The Night I (Almost?) Went Crazy: October 17-18, 2006

Long ago, I got used to the fact that someone shooting at my house might become a real possibility here. And given that I had so many confrontations this summer, it was looking like an even greater possibility that such an occurrence might happen soon. I suppose, in hindsight, there might have been something Freudian about the letter I had distributed earlier in the day. It might sound crazy to say that I wanted to be attacked, but deep down I probably knew it would come eventually, so why wait?
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When I heard the leaves rustling on my back porch that evening, this is exactly what I was thinking. It sounded like more than just the wind, so I grabbed my gun and turned off the inside light before peeking through the hole in the curtain. As soon as I saw the flames, I went outside to see that one of the fire-bombs had hit it’s mark and was beginning to burn on my back porch. As I was trying to douse this fire, Arlen came over and stomped out the flames burning in my back yard from the second one. It actually took a few minutes before I even realized there was a third one burning in the front yard.
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I’ve owned a gun since 1998, and have carried it on me pretty regularly since 2003, but this was the first time I had ever left the house with my weapon drawn. I firmly believe in the mantra that you should only draw your weapon if you’re prepared to use it, and I was. If any one of the people I had been having problems with had been in sight at that time, I think there is a high probability that my gun would have been fired.
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It had been raining all day long, so the fire never really took hold. FWFD arrived within a few minutes and hosed down the back porch to finish off the fire. FWPD began arriving almost immediately after this. By this point, I had tucked my gun back in my waistband, but it was still exposed. When the first officer arrived at my back yard I rushed towards him shouting about what had happened. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking as I rushed, shouting, at a uniformed officer with a gun tucked in my waistband. I suppose the adrenaline was just pumping too fast at that time. Anyway, I give Officer Albright a lot of credit for how he dealt with me that night.
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I am certain he would have been justified if he just slammed me down on the ground, or worse, as a necessary precaution for his own safety. Instead, he just raised the palm of his hand to meet my thrusting chest. He calmly stated “I’ll just hold this for our safety until we clear the scene,” as he reached down to pull the gun from my waistband. I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t still holding the gun in my hand at the time or I might have ended up getting shot by the police.
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I will also give several other officers on the scene credit for their demeanor towards me that night. As you can imagine, given that drug dealers had just tried to burn my home down because I wouldn’t set back and allow them to sell from my property, I was pretty upset. I don’t recall exactly what I said that night, but I know I was shouting a lot, and cussing a lot. Not a single officer that night asked, or ordered, me to settle down. If they had, I’m quite certain that my response would have landed me in jail.
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As the police were about to leave, Officer Albright asked me where I would be staying that night. When I answered that I would be staying here, he looked surprised and asked if I really thought that was a good idea. I responded by saying “If I leave tonight, I will no longer own this house. When I come back in the morning there will be drug dealers setting on my front porch asking what I am doing here. I really don’t think I have any choice but to stay here tonight.” Officer Albright told me that his officers would be frequently patrolling the area that night and he gave me a number where I could reach him directly if I had any problems or questions.
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During the next several hours, I did some things that could easily be described as brave, stupid, reckless or crazy, depending upon one’s perspective. It started out innocently enough. I was just setting outside watching over the area when I decided to pick up some of the trash in the front lawn. As I made my way to the side of the house, the five-gallon bucket I was carrying quickly became full. As I thought more about the fact that most of this trash was left here by the drug dealers, and that the police really don’t seem to pay attention to them loitering and trespassing here, I walked out into the middle of the street and dumped the bucket.
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For the next ten minutes or so, I walked all about my property picking up trash - and tossing it out into the street. I figured it would be rather difficult for the police to just drive by and miss that! I actually hadn’t stopped to look at what mess I was making as I continued tossing trash into the street. Then, a patrol car came through and stopped. I turned to the officer and he had a shocked look on his face as he asked “Who did this?”
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When I told him I did it, and why, he was actually pretty understanding. If he wanted to be a prick about it, he could have given me a ticket for littering. And judging by the extent of the mess I had made he probably could have made a case for charging me with obstructing traffic. Instead he just said in a very casual tone “You do realize you can’t leave this in the street?” Okay, I was being an ass (justifiably so, I might add) and this officer responded to me by being direct but polite. That was enough to take the edge off my anger towards the police that night. I told the officer I would have the mess cleaned up before dawn and he drove away.
