In a city where football is more than a sport, the gun death of John Beam has provoked an outpouring of emotion.
Football in Oakland, California, is more than a sport. It's a community. In many schools, coaches are like parental figures who get young people through vulnerable times, into universities and sometimes even drafted to the National Football League.
So when gun violence came for longtime Oakland football coach John Beam, whose mentorship had changed the lives of generations of students, the devastation reverberated around the city.
Beam, 66, was shot in the head at the Laney College athletics field house on 13 November, in what police officers called a "targeted incident". He died of his injuries in hospital the following day.
A 27-year-old man, Cedric Irving Jr, made his first court appearance Tuesday after being charged with Beam's murder. Irving, who has no prior criminal record, is being held without bail and is scheduled to enter a plea on 16 December.
He faces 50 years to life if convicted, along with enhancements alleging he personally fired the gun and that Beam was particularly vulnerable. Prosecutors have not disclosed a possible motive.
Beam's death has rocked the northern California port city. On Wednesday afternoon outside Laney College's athletics complex, under a heavy grey sky, a makeshift shrine was filled with flickering candles, flowers, sneakers, a tripod, a football ball and outpouring of love scrawled on to hats and jerseys. Students and family friends came to pay their respects. The sports field, usually filled with players and games, was deserted, but for a flock of Canadian geese.
Jack Nelson, a retired teacher, volunteer coach and 1972 alumnus of Skyline high school, where Beam had led the team to 15 Oakland Athletic League titles, said the killing felt like a major moment: "This is huge. It's like killing the governor. He's the governor of Oakland to me."
Since his death, students had been chanting Beam's name, Nelson said. The other day, he was running past a middle school where students were playing football and after touchdown they all chanted "John Beam! John Beam! John Beam!" he recalled.
Gun violence remains a pervasive problem for Oakland, even though the city has seen homicides decline recently after pandemic highs. Skyline high school went into lockdown due to a shooting the day before Beam’s fatal shooting - its third school shooting in as many years. On 18 December, hundreds of Skyline students staged a walkout to protest a lack of safety on campus and gun violence.
Coaches in the city have long played a role in helping young people cope with the violence and prevent it, said Frankie Navarro, the commissioner of the Oakland Athletics League and Oakland unified school district. Beam, whom he worked closely with over the years, was no exception.
"They're truly life coaches, and regardless of the students' home situation or social economic status, they can become a resource for our youth to develop into kind human beings."
That's exactly the role Beam played in the lives of so many Oakland students, said J'Sharlon Jones, 47, now a website developer in Denver.
Growing up in West Oakland to a single mother, he went to Skyline High specifically for its sports program.
"If you're playing sports you're protected; the drug dealers don't hassle you,"said Jones, who used to get to school at 6.30am to lift weights and spent his afternoons training for track.
Skyline High, under Coach Beam, took home the state championship which set Jones up to be recruited to Colorado State University on a full scholarship to play football.
"I used to call Coach Beam on Father's Day. I never had a father in my house. When you don't have a dad you don't have someone giving you guidance. He's a person who cares. He gave a fuck,"said Jones.
"You felt like what it was like to have a team; to be committed; to be celebrated."
"Heartaches, shock, denial, and the whole gamut of emotions - the last thing on the bingo card was that happening to Coach,"said Haran Jackson, another former student from Skyline who coach Beam helped get into college.
Jackson will never forget the look on his mother's face when Beam explained to her that her son was being recruited to go to college on scholarships and that they were going to "take care of his room and board, education, the whole deal".
Jackson was a late bloomer when it came to joining the football team and had never expected to get recruited, he said. His first encounter with Beam was one of getting told off for kicking a ball back to some female student athletes in a manner that Beam found disrespectful. But rather than feeling embarrassed, Jackson went and apologized and felt inspired to work hard to prove himself to Beam. And it worked.
Growing up in a single-parent home in Oakland, Jackson never imagined he'd get to have a college experience, which changed his life trajectory—getting to see the country and the world. "Coach quarterbacked that whole situation for me,"
said Jackson adding: "He really relished in finding the diamonds in the rough, like me."
Beam even set him on his current career—working in theatre and film—with a tip about an audition for runners to do a Nike commercial. Jackson got the job.
The day before the fatal shooting, Beam texted Jackson an introduction to another former student, Daniel Cotroneo, who also lives in LA and works in the film industry. “I think the two of you should hook up. Let me know how it goes,” Beam said.
On day one of joining the Skyline high school football team, Cotroneo, now a cinematographer and film-maker, dislocated his finger catching the football.
“Coach Beam sort of chuckled at me and was like, ‘Well, hey, football might not work out for you, but we’re looking for a video guy,’”Cotroneo recalled.
From that point forward, he became the football team’s videographer, filming home games, road games and editing together highlight reels for players being recruited by colleges. The experience set Cotroneo on his trajectory to film school and on to working in the industry.
“He was single-handedly responsible for submitting probably six or seven players for full scholarships in each of the years that I was working with the team. And probably most of these guys never had anybody in their family that went to college,”said Cotroneo, adding “he was giving kids a purpose and an outlet.”
Cotroneo runs through the numbers of people whose lives were touched by Beam: 30-40 players on a team per year,multiplied that by over 45 years. “And then you factor in that a lot of these guys that end up on the football teams don't necessarily have a strong male role model in their lives,” he adds.
Beam struck that balance of somebody who “demanded authority in every room he walked into,but he was also personable and funny;he challenged you”.
Cotoreno had discussed trying to collaborate on film projects with Beam.Likewise.Beam had read a script for a social horror film that Jackson wrote and wanted to be part of it,according to Jackson,hence the text intro.
“I don't think I've seen a network of other successful black men in Oakland like what I've seen with athletes,Skyline and John Beam,”
said J’Sharlon Jones.Beam was always “creating a network”,said Navarro,the OAL commissioner:“He was that person that kind of bridged the connections” - creating opportunities for people in his vast multi-generational network to help each other.
Nelson is raising funds to organize an alumni basketball game in Beam's honor,and said there's a 25 foot long sign in the works for Skyline's sports field saying: "John Beam/Anthony Fardella Athletic Complex."
Navarro and Beam collaborated this year on creating the first annual Oakland football classic in October to kick off the league season.The classic will be named after Beam,Navarro said.
Jones wants to build a website where all the stories about Coach can live for ever.
Cotoreno is scouting a feature film in the Bay and is committed to bringing aboard local youth as his way of giving back and honouring Beam's legacy.
"I don't believe in heaven,but when I get to heaven I'm going to be looking for John Beam with a flashlight,making sure I don't miss him,"he said.