked to him that day and asked him if he wanted to come over and watch
the Rose Bowl," David said. "It's not like talking to somebody when they're
drunk. I couldn't tell at all."

The next day, on Jan. 2, the trio went back to Chicago, where Thomas
purchased about 12 more "tins" of heroin. A tin of heroin weighs 1/10th of
a gram.

After they returned, David called Thomas again to check on his son. He
asked if everything was fine, even inquiring if Thomas had used heroin.

"They'll lie and lie and lie for that heroin," David said. "I thought
things were fine but they weren't."

Nichelle called Thomas at about 10:45 that night. They talked about him
moving in with her in Florida. She had an errand to run, but said she would
call him back when she returned. The phone rang at about midnight Jan. 3,
but no one answered.

An hour later, Thomas "shot up a bag after drinking a few beer," Phillip
told police, then fell asleep on a burgundy, leather recliner in the lower
level of the tri-level Lannon house.

By 2 a.m., Phillip said Thomas "didn't look so good" and was snoring
loudly. He checked his pulse, which was about 90 beats per minute, then
called a friend who worked as a nurse. Since the average pulse rate is 80
beats per minute, Phillip figured Thomas should be fine, so he and Tiffany
went to sleep on a nearby couch.

Phillip woke at about 6:30 a.m. and noticed Thomas "didn't look right." He
wasn't breathing and his neck seemed hard.

Tiffany called 911, but she was nervous and cropped the phone, causing the
battery to fall out. When a 911 dispatcher called back, Tiffany answered
from a different phone. As she pulled her laundry out from the Lannons'
clothes dryer, she lied to the dispatcher, saying, according to 911
transcripts identified in the police report, that her "25-year-old son was
unconscious and she could not wake him up."

The dispatcher told her an ambulance would be dispatched. Tiffany hung up
and fled the Lannon house with Phillip, who would both tell police later
that they fled because they were scared.

An ambulance crew arrived at the house and found Thomas on the recliner.
They moved him to a lying position on the floor, but did not administer
first aid due to his condition. The La Salle County Coroner's Office was
then called to the scene.

La Salle Police Sgt. Michael Smudzinski wrote in his report that he noticed
Thomas' neck area was livid and his skin was cold. His left inner mid-arm
section had a small, darkened bruise at the bend where the forearm meets
the bicep. His right arm had what appeared to be two needle marks on the
same areas as the left arm, and there appeared to be some old bruising in
that area. A syringe was in his left, front pants pocket. A small tube of
ChapStick was in his right, front pants pocket. Two lighters were on the
floor next to him.

In the kitchen garbage can underneath the sink, Smudzinski found three
empty tins of suspected heroin lying in the bottom of the can. In an
upstairs bedroom, he found another suspected spent tin of heroin surrounded
by personal belongings on a dresser.

He also found a black leather wallet in the bedroom. Inside was a State of
Illinois identification card of Thomas and his ticket to a new life - a
small piece of paper with the name Nichelle written on it above her
telephone number.

Grief Among Confusion

After many moments passed that January day in New Hampshire, Valerie's
empty stare focused on Colleen. She told her and Jim that she needed to get
back to La Salle. Then the pain hit, and Valerie wailed, uncontrollably, in
the Hanover Inn lobby. Colleen and Jim offered comfort, but her lament
wouldn't cease.

An hour passed before she was able to board a flight to Green Airport in
Providence, R.I. From there, she and Jim took the next plane to Chicago's
O'Hare International Airport, arriving back to La Salle by Jan. 4.

"The next time I saw (Thomas) was at the funeral home, lying on a table
covered with a sheet," Valerie said. "The worst thing a parent can do is
pick out a casket for their child."

Thomas' family and friends will never know why he chose to use heroin again
after nearly a month of straight sobriety. He was so close to beginning a
new life with Nichelle in Florida that it just didn't seem fair that heroin
would tempt him one more time.

"Our lives had finally meshed together, and we were finally going to be
able to be together," Nichelle said. "He used to write letters to me when
he was in the Navy saying he was going to marry me. Of course I was going
to marry him, I wanted to be with the person I loved and he died."

Nichelle planned for Thomas to move in with her on Jan. 21 after he
finished his legal obligations from his drunken driving conviction. Now she
wishes she had taken him back with her in December.

"I was mad at myself and devastated because I couldn't do anything about
it," she said. "Unfortunately, once he did it he was addicted to it. I hate
that drug."

David is angry too, partially at himself, but perhaps even more at his son.

Thomas had put on 15 pounds around Christmas before he died. It was enough
for David to think his son was finally healthy.

"But for some reason," David paused. "I think about it every day. I'm mad
at him for being so goddamn stupid and that won't change. It's always going
to be in the back of my mind - all I can do is learn to live with it."

David and Thomas were close. Thomas didn't keep his addiction hidden from
him, yet David still feels as if he could have done more.

"He's 25 years old, he's been in the Navy, he's been around the world - I
thought he deserved my respect," he said. "I didn't realize I needed to
treat him like a 5-year-old, but I was wrong. I feel like such a stupid jerk."

Tricia now spends some time telling Thomas' story to people with addictions
in California, hoping his death may save their lives.

"I have a sense of guilt knowing how terrible heroin is and not telling
Tom's story," she said. "I'm not too busy to talk to people anymore. The
vacuuming and cleaning can wait. People are too important because you never
know what might happen tomorrow."

The Leamy family once thought the very idea of one of their own trying
heroin, let alone dying from it, would never happen, Tricia said.

"It's the people on the other side of the tracks that this happens to -
that's what we used to think," she said. "And the other families who still
think like that now makes me just want to scream back at them and say,
'Look at us!'"

Thomas was a handsome, charismatic man from an upper middle-class family.
He had a fine singing voice and a zest for machines that moved fast.

Heroin infected him. Whether it was his fault or not remains for his family
to debate.

For now, the only real truth for Thomas' family and friends is that heroin
took him away and it still stings.

Six weeks after Thomas' funeral at St. Patrick's Catholic church in La
Salle, Valerie began writing letters to him in a personal diary, hoping it
might lessen her grief.

Her first entry, Feb. 16, 2005, begins with this: "Dear Tommy, I'm sitting
in the chair where you died. I want to let you know that today, up until
5:10 p.m., is the first time I haven't cried since your death."