Thanks. If you can believe this, the guy actually 'informed' everyone
shortly after he moved in that 'I am not allowed to have guns'. Im
standing there thinking, "Ok - what's this all about!". I wanted to reply:
"well Im not allowed to have a tank or a nuclear bomb either, and Im in
physics". The fellow continued to blather. It became obvious something
was "wrong". I dismissed myself saying I had something to do. Two weeks
later an old loud truck shows up, the guy gets out, and he unloads three
shotguns (quickly) from the bed of the truck and runs inside his building -
seen by all the neighbors. At length people called the police ... but he
was allowed to keep his guns.
Not an easy or welcome or friendly situation -
Life in the neighborhood! Wouldnt you be mine !!?
:banghead:
Before I moved out into the country, I lived in a university town, medium sized. The gangs from Chicago started moving in and they chose my street to do it. My solution was to co-opt them.
I had help. I had dogs and about a year after the gangstas started moving into more than one house, my oldest German Shepherd was dying of cancer and I knew she had only weeks, maybe even only days. We were sitting out on the front lawn when one of the gangsta boys came up the street and started to make a big deal out of crossing the road to avoid going by us.
That bothered me because my old girl was pure gold and had incredible power over human beings. People would wrap their arms around her and tell me they were terrified of dogs or terrified of German Shepherds while their faces were inches from her considerable teeth. So I hollered out "are you afraid of a 15 year old dog??!!!"
That put the boy on the spot because he couldn't admit to being afraid of an old dog. So he came strutting up and tried a little trash talking, which I ignored. I just started telling him that my dog was originally from Chicago and about her life.
Within 5 minutes, my girl had worked her mojo yet again and he was sitting on the lawn with us all wrapped around her. We had a nice visit.
The next week she died. I saw the same boy on the street and he asked me how she was doing. I told him she had died and he got tears in his eyes. Later that day, he brought me a card and all the guys he was living with had signed it.
And that was all the trouble I ever had with them. I'd invite them in to meet my dogs, give them things to drink and homemade food (it turns out none of those kids knew anything about cooking and they were living off of junk food! no wonder they looked like they were in bad moods). Other people in the neighbourhood were scared of them but I knew they were really just kids.
But see, that was easy because I had my girl and these boys weren't into meth. And they were really, really lonely.
Still, my usual advice for good neighbourly relations may apply: there's very little that cannot be improved by adding a plate full of homemade brownies to it. Seriously. Given without strings, with nothing more than the intention to share one of the better things in life, a plate of homemade brownies can work miracles.
And that man you describe, he is surely in need of a miracle.