KENOSHA, Wis. — Anti-police-brutality demonstrators were converging on Kenosha from all over Wisconsin for a second night of marches. An armed right-wing group had put out a call for “patriots willing to take up arms and defend [our] City tonight from the evil thugs.”
Joseph Rosenbaum — depressed, homeless and alone — didn’t belong to either side. He had spent most of his adult life in prison for sexual conduct with children when he was 18 and struggled with bipolar disorder. That day, Aug. 25, Rosenbaum was discharged from a Milwaukee hospital following his second suicide attempt in as many months and dumped on the streets of Kenosha.
His confrontation hours later with Kyle Rittenhouse, a heavily armed teenager who had answered the call for “patriots,” kicked off a chain of violence — the deadliest of the summer — that left Rosenbaum, 36, and Anthony Huber, 26, dead. A third victim, Gaige Grosskreutz, 26, lost a chunk of his right biceps but survived.
‘I want to fix things’
Hours after he was released from the hospital, Rosenbaum stopped by a pharmacy in Kenosha to pick up medication for his bipolar disorder, only to discover that it had closed early because of the unrest.
He visited his fiancee, who was living in a cheap motel room, but she told him he couldn’t stay the night. She had pressed charges against him a month earlier after a fight in which he knocked her down and bloodied her mouth. If Rosenbaum violated his no-contact order, she warned, he could be sent back to jail.
“I want to fix things,” she recalled him telling her. “I want to get myself right.”
She was open to reconciling. “I just want you to be you,” replied the fiancee, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because she has received threats to her life.
At 11:45 p.m.,
Richie McGinniss, a reporter with the conservative
Daily Caller, spotted Rosenbaum, his T-shirt wrapped around his head, chasing Rittenhouse down the street. It’s unclear what provoked the confrontation, though Rittenhouse’s attorneys speculated in a video released last week that Rosenbaum may have mistaken the teenager for a similarly attired member of the Kenosha Guard he confronted earlier at the gas station.
Rosenbaum pursued Rittenhouse down Sheridan Road and into the parking lot of a car dealership that would soon go up in flames. He
threw his hospital bag at Rittenhouse, missing him, and charged at the teenager.
Someone nearby fired a shot. “F--- you!” someone else screamed. Rosenbaum tried to grab Rittenhouse’s rifle, and the teenager — who was just feet from Rosenbaum — began shooting, striking Rosenbaum in the back and groin. Another bullet grazed Rosenbaum’s head. In the seconds after the gunfire, Rittenhouse is caught on video trying to call a friend for help.
Rosenbaum sprawled on the ground between two cars. McGinniss pulled his own T-shirt off and searched for the wound.
“Put pressure on it!” a young
woman begged.
“Where?” McGinniss asked. “Where’s the hole?”
“It’s in his f---ing head!” the woman cried.
Rosenbaum, his eyes open and nose bloodied, lifted his skull slowly off the pavement as if trying to speak. Then he lowered his head and shut his eyes for the last time.
By then, Rittenhouse was jogging down Sheridan Road, chased by a crowd of demonstrators, including Huber with his skateboard.
After Blake was shot, Huber attended the first night of demonstrations. The next morning, they headed to the beach with Gittings’ 3-year-old daughter from a previous relationship, skipped rocks and gazed out at Lake Michigan.
Huber’s friends said he didn’t talk much about politics or activism, but they weren’t surprised he took to the streets. “I wouldn’t say he was political,” said one close friend, “but I think he definitely hated racists.”
Huber was part of the crowd at the gas station trying to calm Rosenbaum down after a self-styled militia member pointed his gun at the protesters. And he was standing just down the street from the car dealership when Rittenhouse fired the shots that killed Rosenbaum.
“Stop him,” a voice screamed as Rittenhouse jogged down Sheridan Road, according to Grosskreutz’s video footage.
“Get his a--!” someone else
yelled.
Huber told Gittings to take cover in a nearby alley. “I tried to grab him,” Gittings said. “I tried to stop him.”
But Huber, skateboard in hand, adrenaline pumping, was already gone.
‘Like a war zone’
Rittenhouse was now jogging down Sheridan Road with Huber and a handful of others in pursuit. He passed Grosskreutz, who was standing on the sidewalk, live-streaming the increasingly chaotic scene.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Grosskreutz
asked without emotion as Rittenhouse, his rifle hanging off his shoulder strap, approached. “You shot somebody?”
“I am going to get the police,” Rittenhouse replied.
It took a few seconds for Grosskreutz to realize what was happening. “Who’s shot?” he asked. Seconds later, Grosskreutz gave chase, his pistol drawn.
In a recent interview, Grosskreutz said he had been attending protests since late May, when George Floyd was killed in Minneapolis police custody. He had grown up in a working-class neighborhood just outside the Milwaukee city limits. His mother was a dental assistant and his father did not work, he said. After high school, he had spent a few years as a paramedic, but the steady diet of gunshot wounds, drug overdoses and poverty wore on him. So he decided to attend Northland College, a small liberal arts school where he majored in outdoor education.
When his summer internship in Milwaukee was curtailed because of the pandemic, Grosskreutz decided to focus on the protests. He joined a new group, the People’s Revolution, which was calling for an end to police brutality, and he used his training to provide basic medical aid to the marchers and others. He and some friends outfitted a black pickup truck with a red cross and packed it with gauze, water, tourniquets, bandages and quick-clotting agents.
Grosskreutz, a gun owner with a concealed-carry permit, brought a pistol to most of the rallies. As the summer progressed, the protesters were frequently joined by self-described pro-police militias whose members carried rifles.
Some of Grosskreutz’s fellow protesters bought their own firearms for protection. Grosskreutz said he never felt threatened. But the night he was shot felt different from earlier marches.
“For lack of a better term, it felt like a war zone,” he said.
That evening, crowds had gathered around the Kenosha County Courthouse chanting anti-police-brutality slogans and berating officers. Police used stun grenades, tear gas, rubber bullets and armored vehicles to disperse the crowds, and Grosskreutz provided medical aid to an 18-year-old woman who had been hit in the arm by a rubber bullet.
After dark, police began pushing the protesters away from the courthouse toward the armed pro-police groups, who had taken up positions to defend businesses on Sheridan Road. Some trained their guns on the protesters as they passed. A few of the protesters began lighting dumpsters on fire.
“Gunshots,”
said Grosskreutz on his live-stream video, moments after Rittenhouse fired on Rosenbaum. Rittenhouse passed, then Huber. Grosskreutz fell in just behind him.
After a few yards, Rittenhouse stumbled and fell to the ground. An unidentified man ran toward him and delivered a flying kick. Rittenhouse fired at him but missed.
Then came Huber, who
swung a skateboard at Rittenhouse’s shoulder and reached for his rifle. Rittenhouse fired again, hitting Huber in the chest.
Last came Grosskreutz, who ran toward Rittenhouse with his pistol drawn. Rittenhouse raised his rifle and shot. A bullet tore through Grosskreutz’s right biceps.
“Medic!” Grosskreutz screamed as he stumbled away. “I need a f---ing medic!”
He was kneeling on the side of the road when live-streaming independent journalist C.J. Halliburton approached.
“I have a tourniquet in the bag,” Grosskreutz
told him. The journalist dropped his camera and slipped the tourniquet over Grosskreutz’s arm, fumbling with the strap.
“That’s not how you use it,” Grosskreutz yelled.
“Help me,” replied the journalist, who started to cinch it.
“Make it tight!” Grosskreutz told him.
“This is going to hurt,” the journalist worried.
“Do it!” Grosskreutz ordered. “Do it!”