“F**k Him, Take Him Out!”: Summer 1998

I’m not sure how long my house had been empty before I moved in here, but over the past couple of years I had come to realize that the dealers saw it as their own. I had a few direct confrontations, but spending more time outside and meeting some of my neighbors greatly helped to calm things down. Although there was an abandoned house a few lots from mine where the dealers liked to park, it did not have the convenience of being on the corner. I think a lot of the dealers still saw me as nothing more than a transient anomaly, and some of them were becoming impatient with the way I was disrupting their normal business routine.

There was a man who used to come through here frequently during the spring and summer of 1998. He was distinctive in both his personal appearance as well as the vehicle he drove. He was tall, skinny and white. He had long hair tied back, and looked like a burnout from the sixties. His van was solid black, with huge orange flames painted on both sides. Whenever he would pull up, several of the dealers would flock to his van for a few minutes then leave. I never heard any bells, so I don’t think he was selling ice cream. I can only assume that he was the one supplying the dealers.

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One day, I looked out my window to see one of the local drug dealers arguing with the supplier. They were about a half block away, so I could not hear their conversation, but from the body language it was clear that the dealer was getting an ass chewing from the supplier. The supplier was standing, his arms flailing about and sometimes he would stop and point his bony finger at the dealer. The dealer was setting down, and the only body movement he exhibited was to shrug his shoulders. Suddenly, the dealer pointed towards my house and shouted “Fuck him. Take him out.” I figured they were either talking about me or Arlen, who often chased the dealers away from his home.

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A CONTEST - WIN A PRIZE!

OK, by this point you have probably come to realize that my actions can sometimes be described as crazy, stupid, unpredictable, or a combination of all three. So what do you think I did in response to this guy threatening to kill me?

A. Ran home to my mother, screaming like a little baby.
B. Walked up and told him I’d kill him if he didn’t stay away from my house.
C. Walked up and asked if he had any weed, then sat down and smoked a J with him.
D. All of the above.
E. None of the above. (If you guess E, you have to say what you think I actually did.)

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All persons who answer correctly will win a trip to crack-town.

Tell them about the prize, Johnny!

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That’s right, Phil. The winner(s) get to spend an afternoon setting with you on the front porch of your home only a few feet away from one of Fort Wayne’s most interesting corners. They can experience life in the ‘hood first hand and, if it’s a good day, there might even be some second hand fumes going around.

Like the Crater of Diamonds State Park guests can mine the yard for drug paraphernalia or abandoned clothing and keep anything that they find. Items found to date include three crack-pipes, two bags of pot, a brown leather jacket, a very large pair of sweat pants, a knit cap, and numerous beer/alcohol containers with a little swill left in them.

And similar to the Conner Prairie Settlement guests will encounter people who actually appear to be high on crack. These people are very knowledgeable and able to converse about topics such as how many misdemeanors it takes to constitute a felony and how many grams a person can possess before being classified as a dealer, thus making their visit to crack-town a true educational experience. If attendance is “high” enough, interactive classes on rolling weed and cooking meth will also be offered.

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Legal Disclaimers:

This is a B.Y.O.G. event, and the owner of “MY HUD HOUSE” makes no promise of guests safety and assumes no liability for any damages.

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All arrangements for transportation to and from “MY HUD HOUSE” must be provided by guests. However, if they are unconscious at time of scheduled departure (see above), a “bus” will be called for them.
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Possession, consumption, buying and selling of illegal narcotics is strictly prohibited while at “MY HUD HOUSE.” However, the public sidewalk is only a few feet away, and a different set of rules often seems to apply there.

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Alcoholic integrity of “swill” can not be guaranteed, as the bottom of the bottle is mostly spit.