BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
NPG: Please send me:
The name of the dentist, first name "Willie" who traveled a great deal after retirement. Friends of mother and Dad. They had a son named "Arthur." They lived in Forest Hills, between 110th and 112th St, near us.
After retirement they came to Florida. He wore a beret. Heavy. His wife a dyed redhead. Thin. When playing with Arthur I rode my bike out of their driveway into a passing car. His mother, the redhead (dyed or not) painted and gave mother several paintings. I brought them to "Arthur" who lived in Ft. Lee after mother died.
He never acknowledged my effort nor did he thank me.
What was their last name?
Here's a dream from a few nights ago:
I dreamt about Maria & I having a talking grizzly bear as a friend at our home in Great Neck. Some gypsies saw him a few blocks away when he went for a walk. They asked him where he lived and followed him to Willow Lane.
When Maria & I returned the gypsies were playing violins and tambourines on our lawn while waiting for us. They wanted to buy our friend. Maria immediately said, " $450!"
But I said, "Are you crazy? He's our friend, we're not selling him."
The gypsies upped their offer, but when they saw that I was adamant about not selling him, they came into our backyard and we all had a party, me cooking, the gypsies playing violins and the bear, whose name turned out to be "Arthur," playing a trumpet.
Soon Gross and Pessin joined the band, Pessin on the clarinet, Gross on a flute. Both wore yamacas. Maria and Awilda danced with huge hoop earrings in their ears. Flashing eyes. Big smiles. Teeth.
Arthur eyeing Awilda & Maria while they danced. Lots of décolletage.
m
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Melanie McQuire, RN, is convicted of murdering her husband, and butchering his corpse in order to fit the pieces into three matching suitcases that she carried to Cheasapeake Bay where she dumped them. She weighs one-hundred and twelve pounds.
Melanie admitted having an affair with her employer, a doctor at a fertility clinic. The affair begin during the ninth month of her pregnancy. She purchased a gun only two days before her husband was declared missing. No blood or DNA was discovered at her home after the detectives searched for it on three separate occasions, going so far as to unscrew lightbulbs, and to disaasemble plumbing fixtures where blood may have been disposed.
Melanie's husband was a gambler and was well known in Atlantic City where he was comped on arrival. The defense tried to lay the blame on a mob collector who went too far. According to casino managers he had been doing well at their tables during the year before his murder. There was no reason, the prosecution asserted, for him to be murdered by the mob.
melanie mcquire
prior to conviction. 
Thursday, May 17, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
"Although I'm an atheist who believes only in the greatnness of nature I recognize the spiritual riches and grandeur of the Roman Catholicism in which I was raised, and I despise anyone who insults the sustaining values and symbol system of so many millions of people of different races around the world. An authentically avant-garde artist of today would show his or her daring by treating religion sympathetically. Anti-religious sneers are a hallmark of perpetual adolescents. Forever young -- that's our motto."
Camille Paglia
"Although I'm an atheist who believes only in the greatnness of nature I recognize the spiritual riches and grandeur of the Roman Catholicism in which I was raised, and I despise anyone who insults the sustaining values and symbol system of so many millions of people of different races around the world. An authentically avant-garde artist of today would show his or her daring by treating religion sympathetically. Anti-religious sneers are a hallmark of perpetual adolescents. Forever young -- that's our motto."
Camille Paglia
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
An example of the perception and quick analysis of St Eve
Sidney Greenstreet
Sidney was portly and he gurgled when he laughed. His hair was thin and his legs were spindly. He was sinister in a comforting way and his cruelty was forced upon him.
Yes, I can live with the similarity but I would like to mix in a bit of Orson Welles as Falstaff, comic with a corruptible sense of honor, fat, lazy and eager to party, a scoundrel who fails at most of his dishonorable deeds -- and he knows about humiliation.
But is above all witty and capable of great affection.
ss
Just like you, St Eve.
An example of the perception and quick analysis of St Eve
Sidney Greenstreet
Sidney was portly and he gurgled when he laughed. His hair was thin and his legs were spindly. He was sinister in a comforting way and his cruelty was forced upon him.
Yes, I can live with the similarity but I would like to mix in a bit of Orson Welles as Falstaff, comic with a corruptible sense of honor, fat, lazy and eager to party, a scoundrel who fails at most of his dishonorable deeds -- and he knows about humiliation.
But is above all witty and capable of great affection.
ss
Just like you, St Eve.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Army days: In the six month army, I first shot the M-1 rifle, with which I could hit the target at least one out of twenty shots; I think we were shown the M-14, but I didn't play with it; When I got to tank school, at Fort Knox, I learned the 30 cal carbine; then I shot a very ugly submachine gun, called the M-3 Grease Gun, which often jammed; and the great M1911 45 cal pistol (developed, we were told, to stop-in-their-tracks fanatic Phillipino Guerillas, who could be hit with the smaller Colt and keep on ticking); a 30 cal tank mounted machine gun; a 50 cal machine gun, also tank mounted; and the 90mm main gun on the M-48 tank. I also fired, but did not learn to use, the 105mm main gun on the newly developed, still in testing, M60 tank.
