CHICAGO _ Jemel Roberson was a surprise baby, born to Beatrice and John Roberson when his mother was in her mid-40s. And perhaps no one was more excited about his arrival than his half sister Deanna "Scharron" Green, who was 17 at the time and was allowed to choose his name.
"I always tell people, 'This is the sister I always wanted,'" Green said. "He used to laugh at it, like I was calling him a girl. But to him, he knew that I was glad that I had a sibling. He used to call and talk to the kids, and when I'd get on the phone, he used to be like, 'What's up, sibling?'"
For some who learned his name this week, Roberson has become another symbol of racial bias in policing, another black man shot and killed by a white police officer. In Roberson's case, it was while he was subduing a shooting suspect at a bar in south suburban Robbins where he was working as a security guard.
But friends and family remembered him as caring, playful and sometimes mischievous as a child, someone who might break into song for no apparent reason but who also was quick to lend a hand.
"Jemel was the life of the party," said Joel Quarles, who grew up with Roberson in Wicker Park. "You can walk into a dry area and Jemel is going to make it lively. He was a people person. He didn't seek for attention, but ... was all about seizing the moment, you know, just capturing the moment of fun and life."
Roberson, 26, was the father of a young son named Tristan. A talented musician known in Chicago's gospel music scene, he performed at numerous churches and been scheduled to start playing organ at New Spiritual Light Missionary Baptist Church on Sunday, the day he died.
Multiple relatives and others who knew him said Roberson aspired to be a Chicago police officer; some said he had planned to take the police application exam in December.
At 6-foot-5, Roberson had long been tall and lanky; he played varsity basketball at Lane Tech College Prep, where a memorial event in his honor was planned for Friday evening. In recent years he'd bulked up, in part because of his career aspirations. Several people referred to him as a "gentle giant."
Lane Tech Assistant Principal Edwina Thompson, who saw Roberson recently, said he no longer was the string bean she knew when he was a drummer for the school's gospel choir.
"The last time, I'm like, 'Are you in the gym every day?'" Thompson said. "He was not the little, skinny, eager young man I met way back in 2006."
But what's most striking in her memory, she said, was Roberson's "willingness to improve his craft and his humble spirit."
"He wasn't an arrogant musician," Thompson said. "He was eager to learn and to help. When he was here helping the gospel choir, we weren't paying him. He was just willing to learn, and wanted to be able to practice that, but also wanted to perform."
The discipline paid off, as Roberson's skills on the organ made him an in-demand musician across the city, said Jill Jackson, a cousin of Roberson's mother.
"The churches were offering him different incentives for him to come play for them," Jackson said. "They paid him well."
The Rev. Walter Turner, of New Spiritual Light church, said Roberson always was full of laughter and eager to lend a helping hand. He would play for churches that needed musical help "at the drop of a hat." His generosity, on top of his talent, convinced Turner to bring Roberson on as the full-time organist.
Relatives said he'd taught himself to play on the organ his parents had in the second-floor apartment in Wicker Park where he grew up.
His mother is a longtime Chicago Public Schools employee and currently works with special needs children at Pritzker Elementary School. His father was a self-employed plumber and handyman.
John Roberson was a disciplinarian who would ground his son if he didn't finish his homework, recalled another childhood friend, Garret Taylor _ who also recalled that Roberson would sneak out anyway.
The elder Roberson died of a heart attack when his son was a freshman in high school, family members said, and Roberson struggled with the sudden loss.
But rather than turning toward negative influences, he sought out young men at his church to mentor him, said Green, his half sister.
"We knew he was missing that father figure," she said. "Most boys and young men like that, they turn to the streets. But my dad always told him, you find a church and you stay in it. Don't get me wrong, he had his moments. But most young men in his situation would go to the streets. My dad would be proud of him."
Green's daughter, Myeisha, said Roberson was always "overprotective of me and my cousins," foreshadowing his later interest in security and police work.
"Like, if we got into some trouble with the boys, he would be there to protect us," she said.
Said Quarles, the childhood friend: "That was my brother, that was my friend. He was a great kid. He was the one that went against the grain, that overcame peer pressure, never succumbed to what others had done."
The last time he saw Roberson was about six months ago, outside an apartment building where Roberson was working security.
"He's securing the gates of heaven now," Quarles said.
