Thursday, April 21, 2011


A person called my wife at work today to ask what was happening next door to me. He said that there were a couple of sheriff vehicles there. My wife didn't know, so she asked me if I knew what was happening. As usual, I was clueless. Sure enough, when I came home tonight, there were two sheriff vehicles still over there. I thought about it a little bit. I decided that I shouldn't interfere, but you know that this is my neighborhood, and what if there was something happening that I should know about. After all, if anyone seriously needed help, I would be the first to respond, so rightfully I should be informed.

I boldly put on my straight face and I walked over next door keeping my hands in clear sight. I walked over to the officer who was eying me with cautious suspicion. I said "Hi, I'm the neighbor next door, is everything alright?" His reply was "we are here serving a search warrant. You will need to ask your "neighbor" after we leave if you need to know anything." I asked if would be okay to take a picture. The officer said that he would rather I not do that. My "neighbor" said that he would really not like me to do that, so I agreed, and didn't take a picture.

I left and went back home, but I was reminded how chief Garr Nielsen must have felt, when the D.A.'s office worked a search warrant on the Eureka Policeman, who allegedly was a one man pharmaceutical distributorship. Nielson was distressed because he felt that he should have been notified that the D.A.'s office was working on his turf. That's how I felt about it. These officers were working my protection zone without even the courtesy of notifying me.

At this point, I'm not sure why that the officers were even there. Maybe the man had an un-bandaged hangnail. who knows? My suspicions just run wild. Ten years ago or so, the last people that got busted there were running "a clone operation". They would have a loud, laughing, party starting about 10 pm most every night, and would start getting into loud arguments about midnight. Glass would start breaking. By 2 am they would go outside and shoot pistols into the dirt bank to keep from killing each other. I complained to everybody that would listen, but everybody said that it "was just a car backfiring". I called the sheriff to complain about the gunfire. They did send a deputy down to tell them to "knock off the gunfire, the neighbor was complaining." ARGHHH... I felt like a sitting duck. Finally the man got drunk and decided to shoot up the chimney cap in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. People were ducking and rolling on the golf course, bullets were wizzing through the trees. Limbs were falling off. Multiple people called the 911 dispatcher. I was laughing like a hyena. HAAAA...HAAA... ha. I told you so! Backfire my ass!

The sheriff, highway patrol, and a swat team showed up. The woman had barricaded herself inside. It was about 95 degrees outside. The swat team was sweating through their black uniforms. I was scurrying around the hillside serving ice-water and cookies to everybody. They told me that I should stay back, that she might have a gun. I stifled the hyena laugh. But, I did manage a "Yeah Right". After complaining about the bullets for a year, they didn't seem that important anymore.

Finally a nice lady who was a female highway patrol told the lady inside. "You need to come out. If the swat team or a dog has to come in they might hurt you. You and I are friends, remember we talked before? Just come out and you won't be hurt. We're friends remember?" Finally the lady came out, and the rather diminutive female CHP had her cuffed and stuffed before you could blink. I remarked that "If that's the way you treat your friends, remind me to never piss you off."

The lady yelled out the car window at me... something about her being abused and that I was serving tea and crumpets...

Anyway that was the last drug house. I'm not sure what has happened this time, but I will say that these people have been very quite neighbors. I'm hoping that it is just the felony hangnail thing...


Kym said...

Ernie, your story about serving tea and crumpets while your neighbor shot up the golf course cracked me up.

Ernie Branscomb said...

Yeah, It's easy to joke about now.

I don't know what happened next door here yet. I can't imagine that it is all that bad. They have been real decent neighbors. Some strange things have happened over that way, but it could be that it is further up the road. Don't know but public records will tell us sooner or later.

It can't be as bad as was here before, or as bad as the Redway bust.

skippy said...

Nice read, Ernie. That was you with the tea and crumpets that day?

Neighbors. Gotta love 'em.

omr said...

The term "Backfire my ass" coming from a firefighter could give one a different picture than what you were trying to convey.

Enjoyed the story, with an added giggle.

Kimba said...

I remember that one, EB. I miss Dave Melon. Those were definitely his wildest times. Hers too. I had forgotten. It is a good thing we have you to jog the memories. That happened sometime last century!

Ernie Branscomb said...

Both Mr. Melon and Ms. Avocado were great people when they weren’t drinking. How many times have we heard that said? Dave came by to shake my hand and apologize before he turned himself in for his mandatory (gun) one year jail time.

He cleaned his life up pretty good after that, but sadly, it was far too late for him. I wonder what his life would have been like without booze? Sad, sad, sad….

Both of them forever young.

Anonymous said...

Now that's danged funny!

Anonymous said...

WOW, you live in a pretty rough neighborhood.