I forget the details about poor Gregory Biggs, but he was struggling in his life and seemed like a good person. He was trying to get back on track in his life when this monster ended it for him. There is some about Biggs background on this thread:
Windshield case: Was it murder? (Chante Mallard Murder Trial)
Biggs, 37, had lost his truck, his home and his livelihood.
But he never lost hope.
For almost two years, the former bricklayer lived on the streets and in homeless shelters.
But Biggs had a plan to get his life back on track. He and Rafael Gomez, whom he had met at the Salvation Army shelter in Fort Worth, discussed going into the masonry business together. Gomez had a car but needed to save enough money to buy a truck.
"He asked me to hold his tools for him," Gomez said. "I said I sure would; I would take care of them. He even loaned me $60."
Gomez later moved out of the shelter and became a cook at a boarding house. He still had Biggs' belongings and the hope that the men would work together. In October 2001, he tried to page his old friend.
Biggs didn't respond.
Months later, while watching the news, Gomez found out why.
"They mentioned Gregory Glenn Biggs. I had to look twice. When they showed his picture, it shocked me," Gomez said.
Gomez sent the tools to Biggs' son, Brandon, now a 20-year-old student at Southwestern Assemblies of God University in Waxahachie. Brandon Biggs was the only family member to maintain contact with Gregory Biggs after he became homeless.
Gregory Biggs' former mother-in-law, Carol Smith, said she learned about his plight in a phone call.
"He called Brandon one day. I said, `Greg, do you have a phone number where Brandon can call you?' " Smith remembered. "He said, `I wish I did,' which broke my heart because I didn't know he was in a shelter. That's when I found out."
Smith said Biggs married her daughter, Tammy, in October 1982 after the teen-ager became pregnant. About a year later, she said, he began showing signs of mental illness.
"It scared her to death," Carol Smith said of her daughter. "She was just 15. She didn't know what to do."
The couple divorced in December 1984. Gregory Biggs saw his son whenever possible, sometimes at a Fort Worth homeless shelter.
Carol Smith said Biggs was embarrassed by his situation.
"I didn't want everybody to think Greg was just a down-and-out - no good," she said. "He wasn't. He was a great guy. ... He just had gotten out of work, lost his truck, and that's what happened. It did matter to him."
Kay Scaggs, facility supervisor for the Day Resource Center, a daytime refuge for the homeless, said Biggs often came by to shower, use the phone and pick up his mail.
Scaggs said she last saw Biggs several weeks before he died.
A card addressed only to "Dad" had arrived at the center. Inside was a picture of a boy wearing a football uniform and a message asking his father to call him. Scaggs could see the resemblance between the boy and Gregory Biggs.
She gave Biggs the card.
"I said, `You call him and let him know you're OK ... he needs to talk to you," Scaggs said. "I made him call him that day.
"Next thing I know, I was hearing about him on TV."
Scaggs said she knew that Biggs had mental problems.
Still, she said: "He knew enough not to walk out in front of a car. He was an all-right guy. I sure hated to hear that she left him there to die."
Lisa Cook Schoensee graduated with Biggs from Evangel Temple Christian School in Grand Prairie in 1982.
She said she can't comprehend how the good-natured, well-mannered, quiet student she knew could end up as a homeless man who bled to death lodged in the windshield of a car.
Biggs was a handsome young man who was voted "Most Teachable" his junior year and was a member of the prayer club. Schoensee still has snapshots from a senior year carwash at which students threw a bucket of water on Biggs -- a prank that drew laughter from him.
She was heartbroken to learn how he died.
"Nobody deserves that," Schoensee said. "He was still a human being. He did have a past. He was a nice guy when I knew him. I don't know what happened to him later in life, but I'll always remember the nice, polite man who I went to school with."