Life is too short to drink cheap wine.
They taught me that the world is round, but when I left school I fell off a cliff.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Discussion: Many people have written to say that I shouldn't have taken it upon myself to chase the thief. I should have let it go. It was only money, and not mine at that.
Here's one:
"Wow. I’m SO grateful that YOU ARE BOTH OKAY… here’s the lecture…
First of all – it’s “just money”. It wasn’t even YOUR money or your only picture of your long lost puppy or whatever else may compel you to run after a criminal.
Second, you didn’t have a gun, did you? What would have happened had you “cornered” this criminal and he (with his fear abounding) pulled out HIS gun? Do you think he would have made the right decision in assessing that YOU were a good guy?
Third, does it matter if she was driving a Mercedes or she was a check out girl who had just been paid? Had it really mattered to you, it could have saved you your life to have found out. Wouldn’t you have been the same hero to give her $1,000 on the spot? YOUR MONEY or YOUR LIFE?
I find your act incredibly heroic (and clearly your instinct had arisen from the goodness of your heart) – but next time… STOP. THINK. ASK the questions that may compel your decision to ACT. Then, call the cops and let them know he went down toward A1A.
J You are brave and I’m thankful that you and Maria are safe -- and finally -- the sociological paradox is priceless. I love you!
Here's my answer:
Every man must do as he thinks right.
I can't, won't, suppress myself. I could be a coward and live in a padded cell but I'd rather live in the real world. It is not "heroic" merely to do what is right. Never.
We must take positions and use our discretion to know when and how to act. Thirty-five years in Williamsburg taught me my limits. Those limits did not include backing down in front of desperadoes.
This is not say that would wrestle a gun or knife from someone. It is to say that I would do (and have done) what I can do when (if) the time comes to act.
This is also not to say that you, or Aaron, or Geoff, or Cory, or Max should act as I act. Only that you should act as you know that you can.
There is another side of me that wants to do what is right. Hence the chase, and hence its anticlimatical ending in which I found myself regretting the chase and "capture."
I felt like a slave catcher.
Discussion: Many people have written to say that I shouldn't have taken it upon myself to chase the thief. I should have let it go. It was only money, and not mine at that.
Here's one:
"Wow. I’m SO grateful that YOU ARE BOTH OKAY… here’s the lecture…
First of all – it’s “just money”. It wasn’t even YOUR money or your only picture of your long lost puppy or whatever else may compel you to run after a criminal.
Second, you didn’t have a gun, did you? What would have happened had you “cornered” this criminal and he (with his fear abounding) pulled out HIS gun? Do you think he would have made the right decision in assessing that YOU were a good guy?
Third, does it matter if she was driving a Mercedes or she was a check out girl who had just been paid? Had it really mattered to you, it could have saved you your life to have found out. Wouldn’t you have been the same hero to give her $1,000 on the spot? YOUR MONEY or YOUR LIFE?
I find your act incredibly heroic (and clearly your instinct had arisen from the goodness of your heart) – but next time… STOP. THINK. ASK the questions that may compel your decision to ACT. Then, call the cops and let them know he went down toward A1A.
J You are brave and I’m thankful that you and Maria are safe -- and finally -- the sociological paradox is priceless. I love you!
Here's my answer:
Every man must do as he thinks right.
I can't, won't, suppress myself. I could be a coward and live in a padded cell but I'd rather live in the real world. It is not "heroic" merely to do what is right. Never.
We must take positions and use our discretion to know when and how to act. Thirty-five years in Williamsburg taught me my limits. Those limits did not include backing down in front of desperadoes.
This is not say that would wrestle a gun or knife from someone. It is to say that I would do (and have done) what I can do when (if) the time comes to act.
This is also not to say that you, or Aaron, or Geoff, or Cory, or Max should act as I act. Only that you should act as you know that you can.
There is another side of me that wants to do what is right. Hence the chase, and hence its anticlimatical ending in which I found myself regretting the chase and "capture."
I felt like a slave catcher.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Disturbing Event
Maria and I were in the parking lot of Whole Foods when we observed a purse-snatcher grab and run with a purse belonging to a check-out-lady from the store. He took off like a rocket and was very big, say six feet two or so, and 250 lbs. He ran directly across the highway, though traffic.
The check-out-lady was hysterical, I figured she had just been paid.
I gave chase on foot but he was far too fleet for me; Maria caught up to me with the car and we searched for him for about ten minutes on the other side of a highway. By this time two men in a convertible had joined the chase and the lady had gotten into their car, still screaming--and it was at least five minutes after the purse had been stolen.
The other car went one way, but I understood that it wasn't likely that he would run into a suburban neighborhood. Maria drove along the back of the highway, and I searched behind a Shell Station, in the Sports Central parking lot, a Barnes and Noble parking lot, and various other spots that I thought he might have run to or hidden in.
Suddenly he burst out of some brush, having been flushed out by the men from the other car. I was alone with him and saw a large black man, very terrified, and sweating very hard.
I told him to give me the purse and to head for the hills. But he no longer had the purse; a short time later the other men arrived, and the thief, who had, in my mind, become a victim, was threatening to "go crazy." "Give us the purse," I asked again, but he had already dropped it.
By now three carloads of police had arrived.
"Get down on the ground!"
He obeyed quickly, and was down on his belly, but the cops had drawn their pistols, and now ran to him, and kneed him the back. They weren't gentle.
In the meantime, Maria had found the purse, in tact, and returned it to the lady.
I remarked to Maria, that I found it interesting that when I saw the theft occur, I felt sorry for the check-out lady, having assumed that she had just been paid.
But when I saw the cops knee the frightened thief, guns drawn, my sympathies went to the thief.
