I’ll always remember when I got the news.
It was early afternoon on the last Sunday in May. I had just donated blood with the American Red Cross on the West Side. As I walked back to my car, I got a call from a co-worker. She asked if I’d heard the news about Spencer Leak Jr. She’d just learned that he’d passed away. We were both stunned. Leak was just 56.
As we talked, another friend in disbelief called to share the news. I returned that call as I sat in my car. During that conversation, I received a third call from someone also reeling from the news. It was a close friend I’ve known for more than 35 years.
When I returned his call, we talked for more than an hour. We shared memories of others who’d died unexpectedly. He rattled off a few names, and I followed with a few more. They were high school and college classmates, fraternity brothers and friends. After a while, off the top of our heads, we’d compiled a lengthy list of Black men who’d died too soon, including some who worked out regularly and appeared to be in good health. In those moments, it dawned on me that, perhaps, all of those sudden deaths shouldn’t have been unexpected, after all.
Data from the Chicago Department of Public Health shows that Black men die faster than any other race and gender demographic combo in the city. In 2024, the life expectancy for Black men was 68.1 years, according to a city health department data brief released in June. The next closest demographic was Black women at 78.2 years — a full decade longer than Black men.
Altogether, the life expectancy of Black Chicagoans is 73.3 years, compared to 82.7 years for non-Black Chicagoans, according to the health department brief. Premature deaths from chronic diseases — like heart disease and cancer — are the largest contributor to that 9.4-year gap.
In addition, Chicago is home to the widest gap between neighborhoods of any big city in the nation, as my WBEZ colleague Kristen Schorsch has masterfully documented over the last several months.
Word of Leak’s passing spread rapidly. He was well known and well respected, and his death left many in Black Chicago with heavy hearts. For decades, his family name and funeral home business have been fixtures in the city’s Black community. His birthday parties were legendary, attracting, literally, thousands each year.
I know people who knew him well and spoke highly of him. And while I’d never had the pleasure of meeting him, his death has deeply affected me. We’re practically the same age — both born in 1969 just five days apart. At no point in my life have I ever pondered my own mortality more than I have in the weeks since Leak passed away.
Death has always felt like some far away reality. Whenever it would cross my mind, I’d think to myself, for sure, it will happen some day in the distant future. But in the last few weeks, I’ve been coming to grips with the fact that such a fate could happen much sooner than I’d like — if things don’t change.
After a health scare in September 2024 — when my blood pressure spiked to something like 180 over 120 — I made a number of changes my doctor suggested. He told me to cut back on my meat and alcohol intake and to start exercising regularly. I’ve followed through on those changes for a time. But I’ve fallen off considerably on some of them.
I’ve brushed them off, thinking what harm can come from occasionally eating the foods I’ve grown to love, or from ending my gym membership or enjoying a cocktail a few times a week. The impact is negligible, I’ve told myself. But those conversations following Leak’s death, that health department data and the stories Schorsch has written about Chicago’s death gap give me pause.
The fact is: Black men in Chicago often die too soon.
Systemic issues like gun violence, chronic diseases and stress contribute to those premature deaths. Black men carry a heavy load shouldering their families and communities under intense pressure, and sometimes, unforgiving scrutiny. Addressing those issues won’t occur overnight. But brothers can make other changes more rapidly, like getting consistent physical exercise, seeking mental health wellness, eating sensibly and making routine doctor visits. It is incumbent upon us to approach our health with a life-or-death seriousness because for us — perhaps more than others — it truly can be a matter of life or death.
Alden Loury is data projects editor for WBEZ and writes a column for the Sun-Times.