A few I remember well…Carl Winniger has just gone crazy. Knowing his stiuation, and, being fourteen years old, same age as him, I sort of understood why. As I’m doing my paper route on my Montessa 250 dirt bike up Sand Canyon Road in Saugus, I get a small branch stuck in my chain guard. I shut off the loud two stroke to clear it. No one wore helmets in those day, so, the sound of gun fire instantly caught my attention. Working at Thompson’s rifle range for five years on weekends taught me the various reports of all sorts of weapons. These sounded like .22 mags. Semi auto, .22 mags. Some guys I know from Sheriffs work camp come zipping by on a Hodaka Ace 90 riding double. They slow and scream at me as they went on past, “Winniger is shootiing it out with the cops!” As they disappear around a bend in the wash near Ace Cains bar and whore house, I frantically fight to clear my chain…Back on the dirt trail heading for Soledad cyn, I can see flickers of light bars as I approach Carl’s house. It set back a ways off of a short dirt road just far enough so you couldn’t see all the wrecked cars and junk in their yard. I would stop in to goof with Carl after finishing my paper route because he was so entertaining. I once saw him throw a big black cat that was rubbing against him in his cluttered front room, right through a wall. I bent a bit to see the back yard and the clothes line through the big hole that sort of looked like a cats outline. As I started to tell him what an asshole he was, there was the cat, right back at his legs, purring for another blast off. Turned out, the house was so pathetic, the walls were like wet toilet paper from a bad pipe leak. Also, anything that lived with the Winnigers, had to be nuts too…Back to the cops…About ten Sheriffs patrol cars have both ends of the road shut down with red lights flashing and doors wide open, protecting cops with shotguns ready to go. No vest in those days. No protection of any kind actually. That’s why when cops shot it out in those days, you better walk the walk. Huddling down behind a neighbors fence with a bunch of other kids, we all notice the same thing. Tons of rapid fire from Carl’s house, no return fire from the dozens of cops. A cop finally shows up with a borrowed annouce horn someone had from the Soledad raceway. He adjusts the volume with some, “TESTING, TESTING!” Then, starts talking to Carl. Who, by the way, never stopped firing. The sort of paunchy cop, with big arms, stayed behind a car, began his spiel. “NOW STOP THAT SHOOTING CARL. YOUR MISSING HALF THE GOD DAMMNED LIGHTS AND JUST CAUSING A LOT OF DAMAGE!” We all look at each other. Huh? Then, we see what the cop is talking about. Carl is shooting out all the Christmas lights up and down his road. He also didn’t like Santa. We watched as he would switch from string light targets, back to a six foot tall plastic Santa with some raindeer, just up the road two houses. The houses were old, and tiny, so, not too far away. The reindeer were already missing most of their heads. Especially Roudolph. Carl didn’t like that red nose either. As the cop learned to talk to Carl as he changed clips, he kept up the same rap, “COME ON CARL, STOP THAT SHOOTING!” Finally, a richochet off some cement, grazes a cop car hood. The cops all open up at the same time. Carls house starts to fall apart right before our eyes. Every window vaporizes as hundreds of rounds take out the frames and door jams. The horn kicks in, “STOP FIRING YOU ASS HOLES, STOP RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” The cops stop, but all are reloading like frenzied maniacs. Everyone within five miles is heading for the gunfire. All the big Oak trees with hundred-foot canopies are filled with kids. No cop could give a shit. Their ready to commence firing at any second. Suddenly, two female Sheriffs show up along with Carl’s mom. Carl’s mom was known by all the locals. Especially the ones she blew for ten bucks behind the Elks Club almost every night. With no sounds emanating from the now shot to shit cabin, the cop with the megahorn, pistol ready on his other hand, is trying to whisper as he approaches the front door along with Carl’s mom. The two female cops opted out on this foray. “NOW CARL, I’M WITH YOUR MOTHER. PLEASE LETS STOP THIS CRAZY BEHAVIOUR, RIGHT NOW!” Now close to the house, he drops the horn and starts yelling through the shot out front-room window. About five cops semi surround the house, creeping closer and closer in semi combat crouches. As the tension mounts, I happen to take a look just behind me hearing a Zippo lighter close after lighting a smoke. It’s Carl. Smiling and puffing away. Watching the events transpire. After the cops cuffed him and took him away, I got the whole story painting picnic benches at Cataic lake with him, that very same summer in work camp. As the cops started firing, Carl dropped into the tall basement crawlspace, went out on a belly crawl out the back into the three foot deep wash run off, then, crawled combat style past the neighbors, then did a short dash behind every one, ending up spotting me as he came out of the thick brush across from his house. It was nice to catch up with Carl. We laughed and laughed about teaching the monkeys at Ace Cains how to jerk off, but, that’s another story…
