Randy was recently reminded by events in the news of a close brush he had with death and a lifetime of litigious hell. This is a reflection on an incident that changed and nearly ruined his life over 20 years ago. He is a small older man who would have been in his late 40s when this occurred.
My shop was on the corner of a row next to Miss Mary’s convenience store. She was a little bitty thing. So when I heard this banging and this awful screaming from next door I knew it was bad. I got my twenty-two revolver from out of my desk drawer and went next door.
She had been alone behind the counter. This gigantic black man had her in one hand and was dragging her downstairs to rape her. Her clothes were already being torn off. She was in horror.
I yelled for him to stop and he turned on me—a big angry towering young man, more than twice my size. You know, people told me I was a hero—told me I did good. Bullshit. I never felt worse in my life than after I shot that man.
I emptied all six into him. It barely stopped him. When the cops got there one of them told me, “You better hope he dies. If he lives your life is over. You’ll be in court for the rest of your life and he’ll take everything. But dead men tell no tales.”
Hearing that just made it worse. Because when he died later that night at the hospital, I was relieved, had been hoping for it. Now, not only had I killed a man, but had hoped for his death so I wouldn’t have to do time and lose everything.
Hero shit. I never fought in no war. I was just doing what had to be done to keep her alive, to save my ass. He could of killed us both easily. That fear stays with you forever. He is gone but the fear remains.
It was the worst moment of my life. If it happened today, I’d be lynched in the media—my life over and done, and a hated racist at that.
