December 18-24, 2003

cover story

"Your Son Is Dead"

BETTER DAYS: Though he led a troubled life, there was no sign of future problems when Greg Magee, 24, celebrated his grandfather's retirement from the Valley Forge Military Academy. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

The recent death of Greg Magee at the hands of Philadelphia Police officers left many lives shattered.

by Daryl Gale

Robert Magee doesn't know how to do anything but fix cars. After "growing up with a wrench in my hand" in the South Philly auto shop his father, Pat, owned, Magee has spent the last 40 years tending his own car-repair business, only a few blocks away from his late dad's place. But for Robert Magee, the joy of working on cars has left him, and while he's still a top-flight mechanic, these days he just goes through the motions. He woodenly shuffles from brake job to front-end alignment, pain and sadness indelibly etched into every line of his 62-year-old face.

On June 29, 2003, Magee's son, Greg, a 28-year-old mechanic and hopeful third-generation heir to the Magee auto repair empire, was shot and killed by Philadelphia police officers. According to police reports, the younger Magee was attempting to break into the garage next door to his father's place that night, and when confronted by the cops, ran around the corner, firing a pistol in their direction. They caught up to Greg less than a block away and pumped four bullets into him -- three in the back.

Six months later, Robert Magee says he still doesn't know exactly what happened, and has a whole lot more questions than he has answers.

As in all cases involving a violent death, or police-related shootings in general, there’s more than one victim here. Magee and his wife are devastated, and the business he’s spent 40 years building -- his lifelong dream -- is up for sale. Other family members are left to offer hollow condolences and wonder why someone so young was taken so suddenly. And then there are the cops. Like it or not, there is a cloud of suspicion surrounding most police shootings, and the cops involved are often left scrambling to save their careers, asked to justify a split-second reaction, all while cooling their heels on desk duty pending the outcome of an internal investigation.

By all accounts, Greg Magee was a bright, lovable, clean-cut kid who was unfailingly polite and generous to a fault. He was also plagued by personal demons. A sickly child, Greg suffered from epilepsy and, when he was a teenager, was diagnosed with a depression so chronic that he was under the care and supervision of a psychiatrist. He also spent years in and out of rehab and treatment programs for drug and alcohol addiction, but according to his father, had gone out drinking that fateful evening.

"I was at home [in Marlton, N.J.] about 10:30 that night, and got a phone call from the kid who works in the garage next door," the elder Magee says. "He said Greg was there and wanted to borrow some money, and asked me if it was OK if he loaned it to him. I could hear Greg in the background, and he sounded fine. He said he was at a bar and ran out of money, but he didn't sound drunk, from what I could hear."

Magee says that he advised Greg's pal not to give him any money, but to send him home instead. After the message was relayed, Magee says he heard his son say something that chilled him to the bone.

"I could hear the whole conversation, and I heard Greg say, "It's OK, I don't need the money, I have a gun,'" says Magee, his eyes filling with tears. "I didn't know what that meant, whether he would use a gun on someone else or maybe himself, with his history of depression and all. Then I told my wife about the conversation, and she was so concerned she called the kid back 10 minutes later to see if Greg was still there. He put a police officer on the phone, who just said to her, "Your son is dead.'"

According to Magee, Greg had left his duffle bag with a change of clothes and his epilepsy medication in the body shop next door, and went back to retrieve it. For whatever reason, his friend didn't hear him banging on the door, but First Police District Officers Charles Frager and Lawrence Leissner were just then passing in a police cruiser, and stopped to find out why this guy was attempting to get into a garage so late on a Sunday night. They stopped the car and confronted Greg, who inexplicably took off running.

"The story I got was that they chased him around the corner onto Passyunk, and as they turned the corner he fired a shot at them," he continues. "I don't know where he would have gotten a gun, or why in the world he would do anything like that."

Greg Magee kept running despite the officers' commands to freeze and drop the weapon. He ran east on Passyunk, past the MAB paint store, across 16th Street and past the Best Value Cleaners and Philadelphia Eyeglass Labs. Then, the officers fired.

Magee was hit by four bullets from the city-issue 9mm Glock pistols: one in the lower back, one in the shoulder blade, one in the back of the arm and one at the base of the skull, with that bullet apparently entering from the front. He collapsed under a tree across the street from the famous Melrose Diner and drew his last breath. Responding to the call for backup, other officers placed Magee in the back of a police car and drove to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, where Greg Magee was pronounced dead at 11:10 p.m.

