The homeless way of death: Frozen to the floor, no money for a funeral

CHICAGO — A Cook County coroner noted two pairs of socks, two pairs of gloves, black sneakers, a pair of pants, two pairs of underwear, a scarf, a T-shirt, a blue sweatshirt, a black sweatshirt, another blue sweatshirt, a yellow sweater, another black sweatshirt and a light brown jacket.

But for Harvey Dell “Squeek” Harmon Jr., even that wasn’t enough.

Harmon succumbed to Chicago’s cold in the hallway of an abandoned apartment complex sometime between Jan. 8 and Jan. 12.

The medical examiner’s report also recorded the condition of his body: “frozen to ground.”

It wasn’t his friends in the homeless community who came across him in that state. They couldn’t find him over the frigid winter weekend.

Instead, a Chicago Water Department worker, arriving at 1:50 p.m. on Jan. 12 to inspect a vacant red-brick apartment building at 11209 S. Vernon Avenue, found him. The 53-year-old’s lifeless body was lying in a hallway. 

The worker called 911 to report his discovery and left the scene when police and firefighters arrived at the three-story building, which lacked heat and electricity.

Unable to open the front door, firefighters broke into the property to retrieve him. Police alerted city building authorities to board up the dwelling's windows and doors to prevent others from entering. The city would soon demolish the derelict building.

That afternoon, news of Harmon’s death filtered through to those who knew him. He likely died alone, but in life he kept in touch with a wide circle of friends and family, most of whom lived around Palmer Park on Chicago’s South Side, near where he died and where he spent the last years of his life.

In Cottage Grove, about 30 blocks north, his sister Sheila Harmon, 54, received official notification of her brother’s death that day. Another relative had already told Kerry Harmon, Harvey Harmon’s nephew and close friend.

“I cried,” Sheila Harmon recalled. "I went into a frenzy from that point. I was just crying.”

A week before, she and Kerry Harmon helped him put together the paperwork necessary to obtain a state ID card.

It was through that documentation that authorities were able to contact the Harmon family within minutes of the discovery of his body.

If Harvey Harmon had lacked identification, officials would have looked through the missing person files to try to link his body to a name. Sometimes they fail, and the dead remain John or Jane Does. Cook County currently has descriptions of 29 unidentified bodies on its website.

Sheila Harmon said she had hoped the ID would help him get a temporary job. She didn’t expect it to help news of his death reach her faster.

She said she was disappointed in him the last time she saw him. He was drunk on a day when he was supposed to be looking for work. Now, she said, she just wishes she could tell him how much she loved him.

“It’s what it is,” she said. “It seems like he was getting ready to get it together. Then this happens.”

Before Sheila Harmon found out what happened, Valerie Ezell, a cousin by marriage, arrived at the Vernon Avenue building that afternoon. She lives near Palmer Park and heard from neighbors of a dead body. First responders asked her to take a look to see if it was her missing relative, she said.

“Nobody believed that he froze to death, because nobody understood why he let himself freeze to death. He had lots of places to go,” she said, though she knew at the time that he had gone longer than usual without making contact with his family.

As warm and friendly as Harvey Harmon was, friends and relatives said he was a loner, harboring a pride that kept him from seeking refuge with others. He had no spouse, girlfriend or children to look after him.

“We had seen him that Thursday. He was drunk. He was with his friends. He said just ‘Hi,’” Ezell said. She believes he died that day or Friday. A police report notes Thursday, Jan. 8, as the last time someone spoke to him.

On those two days, temperatures never rose above 20 degrees in Chicago, with the mercury dropping to 7 degrees below zero Thursday night. At the time Harvey Harmon was found, the temperature had crawled up to 22 degrees.

“He didn’t even make it up the stairs,” Ezell said. On arriving at the vacant building, she was able to tell it was him, she said, from the light brown jacket he had. It was covering his head and face.

Despite his modest frame — 5 feet tall and 139 pounds — he looked larger than usual.

“He was big. He was swollen like he had froze to death,” she said. “We could tell he froze, because when they tried to pick him up, he was heavy.”

A University of Chicago physician pronounced Harvey Harmon dead at the scene at 2:19 p.m. on Jan. 12, records show.