Sgt. (Bulldog) Drummand, nearly retired, also showed me how to convert my 50 cal tank mounted machine gun to a sniper rifle, which would have been useful when my tank was blown up and if, by miracle, I was still alive. I am not sure but I think I also used a BAR in Basic. Or maybe at tank school.
I never learned to see where the shell landed after I fired it on the 90mm or the 105mm, as my eyes always involuntarily closed when the gun went BOOM! In conformatory with Army practice, thus I was made a tank commander and a gunnery instructor.
As a T-C my role was to watch the trajectory of the shell as it hurtled toward the target (often a junked car or truck) through the reticle of my periscope and instruct the gunner to move the gun so many clicks on his reticle. I was excellent at shouting "up one, left two" no matter where the shell landed.
At the tank gunnery range it seemed that emphasis was put upon firing all issued shells, so we wouldn't have to bring them back, and the Sgts. wouldn't have to do the paper work. Actually hitting the target was often over-looked.
I was also able to take apart and put together all weapons in the dark, except the 90mm and the 105mm guns, which were too heavy for a boy from Forest Hills.
One of the interesting things about Basic Training was that I learned that in comparison with the almost every one of the guys I was in great shape. When they were dropping out of marching, or not making the pull ups, or push ups, I found it easy to keep going. I was surprised. I was also shocked that many could not swim. A number were homesick, even though we were only in Kentucky.
At tank school there were several men (boys) who did not have drivers' licenses, and whose first driving experience was in a tank. One of my gunners fired the main gun without moving away from the breech. He called out FIRE! and pushed the button, or pulled the trigger, I forget which. He made no sound when the gun smashed into his stomach. That's when I learned about gut wounds.
It was after lunch and there was no way to tell what was guts and what was frankfurters.
mek
Army days: In the six month army, I first shot the M-1 rifle, with which I could hit the target at least one out of twenty shots; I think we were shown the M-14, but I didn't play with it; When I got to tank school, at Fort Knox, I learned the 30 cal carbine; then I shot a very ugly submachine gun, called the M-3 Grease Gun, which often jammed; and the great M1911 45 cal pistol (developed, we were told, to stop-in-their-tracks fanatic Phillipino Guerillas, who could be hit with the smaller Colt and keep on ticking); a 30 cal tank mounted machine gun; a 50 cal machine gun, also tank mounted; and the 90mm main gun on the M-48 tank. I also fired, but did not learn to use, the 105mm main gun on the newly developed, still in testing, M60 tank.
Sgt. (Bulldog) Drummand, nearly retired, also showed me how to convert my 50 cal tank mounted machine gun to a sniper rifle, which would have been useful when my tank was blown up and if, by miracle, I was still alive. I am not sure but I think I also used a BAR in Basic. Or maybe at tank school.
I never learned to see where the shell landed after I fired it on the 90mm or the 105mm, as my eyes always involuntarily closed when the gun went BOOM! In conformatory with Army practice, thus I was made a tank commander and a gunnery instructor.
As a T-C my role was to watch the trajectory of the shell as it hurtled toward the target (often a junked car or truck) through the reticle of my periscope and instruct the gunner to move the gun so many clicks on his reticle. I was excellent at shouting "up one, left two" no matter where the shell landed.
At the tank gunnery range it seemed that emphasis was put upon firing all issued shells, so we wouldn't have to bring them back, and the Sgts. wouldn't have to do the paper work. Actually hitting the target was often over-looked.
I was also able to take apart and put together all weapons in the dark, except the 90mm and the 105mm guns, which were too heavy for a boy from Forest Hills.
One of the interesting things about Basic Training was that I learned that in comparison with the almost every one of the guys I was in great shape. When they were dropping out of marching, or not making the pull ups, or push ups, I found it easy to keep going. I was surprised. I was also shocked that many could not swim. A number were homesick, even though we were only in Kentucky.
At tank school there were several men (boys) who did not have drivers' licenses, and whose first driving experience was in a tank. One of my gunners fired the main gun without moving away from the breech. He called out FIRE! and pushed the button, or pulled the trigger, I forget which. He made no sound when the gun smashed into his stomach. That's when I learned about gut wounds.
It was after lunch and there was no way to tell what was guts and what was frankfurters.
mek
Friday, April 06, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Maria's making charoses
She's using Dubonnet
You might think it to be atrocious
But it's better than Chardonnay.
mek
Maria's making charoses
She's using Dubonnet
You might think it to be atrocious
But it's better than Chardonnay.
mek
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Maria's making charoses
She's using Dubonnet
You might think it to be atrocious
But it's better than Chardonnay.
mek
Maria's making charoses
She's using Dubonnet
You might think it to be atrocious
But it's better than Chardonnay.
mek
Thursday, April 05, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
"Indignation is the most gratifying of emotions. Nothing is quite so soothing as the feeling of superiority over sinners who have committed offenses that we are sure to innocent of and allow us to purse our lips in disdain: another giant with feet of clay. "
Peter Clay -- following the confession by Gunther Grass that he had served as a boy of seventeen in the Waffen SS, the highly trained Nazi combat unit that took part in the Holocaust.
