In His Own Words: Kevin Sova Tells the Story of Life Without His Brother Kurt

Mom and Dad had four boys in five years. Kurt was the youngest. All four of us shared the same bedroom. We had a triple-decker bunk with a fold-out bed at the bottom. We would always fight for who was going to go where. The last brother in would have to sleep on whatever was left. Kurt was usually the last one in because he was the smallest.

Kurt was our little comedian. We’d call him Mouse when he was little because he would make a squeaking sound that made people laugh. His mannerisms were funny and he loved to tease and push people’s buttons just to get a chuckle out of them. He loved to make people happy. He had this incredible sense of humor and we’d seen enough crying and pain, so when we’d get together we’d all just laugh at him.

We grew up fast. We lived in a neighborhood that was very diverse, and like most cities, it evolved over time. After a while a lot of people moved out to the suburbs and the lower-income people were left behind. Eventually the racial tensions escalated we had to learn how to run fast or fight because we’d get beaten up. We brothers learned early on to take care of ourselves and each other. We protected Kurt the most, of course, because he was the youngest. We just knew how to take care of each other. We could beat each other up all day, but if someone else tried to hurt one of us, we wouldn’t stand for it.

My parents felt like they just waited too long to move out of there. It got to the point where we couldn’t sell the house. We stuck around. We were finally burned out of the neighborhood. When I was 15, we were visiting our grandparents and someone broke into our house and set it on fire.

We moved out of there and into the town where my parents lived for the rest of their lives. I was going into high school. Kurt was in elementary school. We were less fearful for our lives. We all easily made friends there. Life was beginning to get good again. We didn’t have a lot of money but we did a lot of things together as a family. We went camping often and Kurt loved to fish. I loved to hunt with my Dad.

Kurt, at the time, wasn’t allowed to venture out very far but he had two friends who lived on our street. His two buddies, Jon Miller and Danny Washington, lived within walking distance. We called them the Three Musketeers; they were always together. They used to try to hang around with us older boys but of course we wanted to do our own thing without the youngsters tagging along.

We would go out to our farm and ride horses, play with the pigs and chickens. We loved it but the inner city kids never understood the joy of getting dirty like that. It was good recreation. Or we’d go sit outside the airport and watch planes come in. We’d go to drive-in movies or watch my Dad race stock cars. Things that kids today don’t know or understand, but it was great. There was always something we could find to fill our days.

When he left that October to go to the party on a Friday, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. He was 17 that year. He was starting to do things on his own like we all did. He’d have a beer with us or smoke a joint occasionally but it wasn’t really his thing. His scene was more along the lines of being outdoors, going fishing with Danny and Jon.

When he didn’t come home Friday night, I don’t think anyone really realized it. Our home at the time was a Depression-era single-family home that had been converted into a two-family duplex which was pretty common then. The four boys lived in the upstairs apartment, so he’d come in and go up and go to bed and it wasn’t uncommon not to see him until the next morning.

The following morning when we woke up and saw that Kurt hadn’t come home, that also wasn’t something we thought was out of the ordinary -- until we talked to Danny. Then we talked to Jon. He wasn’t with either of them. When we realized nobody had seen him, panic started to set in. We exhausted every avenue we had and Mom finally contacted the police department but they wouldn’t take a missing person report until Sunday.

Because of my Mom’s investigative nature, we found out about the party and where it was. We showed up at the house and the people who lived there denied ever having a party, although they later admitted that they did have a party but Kurt wasn’t there. Then they later said that he was there. There were so many lies and different stories coming from the house where the party was held, we knew something wasn’t right.

We organized search parties with our family, Kurt’s friends, and all the boys’ friends. The phone was ringing off the wall. The panic intensified. We exhausted everything we knew to do and Mom was a mess. We were just waiting for the next day when we’d find hm. We were just waiting for little smiley Kurt to come through the door.

