Series: Requiem For Heroin's Victims - Part 3 Of 6

TWO SIDES OF THOMAS BARNETT

With A Soft Sport For Children And Elderly, A Utica Man Dealt With Drugs
And Alcohol. Did One Try Of Heroin Prove Fatal?

Thomas Barnett walked out of the restroom at Jim's Lounge then over to the
bar, choosing a seat next to his brother, Tim. Barnett.

Not a minute later, Thomas fell forward, smacking his head against the bar.

Tim's acquaintances, Raquel M. Salazar of Marseilles and Donna Lauck of
Seatonville, tried to wake Thomas, but he wouldn't budge. Fearing the
worst, they took him to Illinois Valley Community Hospital in Peru.

As the trio dragged Thomas out of the La Salle bar to his truck, he
moaned. Once inside the truck, he gasped, let out a slow breath and fell
silent.

Thomas Richard Barnett, 37, of 500 E. Church St., North Utica may have
died at that moment on Dec. 28, 2004. A La Salle County coroner's jury
March 24 ruled his death accidental due to alcohol and heroin, making his
the eighth heroin-related death in the Illinois Valley since January 2003.

"As far as any of us knew, that was the only time Tom had tried heroin,"
his mother, Brenda Park of Peru, said. "We knew about his cocaine, but
heroin was a shock."

Statements given to police that night raised more questions than answers as
to how Thomas died and who is to blame.

"I want somebody to pay for his death," Brenda said. "It really boils down
to Tom made a bad decision. If he was sober he might have turned the
heroin down, but when he got so drunk somebody should have had enough sense
to not give him heroin."

Laughs And Self-Sacrifice

Family and friends say Thomas enjoyed life every day. He wasn't one to
worry about tomorrow, and he lived each day as if it were his last.

Thomas made his family laugh with impressions of actor Steven Seagal. He
also mimicked his grandfather, Lowell Grubb of Oklahoma, talking to his
American pit bull terrier named "Tadpole."

"Tom did it so well, he could always get you laughing," Brenda said.

His family says he loved music, and could be found dropping change into the
jukeboxes of many bars throughout Utica, La Salle and Peru, selecting his
favorites, Kid Rock or KISS.

In his spare time, Thomas found it difficult to put down the controller of
his Sony PlayStation 2, especially when he was playing a NASCAR racing game.

When Thomas wasn't playing his video games or making family and friends
laugh, he worked as a towboat deckhand for shipping companies, and later
worked as a painter at Caterpillar Inc. in North Aurora until his death.

Thomas also had other passions in life, such as cooking, and he loved the
elderly.

Brenda said his favorite was 88-year-old Utica resident June Esmond, Utica
Mayor Fred Esmond's mother.

June had frequented Brenda's business in Utica, Nikki's Coffee Shop, where
Thomas worked, when it was open from October 2003 to April 2004.

"He was a good looking kid full of jokes," June said. "He was good for
someone like me. He always made me feel special."

Thomas also had a soft spot for children.

Three days before he died, Thomas spent Christmas with his wife Angie and
her side of the family.

Angie's nephew, Joey Yuhas of Serena, was disappointed that day because
Santa Claus didn't bring him a PlayStation 2. Joey didn't realize his
family couldn't afford to buy him one.

Later that day, Thomas went home, packed his PlayStation 2, the controllers
and his games into a box, then came back and gave it to Joey.

"For Tom to give him that would be like one of us parting with an arm," his
sister, Tracy Woitynek of Peru, said.

Duality Within Thomas

Few who knew Thomas would argue the many fine qualities of his character.

They also wouldn't argue that he drank too much, too often and cocaine had
disrupted his life.

"He was by no means an angel," Brenda said. "I was grateful that I never
held it against him before he died."

Soon after Thomas and Angie moved back from Henderson, Ky., in 1997, his
family noticed he had developed an unquenchable thirst for alcohol. He
drank before, and often sought that sort of good time, but now it had
become different.

"When he got drinking he drank a lot and fast," Angie said. "That's just
how he lived...in excess."

Partly to blame was his irregular lifestyle combined with his need to
entertain not just others, but himself.

His work as a deckhand would take him away for one month and then he'd be
back for another.

"The first few days back it was party, party, party," Angie said. "Tom
always had to be doing something or he would get bored. He couldn't sit
still. He worked really hard, and he wanted to play just as hard, too."