Robert Magee says that the next morning, two Philadelphia police officers showed up at the door of his Marlton home but didn't give much in the way of explanation.

"They just said that he shot at the police, who returned fire and killed him," Magee recalls. "No apology or explanations or anything like that. It was just cut-and-dried, and they were out of the house in two minutes."

Other than the terse "Your son is dead" phone call and the visit the next morning, Magee says he and his wife have had no contact with any representatives from the Philadelphia Police, coroner or District Attorney's office.

Tom O'Malley, a 69-year-old retired Marine and lifelong friend of Robert Magee, is on a mission to find out exactly what happened to Greg and why. O'Malley brought his cars to Magee's father, Pat, for repair for years, and hasn't let anyone but Robert or Greg Magee touch his vehicle since the old man retired almost 40 years ago.

"I was in the car Monday morning and I heard a report on KYW that the police shot a burglar the night before," O'Malley says, sitting on a green plastic chair in Magee's garage. "Then they said Greg's name and I almost lost control of the car. I was shaking and crying, and managed to drive down here. It really broke my heart. That boy would give you the shirt off his back and then button it for you. He was a great kid."

O'Malley, whose father and grandfather were both Philadelphia police officers, says that if the shooting was justified, the family wouldn't have been kept in the dark so long. He also has serious questions about what happened immediately after the shooting.

"They just threw him in the back of a patrol car and drove to U of P hospital," the gravel-voiced O'Malley says. "St. Agnes Hospital is two blocks away from here. Why drive all the way to University City with this kid bleeding in the back seat? If they put him in the car because they were trying to get him to a doctor as quickly as possible, why not go to the nearest hospital, instead of one five miles away?"

The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania is actually 3.5 miles from the scene of the shooting, but O'Malley's point is made. There are four other hospitals closer to Magee's garage than HUP, including St. Agnes just two blocks away, but only two of them, Hahnemann and Jefferson, have trauma units equipped to handle gunshot wounds. Police wouldn't comment on why Greg Magee was taken to HUP.

"One bullet entered his lower back and exited near his shoulder," O'Malley says. "I'm not an expert on bullet trajectory, but that upward angle says to me that Greg may have been on the ground already. Either way, the Police Department owes Bobby's family an explanation. I think they may have taken him all the way to U of P hospital hoping he'd die en route. If they shot him out of fear or just to stop him from running away, then say so. The whole thing stinks, and these guys are a disgrace to the uniform my father and grandfather wore so proudly."

O'Malley then reaches into the pocket of his weather-beaten old raincoat and produces a dog-eared Philadelphia Police procedures manual, dated 1913. On the inside cover, written in pencil, it says Property of Stanley P. Dillon, 37th District Patrolman, O'Malley's grandfather. Gingerly flipping through the yellowed pages, he stops, puts on his glasses and reads a passage.

"An officer engaged in arrest is justified in killing only in self-defense, no matter how reasonable the suspicion of felonious activity," he says, angrily snatching the reading glasses off his face. "Back then, a police officer could be fired for using bad language or disrespecting a citizen. Now they can just shoot us down in the street and nobody says a word."

Greg Magee's life was often as tragic and confusing as his death. According to his parents, before his epilepsy was properly diagnosed, his erratic behavior caused him to be placed in special education classes, despite his above-average intelligence. By eighth grade he'd attended seven different schools, and had a hard time making friends, culminating in his being beaten unconscious by a classmate at age 14 and hospitalized for three days with head trauma.

He suffered seizures almost nightly, and his bizarre behavior left his parents desperately seeking treatment from doctor after doctor. In his 28 years, Greg Magee had been an in-patient at 25 different treatment centers and mental hospitals. His fragile mental condition was only made worse by his growing affection for alcohol. He was arrested at the Atlanta airport in 1997 for misdemeanor public drunkenness, and vomited on the arresting officer's shoes, which jacked up the charges to assaulting an officer, a felony. At the time, he was on his way back from a treatment center in Florida.

THE SCENE: After being shot four times, Magee collapsed near this tree on Passyunk between 15th and 16th. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

The downward spiral continued until last December, when, once again arrested for public drunkness -- this time by Camden County, N.J., Sheriff's officers -- Greg received a beating from officers while in custody, all captured on videotape. Sitting on a bench with his arms around his knees, the tape shows Magee seemingly being pounced on by several officers, who had him on the floor of the station for a half-hour, until paramedics arrived and put him on a stretcher to take him to the hospital. Most of the action, though, takes place just out of camera range, and the Sheriff's Department has quite a different interpretation of the videotape.

