January 17th, 1982
January 17th, 1982
Yesterday afternoon Dale called to ask if I could come over to his and Ray’s apartment to visit. They were upset and wanted company. Their neighbor downstairs had been murdered the night before. Bizarre incident. He was a young guy, 29 years old— That afternoon the super’s brother had been working in his apartment fixing plumbing. He returned about 4 in the morning with two friends and under a retext of having to do something further with the plumbing— got inside. He shot the neighbor with a sawed-off shotgun— and killed a friend who was spending the night. A third person was there, a roommate,managed to survive by not being seen in the loft bed. At some point— I’m not sure if the killers were still there— he ran screaming out of the apartment to the bar across the street for help. Ray and Dale were awakened by the gunshots and the screaming of a man saying “they’re going to kill me!” Ray stepped into the hallway and saw the killer calmly leaving the building. “What’s going on” Ray asked. “Someone’s been hurt outside” he replied.
The young guy was a small-time pusher— and a good deal of minor drugs (Quaalude, grass) was found in the apartment. The three men were apprehended by police on Christopher Street a short time later, and the man being charged with the killing had $5,000 cash in his pocket. So the speculation is that the murders were somehow drug connected.
Ray and Dale describe the gruesome scene of finding the bodies— the half open door with a knife sticking out from under it. They went downstairs to the apartment and got his dog— a beautiful black great dane— and brought it to their apartment. It is such a big intelligent animal. It lay on the sofa next to me last night and trembled and shook with dreams. I rubbed its side and tried to comfort it. At eleven last night we all watched the news broadcast. The reality that I was sitting perhaps 12 feet above the scene of such a brutal murder— that I was in the apartment building being shown on television. The trembling dog next to me.
Yesterday afternoon, Stephanie— my downstairs neighbor— was robbed— again. The second time in two months. Allan rather stupidly let a man into the building who pretended to be fumbling at the front door with his keys. Because of the timing, we’re pretty sure it was he who broke in.
Plane wrecks and subway crashes and murders and robberies. Sudden death. How vulnerable and paranoid I feel.
Can the concept of karmic retribution explain all this? We cause our own effects by our actions either in this life or past lives. We create our own destiny. The karma of victimization— to die a sudden violent death. Cause and effect. Ye must be born again.
What happened last night at Ray and Dale’s was really an example of the program working in our lives. Joanne was there and we all talked about drinking and sobriety— and supported the fact that even if people are being murdered 12 feet from you— you don’t drink. When trouble comes, you are not alone. Your AA brothers and sisters are always there. It made me feel good that they called me to come over. Each day is another stone in the foundation. I cherish my sobriety.