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Now, here comes the really crazy part. I started walking around the neighborhood - every street and every alley in the immediate area. I was playing my harmonica as I strolled about, and every time I would pass by a house where someone I had words with in the past lived at, I played the harmonica as loud as I could. I really was looking for a fight at that moment, and If I had run into one of the drug dealers at that time it is almost certain that we would have exchanged gun-fire.
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At one point, I was a block away from my house, on Taber Street, when a car came creeping up behind me very slowly. There were at least two people inside it. After it passed me, it pulled over on the side of the street where I was walking. I continued walking, and shortly after I passed it, the passenger door cracked open a bit. I stopped about fifty feet from the car and just waited. I did not have my gun drawn, but my hand was on it. No one got out of the car and the door closed. It remained parked there at least until I was out of sight. In hindsight, I now realize just how crazy my behavior that night might have seemed. It’s very possible that the people in that car were just pulling up to their own house but feared stepping out of the car because of the crazy looking guy lurking about on the sidewalk.
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The best rationale that I can provide for my seemingly reckless behavior that night is that it was the drug dealers who had brought the fight to me, and had made it clear that they would allow me no way of avoiding this short of an unconditional surrender of my home to them. So if a fight was the ultimate end to all this, what better time for it than now, when I was so pumped up. If I had been shot that night, I really don’t think I would have felt any pain. The adrenaline was pumping fast enough to cover that. Bulletproof? - No, but pretty damn close.
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When I got back to the house, I pulled out a can of spray paint and walked to the side of my house. In letters about a foot tall I wrote “DRUG DEALERS SUCK DICK.” I didn’t even realize it at the time, but the gang colors here are red. By complete chance, I happened to have used blue paint for my message, thus making the sign even more provocative. Around three in the morning, another patrol car came through and stopped. Again, a shocked look and the question “Who did this?”
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When I answered that I did it myself, it took a few seconds to register, but the officer then gave me a big grin. Both he and the driver stepped out of the car and walked over to examine my artwork. One of the officers began calling others and within a few minutes the street was blocked with about ten patrol cars. They were laughing hysterically and one pulled out his camera phone and started to take a picture. He paused and turned towards me to ask if I minded him doing this.
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I really don’t think I could have stopped him if I wanted to, but it was nice of him to ask. I just requested that if he included this in his report that he make sure and mention that my sign went up after the house was fire-bombed. I was afraid if it appeared to be in the opposite order, it would incorrectly look like I had been the provocateur. At that point, several officers began snapping pictures and I am really surprised that none appear to have ever been posted anywhere on-line.
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After they got done laughing and taking pictures, one of the officers suggested that maybe this sign wasn’t such a good idea. I responded that since the drug dealers had made it clear that they would kill me if they got the chance, I really didn’t see any need to restrain myself. They would not respect me, and I did not plan to simply surrender. He then threw back at me something that I had said earlier in the evening. - “What about these old folks here. You said yourself that they are very friendly towards you and have helped you with a lot of problems before. Don’t you think that when those old ladies look out in the morning and see this profanity that they’ll be shocked and offended?”
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This officer was actually being pretty damn sensible with his advice. No matter how bad things are, they can always become worse - and this message could very likely have been the means for that to happen. Unfortunately, by this time I was both exhausted and still very pissed. I just told the officer I would consider removing the message later. I finally laid down to rest around five in the morning. The message on the side of the house remained at that time.
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I moved my sleeping bag to an area of the house that was away from the exterior walls. I was surrounded by my Glock, my shotgun, my flashlight and a few other necessities. Both guns were loaded and ready to fire because, as unsafe as that might seam, I really felt there was a good chance that someone would either drive by and shoot at my house or perhaps even try to kick in the door. Before I laid down to sleep, I unscrewed the light bulbs that were controlled by the switches near the doors. Needless to say, I slept with my boots on that night.
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I set my alarm to go off in one hour. When it went off, I went outside and circled the house a couple of times. I continued this limited sleeping pattern throughout the night/morning. I was pretty stressed out and if I had ended up getting into a confrontation with anybody at that time, I am fairly certain I would have ended up either in jail or dead as a result. Luckily, it remained quiet here for the next several hours.
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Next Post: A Desperate Situation Becomes Worse
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