"Indignation is the most gratifying of emotions. Nothing is quite so soothing as the feeling of superiority over sinners who have committed offenses that we are sure to innocent of and allow us to purse our lips in disdain: another giant with feet of clay. "
Peter Clay -- following the confession by Gunther Grass that he had served as a boy of seventeen in the Waffen SS, the highly trained Nazi combat unit that took part in the Holocaust.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Bitter Fruits of Bondage, Armstead L. Robinson:
An interesting take on the failure of the Confederacy. Robinson writes about the conflict between the Planter Class, owners of slaves, and the yeoman class, non-slaveholders who lived mostly in the mountains of North Carolina, Tennessee, and Arkansas. Although there were many more Southerners who were not hot for war, and who were drawn into the war by calls for States Rights, and the desire not to be dominated by Washington, it was the failure of Jefferson Davis, to hold the Planter Class, men of privilege to the wheel. They were exempted from serving on the grounds that they had to stay home and protect their property(the slaves). In the meantime, the yeomen soldiers saw that it was a "rich man's war and a poor man's fight."
Desertions and evasion of service were rampant. In 1863 and 1864 from 1/3 to 1/2 of the CSA had deserted or was evading. It got to the point where the weight of slavery was in itself dragging the Confederacy down.
Slaves struggled for freedom. (Planters wouldn't even "lend" slaves to the war effort. White yeoman struggled to defend themselves from subjugation to what they saw as political slavery. the Confederate government had to rely on increasing draconian forms of coercion; and the Confederacy melted away.
The interests of the slave holding minority were in direct opposition to that of the slaves (of course) and to the interests of the non-slave holding majority of free citizens of the South, the white non-slave holding yeomanry.
Bitter Fruits of Bondage, Armstead L. Robinson:
An interesting take on the failure of the Confederacy. Robinson writes about the conflict between the Planter Class, owners of slaves, and the yeoman class, non-slaveholders who lived mostly in the mountains of North Carolina, Tennessee, and Arkansas. Although there were many more Southerners who were not hot for war, and who were drawn into the war by calls for States Rights, and the desire not to be dominated by Washington, it was the failure of Jefferson Davis, to hold the Planter Class, men of privilege to the wheel. They were exempted from serving on the grounds that they had to stay home and protect their property(the slaves). In the meantime, the yeomen soldiers saw that it was a "rich man's war and a poor man's fight."
Desertions and evasion of service were rampant. In 1863 and 1864 from 1/3 to 1/2 of the CSA had deserted or was evading. It got to the point where the weight of slavery was in itself dragging the Confederacy down.
Slaves struggled for freedom. (Planters wouldn't even "lend" slaves to the war effort. White yeoman struggled to defend themselves from subjugation to what they saw as political slavery. the Confederate government had to rely on increasing draconian forms of coercion; and the Confederacy melted away.
The interests of the slave holding minority were in direct opposition to that of the slaves (of course) and to the interests of the non-slave holding majority of free citizens of the South, the white non-slave holding yeomanry.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
From a techy's profile: http://jeremiahthewebprophet.blogspot.com/
Beliefs
Web is important. It will be the primary platform for nearly all communication for the foreseeable future. Mobile, TV, and the Internet will mesh into one.
It’s the communication and relationships that are important, the tools are second. Web is only as critical as the communication that occurs between the sender, receiver, and the impact on the community. In many ways, I’m no more than a communication facilitator.
My focus is on Web Strategy, meaning I create plans and lead a measurable program to use web tools to meet user and business needs for Internets, Extranets, and Intranets.
Focus on the users/consumers, and the rest will fall into place.
I will continue to grow, with a clear vision to eventually be an influencer and leader in the web industry.
From a techy's profile: http://jeremiahthewebprophet.blogspot.com/
Beliefs
Web is important. It will be the primary platform for nearly all communication for the foreseeable future. Mobile, TV, and the Internet will mesh into one.
It’s the communication and relationships that are important, the tools are second. Web is only as critical as the communication that occurs between the sender, receiver, and the impact on the community. In many ways, I’m no more than a communication facilitator.
My focus is on Web Strategy, meaning I create plans and lead a measurable program to use web tools to meet user and business needs for Internets, Extranets, and Intranets.
Focus on the users/consumers, and the rest will fall into place.
I will continue to grow, with a clear vision to eventually be an influencer and leader in the web industry.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
In response to Ann Coulter's ad hominum attack on John Edwards:
People resort to ad hominem attacks when
(1) they have no other arguments,
(2) when they want to distract from the real issues, and
(3) when they are air-headed, cross eyed, poorly educated, bulimic, bleached blond, bitch-hoes who belong in the kitchen raising children.
mek
In response to Ann Coulter's ad hominum attack on John Edwards:
People resort to ad hominem attacks when
(1) they have no other arguments,
(2) when they want to distract from the real issues, and
(3) when they are air-headed, cross eyed, poorly educated, bulimic, bleached blond, bitch-hoes who belong in the kitchen raising children.
mek
Saturday, February 24, 2007
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
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.
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
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
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