"He flipped out on the officers when they went to handcuff and shackle him for transport," says Bob Bove, the Camden County Sheriff’s Department public affairs officer. "He punched one officer in the face, and kicked another one in the groin. He also bit two officers in the struggle. I haven’t seen the video from the cameras that you’re talking about, but I understand it doesn’t show everything that happened. I’ll fax you our press release from that day."

According to the press release, Sgt. Anthony Garbarino and Officer Frank DiLorenzo of the Sheriff’s Office, and Cherry Hill police Officer Donald Billings were slightly injured in the scuffle. Billings was bitten by Magee. Garbarino, whose glasses were broken, suffered a cut nose. DiLorenzo was kicked in the groin. The officers were treated at a local hospital for minor cuts and contusions and released.

Contrary to being apologetic or assuming responsibility for the skirmish, the Camden County sheriff was livid that Magee was subsequently released on bond, saying it added "insult to injury." Robert Magee says that Greg’s actions, while bizarre and perhaps threatening, were likely due to the officers’ not allowing him access to his medications.

"I know what the sheriff’s office says," Magee grumbles, "but I also know my son. He wouldn’t have hurt a fly if he’d gotten his meds. It’s obvious to me that the police here and in Jersey aren’t well-trained in dealing with a person with mental or emotional problems."

Lt. John Dell'Aquilo of the Cherry Hill Police Internal Affairs Unit says because one of his officers was involved, his department also reviewed the case and watched the tape.

"There was never a formal allegation of brutality in this case, so there wasn’t an Internal Affairs investigation per se," Dell’Aquilo says. "We turned the tape and case files over to the Prosecutor’s Office, and they took it from there. In fact, Greg Magee’s parents met with our chief of police after the incident, but as far as I know, they were here seeking leniency on the assaulting an officer charge, not looking to complain about police brutality."

As it turns out, the Magees needn’t have sought mercy from the Cherry Hill Police nor the Camden County Prosecutor. Before Greg could be tried for assaulting the officers in New Jersey, he was dead on a South Philly street.

Magee’s case, such as it is, is being handled by noted local defense attorney Charles Peruto Jr. While he’s only just taken the case -- they’re waiting for the IA investigation to close before deciding whether to pursue a case of wrongful death or simple negligence -- Peruto thinks something is amiss in the initial police reports. Enough, at least, to warrant further investigation.

"What puzzles me is the entrance wounds, first of all," Peruto says. "We want to take a look at the physicality of the wounds, like the one that entered his back and exited his shoulder. The shot that went through the skull, I think they’re saying, may have been self-inflicted. How do you shoot yourself in the mouth after being shot three times in the back? I’m just saying there are legitimate questions."

Peruto says that like the Magees, he’s awaiting the determination reached by the Philadelphia Police Internal Affairs Unit.

"I’m not one to leap into police brutality cases," says Peruto. "I’m willing to give cops the benefit of the doubt, but I also happen to know that the police are woefully uneducated on how to deal with the emotionally or mentally disturbed. There are a lot of different factors and variables here, and our investigation is just getting started."

One of the few people who can fully understand Robert Magee's sense of loss and emptiness is the woman who has shared it with him: Lois, his wife of 35 years. Gregory was the youngest of Bob and Lois' three kids. (Robert Jr., 33, is a computer specialist, and Jill, 31, is an at-home mother.) Like the youngest sibling in most families, Greg was still his mother's baby.

"God, it's tough for Lois," says Robert Magee, welling up again. "She's doing about as well as can be expected, but she'll never heal."

Lois Magee is putting up the Christmas decorations, puttering around the house and keeping busy, mostly because every time she stops for a minute, she cries.

"Greg still inspires me," Lois says, her voice shaking a little every time she says his name. "He was a good soul. I pray to him every day."

She says the family was all together for Thanksgiving, but Greg's empty chair and place setting were almost unbearable.

"It was a sad but beautiful celebration as a family," she says. "I made a turkey, and I set a table Martha Stewart would have been proud of. We all knew Greg was there, we just couldn't see him anymore."

For just a moment, Lois Magee's brave front cracks a little, and she whispers her nightmare conspiratorially, as if saying it softly makes it a little less painful.

"I'm decorating the tree now, but I don't want to be here," she sighs quietly. "I want to be with Greg. I don't say that around Bob, because I don't want to upset him. I know Bob understands, but he's got so much on him right now. I don't want to add to it by having him worry about me, too."

