deadmonton 2011 - stacy steinhauer

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"He had his own demons and that was the alcohol," Maggie Cardinal, Stacy's sister, told Global Edmonton.

"We always told him to come home but he was too caught up in it, I'd guess you'd say.

"He is an all-around good guy. He wouldn't harm a fly. He was good with my kids and he always liked to make people laugh."

Cardinal said she hadn't heard from Stacy since October 2010. When his family was contacted by police with news of his death they were devasted.

While word of an arrest brought relief it didn't make their loss any easier, Maggie said.

In an interview with the Edmonton Journal's Mariam Ibrahim, Chrisy Ann Steinhauer said her brother was "a very fun-loving guy" and a good student who loved learning.

That was until he fell into a lifestyle of drugs, alcohol and homelessness in the early 2000s.

"He wanted to live on the streets. He liked it and said that he felt more freedom," Chrisy Ann said. "But he was a really smart man. He had a lot of knowledge."

Living in Red Deer, Chrisy Ann said her brother came to see her a few times, the last time two years ago. She prayed Stacy would stay with her husband and children.

"He was an alcoholic. We tried to help him and he took the help a few times," she said. "He came to visit in 2009 and he did get himself cleaned up."

But his sobriety only lasted about six months. Then it was back to bad habits and that caused Chrisy Ann concern, thinking that someday her brother might come to harm.

"But I always thought he would be OK," she said. "He knew how to walk away from altercations most of the time."

According to his sister, about 10 years ago Stacy had embraced native culture, becoming part of a drum group called Sounding Cree – see YouTube video.

"He really liked to sing powwow," Chrisy Ann recalled. "A lot of people said he had an awesome voice. I used to make him sing for me, even when he didn't want to."

Exactly eight months before Stacy died, the Steinhauer family lost their mother in June 2010. News of another death hit hard.

"I couldn't stop crying. It was just heartbreaking," Chrisy Ann said. "I haven't even really dealt with my mother's death."

Despite her loss, and the hurt and anger over her brother's death, she didn't feel any animosity toward his killer.

"You don't have time to hate people – not in my world, anyway," Chrisy Ann said. "My mother never taught us to be like that. She always taught us to forgive."

Another person who knew Stacy said the young man had tried to clean his life up but had fallen prey to the strong hold alcohol had over him.

The two met while learning to battle Alberta wildfires. After they finished their first firefighting training session, Stacy talked about how proud he was to be working and earning a living.

"I knew that he could be a better guy, instead of living on the streets," Tanya said.

"I'm still kind of shocked about it. He wasn't violent, he wasn't a fighter. He was the type of guy to walk away, but that just didn't happen this time, I guess."

John Peterson, inspecting the area a few doors down from where he lives, said it looked like someone leaned against the power pole and lost a lot of blood there.

"Holy Georgina. It's scary," he said. "It was just soaked into the ground."

A man driving through the alley behind the building seemed to speak for many.

"It's just the complaints of these people in those apartments are either druggies or whatever," George Olinek said.

"You see traffic coming back and forth, people walking around looking suspicious and grubby-looking."

Another resident said she often had people knocking on her front door inviting her "to do an eight-ball," adding she heard loud arguing and a door being broken down the night Steinhauer was killed.

"The police are here at a regular basis," she said. "I would say they would be here a total of six or seven times in one week.

"With this happening, this is the breaking point for me. I want to move out."

The timing was right for another woman, seen hauling furniture into a cube van.

"I could care less about who died in that place," she said. "That's why we're moving the fuck out of here."

Fear in the neighbourhood seemed widespread.

"I don't feel safe here anymore – it's a dangerous neighbourhood," Bernice Earle-Dunn said.

"I don't know what else they can do to fix this problem but it's always happening here, always."

Earle-Dunn was perhaps referring to the May 18th, 2010, death of Mohammad Bashir Khan. The 56-year-old pizza-joint owner was stabbed outside his restaurant at 11922 129 Avenue – just three blocks away – during an apparent robbery.

A 17-year-old male was charged with second-degree murder, robbery and a weapon-related offence in the death, in addition to two robbery offences in connection with two other incidents in the area.

A resident of the boarding house said she heard nothing out of the ordinary the morning Steinhauer was stabbed – as long as the ordinary included men yelling all night and kicking down doors.

According to a main-floor resident (who already had her belongings packed in hope of moving to a safer building), the hallways are starkly lit by bare bulbs on stucco ceilings.

The second floor has six rooms, each with a fridge, hotplate and single bed, "and that's all," she said. "They all share a bathroom. It's horrible up there."

But living quarters like the Oberg weren't always considered so bad. With architecture that could be barely called "prairie-style," the structure was once commonplace when Calder was the place to be.

When the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway line first arrived in 1908, the resulting development was part of a 160-acre venture known as the Village of West Edmonton, first put together by a real estate firm owned by Hugh Alfred Calder and John Robert McIntosh in 1907 after they bought the land from the Hudson's Bay Company.

(At about the same time, McIntosh also bought property from Malcolm Groat and subdivided it, creating the new district of Glenora).

Brandon Avenue, later known as 127th Avenue, was the district's main thoroughfare. Along its south curb and stretching for miles was Grand Trunk's depot and service centre ... and a workforce of several hundred men on a $35,000 annual payroll – a lofty sum at the time.

In 1912, 644 lots were offered at $175 or $224 for a corner lot. 1,200 lots sold in just three days and by the end of the year, lots were going for more than $400 apiece.

In its day, the Oberg Block on 118th Street was at the centre of economic activity north of the tracks.

The Dover Hotel, two blocks to the west, was actually lifted up and hauled by horse power six blocks to its present location to take advantage of tired and thirsty men finishing their shifts.

Originally called the Strand, the $50,000 building was billed as completely fireproof and fitted with "the latest furnishings known to the hostelry world."

The Village of West Edmonton – a name that never stuck and now present-day Calder, west of 120th Street – became part of the City of Edmonton in 1917. Elm Park (east of 120th Street) had earlier joined the provincial capital in 1913.

But despite once having such delicate street names as Grace, Bertha, Notre Dame and Agnes, Calder never rose past its working-class roots – in addition to early urban development frustrations.

Calder joined Edmonton primarily to procure such modern services as electric lights, city water and city telephones. But it wasn't until 1950 before the main roads were paved and 1953 before a sewage system was operational.

Gentrification that has embraced other older Edmonton neighbourhoods has never taken hold in Calder, and with inner-city haunts being bulldozed the city's more marginal residents have migrated to the area.

With many of its original and modest dwellings intact, Calder is a haven for first-time home buyers and absentee landlords.

And judging by comments made by neighbours living near the scene of Steinhauer's murder, Calder remains the current haven for some of Edmonton's less-than-desirable citizens.

-- with files from Edmonton historian Lawrence Herzog.