I almost saw a tragedy unfold on Columbia Road on Monday afternoon. More accurately, I guess, I would have heard it unfold.
My four year-old son and I were sitting in traffic, four cars deep on Stoughton Street, at quarter after five in the afternoon. A driver ahead of me was attempting – with little success – to mind-trick her mini-van into a good-sized parking space along the old Dorchester North Burial Ground wall. A couple of teenagers in white tees loped along the sidewalk next to the Dublin House. The windows were all down, waiting for the A/C to crank up enough to chill the 100 degree temps in my vehicle.
“Pop, pop, pop, pop.”
The sound wasn’t the boom of a large caliber hand-cannon or the snap of a bottle rocket. It was something in between, but sinister still.
I turned down the radio, expecting to hear screams. Instead, I heard nervous laughter from the two teens – just a few feet away now and no longer loping along. They were moving faster, away from the sounds.
One of them said something like, “Oh, shoot, that dude just got lit up.”
I couldn’t see past the alleged driver in front of me – and as she continued to wrangle with her steering wheel, I froze for a moment. Was that what I think it was? Is it what that kid thinks it is? Should I back up? Should I tear my four-year old out of his car seat in the way-back and have him take cover?
After another few seconds, I could finally see past the mini-van and across the expanse of the Uphams Corner crossroads and from this vantage point, nothing seemed amiss. Cars were proceeding across the asphalt on Columbia and onto the start of Dudley Street.
I fixed back onto that course, too – slowly. My younger son waited down the street at his grandmother’s house.
There was no body sprawled out on the street. No blood on the sidewalks. I wasn’t even sure now if that sound had been gunshots. Maybe it was fireworks, after all.
As I passed the top of Ramsey Street and peered down toward the parking lot behind CVS, I could see a man in a black shirt and slacks running – full speed – down the sidewalk away from me.
Yep. Something’s up. Definitely too hot for that kind of exercise today.
As I drove away, faster now, I could sense the tension. It was palpable and it wasn’t just my own. I could feel it radiating from the faces of the people I passed. Nobody else was running. They just looked stressed. Vexed.
I ignored a reporter’s instinct to investigate further and got the hell out of there with my cargo. Two blocks later, I heard the first sirens. Now it was official.
Later, when I checked in with the police, I heard that the four shots I heard on Stoughton Street were indeed gunfire. Nobody, thank God, was hit by any them.
But then I learned that another man – who was just sitting in his car on Columbia Road – didn’t need to call the cops to find out that bullets were flying. Two of the projectiles pierced his car, narrowly missing him, his daughter in the passenger’s seat, and his five year-old granddaughter strapped into a seat behind them. One of the bullets blew out the glass of his window and another punched a hole in the door. I guess you’d have to call it a miracle that all three escaped unscathed.
I suppose this probably isn’t front page news for everyone. It’s not the first time a bullet has buzzed through a car here and didn’t find a target, intended or otherwise. It’s not likely to be the last. And, next time it happens, we may never even hear about it.
But, dammit, it happened right in front of me and I needed to let you know about it. It wasn’t just another day in the neighborhood. We can’t let it come to that.
The numbers are improving, no doubt about it. Violent crime is down 17 percent over last year, according to the stats, even though we’ve had more than a dozen men and boys killed in Dorchester so far this year. Shootings are down citywide.
But the cops’ numbers aren’t chalked up in yards and inches. But for the tick of a clock, a twist of a metal jacket, an innocent five-year-old girl or her mother or grandfather may have been blown away on Columbia Road on Monday. Who knows, if not for the crappy driving skills of the woman in front of me, it could’ve been me or my son.
We can’t live in fear. I’ll still drive on Columbia Road and Dudley Street. Honestly, I have little choice in the matter. This is home for me and my family.
But, I’ll tell you this: I won’t hesitate the next time I “think” I hear something in Uphams Corner or anywhere else. Keep your heads up, neighbors.
