The young peacemaker shot dead trying to break up a fight outside a Bronx housing development lived his life as a protector of others, his grieving uncle told the Daily News.
Randy Blanche, 24, was shot in the head after he tried to cool down two groups of people who got into a chaotic argument and shoving match outside the Sedgwick Houses in Morris Heights Sunday, prosecutors said. Police believe the killer, who’s still at large, was summoned to the scene by his wife, whose daughters were embroiled in the heated fracas — and told to bring a gun.
“That’s Randy. He lost his life being Randy. And I’m good with that. He was being Randy. He didn’t want no harm to nobody,” said his 47-year-old uncle. “That’s him. If the people that are fighting is his people, he’s gonna try to stop that. He’s not into that. That’s not him. He’s into love, he’s into laughing, joking…. If anybody was going (at it) with somebody, he knew he’s gonna try to break the tension or make sure that they’re good.”
The fight erupted around 8 p.m., at W. 174th St. and Popham Ave. in Morris Heights, after the woman’s daughters got into a heated argument with a group of five people, according to prosecutors.
Their mother, Denise Aponte, was also present, but instead of trying to cool the fight down, she called her husband and told him, “You need to come downstairs. Come down here,” according to a criminal complaint.
Aponte also told him to “bring that,” meaning the loaded pistol he used to take Blanche’s life, assistant District Attorney Jenna Kemmer said at Aponte’s Bronx Criminal Court arraignment.
Blanche “was not fighting and was actively trying to stop the two groups from fighting,” and started to back away — but the husband fired at him “numerous times,” striking him in the head, then fled, Kemmer said
Blanche’s uncle, who lives in Florida, said he had heard his nephew was trying to protect his girlfriend, who lives in the housing development. Blanche lived about a mile and a half from the scene, according to cops.
“He was just a kid just trying to figure out life. That’s who Randy Blanche was. He never did no harm to anybody. He didn’t want to hurt anybody,” the uncle said. “Obviously, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He was a protector and wanted to make sure that his people were safe. He didn’t do anything.”
Blanche grew up in Harlem and the Bronx with his sister and mother, and had started working for Amazon, his uncle said.
“It’s been some weeks since the last time I talked to him. He told me he was doing all right and he said he was staying out of trouble. My line to him was always, ‘Just stay out the way. Just you work, you make your money and you stay out the way,’” the uncle said.
“He used to say, ‘Uncle, I’m staying out the way.’ I said, ‘OK, you stay out the way, you make your money, you don’t have no problems,’” the uncle recounted. “He was getting it together, he was figuring it out. He was taken too soon, before he could really be special in this world. Life goes on. But Randy Blanche was special.”
Blanche was devoted to his mom and sister, who’s a senior in college. “He just wanted his family good,” his uncle said. “That’s all he wanted. He was a protector. He was a man at 24. He was a stand-up man that everybody loved…. This heart that he had was bigger than anything in the world. That was Randy Blanche Jr.”
The uncle added, as he wept, “He loved people. He’d light up a room when he’d walk in. He was special. He wasn’t nobody, he was special. He brought sunshine when he walked in the room. You wouldn’t want him to leave. You wouldn’t want Randy to leave, because he was joy, he was love, he was everything.”
Aponte, who spent five years in state prison in the 1990s for robbery, plus another year in jail prior to sentencing, remains held without bail and charged with murder.
Her lawyer said Tuesday that the charge was “all based on a phone call” and dismissively said, “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Cops are still searching for her husband.
Blanche’s uncle wouldn’t say what he’d tell the shooter when asked by The News.
“That’s not a question I want to answer. He could’ve been spoken to. He could’ve been talked to, he could’ve been anything other than what happened to him,” he said. “Anything different from what happened. For that to happen to my nephew like that, I don’t want to answer that question.”
He added, “I hope they find him.”
