Finegan
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Word spread quickly
Before she opened Code Blue, a women's bar at 1946 St. Clair in a building occupied for decades by a number of lesbian and gay clubs, attorney M.L. Hejra was a litigator working downtown.
The former location of Isis.
"My partner at the time worked walking distance to Isis and we made plans to meet there right after work that night," she said.
The next evening, she turned on her television and learned about the attack and murder.
"I was watching the 6 o'clock news," Hejra said. "I can still see that news reel to this day. It showed her [the survivor] being put into an ambulance. I remember her feet. I remember seeing her feet because they weren't covered with the blanket."
Early news reports didn't yet name the victims but did report the location, and soon people were realizing something bad had happened outside of Isis.
"The calls started going around rather quickly," Hejra continued, as more and more of their friends heard the news. "The shock of it was really dramatic."
The investigation began immediately. "The police called me later to see if I had seen anyone," Hejra said. "They were calling everyone they could find that was there that night. But I didn't see anything unusual, as we had left the bar pretty early."
"I heard about the attack from my sister who managed Isis at the time,” said Mary Stumpf, affectionately known as Li'l Mary by customers and coworkers alike. "My sister called me and I was instantly sick. I felt total disbelief that something like this could happen."
Although Isis had not been open that long before the attack and murder, Stumpf
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had bartended in different clubs and was well-known in the women's community.
"I felt like the den mother, the host and the one to take care of these girls and protect them," she explained. "It sickened me. We were all enraged."
The survivor was taken to Metro Hospital on West 25th in Cleveland.
"I was in the hospital for three months, paralyzed from the chest down until the
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swelling went down," the survivor explained. "The bullet actually touched my spinal cord, damaging it."
Because of how close the bullet was to her spinal cord, doctors were unable to remove it without putting her at further risk. It remains a permanent reminder of an event she could not possibly forget anyway.
'I watched him murder my lover'
After her immediate injuries healed, the long road to recovery began, at least for the physical part of the damage her assailant inflicted.
"I was in rehab for five months because I couldn't really walk yet," the survivor said. "I was in chronic pain with a lot of nerve damage and I used a wheelchair because the most I could do was just take baby steps.”
She stayed with friends for a number of weeks following rehab before finally returning to her home-for the first time in almost a year since the attack.
Then the years of therapy began for the part that you can't see in just the way she uses her hands to lift her leg or the way she subconsciously touches her neck where the first bullet entered her body before exiting under her shoulder.
"I've had mucho therapy. I had a therapist who gave me her number and encouraged me to call her any time I needed her. Any time at all."
But there's really nothing anybody can
West 6th Street. Isis was on the left, and its parking lot still exsists across the street.
February 26, 2010
offer and the idea of closure is something she just doesn't think ever actually occurs, even after knowing her assailant has, at long last been identified.
"I witnessed him kill Mary Ann," she stated. "I watched him murder my lover."
"It was a long time before I dealt with the rape aspect. I mean, the murder of Mary Ann has always been the thing that affected me the most," the survivor explained. "I saw her murdered right in front of me. I'd never seen anything like that before... or since. So it was quite a while, maybe sometime in 1988, before I dealt with the rape. I was just dead inside, like I was filled with cement. And when I finally did, I was enraged, just enraged 24/7."
"I was so angry and I felt this anger all the time," she continued, "around friends and around strangers. My mother would call me and I was just so angry and would go off. I finally told her that when I get like this that you can't help me. You can only take care of yourself so when I get like this, I need you to just hang up on me."
The survivor spoke of different things she did to cope, to make sense of that horrific night. "I read every book I could find on rape," she said. "I just wanted to understand how someone could do this to another human being."
She also made a deliberate attempt to seek happiness. "I decided to embrace joyous things. I had a wonderful family, had a wonderful childhood and I concentrated on things that made me happy, like baking cookies," she recounted. "We didn't have much money but we were happy. And so I did things that brought me joy, things that didn't cost much money, lots of things that
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them, remember that there was a tremendous rallying by the community, not just the gay community and not just Cleveland.
"A lot of people called and came by. There was a lot of support in the beginning, even a benefit concert in Akron. And then, of course it kind of died off. I've lost touch with so many friends."
The victim, although unable to attend the services, remembers that there were over 4,000 people at Finegan's funeral. She still cherishes a photo album filled with old snapshots and Polaroids of her with Finegan, with other friends, along with a couple of photos someone gave her of Finegan's closed casket and a picture of the flowers she sent, a beautiful display of roses and daisies. "The roses were for Mary Ann," she said. "The daisies were for me."
"Mary Ann was a very special lady," Hejra recalled. Her death "was a great shock. It was huge that someone that respected and loved was killed," especially so near a place where so many mutual friends gathered frequently and without incident.
"I remember we never felt uncomfortable in that neighborhood. I mean, there was an adult bookstore on the corner near Isis where a restaurant is now, but I never remember even seeing anyone that made me uncomfortable. It was a clear shot to the well-lit parking lot right across the street. It was wide open, no fences or obstructions. It was in a non-residential area which made it even more comfortable. That was back in the day when most gay bars didn't have signs, just a light bulb outside the door."
"If you didn't know the bar was there, well, you wouldn't know the bar was there." "I've wondered if he [the assailant]
The place where the victims were found is still a desolate area at the end of a one-block street. The bridge in the background is Interstate 490 over the Cuyahoga River.
were free. I went to the library. I looked in the paper for events that seemed interesting. And I started to find my humor again."
But the nightmares continued. "I used to dream about him all the time, nightmares every night. And I 'saw' him everywhere I went. That night, you see, he was in total control and I realized I needed to take my control back. I told myself I'm just gonna have to get this guy in my dreams."
Soon after, she did just that.
"I used to be a teacher, too," she said. "I dreamed I was at a school function, in a stadium when I saw him. I went up to two cops and said: That's the guy that assaulted me."
In her dream, they arrested him.
"I never had another nightmare about him again."
Another turning point for the survivor happened one evening, somewhat out of the blue and unplanned.
"I remember one night I sat in my car. I rolled the windows up and locked the doors and I started pounding on my steering wheel with all my might," she explained. “And I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. I'm sure people thought I was crazy. And maybe I was a little crazy. But you know, I was back at that moment, screaming like I was unable to that night, because right after he shot Finy, all I wanted to do was scream and I was forced to be quiet, I had to stifle them."
Friends who knew the women, or knew of
worked near there or knew it was a gay bar and felt attacking two women would be easier than a straight couple where he'd have to deal with a man," Hejra said. "I hope the younger kids going out to the bars know this kind of thing can happen anytime, anywhere really."
"I've gone on with my life and I have certain limitations," the survivor added. "I'll never be 100 percent. The bullet is still there. It affects my gait, the way I walk and I have to watch my stress because of the nerve pain."
But she is quick to point out that it could have ended differently. "Mary Ann was never able to go on with her life. He didn't need to kill Mary Ann. I mean, it was so unnecessary."
"I loved her so much, so very much. And she loved me too. I've never loved anyone like that since."
"I don't know if I ever will."
The Coventry schools, where Mary Ann Finegan taught, have a memorial scholarship in her name. The Cleveland LGBT Center also had an anti-violence project named for her from 1990 to 1994.
Wilson is awaiting extradition to Ohio to face charges for this crime. If you have any information about it, please contact Rick Bell, director of the Cold Case Unit at 216-443-6959.