While the search parties were out one day, we got a call. They were bringing a body up from the gulley not far from where the party had taken place. We were all heartbroken. We knew it was Kurt. Mom and Dad had to go to the coroner’s office to identify him. It was hard to believe that it was real. Even now, almost forty years later, I want to think it’s a dream -- and then I wake up into the nightmare.

Life started to fall apart after that. We had to deal with the funeral home. We had to go to the cemetery and pick out lots for him and Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad were never the same. Us boys, we adjusted the best we could. Myself and my brothers Kenny and Keith all had our vices and addictions because when something like that happens and don’t have the resources for counseling or support groups, you deal with it however you can. It takes control of your life.

Mom went to her grave not knowing what happened. Kurt was gone for five days. He was dead for 24-36 hours. There are 72 hours we’ve never been able to fill in. People have different theories and stories and thoughts. Could it have been something as simple as he made a terrible decision and maybe it was an accident? I guess it’s a possibility. But if that’s the case, young people drink too much and get sick all the time. Why didn’t anyone call the family or take him to the hospital? There are so many different theories and they’re all possible and we didn’t know what to believe.

When we lose family and friends and loved ones, we should know why. It’s not always the reason we want; in the case of my Dad, you almost pray for the dear Lord to come in and take them off the Earth because they’re in so much pain and so sick. But Kurt. . . his life was just beginning. Mom lived through burying Kurt, burying my Dad, burying my brother Keith, then she died of an aneurysm. Then Kenny passed away from a drug overdose.

But with Kurt’s case, what if someone could have done something different? What if someone could have helped him? My little brother is gone and I don’t know why he’s dead. If it was an accident, what about the poor kids who made a terrible decision to leave him there and have had to live with this their whole life? I’d want to be able to put my arm around someone and say “It wasn’t your fault. I forgive you.” Or what if he was murdered? I’d want to see justice.

Mom blamed herself until the day she died. Kurt’s circle of friends was broadening and we didn’t know many of them at that point. Everyone was living their own life. Mom and Dad were working, the older boys were out of the home most of the time. We owned some property outside of town and Mom said we should have built a home and moved out there.

Thirty-eight years later, I got a call out of the blue: “Mr. Sova, this is Chief Majoy with the Newburgh Heights Police Department.” I thought he was contacting me about something my brother Kenny had done because he was always in and out of trouble. But he wanted to talk about Kurt. We had a short conversation. I wanted to get off the phone. I wasn’t ready to deal with it. My wife convinced me to give him a chance.

I told him later that I would come in and talk to him and he told me about CrowdSolve. He had done his homework on it and was confident it could help. I left his office very optimistic. It brought up feelings about Kurt that I had stuffed away for years. It showed me that they were serious about trying to help his case.

When my brother Kenny died, he was dead inside our family home for ten days. I wanted to set the whole house on fire. There was nothing in the house I wanted anything to do with. Kenny had sold everything he could get his hands on, but among the mess, in Mom’s old closet, I found boxes and boxes of documents, news clippings, and notes that Mom had kept on Kurt’s case. I took those and left the rest of it to the dope dealers and copper salvagers.

Two and a half years later, when I went to meet with Chief Majoy, I took some of the boxes with me. His eyes lit up like he had just hit the lottery. I told him to take it all. I felt like I was getting energy from my Mom above and that all she had done had finally paid off.

I wish right now that my Mom was sitting here instead of me. She’s the one who deserves to be treated the way CrowdSolve and Chief Majoy are treating me. She never let go. Eventually everyone gave up on her. Kurt died in Newburgh. We lived in Cleveland. There was always conflict between the two jurisdictions. Nobody wanted to talk about it. I told her so many times “Mom, give it up, nobody cares about this anymore. Nobody cares about Kurt.”

Now I know that hundreds of people - complete strangers - have it in their heart to do something. It’s a way to do these things in the future. These people are nothing but optimistic about their ability to help and you can see it in their eyes that they want to help a total stranger’s family. How do you not encourage that?

When I get to see her again, I’m going to tell Mom “I was wrong, Mom. People still care. They’ve cared all along.”