In an autopsy conducted two days after his discovery, the medical examiner listed “hypothermia due to cold exposure” as the primary cause of death, with chronic alcoholism a contributing factor.

Decades of heavy drinking left Harvey Harmon with fatty liver disease and an enlarged heart. Aside from that, he appeared well. And even though he was missing most of his original teeth, the ones that were left were in good condition, according the medical examiner’s report.

“The manner of death is accidental,” the report concluded, ruling out foul play after inspecting his body for signs of strangulation, skull fracture or poisoning.

He died alone because of the effects of extreme cold on a body weakened by years of alcohol abuse. Among America’s nearly 390,000 homeless, about 700 die of hypothermia each year, according to the National Coalition for the Homeless’ winter services report.  

This winter, at least 26 people are known to have died in Chicago’s often brutal weather conditions, many of them homeless, local news reports say.

Cold ranks alongside hunger, violence and lack of medical attention in bringing down the average life expectancy of someone living on the streets to between 42 and 52 years. The national average is 78.

At just 53, Harvey Harmon lived longer than the typical homeless man.

In the last years of his life, respite from street living for Harvey Harmon often came in the shelter of the New Life Baptist Church.

There he ate many of his meals, took showers, shaved and socialized with friends. The church’s work for the homeless is overseen by Glines House, a woman affectionately called “Mama” for the care she has provided people in need over the last 15 years.

A few days after he died, New Life’s regulars informed her of the news. She said they grieved together that morning.

“All we did was talk about what a nice guy he was, how he never hurt anybody and ‘Oh, man, we’re gonna miss him,’” House recalled. “He was a very caring person. I never had any problem out of him. He was a very courteous, humble person.”

She said he was outgoing. At meals the church hosted, other homeless people would ask him to join them. She knew he told jokes, but she never heard them.

"They would sit at his table with him, and the guys would just crack up” over one of his jokes. “And I come out, and the guys would say, ‘Mama, you don’t want to hear it.’”

Although he had genuine friends who enjoyed his company, he would still retreat in drunkenness, away from others. It was a habit that would contribute to his demise.

“Most of the time he was drinking, he was by himself. He would stay in abandoned buildings. Anywhere he could lay his head,” House said. “If you’re intoxicated and you go to sleep, that’s it. I’m sure that’s what happened to him.”

She said she once tried to get him to stop drinking, with little luck. “I asked him, ‘Aren’t you tired of this?’ and he said, ‘Yeah, Mama. I’m going to clean up,’” she recalled.

She said she told him, “‘We can send you to a place and get you some treatment. We could help you,’ and he said, ‘Yeah, we’ll talk about it.’”

But he never brought up the subject again.

“If I could own something … he would be in a home with me, even if I had to give him the basement. I wish I could come across a big windfall of money and see him taken care for. And then I turned around and see that one of my family members is missing.”

With his body lying in the morgue, Sheila Harmon worries about the fate of Harvey Harmon’s remains. She wants to keep her brother's ashes. “He was not a John Doe,” she said. “We would probably just keep it and put it on the mantel.”  

Even though she doesn't have the money to pay for cremation, she might not need to. After 60 days, Cook County cremates all its unclaimed dead — a policy that started in February 2014. 

The office keeps the ashes for two years, and family members can pick up the remains with no fee. 

“Harvey Harmon — remains are still in the [medical examiner]’s cooler but are scheduled for cremation later this week,” Frank Shuftan, a spokesman for the county medical examiner’s office, said in an email Monday. Harvey Harmon's ashes will join those of at least 169 other people the county is holding.

Sheila Harmon takes solace that her brother, at least, had a memorial.

Roseland Christian Ministries — where he would regularly eat breakfast Sundays at 9 a.m. — held the service on Jan. 30, at no charge. About 60 people came out — friends, family and regular members of the church.

The Rev. Joseph Huizenga, who delivered the eulogy, said the event gave an opportunity for the residents of Roseland to come together.

Having services conducted without a body underscores how poverty affects a person, even after death.

“Seriously, this month I’ve done three [memorials] where there is not a body. That’s the difference between middle class and poor, because you can’t get the money to bury a body,” Huizenga said.

"How a culture treats their dead says something about them.”