A Father\'s Grief, and the Toll of His Gun Control Crusade

David Gonzalez/The New York Times

FOR SALE BY OWNER declares a sign on the porch of Al Valentin’s house on Ellis Avenue in the Bronx. Inside the spotless brick home, he shows off the place like the seasoned real estate pro that he is. Soft light. Solid floors. And not only one basement level, but two - and all done according to code. In the back, where a pool once was, a barbecue pit.

“I was doing pretty well before,” said Mr. Valentin, 69, who at one time had an office on Castle Hill Avenue where more than a dozen brokers and salespeople worked for him. “I wanted to make my home look like Long Island, but in the Bronx. I did all this before my son died. Then I lost my desire.”

A portrait of that boy on the verge of manhood hang on the living room wall. Below it, his diploma from Iona Prep, dated 1995. It’s an honorary one. He was killed right before starting his senior year, when an argument over a girl turned deadly, and he was shot to death along with his friend Heith Simmonds. He was 17.

The memory never goes away. And in recent months, it has been ever more vivid after the Newtown shootings and the debate on strengthening state and federal gun laws. For years after his son’s 1994 murder, Mr. Valentin was active with New Yorkers Against Gun Violence and other groups working for stricter laws. He is glad New York State passed tougher laws - finally.

But his advocacy work, at news conferences, marches and lobbying sessions, took a toll on him, too. And he wonders if the public, despite their initial outrage at the murder of innocents, realizes the price.

“It’s hard to be an advocate,” he said. “You have to support them. The proble! m is that people get motivated for a while, and then they forget after a few months. And the other problem is people don’t think it will happen to them.”

Whatever illusion he had of that was shattered on Aug. 8, 1994. Looking for a way to channel his grief, he threw himself into the role of advocate. It felt good, he said, to glean some meaning from his son Derek’s death. But it got harder over the years, when politicians dodged the hard questions he and others raised about a society that was awash in guns and blood.

“I started getting emotional again,” Mr. Valentin said. “I started to feel the pain all over again. When you do so much and don’t see results, it affects you.”

Not just emotionally, but financially. Having spent so much time on gun control, he had neglected his business. Realizing retirement was on the horizon - as well as wanting to provide for his grandchildren - he got back into selling real estate.

Not that Mr. Valentin has forsaken his crusade. He wa encouraged by the passage of the New York law. But he remains doubtful about any real change on the federal level. The National Rifle Association, he said, has too much sway over politicians, even though he doesn’t think the group is as tough as it would like people to think. His advice: whenever an episode of gun violence happens, call your elected officials. (He knows the numbers of everyone from his state senator to the White House.)

“To combat the N.R.A., people have to have their politician’s phone numbers,” he said. “If they hear enough voices, they won’t be afraid to act.”

The Newtown shooting may shock. But then what

“Because of the ages of the kids, it hit a sore spot with people to do something,” he said. “We may make progress. But it will happen again.”

Around the very time he was saying that on Tuesday, three people were wounded in a shooting at a Ho! uston col! lege. Inside the Valentin home, it was quiet, His wife, Nellie, was in the kitchen, reading on her iPad. When asked how old Derek would have been, Mr. Valentin shouted out to his wife.

“Thirty six,” she replied. “How the years pass. Oh my God, the kids catch up with the parents. He’s going to be 36.”

Going. Not would have been. Ever present.

The For Sale sign is a nod to her. Ms. Valentin would like to move to Florida to be near their two other children. Mr. Valentin prefers the Bronx. He likes the change of seasons. Besides, Derek is buried only minutes away at Saint Raymond’s Cemetery. The Valentins go there often - usually every Sunday after Mass, and even when they’re in the neighborhood running errands.

“I drop by, say a prayer and keep on,” he said. “You know, if we move to Florida, we’re taking him with us. They have a beautiful cemetery there.”