One wrong turn at a traffic light can end a life dedicated to lifting others, and in Baton Rouge, that harsh reality struck down a woman who spent her days teaching kids to code their way out of hardship.
David Catherine, the 23-year-old rapper who goes by RealBleeda, now faces first-degree murder charges alongside two associates for a September 2024 drive-by shooting that claimed the life of 42-year-old Teressa Calligan. Authorities say Calligan, driving home from a local fundraiser, pulled up next to a rented SUV at the Airline Highway and Greenwell Street intersection. Gunfire erupted from the vehicle, hitting her multiple times and sending her car crashing into other drivers, including a sheriff’s deputy. She died at the scene, her death ruled a homicide from gunshot wounds.
Prosecutors believe the attackers meant to hit a rival gang member, not Calligan, who had no ties to street conflicts. This mix-up turned a personal vendetta into a public tragedy, leaving her family and friends grappling with a loss that feels all too random in a neighborhood scarred by similar errors.
Calligan stood out as a quiet force for change in north Baton Rouge. As dean of the Futures Fund teen coding program, she guided at-risk youth through web development and cybersecurity lessons, helping them build skills for jobs in a tech-driven world. Outside work, she organized community events at the Walls Project, a nonprofit tackling poverty through education and fresh food access for working families. Friends remember her as a churchgoer at Oasis Baptist who championed peace, often saying she was in the wrong place only because she chose to give back.
The three men charged—Catherine, 20-year-old Roger Parker, and 19-year-old Robert Lewis—all link to the Bleedas gang, a group tied to drive-bys and drug runs in the Glen Oaks area. A grand jury handed down the indictments on October 2, 2025, after police pieced together surveillance video of the SUV, witness tips, and gang intel. Catherine also picked up an obstruction charge, and all three sit in East Baton Rouge Parish Prison without bond. Parker’s name pops up in other cases, like the November 2024 shooting death of an 8-year-old boy caught in another gang crossfire.
Catherine’s path to this moment weaves through his music and run-ins with the law. Tracks under the RealBleeda name often nod to street life and beefs with rivals, including shots at Baton Rouge’s bigger rap names. Back in March 2025, he dropped by a middle school for an impromptu dance to one of his songs, where kids mimed guns in a viral clip that sparked backlash over glamorizing violence. Then came his May arrest in Monroe for waving a firearm in a mall, footage from which helped nail him to this case.
Baton Rouge knows this pain all too well. The city logged over 100 homicides last year, many fueled by gang feuds like the ones the Bleedas stoke. Recent efforts, from state-led sweeps to community watches, nudged violent crime down slightly in early 2025, with officials crediting targeted arrests.
Yet numbers only tell part of the story—each one hides shattered families and kids growing up dodging shadows.
As someone who’s covered these streets for years, I find this indictment hits differently. It spotlights how rap, born from raw truths, sometimes blurs into blueprints for real harm, pulling young talents like Catherine deeper into cycles they rap about escaping. We see the beats and bravado online, but the fallout lands on folks like Calligan, who poured her energy into breaking those same chains for the next generation. Her memorial tribute from the Walls Project captures that spirit: a call to keep coding classes going in her name, turning grief into code lines that might one day debug a safer Baton Rouge.