But eventually Angie wanted to settle down and give up the party-hard
lifestyle.

Angie and Thomas had separated often during their relationship. The
fights, Angie said, usually centered on her trying to persuade Thomas to
settle down and begin making future plans.

"We loved each other as hard as we fought with each other," Angie said.

"Sometimes we said things to each other that we would regret later
on. Sometimes our fights would escalate and we regretted that, too."

One fight landed Thomas in the courtroom Feb. 21, 2002, when he pleaded
guilty to two counts of domestic battery causing bodily harm. He was
sentenced to two years probation, 60 days in jail with 2 days credit for
time served, and ordered to attend an anger management facility. Three
counts of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon were dismissed.

Utica police chief Joe Bernardoni said police case reports were blown away
during the April 20, 2004, tornado that killed eight people and contributed
to the deaths of two others.

Thomas found himself back in the courtroom July 24, 2002. He pleaded
guilty to driving on a suspended license and was sentenced to 150 hours of
community service, one year of probation and a fine. A charge of operating
an uninsured motor vehicle was dismissed.

By the next month, Thomas told his family he had enough of his current
lifestyle and swore that he would stop drinking and using cocaine.

He tried running. But after two weeks he collapsed from exhaustion and was
taken to IVCH. Doctors told Thomas and his family that running was too
rigorous an activity given the damage alcohol had caused his body and the
stress from his rocky relationship with Angie.

"He knew he needed some help," Angie said. "But when he would move back in
and things calmed down between us he put off getting help."

Thomas stuck with his pledge of sobriety for the next several months, until
St. Patrick's Day 2003 in Utica, when he began using cocaine again, Angie
said.

At this point, his life spiraled downward, stealing money from his mother's
coffee shop to support his habit.

This went on for months until Brenda finally decided to close the
restaurant so Thomas wouldn't steal from her anymore.

One day, Brenda wanted to post a poem on the wall of her coffee shop,
giving a long, chilling snapshot of what crystal methamphetamine can do to
a person's life. She hoped the poem might prevent someone from trying
illegal drugs, or if someone already was addicted, they might read it and
think twice about using again.

The closing stanza of the poem reads: "My power is awesome, as I told you
before. I can take your mother and make her a whore. I'll be your master,
you'll be my slave. I'll even go with you to your grave. Now that you've
met me, what will you do? Will you try me or not, it's all up to you. I
can show you more misery than words can tell. Come hold my hand - I'll
take you to Hell!!!"

Thomas refused. He threw a fit, fearing that if she did, it might somehow
reveal his own struggle with cocaine to the unknowing, 1,000-person village
of Utica.

"He did not want me to try to even talk to anybody about the danger of
drugs because he thought it would reflect on him," Brenda said. "He didn't
want to be exposed."

But he wasn't fooling anyone.

Brenda said frequent customers in the coffee shop, including some La Salle
County sheriff's deputies who went there for coffee before their shifts,
heard her complain about Thomas stealing money from the shop.

Ironically, it would be the company Thomas kept that led to his cocaine
habit becoming exposed, not the poem of the wall of his mother's coffee shop.

The Raid And The Fall

On April 16, 2004, Thomas was at his friend John Yodual's house at 243
W. Grove St., in Utica when the Illinois State Police Zone 3/La Salle Task
Force and Utica police executed a search warrant on the residence.

Yodual was charged with manufacturing/delivering 15 to 100 grams of
cocaine. Thomas was charged with possession of a controlled substance (
cocaine ).

Both spent the next several days in La Salle County Jail waiting for their
arraignment.

Four days later, a tornado ripped through the village of Utica.

Thomas received word from a jail cell that much of his town was destroyed.

"He was going crazy in there because the tornado hit and he didn't know
what happened to his family," Brenda said.

His family survived and once Thomas got out of jail, he kept partying, his
family said.

Months later, on July 9, 2004, Thomas pleaded guilty to possession of a
controlled substance, resulting from the raid on John's home. He was
sentenced to two years probation and drug and alcohol treatment.

"Once he got nailed it took all of his pride," Brenda said. "He spiraled
down and now everyone knew."

Thomas felt as if no one respected him anymore. He also became defensive
and depressed, knowing his substance abuse addictions had made life
miserable for those who loved him most, his sister Tracy said.

