Confronting the Drug Dealer: Summer 1997

I had lived here for a year and a half now. The dealers were beginning to act more openly, but still with some reserve. A group of people would frequently park beside my house while I was at work (as reported to me by neighbors). They would usually leave before or shortly after I arrived home, so I couldn’t say for sure if they were dealing. But I do know they left a lot of trash behind, so I approached them one day with a simple request. I placed a trash can by the tree where the city picks up the garbage, and asked that they throw their trash in it instead of on the ground where I have to pick it up. They stared at me for a moment, then one said “That’s cool,” so I actually thought I solved the problem.

Shortly after this, Arlen knocked on my door one day and informed me that these people were selling drugs on the side of my house. He demanded to know what I was going to do about it. The way he saw it, by not running them off, I was inviting them. He was particularly sensitive about this because at the time he had a young teen-age son who was at the ripe age for being influenced by their activities. I told Arlen I’d look into it.

I had not actually seen any drug dealing myself, but I began watching them closely until one day I observed a man using my trash can to hide his drugs in while he waited for passing cars to stop. I knew then that my accommodating gesture was seen as weakness and an invitation to sell drugs. I didn’t call the police because I didn’t want it to look like I was hiding behind them. I decided that I’d simply go out and tell the guy to leave, and see what would happen.

The first thing I did was to put a knife in my back pocket. Although he was standing alone, I wanted to be prepared in case he reacted violently. The next thing I did was to knock on Arlen’s door. I simply told Arlen “I’m going to go take care of the problem on the side of the house, but if you hear gunshots, you better be there to back my ass up.”

So I walked past the drug dealer, picked up the trash can (that still had his drugs inside it) and started walking towards my front yard. He began stammering “Hey, what are you doing?” his tone was more of a shocked one than an aggressive one. He followed me as I walked towards the house, so I put the trash can down in my front yard. I said “Look, you’re out here selling drugs, and your using my property as cover for it. That is not going to happen.”

I had no idea how much stuff he had stashed in the trash can, or the value of it. Realizing that losing money would probably piss him off much worse than just being told to leave, I offered him a way out. I said “I’m going inside to get a trash bag. When I come back, everything in this can is going in that bag. Take your stuff and get off my property.” I told him I‘d call the police if he came back. To my surprise, when I came back out a minute later, the man was gone, and the trash can was still setting upright.

The next day, when I arrived home from work, there were three cars parked beside my house, and about eight guys standing on the grass median. They were drinking beer and eating food, and most of the trash strewn about was obviously from them. They all stared at me in unison as I got out of my truck, and it appeared they were looking for a fight.

I had enough sense to not directly challenge such a large group, so I just grabbed my trash can from the side of the house and went over to where they were. I started weaving in between them and picking up trash. Most of them just stared at me, but Cliff looked at me and said “What’s up?” with a friendly demeanor. I replied “You know, I wish people wouldn’t throw their trash on the ground here, it really makes this whole neighborhood look bad.” Cliff actually started helping me pick up some of the trash then, and the others began walking or driving away shortly after that.

I think back on events in my life like this one, and I really am amazed that I haven’t gotten my head kicked in somewhere along the way. I still did not own a gun at this time, and the only “weapon” I had on me was a screwdriver in my back pocket. Who knows what they were thinking about my actions. Perhaps it was the fact that I protested in a positive manner, by picking up the trash, rather than shouting at them. Perhaps it was the fact that Arlen was out there also, so they didn’t want to attack me with a witness around. Or perhaps they just thought I was crazy enough that I should be left alone.

A few days after this event, I called FWPD for the first time. I wasn't asking for anything specific. I just wanted to alert them to the problems here, and ask that they help keep an eye on the area. I thought it might also be useful to speak with one of the officers who patrols this neighborhood to see how we could work together to alleviate the problem. The response from the civilian employee that answered the phone was one that I would begin to hear quite frequently, but I'll cover that in my next post.

As the summer progressed, the provocative stares and the amount of trash on the ground began dissipating. I would often notice that my trash can by the side of the house had a lot of stray trash in it. I decided that I didn’t mind someone stepping a few feet into my yard for a moment if it would lessen the amount of liter on the ground. I would eventually come to realize that this concession was also a mistake.

A novel way to sell your drugs