Tuesday, November 2nd, approximately 1:04 AM... my senses were aroused by a series of disturbing noises generated by something huge! I heard a slamming noise...like that of our deep-freezer in the patio adjacent to my bedroom being opened and closed repeatedly. I opened my eyes as another loud slam reverberated through the wall to my alert ears. I sat up in bed, groggily wiping the haze out of my eyes. The clock read 1:--something AM. I had only been asleep less than three hours. This time the slamming held more of a hollow thud - the noise the back door makes when slammed. I knew that there was someone out there. My adrenaline began to pump.
Mother had already awakened Father and he had turned on the flood lights. When the lights came on, I decided to cautiously peer out my window. As I did, I saw the burglar in a light colored hoodie sweatshirt covered in gold paisleys and wearing dark jeans. I quickly and carefully took down his information knowing that I would need it. "About 6 foot...maybe...oh...early twenties...light colored sweatshirt, dirty blond crew-cut hair...flashlight...gun...gun...gun!" I saw him standing in front of our picnic table, brandishing the flashlight in his right hand, and the hand gun in the left. I immediately retreated from the window as the man swung and aimed the flashlight at my window.
At that moment Dad came into my room to look out my window. The banging had stopped temporarily as the crook stopped to glance over the meats he had taken from our freezer and placed on the picnic table. He was probably wondering how he would carry it all away by himself. "Dad- he's got a gun." I warned, laying back on my bed. My two sisters had roused and were sitting up on their beds. They had heard some of the banging themselves.
At that moment I heard the banging of the carport guard rail (a safety device my dad Incorporated years ago to protect us kids from falling from the high concrete wall while riding our bicycles. The sound made from someone using it to pull themselves up is all too familiar and unmistakable) as the crook climbed up into the carport and shined the flashlight at my window again. He rattled the screen. Fearing that gunfire could erupt at any moment I slid out of bed and ordered my sisters out of the room.
Honestly, they'll tell you that I scrambled, scampered, fled like a rabbit, and said "He's got a gun, I'm getting outta here!" so I'll have to give you their side too. I'll admit that I did say that, and I did run out looking for a knife or my BB gun- but! Interjection BUT! While dad had my legs pinned down under my covers I was urging them to get out of the room ahead of me. When dad finally withdrew from the window and my legs were free, they still had not moved, and I took it upon myself to be the first to leave. They quickly followed.
Mom, obviously in shock had asked dad permission to call 911. I went straight to wake my little brother Gabriel who would not move or wake up. So I had to haul him out of bed while he slept and drag him to my parent's closet. The crook commenced ramming the back door with his body. Fortunately for us, there are five steps that precede the doorstep and he didn't have a wide area to stand or even launch from.
Dad went into his closet and procured several guns he owns. He attempted to load them but the first one jammed. The banging became more steady and methodical. I was going into shock. My body temperature had dropped and I was shaking and my teeth were chattering. I went into the bathroom looking for a sharp object or knife...tweezers...anything sharp enough to stab and eye out. Since I had seen the burglar the 911 operator asked me to describe him over the phone. She was also wanting to talk to dad but he was ignoring mother. I watched my dad tromping back and forth pulling out ammunition and guns, trying to load them and becoming frustrated. It sounded as if the door was going to break open at any moment.
The feeling of helplessness was terrible. Our castle was being seiged for the first time ever. The door sounded as if it would splinter and I could in minutes be faced with the ugliest devil I'd ever seen. And I knew that this devil had a gun. Even with his back turned to my window, my glimpse of him had been a frightening one. He looked like a convict escaped from jail.
Dad came back to the closet and snatched out his deer rifle. Loading it, he left and stood in wait. I heard glass breaking and new that the burglar would be entering the house. How awful it was to hear my house being shattered and demolished by one deranged maniac. Then, I heard a single shot split the air. I expected to hear a scream or a groan or a scuffling noise. Not able to recognize the shot, I didn't know if the bandit had shot at my dad, or my dad at him. My adrenaline had been pumping so fast and my ears pounding that the sound of breaking glass and gunfire was muffled and quickly fled my memory. The time flew so that the entire ordeal seemed to last only seconds. Looking at the clock, we realized that twenty minutes had passed.
