"Bludgeoned man expected death". New Haven Register. March 16, 1990.

"Bludgeoned man expected death" by Michael Foley. New Haven Register. 3/16/1990 <--- hyperlinked to full published article

"John Robinson, 24 once told a friend that people should not be surprised if he met a violent end. Young men die violently all the time in New Haven, Robinson said. Since he was a young black man, he thought the odds were good that he would become a victim. It turns out that he was right."

Bludgeoned man expected death

New Haven Register (CT) 

March 16, 1990  

Author/Byline: Michael Foley 

John Robinson, 24, once told a friend that people should not be surprised if he met a violent end.

Young men die violently all the time in New Haven, Robinson said. Since he was a young black man, he thought the odds were good that he would become a victim.

It turns out that he was right.

His body was found downtown Wednesday morning, inside a locked upstairs room in an office building at 178 Temple St. His skull had been crushed by several blows from a blunt instrument, according to the state medical examiner.

"He always said he was going to die young," said Jim Munson, Robinson's former roommate. "He just figured it was a matter of time before he ended up in jail or dead."

Robinson played guitar for an underground rock band, and even the name of the band reflected a dark view of life - Sold on Murder.

Robinson's death was the city's fifth homicide of the year; six homicides had been recorded at this time last year.

Police estimated that Robinson's body had been in the room for several days. Employees in the building called police when they came to work Wednesday and noticed a strong odor.

Robinson's parents were called to New Haven after his death. His mother came from Kansas and arrived Thursday, and his father is expected to arrive from Boston today. A memorial service will take place Saturday at 12:15 p.m. in the Dwight Hall chapel at Yale University.

Several of Robinson's friends said Wednesday that whoever killed him took away a person who had dozens of friends and couldn't walk down the street without seeing a friendly face.

"He got along with everyone," Munson said as he stood outside the Lake Place apartment where Robinson lived for 10 months. He moved out a few weeks ago and was apparently staying in the room at 178 Temple St. and rehearsing there.

Others who have known Robinson for years said he often left them confused. He was a brilliant young man, they said, a National Merit Scholar at Hamden Hall in the mid-1980s, someone who could have mapped out a successful future.

But Robinson wanted to follow a path that veered in a different direction. His definition of success was different from most people's.

He was sort of an anti-achievement person who followed his own drummer," said Douglas Rae, the city's Chief Administrative Officer, who was Robinson's soccer coach at Hamden Hall.

Bob Osborne, who coached Robinson in the New Haven Youth Soccer League about eight years ago, said the last time he saw Robinson was in the fall.

"He had the capacity to drift in and out of people's lives," Osborne said. "He had a hard time getting centered. He was talented by somehow it never all got put together."

After deciding against college, even though Rae said he could have gone to an Ivy League school, Robinson set off on a path that led him to downtown New Haven, where he would come to count Yalies, drug dealers and street people as his friends. He would also pick up a nickname - "Rokked," a variation of "Rockhead."

Robinson worked as a deliveryman for Ashley's Ice Cream in Hamden. He had managed the Ashley's store on York Street last year and ran the Ashley's booth at the Tase of New haven Festival for the last two years.

Ashley's owner, Joe Amatruda, said Robinson was like family.

"I trusted my business and personal things to him," Amatruda said. "He never really showed his emotions. I think he kept a lot of things inside."

Robinson was a musician who played hardcore, a fast, jarring music that reflects frustration and anger. In the few clubs where hardcore bands play, Robinson was a fixture in his black military jacket.

Jimmy Martin, who plays in a band called Malachi Krunch, had known Robinson since ninth grade at Hamden Hall.

"He was a really good person," Martin said. "He had this weird glow around him, like nothing could touch him."

Martin was once of the last people to see Robinson alive. They were at the Performance Studio on Chapel Street on Sunday to see a local band called Dum Dum Boys.

No one saw him Monday and Tuesday, which was strange.

Robinson's girlfriend began making frantic calls, asking people whether they had seen him.

Martin said he could not figure out why someone would want to kill his friend. He said Robinson had enemies, including several "skinheads" who liked to disrupt the few shows that Sold on Murder put on.

"He had a lot of enemies. He stepped on people's feet to get what he wanted," Martin said.

Most of his friends took it in stride. If he didn't pay his share of the rent at the apartments he lived temporarily, his friends didn't hold it against him. But they were often glad to see him move on.

Friends said Robinson directed his energy toward work and the future of his band.

The band was recording an album at the time of his death, and several songs are on tape.

"Beth (Robinson's girlfriend) and I were talking," Munson said. "We want to get some money together and put the album out."

Joy Ensign, also a former roommate, said she will miss seeing Robinson around. She could always count on him to make her laugh or not feel so bad about whatever was bothering her. "It won't be New Haven without him," Ensign said.

Caption: PHOTO Robinson (black and white photo)