26 June 2024
Story #1120
R. Linda:
Maybe you heard that in California, an 81-year-old man was arrested for victimising his neighbours with a slingshot! Seems certain neighbours had their windows smashed by ball bearings that would come whizzing through their homes, and some, their car windscreens, and even missiles aimed at themselves. Yikers! This went on for a good decade, it did.
The old man became known as the "serial slingshot shooter" of Azusa, California! Seems the police were called to take care of a "quality of life issue" that had garnered complaints from residents of North Enid Avenue that someone with a slingshot was wreaking havoc on them and their property, and they wanted it stopped.
The suspected "serial slingshot shooter" was named as Prince King. With a name like that, no wonder he might be confused and battling royal demons or something just as bizarre . . . like ball bearings. Anyway, a search warrant was issued and inside the culprit's home were ball bearings and an incriminating SLINGSHOT.
Lt. Jake Bushey of the Azusa Police Department said they had been investigating this nuisance disturbance from the get-go, but had only recently found the miscreant. Bushey wasn't sure how they found Prince King, but maybe it was because of the number of ball bearings that came from Mr. King's backyard. I wonder if the scattered ball bearings in the backyard gave them a clue.
No one knows why Mr. King slingshotted his neighbours, but chalked it up to "malicious mischief." Bushy stated the shots weren't random and that he did not know why certain people and homes were targeted. To add insult to injury, the Azusa Police Department's Facebook page had plenty of commenters complaining they, too, had their windshields shot out. However, they weren't sure Mr. King was the person who "done it."
Mr. King has a court date, as you can imagine.
All this had me remembering me dear sainted Da and HIS penchant for his slingshot that he named "Molly-Girl." A rather lethal weapon it was, too. Constructed of heavy oak wood, with a thick rubber band about an inch and a half wide, with a leather piece in the centre threaded through the elastic that held a marble really well. When fired, the thing was dangerous . . . and accurate. And, just know he was a marksman firing that thing. Didn't miss, not once that I know of.
Where he got this weapon for making holes in heads, arms, torsos, legs, etc., I do not know. What happened to "Molly-Girl"? I also do not know. I remember her well, though. When we lived with my grandparents for a short time in Southern Ireland, me Gran was very proud of her cherry tree. This tree gave off the sweetest dark cherries one could have tasted. We looked forward to the fruit every summer, we did.
She'd hire local men to climb this massive tree and gather cherries in brown paper bags. She'd give them an agreed quantity for the picking, so no monies were exchanged, just fruit. This tree was huge and tall, so risking lives for cherries was what these men did. But the fruit was worth it.
Of course, you could see this heavily laden tree from the road. And, of course, when the pickers took the fruit of their labour home, and others tasted the sweetness, well, many others coveted those cherries.
It wasn't unusual to hear rustling in the tree at night, which signalled that Grandma's tree was being pilfered. For some reason, instead of chasing the poachers away, Da would go up to the attic and out the window onto the roof, where he had a good view of the tree below. There, he would sit with his dear "Molly-Girl" and a bag of marbles.
My bedroom was on the tree side of the house, and I can remember being awakened in the dead of night to shouts and screams and sometimes breaking branches as poachers fell out of that great tree with loud thuds. You'd think these cherry thieves would learn after one such foray, but no. For at least six years, they came and tried every summer harvest, and, like clockwork, Molly-Girl appeared to do her combat work.
Me mam was never a fan of this behaviour on me Da's part. Me Gran was all about saving that fruit and was not happy that anyone without her permission would pillage and plunder her tree. I often wonder if that tree is still there. I wonder what happened to that infamous slingshot, and what possessed my father to hunt cherry thieves rather than call the local constabulary. Knowing him as I did, the thrill consumed him. As probably did Prince King. Only me Da, thought he was protecting our property, and the other guy . . .
Gabe
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