Dad returned to the room and we were relieved to see that he hadn't been shot. "I don't know where he is. I couldn't see him, I just saw his shadow through the blinds and thought I'd warn him before his head and the gun came through." Dad said. Mom was still on the phone. She told Dad that the police were outside and wanted him to come out the front door. When I saw eight police cars in front of our house, I suddenly felt very safe. (The Mobile City Police deserve a Tribute standing by itself in a following post)
I was asked to step outside and describe the burglar. I'd never stood toe to toe with that many police officers before. Several of them carried assault rifles with flashlights mounted on them and went into the back yard to investigate. I gave them my description and answered their questions. Before I could even finish the officer's radio blared, "They've just found a man on Diamond, not a quarter mile west- requesting back-up- he's armed and putting up a fight- over and out." Immediately two of the patrol cars on the road sped into action and zoomed up the hill at a terrific speed.
Ten minutes later they returned with the crook in the back of the car. The continued to question me about his appearance and whatever other details I could remember. Adrenaline had partially erased some of this information but they brought me the man's bloody sweatshirt to identify and his shoe which they matched with the mud sole marks on our door. An ambulance arrived immediately to treat him for a serious wound on the wrist. I could only assume my dad's bullet had grazed him by the amount of blood on the cuff and waist of the sweatshirt. It is likely that it was caused by glass shrapnel thrown by the bullet coming through the window.
I was terrified when the police announced that they would shine a light in his face so I could get a look at him. I almost didn't want this because I didn't want to think that it could have been a neighbor kid I went to school with since 2nd grade and even played cars with every day in play centers. It wasn't the neighbor kid; and they quickly found enough evidence to form a solid case against him.
The officers told us that the guy was asking for a cigarette from the seat of the patrol car and even said, "Why can't I just go home?!" They wouldn't say if he was under the influence of any drugs but the CSI guy admitted that they wish that dad would have just shot him. They complained that criminals like this leave jail too quickly and commit the same crimes. On top of that, it would have saved them hours of paperwork and they have become very biased after ten years on the force and seeing innocent families being carried away in body bags because of fearless criminals. The forensics detective confiscated dad's rifle temporarily, but after finding that the bullet had apparently not grazed him and it had only been shrapnel that had wounded the crook (and understanding that my dad wanted it for hunting season) gave it back and instructed him on the proper scope to use in case this should ever happen again.
Let me tell you, police officers are very opinionated people. They have a great sense of humor, they're very friendly, and they are pro-gun and pro-family. The people who protect you, do not vote for socialism.
The neighbor sauntered over about the time the detective did. Her breath reeked of cheap cigarettes and she held the hand of her half-breed grandchild who she babysits constantly. It was 3:00 AM. As the detective's face came into the light I immediately recognized him. I'd seen him around town...somewhere before. "Hello, I'm detective Bradley." He said softly. I looked him over. "Smallest shoes I ever saw a man wear...short, woman-fine hands...big brown eyes....small nose....brisk, alert...very intelligent gaze..." I looked at his shirt. On the cuff the guitar center emblem was sewn into the cloth. "I knew it! I knew it!" I thought triumphantly. "I saw this man working behind the counter at Guitar Center when I went to hang up Pablo Sainz Villegas posters for the Mobile Symphony Youth Orchestra in April earlier this year! - And he's a detective!"
Detective Bradley asked questions and set an officer on fingerprinting. Dad found the doors on two of our vehicles ajar. Papers had been thrown around and the sun visors lowered. We hadn't locked any of the vehicles and were glad that we didn't because the crook may have broken the windows and been even more upset when he didn't find anything valuable inside.
The goods in the freezer were emptied on the picnic table. Turkeys and Hams were loaded into an empty trash can and whole Chickens were found in a cardboard box. The only items left in the freezer were my taxidermist specimens: a beautiful squirrel skin from one unlucky electrocution victim, and the skull from the bobcat that my Uncle wants me to clean for him.