But cocaine and alcohol continued to tighten the noose around his neck.

"I felt that when he drank at that point, he was doing it to
self-medicate," Angie said. "It was to have fun, too."

Thomas began his job at Caterpillar Inc. in North Aurora shortly after he
took care of his legal troubles. His family thought it could have been an
opportunity for him to change things around.

Instead, he reminded them of a fictional character in a horror book.

"We used to say he reminded us of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," Brenda
said. "When he was with me he was my son, but when he was out partying he
turned into someone else."

One Last Party

Thomas and his brother, Tim, hadn't seen each other in six months because
both were busy with work and life.

They found time off of work around Christmas 2004, so they met on Dec. 28,
planning, as they told Brenda, to watch a Tim McGraw DVD at Tim's
girlfiend's house.

Their first stop was at Golf 'N Pub in Oglesby at about noon. Next was P
I's in Peru for a couple more drinks, before reaching their mother's house
in Peru at about 2 p.m.

"I had a fit because Tom was drinking and driving," Brenda said. "But they
said they were going to Tim's girlfriend's after they stopped by Jim's
Lounge to drop a message off to a guy Tim knew from work."

At Jim's Lounge, they discovered Tim's friend didn't work at the bar
anymore, so they bought more drinks.

Witness testimony given to La Salle police is contradictory at best in
regard to when Thomas actually passed out on the bar.

Tim gave police investigators no times of events, but said once Thomas
returned from the restroom he passed out on the bar.

Melanie Burlingame of Mendota told police she met Thomas and Tim between 3
and 3:30 p.m. and left at about 5 p.m. When she returned at 7 p.m., she
told police they had shot glasses and beers in front of them, and drank
"beer for beer" until she left at about 10 p.m., when Thomas passed out.

At about 6 p.m., Donna Lauck arrived, staying for just an hour before going
back home, she told police. She returned at 10 p.m. and found Thomas
passed out at the bar.

Raquel provided two differing statements to investigators. During one
interview, she told police she arrived at Jim's Lounge at 9:50 p.m. and
that Thomas passed out 40 minutes later. During a second interview, she
told police she arrived at 9:30 p.m. and Thomas passed out about one hour
later, adding that Tim had woken him up several times before they decided
to take him to the hospital.

Marseilles resident Nilene Martinez, a bartender at Jim's Lounge, told
police when Thomas passed out, his brother took him to the
hospital. Nilene was the only bartender identified in the police
report. She also gave investigators the garbage bags that were thrown away
after Thomas left the bar. No drug paraphernalia was found.

Brenda has her presumptions as to who gave Thomas heroin that night. She
asked the NewsTribune to withhold her reasoning, fearing for her
safety. Time declined to be interviewed by the NewsTribune.

Angie, who is a bartender for Duffy's Tavern in Utica, said Illinois law
requires that any patron who passes out from drinking too much alcohol must
be removed from the premises.

"At first, I blamed Tim at the hospital but that was just my grief
speaking," she said. "I think he knows more than he's letting on, but I
also know they were very close and he's still grieving too.

"Now I blame the bartender for not kicking him out," she added.

Jim's Lounge owner Joanne Donovan said Tim had told her bartender that he
would finish his game of pool and take Thomas home.

"It sounded reasonable," Joanne said. "What if we kicked him out and he
drove while on whatever he was on and killed someone? This was unfortunate
that it happened in my bar."

"I Relive It Every Night"

Raquel stomped on the gas. Next to her, Tim tried to wake his brother on
their way to IVCH. Donna followed in her vehicle. They feared the worst.

Raquel stopped near the emergency room admitting entrance, slammed the gear
shift into park, then she and Tim ran inside screaming for help.

It was 11:04 p.m. Ten minutes had passed from the time Thomas' head hit
the bar to when an IVCH emergency room team took over.

The situation was grim. Thomas had no pulse. His body was cool, and he
wasn't breathing.

Raquel told emergency room nurses that Thomas might have used heroin, but
didn't know for sure.

The IVCH emergency room doctor, several nurses, and one respiratory
therapist got to work fast. They knew with each passing second, Thomas'
chances for survival narrowed.

One nurse intravenously injected 2 milligrams of Narcan into
Thomas. Narcan is a narcotic antagnoist solution that is used to bring
people out of a drug overdose.

No response.

A different nurse made another injection.

Nothing.