On the subject of the circumstances surrounding the death of her son, Lois Magee puts her armor back on. Like her husband, she wonders whether the police really had to shoot her son, and says that their official behavior afterward is what got her thinking that something was amiss.

SHUTTERED: Robert Magee planned to pass the family business down to his son. That changed when police saw him banging on a neighboring shop's door late one night. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

"As far as I'm concerned, the Philadelphia Police lack professionalism, courtesy and respect," she growls. "When I called the garage that night, the officer just grabbed the phone and said, "Your son is dead.' It was very callous. He certainly didn't consider my mental or emotional state or how hearing it like that can affect somebody. I wanted to write a letter of protest to the police commissioner -- in fact I did write it, but I was afraid to mail it because Bob still works in the city, and I didn't want him to be retaliated against or anything."

Unlike her husband, though, she stops just short of calling the police trigger-happy incompetents -- even on the issue of why they didn't take Greg to the nearest hospital.

"It seems like such questionable behavior that it looks like a cover-up," she says. "If it isn't, why not sit us down and just give us the full story, minute-by-minute? I just want it to be logical. I just want it to make sense."

According to a spokesperson from the District Attorney's office, the internal police investigation into the shooting was concluded on Oct. 24. Officers Frager and Leissner were cleared of wrongdoing, and the DA isn't considering filing charges. That doesn't necessarily mean that the officers are completely off the hook just yet. The Philadelphia Police Internal Affairs Unit is still investigating the incident, which is why the Philadelphia Police won't provide answers to many questions surrounding Magee's death.

"We're still investigating to see if the officers violated department policy," says Capt. Benjamin Walton of Internal Affairs. "That's why we can't comment on the particulars of the incident until that investigation is complete. I can tell you that according to procedure, the officers have been placed on desk duty until our investigation is concluded."

The reason the District Attorney's office could clear the officers of wrongdoing in October, Walton explains, is because the DA is only investigating criminal behavior. Even if the officers' actions didn't violate the law, it's still possible that they violated department policy and could be disciplined internally, but none of that will become public knowledge until Walton and IA close the case.

There's no time limit on the investigation, says Walton, and he has no idea when the answers the Magees so desperately seek will be forthcoming.

Robert Magee is leaning under the hood of a 1994 Ford Explorer, changing the thermostat. It’s Greg’s car. He put it up for sale soon after Greg’s death, but got no takers at his asking price of $3,500.

He’s also recently listed the garage, at 2028 S. Bancroft St. near 16th and Passyunk in the heart of South Philly, with Prudential Realty for $359,000. It’s a huge shop, fully outfitted with three lifts and a dizzying array of tools and diagnostic equipment. There’s a second floor, which houses a music studio Magee rents out. It’s the culmination of a life’s work, and he’s selling out lock, stock and barrel, down to the Castrol GTX sign. Passing the shop on to Greg was the only reason to keep the place, and to keep coming in every day, he says. Since Greg was his only employee, these days Robert Magee works alone.

"My dad started with a bicycle shop," he says, putting the hoses back in place on the Explorer. "He started working on cars when they became more popular than bicycles. I’ve been under the hood my whole life, but this place just has too many bad memories for me now."

Magee closes the hood of the Explorer, climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It purrs like a kitten. Satisfied, he shuts the car off, gets out and takes a long, lingering look at the spotless vehicle.

"Greg was a perfectionist, and a damn good mechanic," he says, getting misty again. "One time I caught him changing the wheel bearings on this thing, and I told him the ones on there were fine. He said he knew they were, but they’d been on the car long enough and he just wanted to change them. That was Greg."

Just then, a customer beeps her horn, and Magee slowly walks to the door, pulling a rag out of his back pocket to dab at his eyes and blow his nose. As he pushes the button to raise the garage door, he manages a wan smile and a wave for the customer. Wiping at his eyes again with the back of his hand, he makes small talk with the woman who’s come to drop off her car, even laughing about the sudden snow that fell overnight. He keeps the mask on until she leaves him the keys and walks out, and then he shuffles back to start working on the car.

"Bob has his moments," says his wife, Lois. "But he’s lost purpose in his life. He’s very traumatized. We both are."

Despite the obvious signs of stress and trauma they both exhibit, the Magees say they haven’t gone to grief counseling, and don’t intend to.

"We haven’t really considered it," Magee says, "Mainly, we just rely on each other."