Detective Bradley asked me and my dad questions, glanced at our identification, and scribbled notes from the crime scene. Every time a question was directed at either one of us, the neighbor lady broke in. According to her, the crook was DJ's friend, the slumlord let him, two other guys, and a girl rent a trailer for $200 each a month, the gun he had was a 380 automatic cause she saw it earlier that night when DJ came home from work and found him crouched under their window - but she didn't know him! The detective became miffed. The neighbor talked in circles and although she sounded as if she knew everything the cops wanted to know, she continued to ask questions and showed a considerable amount of alarm when she heard that my dad had shot at him. The following day she stopped the Fox 10 News car and told them that it was her gun the crook had used and that her house had also been robbed. I doubt she knows the cops plan on furthering their investigation.
The CSI detective gave some fancy names to the serious of holes the rifle bullet left in the patio walls, the concrete, the picnic table, and the direction it flew then advised dad to get himself an automatic and mow down anyone else who came along. "You were very reserved"..."Just the other day...I hauled off a two year old in a body bag" Detective Bradley stated that the previous week his patrol car had been broken into. He had spotted the crook trying to break the door open when he fired. "There's a ding in the car to prove it." He stated with a small smile.
My mother, still in obvious shock, stayed inside. I heard her playing the piano at 3:30 AM and singing. "I Cast All my cares, upon you...I lay, all of my burdens, down at your feet...and anytime that I don't know ...just what to do...I will cast, all my cares upon you..."
The police left at 5:30 that morning and about 6:00 AM we crawled back into bed and slept until 10:00 O'clock. It took another 24 hours to even think of getting back into routine. That morning dad replaced the window and reinforced the doors. Then the news people began circling, as the officer put it, "like vultures" and advised us to go ahead and give them permission to come otherwise they would ask around until they found us and have free reign of what they could film.
Their report was their own interpretation of what happened, and they did leave out our thanks to the Mobile County Police department but the picture they got of Phillip Anthony Johnston was truthful enough. I wonder if the vibes radiating off his convict face scared me more than the gun. I would have been more scared to know what he looked like before the ordeal was over as my vivid imagination could have accurately depicted him breaking down our door...my dad was the only physical thing standing between him and us. He would have been sorry to find that our electronics are stone age, we don't even have a TV, and when he shined his light upon the first wall of our house, he would have come face to face with Christ. If only Hoffman could have painted those eyes staring straight at the viewer...
So now, I sleep with half of my brain somewhat alert. Any little rustling outside my room could be a burglar...but dad has purchased more weapons of defense and trained us all in the use of them. If anybody is curious, I'm a near sure-shot with a gun. And if you'll excuse my redneck rhetoric, "I ain't easily scared." I get it from my dad. I can say that throughout the entire ordeal, he was only stirred...never shaken as he admitted on the news. Now that you've heard my story, take a look at the crook, who by the way, is as old as my younger sister. He is 17 years old...
I almost feel sorry for him...almost. I'm sure the cigarette and drug withdrawal he's dealt with will get the mental faculties working again, and he'll think twice before he ever attempts this neighborhood again. The Forensics detective said that we should be good for a whole year, and if they know what's good for them the entire generation will remember what could happen...17 years old or not, that kid could have been shot dead.
And if my dad hadn't been armed...we would have been in trouble. You may think you'll never need a gun until you have a maniac breaking your windows and beating on your doors...and he...is armed with an automatic. A gun that could easily dispatch more than half a dozen people before any of them can think to tackle him. The gun, was allegedly the neighbor lady's- but you can never believe anything she says. For every three sentences she speaks, one is a lie. And when this guy gets out of jail, he wont be able to get a gun permit. Where will he get his next gun? Where do they get their next gun? Don't think for a moment that if we the people don't have weapons the crooks can't get any. The crooks will steal them from squad cars and find you helpless...cowering in your bathroom.
