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Angel Concepcion left his life as a gang member behind and began working as an outreach worker in Ceasefire
Jannette Jauregui/Medill

MEDILL NEWS SERVICE

There was a time when Angel Concepcion lived his life day to day.

Not because of the everyday stresses of life, but because he had no choice. He never knew if he was going to live to see tomorrow.

At 9 years old, Concepcion, now 32, was already involved in gang activity in his neighborhood, Humboldt Park. By 10, he had been initiated as an official member of an area gang.

"I've seen things that nobody should see," he said. "It's easy to have it become a part of your life. It consumes you."

But Concepcion's life changed one night in May 1995.

He was arguing with his girlfriend, Sandy, when the two decided to call it a night. He walked away angry as she walked away in the opposite direction toward her house. Moments later, Concepcion heard gunshots and immediately went to see who had been hit. Sandy was lying on the ground bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. She died on the scene.

"I knew at that moment that things had to change," Concepcion said. He had lost more than his girlfriend. He lost the mother of his 6-month-old son.

At 19, Concepcion had already experienced the toll his life as a gang member would take on those he loved.

"I was told that the people who shot Sandy were after me," he said. "But then I heard other things, and it didn't make sense for them to be after me. But I guess it didn't matter, because Sandy still got caught in the middle of it all."

The process of changing his life took two years.

"I needed to take care of my responsibilities like a man," he said. "I needed to take care of my son and get my life straightened out."

He left the gang and moved to Michigan, where he got a job and focused on staying away from the streets.

"I was respected [by fellow gang members] when I left," Concepcion said. "They understood what I needed to do, and they let me do it without any problems."

But within two years of the move to Michigan, Concepcion returned to Humboldt Park and started a new chapter in his life.

This time he was going to stop the violence he once helped create.

In August 2005, Concepcion was approached by a friend who told him about an open position with CeaseFire, a Chicago violence prevention program that targets gang violence. He applied and was hired as an outreach worker - in Humboldt Park.

"Being an outreach worker was a way for me to be back but not get caught up in the streets the way I had been before," Concepcion said. "And I knew it was time to reach out to the guys on the streets now. I needed them to know that I had made it out OK, so they could, too."

But Concepcion said he has rarely intervened in conflicts that involve his former gang members. Not because they all got out, but because many of them are dead or in jail - a reality he says he knows could have been his.

In 2006, Concepcion and the team of nine outreach workers that serve the Logan Square and Humboldt Park neighborhoods saw a surge of success in their role with CeaseFire. In fact, according to CeaseFire representatives, the outreach team had helped Humboldt Park see a 38 percent decrease in shootings during that time.

A small victory for a city that had been ravaged by gunfire.

But in late July, Concepcion's life changed once again.

CeaseFire received notice that its funding was being cut out of the state budget, leaving 26 sites statewide with no money to operate. Concepcion was among the first to be laid off.

"There wasn't anything I could do," he said. "I tried to find another job, but there aren't too many people who want to hire a guy with a criminal record and a past in a gang."

And in addition to the challenges associated with having a criminal record, many have questioned the effectiveness of CeaseFire and the outreach workers.

It is an argument, however, that some Chicago police officers say is invalid.

"There aren't many people out there who can relate to these people on the street the way the outreach workers can," said Roger Williams, a Chicago police officer in the Shakespeare District on the Northwest Side. "The guys on the streets don't want to talk to the police, but they will talk to the outreach workers."

In October, the Logan Square and Humboldt Park site received private funding from the Pritzker Pucker Foundation, and Concepcion was hired back, but only as a consultant.

"We didn't have enough money to pay the outreach workers their full salaries," said Maggie Pagan, CeaseFire coordinator for Logan Square and Humbolt Park. "We were glad that our workers had something that helped them get through the holidays, but it still wasn't enough to pay the bills."

In late December the funding from the Pritzker Pucker Foundation ran out. Concepcion was again out of a job, with little left to support his wife and eight children.

And on top of all of that, four homicides were reported in the Logan Square and Humboldt Park neighborhoods in the first week of January.

Concepcion and his fellow outreach workers didn't want to stand back and watch their neighborhoods fall apart, so they began to volunteer their time to check in on the clients they had when they were active outreach workers.

"They need consistency and they need to know that we are there," Concepcion said. "Regardless of working for CeaseFire, I will always check in."

But on Jan. 16, the stress of being out of work and behind on bills took its toll. Concepcion was admitted to the hospital with dangerously high blood pressure.

He was released two days later.

"My first stop was the CeaseFire office," he said. "I had to go check in and see if there was anything I could do."

One week later, Concepcion and his fellow outreach workers received good news. They were told that Sen. Iris Martinez (D-Chicago) had secured $500,000 from the state budget to fund the Logan Square and Humboldt Park CeaseFire site for one year.

"It really means a lot to me to have another chance," Concepcion said. "It is more than me needing the money. The community needs the money."

Though the Logan Square and Humboldt Park site is still waiting for a check, there is newfound hope for all involved with the program. And for Concepcion, it is an opportunity to do the work he feels is his calling.

"Every day there are shootings and killings, and for what? Just a bunch of colors and cars and property we don't own," he said. "But if I can distract their thoughts of retaliation, than I have saved a life. And that is what it is all about."