At 11:08 p.m., the team began cardiopulmonary resuscitation aided by a
ventilator while Thomas was injected twice with epinephrine, a drug that
narrows blood vessels and opens airways in lungs.

The ER team continued CPR for the next seven minutes. Then a nurse made
one last bid to save Thomas at 11:16 p.m., a third Narcan injection, but he
didn't move.

The doctor then made the announcement all emergency room doctors dread:
"Time of death, 11:18 p.m."

About an hour later, Brenda was working third shift as a security guard at
Nicor Gas in La Salle when she got a call on her walkie-talkie asking her
to come back to the shop.

She doesn't remember exactly who told her - it could have been a La Salle
County sheriff's deputy or a state police trooper - all she can remember
was that there had been an accident and she was told to go to IVCH immediately.

Brenda's first thought was that Thomas had wrecked his truck and he was too
scared to call his wife Angie.

Angie also never expected a drug overdose.

"The last thing on my mind was drugs," she said. "Tom had rubber legs when
he drank. I thought he fell down or something."

When Brenda arrived at the hospital, her daughter Tracy met her outside.

"He's gone mom," Tracy said, sobbing.

"Where did he go?" Brenda replied.

"No mom, he's dead."

IVCH staff led Brenda down a hallway to the emergency room where doctors
had tried to save her son.

"He was lying there like he was sleeping," Brenda said. "I tried to wake
him up."

Brenda screamed, "Wake up!" as she shook Thomas. Tracy held her frantic
mother while Tim and Angie wept beside them.

"I shook him and I felt his cold body," Brenda said. "Then I hugged him
goodbye."

A Missing Cup Of Coffee

After the funeral, Angie told the family about a message on her answering
machine. The voice was from a counselor at a mental health facility in
Chicago calling to tell Thomas the date of his appointment to screen him
for bipolar disorder. The family now wonders if that appointment could
have saved his life.

"To lose a child is probably the worst thing I've ever been through."
Brenda said. "Losing my mother, my father, did not compare to losing my son."

Thomas was a lovable human being, which is why some of his family seeks
revenge and desperately wants to incarcerate the person who gave their son
heroin.

But after losing confidence that the local criminal justice system will
ever resume its investigation into her son's death, Brenda has turned her
focus toward local officials, such as her neighbor, Peru homeless shelter
director Carol Alcorn, asking what she can do to help rid the Illinois
Valley of heroin.

"It's something I'd like to know - how can I help the community?" Brenda
said. "Where does it begin? I've lost a son. I've lost a husband. I'm
angry over drugs - period. Our community needs to do something. But I
don't know what."

Recently at her job at the off-track betting facility in Peru, Tracy yelled
at a customer over a trifling matter.

"I think every day I look for somebody to blame, but there's nobody," she
said. "What's worse is that people think, 'Oh well, he must have been a
heroin addict, just another loser.' But that wasn't Tom."

Tim has taken Thomas' death hard. On what would have been Thomas' 38th
birthday, June 26, Tim called Brenda just to cry.

"His death has changed all of us that way," Brenda said. "We appreciate
the time we have with our family a lot more. We never take it for granted."

Tracy agrees: "I don't remember Tim ever telling me he loves me. Now he
does all the time."

The trauma of losing her son to a heroin overdose still haunts Brenda
today. Several weeks ago, she saw a Peru police officer approach her front
door. When the officer knocked, Brenda scurried into the kitchen to
hide. She later discovered the officer was looking for her neighbor.

"To walk into an emergency room and see my son lying dead for such a stupid
reason - I don't think there's any was to get over it," she said.

Angie feels scared and lost. It's as if a piece of her being and the
purpose for her existence had been maliciously taken from her.

Every morning just before Angie woke up, Thomas would pour a cup of coffee
and set it on the kitchen counter for her.

Now, the empty countertop only begins each of her mornings with a painful
reminder that Thomas is gone forever.

"I go to work and do normal things and it feels like he's just working on
the boats again," she said. "It's taking a long time to realize he's not
coming back."

Editor's Note: The NewsTribune obtained Illinois Valley Community Hospital
records from a member of Thomas Barnett's immediate family. IVCH officials
would not release the full names of the emergency room staff or medical
records citing the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability
Act. The NewsTribune is protecting the identity of the emergency room
staff identified in IVCH medical records who tried to save Thomas Barnett's
life.