‘Aunt BeBe’s Obituary’ tells sad story

When Karin Solomonson saw the 702 area code appear June 17 on her phone's caller ID, the North Carolina resident assumed it was her beloved Aunt BeBe calling from the streets of Las Vegas.

It was the Clark County coroner's office.

Solomonson's 65-year-old aunt, whose legal name was Cora Angie Law, had died the previous day. She was struck by a hit-and-run driver while crossing Maryland Parkway just south of Stewart Avenue.

She became one of two dozen homeless people to die this year in the Las Vegas Valley.

"It was as if they just hit a dog and kept going," Solomonson said last week from her home near Charlotte.

"I was totally in shock. I just went, 'Wait a minute.' I was just not accepting it."

At the time of her death, Law was carrying a Christmas card she had received from Solomonson. On it was written Solomonson's phone number, which is how the coroner found her.

Law also had $2.07 and a single silver ring, which Solomonson believes was probably the ring she gave her aunt as a gift. The ring had the word "hope" inscribed on it.

"She told me, 'I got everything I need. As long as I've got hope, I'm good,' " Solomonson said.

In the days after her aunt's death, Solomonson was troubled by the impersonal, brief news items that appeared concerning it.

She and her family wanted Law to be remembered as more than just another homeless person who died on a Las Vegas street.

So Solomonson wrote an e-mail titled "Aunt BeBe's Obituary" and sent it to local media outlets.

"Those people you may choose to avoid or ignore or complain about or kill and keep on driving? Their stories are real," she wrote. "They have stories of love ... stories of family."

Law's story began in Rural Hall, a town near Winston-Salem, N.C., where she was raised to be the quintessential "genteel Southern belle," Solomonson said.

Law became a teenage mother of two children.

She went to school, became a nurse like her mother and married a doctor.

Then, in her late 20s, Law got sick. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, a brain disorder whose symptoms include distorted perceptions of reality, hallucinations and paranoid delusions.

"She had always been very smart, beautiful and well-liked before schizophrenia took over," Solomonson said. "It was really just such a crushing blow."

The family got help for Law.

"My mother had lots of resources and physicians she knew," said Dottye Currin, Law's younger sister. "At the time, you could have people committed to mental institutions for 30 days at a time. We would do that off and on."

But Law resisted treatment, suspecting anyone who tried to medicate her of attempting to kill her.

As the years went on, it also became more difficult to have a person involuntarily committed to the hospital.

Eventually, Law just took off.

"It kind of became the thing you didn't talk about in the family," Solomonson said. "It was too painful because of all her promise."

Law bounced around for years, her family said, living in Florida, Connecticut and California.

Back home, her children grew, and she became a grandmother and great-grandmother.

"It would eat me up, that she would die someday and we would have no way of knowing and nobody would know that we wanted to know," Currin said. "That she would just end up God knows where. It hurt my heart to think about that."

Eventually, Law met a Vietnam veteran named Paul, who became her constant companion and caregiver.

The pair came to Las Vegas 12 or 13 years ago. They were homeless together.

Law's family heard from her regularly through phone calls and letters.

"There were moments she was extremely lucid," Solomonson said. "But I'd also get cards that were scribbled with addresses, names and letters written in all different directions."

Solomonson and Currin last saw Law during a 2006 trip to Las Vegas.

"She was gorgeous," Currin said about seeing her sister two years ago. "Her eyes just sparkled. She was just my big sister."

Law showed the women where she slept, under a bridge and under a tree in a local park.

"She said she didn't want to take up a bed at the shelter, because there were other people who needed them more than she did," Solomonson said.

But Law was clearly ill, at times becoming agitated and talking to herself. She was distrustful of nearly anyone who tried to help her.

"She was so stubborn and independent," Solomonson said. "Even when people would hand out water, she'd say, 'We don't need their handouts.' "

After their return to North Carolina, Solomonson and Currin began sending Law money via general delivery so that she and Paul could rent, off and on, a downtown motel room.

They also worked on her, over the phone and through letters, trying to persuade her to come home and allow them to help her.

"We were ready to buy them (Law and Paul) a house," Solomonson said. "We wanted to be able to care for her."

But in the month or so preceding her death, the women had a difficult time reaching Law, and she had not received the money orders they sent.

The driver who hit Law and drove away was "just another in a long line" of people who had hurt the woman over the years, Solomonson said.

"If I were to be upset at that person, I'd have to get a long list of other people to be furious at," Solomonson said.

Law had been beaten, spit at and robbed countless times during her years of homelessness, her niece said.

"This son of a bitch who hit her was one last assault," Currin said.

Law was attempting to cross Maryland about 6:30 p.m. when a large gray or burgundy sport utility vehicle with chrome rims and large tires hit her, police said.

They think Law was in a crosswalk at the time. The vehicle continued south on Maryland and fled the scene.

Law was taken to University Medical Center, where she died shortly afterward.

Police are still looking for the vehicle and encourage anyone with information to call Crime Stoppers at 385-5555.

Law's family brought her body home for cremation and burial.

They decided on a "typical Southern afternoon tea" for a memorial service.

"I can just see her saying, 'Y'all come in here and enjoy yourselves,' " Currin said. "She'd be Miss Prim and Proper."

Currin and Solomonson said the family draws comfort from knowing Law won't be hurt again.

"It's a sense of peace," Solomonson said. "We know she is safe and OK and we don't have to worry about her anymore."

Currin said she hopes sharing Law's story will help change the way homeless people are viewed.

"The next time you see a homeless person, I'd like for you to remember me and know that person probably has a family member somewhere who loves them."

Contact reporter Lynnette Curtis at lcurtis@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0285.