Sherry Burton smiles when she talks about her husband the way he used to be -- a strapping construction worker who rode his Harley, played with his grandkids and tended his immaculate lawn.
She must compose herself when she talks about the way Norman Burton is now: confined to a bed and wheelchair, his arms and legs atrophied and seized by frequent spasms, his neck too weak to hold his head up. Often, his eyes don't focus, and he struggles to form words.
Four gang members did this. Two years ago he exchanged words with them after a chance encounter on a north Minneapolis sidewalk. Drunk and on Ecstasy, they beat him so savagely that the 58-year-old from Roseville now lives in a St. Paul nursing home, severely brain-damaged.
On Friday, the last of the four attackers is to be sentenced. As this milestone in Sherry Burton's nightmare passes, she struggles to understand how the near-perfect life she had with her husband of 32 years came to this.
She's haunted that his own mistake played a role. Decades after overcoming drug addiction, he secretly relapsed. He was visiting a friend to inquire about buying cocaine when he encountered the four Asian Crips.
Why, Sherry wonders, did he -- they -- pay such a high price for that mistake?
"It's almost like he died," she said. "It's like I died, too."
Police and prosecutors agree that despite the circumstances, Norman Burton was an innocent victim of what they call the most brutal assault they'd ever seen.
"He didn't have it coming. He didn't provoke it," Senior Assistant Hennepin County Attorney Hilary Caligiuri said. "It was very much a case of four gang members losing control, just acting like a pack of animals. Once one of them threw the first punch, they all just piled on and beat him to within an inch of his life."
The last of the attackers, 21-year-old Faron Monroe, pleaded guilty to first-degree assault in May. His anticipated 14-year sentence would be twice that recommended by state guidelines. Dethoudone Phaengsy, 26; Angkhane Chanthapanya, 25; and Chia Yang, 25, also pleaded guilty and are serving 14 to 20 years in prison. Melissa Robin Daniels, 28, who witnessed the attack but did not initially cooperate with police, pleaded guilty to aiding an offender after a first-degree assault committed for the benefit of a gang. Her four-year prison sentence was stayed.
Monroe's attorney, Trudell Guerue Jr., did not return a call. Yang's attorney, Robert Paule, declined to comment because his client is in the process of an appeal, as is Phaengsy. Chanthapanya's appeal for a more lenient sentence was denied. Daniels' attorney, Arthur Martinez, said his client, who has a young child, has stayed out of trouble and is remorseful.
Sherry Burton hasn't attended the sentencings. She says she can't stand to look at the men's faces. Instead, Sherry plans to be with her husband at Bethel Care Center, as usual. Lately, Norman has recited letters as she writes them on a board. Sometimes they spell only gibberish. But Norman, a Christian, recently told her to write this down:
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
Two months in a coma
They met when both were substance-abuse counselors. Sherry, 12 years his senior, had conquered a Valium addiction. He had tried virtually every drug there was before he found religion, took treatment and got clean.
He helped raise her children and eventually became "Papa" to their grandchildren. They took northern fishing trips and vacations to their Florida timeshare.
Sherry made a career of counseling, while he moved on to construction in the 1990s.
Two years ago, he was trying to start a remodeling business, but work was slow and he admitted to being stressed and depressed. When she asked if he'd relapsed, he denied it. She didn't believe him and gave him the silent treatment. When he left for work on June 19, 2009, she barely said goodbye. This gnaws at her still.
"I'm so damn stubborn, I just let him walk out," she said.
He drove that day to 2910 N. 4th St., where a friend, Daniels, lived in the lower part of a duplex. She was his connection to a cocaine dealer. The gang members lived upstairs. According to the scenario pieced together by authorities, Daniels and Burton were talking outside when Chanthapanya taunted him. He said something back.
Phaengsy hit Burton. The others joined in. They kicked him, stomped him and bashed his head with a barbecue grill. Police found him flat on the sidewalk, barely breathing. Blood ran from his mouth and ears. His face had boot prints on it.
He spent two months in a coma while police searched for and eventually arrested the attackers. When Burton awoke, he was largely unresponsive.
Sherry Burton said many people still don't know that his relapse played an indirect role in what happened.
"I was really ashamed," she said. "I can remember thinking, 'How in the world did I ever end up in the middle of this mess? How did Norm end up in the middle of it?' We had a really good life."
She's decided to be upfront about it, so that perhaps his story can help others who battle addiction.
"Maybe this isn't for me or him," she said. "Maybe this is for all the people that need to be shown God works in mysterious ways."
Vows to walk
Norman Burton wasn't insured. His medical bills -- $400,000 from the hospital alone -- forced Sherry to cash in her pension to qualify for medical assistance. She had attorney fees to become his guardian.
Then she was laid off. A meager income of Social Security and disability is an eighth of what they made.
Stress and grief have ravaged her health. She hadn't had a drink in 34 years before the assault. She's had one once in a while since.
She sleeps with the television on and keeps a small Christmas tree up, a reminder of their last Christmas at home together. She says she'll take it down when he comes home. Doctors say the prognosis for that isn't good, but she believes otherwise. So does he.
When his eyes manage to focus on her, he smiles. He begins to spell. "Don't spell; just talk to me." she says.
She mentions his motorcycle, now in storage. She lets him know an old friend passed away. She rubs a mint on his tongue; he can't swallow. She asks if he remembers pizza.
"Pizza," he says, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, wow."
Then he changes the subject.
"I'll walk," he says.
"I know you will."
"I love you."
"I love you, too, Norm."
Abby Simons • 612-673-4921