To make matters still worse, Maria told me that the lady was not a check-out lady, but rather that she had just been getting into her Mercedes.
mek
Disturbing Event
Maria and I were in the parking lot of Whole Foods when we observed a purse-snatcher grab and run with a purse belonging to a check-out-lady from the store. He took off like a rocket and was very big, say six feet two or so, and 250 lbs. He ran directly across the highway, though traffic.
The check-out-lady was hysterical, I figured she had just been paid.
I gave chase on foot but he was far too fleet for me; Maria caught up to me with the car and we searched for him for about ten minutes on the other side of a highway. By this time two men in a convertible had joined the chase and the lady had gotten into their car, still screaming--and it was at least five minutes after the purse had been stolen.
The other car went one way, but I understood that it wasn't likely that he would run into a suburban neighborhood. Maria drove along the back of the highway, and I searched behind a Shell Station, in the Sports Central parking lot, a Barnes and Noble parking lot, and various other spots that I thought he might have run to or hidden in.
Suddenly he burst out of some brush, having been flushed out by the men from the other car. I was alone with him and saw a large black man, very terrified, and sweating very hard.
I told him to give me the purse and to head for the hills. But he no longer had the purse; a short time later the other men arrived, and the thief, who had, in my mind, become a victim, was threatening to "go crazy." "Give us the purse," I asked again, but he had already dropped it.
By now three carloads of police had arrived.
"Get down on the ground!"
He obeyed quickly, and was down on his belly, but the cops had drawn their pistols, and now ran to him, and kneed him the back. They weren't gentle.
In the meantime, Maria had found the purse, in tact, and returned it to the lady.
I remarked to Maria, that I found it interesting that when I saw the theft occur, I felt sorry for the check-out lady, having assumed that she had just been paid.
But when I saw the cops knee the frightened thief, guns drawn, my sympathies went to the thief.
To make matters still worse, Maria told me that the lady was not a check-out lady, but rather that she had just been getting into her Mercedes.
mek
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Maria and I were in the parking lot of Whole Foods when we observed a purse-snatcher grab and run with a purse belonging to a check-out-lady from the store. He took off like a rocket and was very big, say six feet two or so, and 250 lbs. He ran directly across the highway, though traffic.
The check-out-lady was hysterical, I figured she had just been paid.
I gave chase on foot but he was far too fleet for me; Maria caught up to me with the car and we searched for him for about ten minutes on the other side of a highway. By this time two men in a convertible had joined the chase and the lady had gotten into their car, still screaming--and it was at least five minutes after the purse had been stolen.
The other car went one way, but I understood that it wasn't likely that he would run into a suburban neighborhood. Maria drove along the back of the highway, and I searched behind a Shell Station, in the Sports Central parking lot, a Barnes and Noble parking lot, and various other spots that I thought he might have run to or hidden in.
Suddenly he burst out of some brush, having been flushed out by the men from the other car. I was alone with him and saw a large black man, very terrified, and sweating very hard.
I told him to give me the purse and to head for the hills. But he no longer had the purse; a short time later the other men arrived, and the thief, who had, in my mind, become a victim, was threatening to "go crazy." "Give us the purse," I asked again, but he had already dropped it.
By now three carloads of police had arrived.
"Get down on the ground!"
He obeyed quickly, and was down on his belly, but the cops had drawn their pistols, and now ran to him, and kneed him the back. They weren't gentle.
In the meantime, Maria had found the purse, in tact, and returned it to the lady.
I remarked to Maria, that I found it interesting that when I saw the theft occur, I felt sorry for the check-out lady, having assumed that she had just been paid.
But when I saw the cops knee the frightened thief, guns drawn, my sympathies went to the thief.
To make matters still worse, Maria told me that the lady was not a check-out lady, but rather that she had just been getting into her Mercedes.
mek
Maria and I were in the parking lot of Whole Foods when we observed a purse-snatcher grab and run with a purse belonging to a check-out-lady from the store. He took off like a rocket and was very big, say six feet two or so, and 250 lbs. He ran directly across the highway, though traffic.
The check-out-lady was hysterical, I figured she had just been paid.
I gave chase on foot but he was far too fleet for me; Maria caught up to me with the car and we searched for him for about ten minutes on the other side of a highway. By this time two men in a convertible had joined the chase and the lady had gotten into their car, still screaming--and it was at least five minutes after the purse had been stolen.
The other car went one way, but I understood that it wasn't likely that he would run into a suburban neighborhood. Maria drove along the back of the highway, and I searched behind a Shell Station, in the Sports Central parking lot, a Barnes and Noble parking lot, and various other spots that I thought he might have run to or hidden in.
Suddenly he burst out of some brush, having been flushed out by the men from the other car. I was alone with him and saw a large black man, very terrified, and sweating very hard.
I told him to give me the purse and to head for the hills. But he no longer had the purse; a short time later the other men arrived, and the thief, who had, in my mind, become a victim, was threatening to "go crazy." "Give us the purse," I asked again, but he had already dropped it.
By now three carloads of police had arrived.
"Get down on the ground!"
He obeyed quickly, and was down on his belly, but the cops had drawn their pistols, and now ran to him, and kneed him the back. They weren't gentle.
In the meantime, Maria had found the purse, in tact, and returned it to the lady.
I remarked to Maria, that I found it interesting that when I saw the theft occur, I felt sorry for the check-out lady, having assumed that she had just been paid.
But when I saw the cops knee the frightened thief, guns drawn, my sympathies went to the thief.
To make matters still worse, Maria told me that the lady was not a check-out lady, but rather that she had just been getting into her Mercedes.
mek
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