Don't mess with crazy old people, or felony is the best policy (Part I)

Subhead: How I didn't watch the 2016 Summer Olympics with 35 of my closest inmates.

TL;DR ... Stupid decisions land supposedly smart people in stupid situations. And the justice system is broken.

Five Rules To Live By

1. Mark Twain's quote about arguing with idiots is spot-on.
2. Words cannot hurt you, but a pistol to the side of the head hurts like hell.
3. You may encounter someone in life who is bat-shit crazy and armed to the teeth, and their spouse.
4. You will find times when you have absolutely no control of your life.
5. If you think it cannot get any worse, it definitely will.

By God's grace, and sheer dumb luck, I'm still alive to tell this tale.

Aug. 5, 2020 is circled on my calendar, because that's the day I assume an unmarked patrol car will show up in my driveway, a probation officer wearing a bullet-proof vest will knock on my front door and hand me a piece of paper allowing me to resume my life. That piece of paper should show I've completed four years of probation without violating the plea bargain that the district attorney, my attorney and I agreed to on Aug. 2, 2016, and under the Georgia First Offender Act, an Order of Discharge will be entered into my criminal history record and the record of my case sealed to anyone other than law enforcement.

My Fourth Amendment rights will be restored. I can vote. I can travel outside of Georgia without permission, although I will have to wait another 10 years to travel to Canada or Europe. I can have a beer or glass of wine without repercussions.

Until then, I'm considered a felon who has served 60 percent of a 60-day jail term (released after 36 days for good behavior), paid my court fees, followed all judge's orders and done 120 hours of community service. In addition, I've completed one year of supervised probation and currently have unsupervised privileges, which means my officer no longer makes unannounced visits to my cabin.

So how the hell does a mild-mannered 56-year-old (at the time) semi-retired sportswriter wind up as a dangerous criminal doing time behind bars? (There are no bars in a modern detention center, by the way.) Well, that's a long and stupid story. Grab a cold drink and read on.

May 31, 2014. I'm running the PGA.com website from the bedroom when my wife comes in the front door and tells me a 76-year-old woman from the neighborhood, whom I've met once in 10 years at a Christmas party, and who lives more than a half-mile away -- confronted Gwen in the Lowe's garden area and loudly voiced her displeasure with our brand-new $120,000 motorhome (legally parked on our property, according to the HOA), several times referring to it as "an eyesore." While a crowd gathered, Gwen tried her best to just end the conversation and pay for her flowers, but the neighbor followed her to the point where Gwen felt uncomfortable enough to stay.

Given what I know NOW, I would have followed Rules 1-3. Unfortunately, given the circumstance, I didn't think Rules 1-3 applied. Boy was I naive.

I made dinner, showered, put on a brand-new shirt my mother had given me the week before, got in my car, drove to the neighbor's house and assumed I could get her to 1) apologize for her rudeness, 2) explain why it was any of her business in the first place. And worst of all, I never told Gwen where I was going. Had I truly been thinking, I should have called the Sheriff's Department and asked them to send a Deputy to talk with the woman.

And thus began the three most life-changing, surreal, ridiculously stupid minutes of my life to that point. I knocked on the door, she answered, she slowly realized who I was and tried to slam the door in my face. I SHOULD HAVE TURNED AND WALKED AWAY.

Instead, my first instinct -- and worst possible response -- was to STICK MY FOOT OUT. At that moment, as my attorney explained, I'd committed criminal trespass. And under Georgia's Stand Your Ground Law, you are allowed to use force, threats of force or deadly force to protect yourself or your property, no matter the reason.

I then compound the stupidity by stepping into her foyer while she's yelling at me and I'm trying to get a word in edgewise. I never saw her drunk-as-a-skunk, shriveled up little shrimp of a 73-year-old husband until the moment he snuck up from behind and clocked me in the side of the head with a loaded revolver. I reacted fast enough to spin, grab the barrel, point it away from all three of us and twist it out of his hand. When I turned back, SHE had gotten another pistol from somewhere. Before she could aim it, I stepped forward and knocked her backwards, causing her to lose her balance long enough for me to run out into the driveway, bleeding profusely from my left ear, holding his gun and trying to find my car keys. The last thing I saw was her on the porch, taking aim like the Charlie's Angels poster as I peeled away.

I honestly assumed the last sound I'd ever hear in this life was the crack of that gun and the whiz of the bullet into my head. But she never fired. I made it back to the cabin, walked inside and immediately called 911 while Gwen just stared at the mess I was making on the kitchen floor.

The deputy came, I explained my side of the story and while he was finishing up, he got the call from the dispatcher to go to the neighbor's house. He left with the gun that I had no use for, took their statement, came back and said if he needed anything else, he'd let me know. The EMT looked at my ear, determined it was more bruised than cut, and put a bandage on it. The new shirt was ruined.

But they could have easily shot and killed me, buried me in a shallow grave in their backyard and Gwen might have never known. Every time I think about how unfair the events that unfolded afterward have seemed, that's still better than the worst-case scenario.

Here's what you need to know, in a nutshell: Your bailbondsman knows more about your case than your defense attorney, because it's his butt in a sling if you miss a court appearance. The district attorney is no more than an elected car salesman, because with close to 200 cases a month, he's in the business of working deals rather than going to trial. The reason why a county of less than 12,000 residents has a 200-bed jail is because the sheriff makes money if it's full, in some cases triple-billing cities, the state and the federal government.

But I digress.

So quickly through the 21 months from the incident to the sentencing ...

The following day, deputies show up and arrest me on charges of misdemeanor trespass. I post bond within an hour. (I find out later the neighbors called the sheriff several times at his home on a Sunday to find out why I hadn't been arrested.)

On Monday, I acquire the services of a defense attorney and he explains the issue with trespass, but believes it's a simple case. Pay a fine, promise not to do it again and that should be that.

Six months later, the deputies show up again and this time, arrest me on six felony counts, including two counts of trespass, two counts of battery and two counts of assault on an elderly person. My attorney gets the judge to lower the bond to $25,000, but I spend 10 hours in a 5-by-10 foot holding cell until my wife gets home from school before she hears the call from the bondsman.

And then nothing happens for months. And we wait. And wait. My attorney calls the DA to either drop the charges or start preliminary hearings, but he tells us the other witnesses are still "too angry" to testify, and he's not going to do either one.

My wife and I are in West Point, N.Y., on vacation and having lunch in July of 2016 when the phone rings. It's the bailbondsman, telling me I'm on the docket for Aug. 2. We turn the motorhome south back to the cabin and I meet with my attorney, who tells me the bad news: I'm facing a possible 15 years in a state penitentiary and $30,000 in restitution if found guilty. Lovely.

My attorney's exact quote: "What the hell is going on? Are you the poster boy for violence against old people or something?"

He faxes the DA's office, asking for a plea deal, but no soap. So we're going to the courthouse and straighten this all out. All this time, I'm assuming we'll eventually get the charges dismissed or at least reduced to a misdemeanor and a fine. Silly me.

Turns out not only does the crazy neighbor lady know the sheriff personally -- he and her husband are in the same skeet shooting club -- she's been constantly calling and hounding the DA and the superior court judge about the case, too.

So I show up in court and my attorney immediately heads for the DA. He then motions for me to meet him in the hallway. "The best I can do is 60 days in jail, serve 50 percent, four years probation and a fine. But they'll drop the $30,000 in restitution. And under Georgia First Offenders Act, you aren't convicted and this will be removed from your record at the end of the probation period." Holy crap. Going to jail never entered my mind the whole time.

I told him, let me call my wife first. She leaves school and comes to the courthouse where I explain that's the best we're going to do, because taking these nuts to a trial is too risky.

By the way, during the process, we find out they've pulled a "sue for injury" scam on a local restaurant owner before, and nearly put him out of business. So this time, they decided to use the DA as free legal counsel to steal money out of my pocket. That's at least one pleasure I took when I stood in front of the judge. The statute of limitations on the civil suit had run out by then.

So three days later, I report to the county corrections facility. And will pick up the story from that point.

 

I mean, your neighbors are disgusting garbage monsters, but, as you admitted, you definitely fucked up in myriad ways.

 

Two things (well 3, sucks for you):

1. In this world you touch it you own it; minute you interact with anyone, the possibility of encountering crazy, irrational behavior and claims is there;

2. You have to be willing to put the pedal down and go to trial; FU to the crooked DA and expose that scumbag. I know easy for me to say from my chair but you need leverage; 15 yrs is huge.

 

When I argued for that, my lawyer said the DA only has to prove three things if I took the stand:

1. Did you enter their home without their permission? (that's trespassing)
2. Did you touch them in any way without their consent, even if it was to disarm them? (that's battery)
3. Did they feel threatened by your intentions, no matter how unintentional? (that's assault)

No matter how her story was completely fabricated, which we could poke holes in (and that her drunk husband began the physical confrontation), I couldn't defend my actions under those definitions. So the DA had me by the short hairs depending on the makeup of the jury. And remember, I ain't from around here.

 

But obviously the DA didn't think his witnesses were that credible, either. Or he'd have pushed for heavier penalties or moved the case along more quickly. I think he chose the harshest, easiest solution just to stop her from pestering him further and making it that harder to get re-elected down the road. The judge even said to her in the courtroom, "He's going to jail. What else do you want?"

 

I get the trespassing but didn’t you touch her only after she had a gun pointed at you? That’s not a battery that’s self defense.

 

The original illegal act of trespassing would, I believe, mean that the woman raised the gun in her own self-defense.

Castle law applies in my state, so if you bust into my house, I'm well within my right to shoot you on the spot. Same applies for my yard and my vehicles. My state, however, is fucking crazy.

 

Dude, that sucks beyond on all belief. People are fucking horrible. It makes me appreciate more something my wife did a month ago.

Location: National Zoo
My son, three years old, is playing and laughing amongst a group of kids getting water shot on them by a fake dinosaur. Bigger kid, maybe 5 or six, shoves my son. I notice but say nothing since it may have been accidental. Less than 30 seconds later, he grabs my son’s face and pushes him hard. My son tumbled a little, but doesn’t fall to the ground. He looks scared and i rush in. I grab others kids arm and lecture him about pushing. Kid’s dad comes rushing in. I tel him quickly that his son, pushed my son by the face. My wife comes and grabs me and my son. Hustles us out there. As I snap a few comments at her, she goes “yes, but you could be brought up on assault charges because you grabbed her kids.”

 

Always remember “words” don’t = physical

 

Wow.
I hate that for you.
Can Not believe you had a jail time. For a middle-aged man with no previous criminal conduct, that's kind of crazy.
I would need PTSD counseling after something like this.

 

Every state doesn't have a stand your ground self defense law.

edit; Missed the part where he said GA does.

 

WTF would 30k in restitution be for? What did you damage that cost 30K?
Your town sounds like the one in Porkys. Did you leave anything out, like
verbally threatening the old lady or old man? If you're not leaving anything out
you should have told the cop who responded you wanted to press charges for assault.