Here's the first part:
You guys tell me about how jacked-up things are in this country these days, but ya know, I was right there when it hit the fan. As you may know, I'm Robert Lockwood, or Rob. That big mess down in Atlanta almost got me and my family killed. We made some stupid mistakes alright, but ended up doing enough right to get out with our hides still attached.
Startin' off, all we were going to do was drive down from our home here in Dunlap (Tennessee) to see our friends down in Macon for a couple of days. I got some time off from Thermo King, and my wife Debbie took off from Dr. Clark's office. We took the kids. Missy, our oldest, was 13 then, and Matt was 10. We were coming through the center of Atlanta on I-85 around noon. We all saw helicopters buzzing around up ahead. Debbie says, "Must be a big game in town." Told her I didn't know of any, but I'm no Atlanta fan. Missy suddenly tells us, "I gotta go to the bathroom---real bad."
Now what I didn't know at the time, being an ignernt redneck that didn't watch the new much, was that a big demonstration was happening downtown. None of us knew nothing about it, so like major dumb butts we drove right into it. Y'all have probably heard the story about how the riot started before, but basically there was that Atlanta city councilman who was always shooting his loud mouth off about civil rights stuff. He was the "champion of the poor" who had all the answers. As ya know, a whole lot of people got worked up when the (federal) government cut back on welfare, education and food stamps, so the system wouldn't go bankrupt. No one's more mad about it tan the coucilman guy who calls the cuts "The War on the Poor." So no big suprise they find the guy is dirty. Bribes, girlfriends, payoffs---the works. The state police and FBI catch the dude red-handed in some sting and also find about $100,000 in his dresser drawers.
When the state police go to arrest the dude at his house, a whole swarm of his people come out of the woodwork and begin to yell at them. Somehow a pit bull gets loose and comes at them, so some officers shoot it. Right then, this young kid whips out his black and silver cell phone to take a picture of the cops. So a white cop shoots a black kid in the confusion. The councilman yells things out like: "The war has begun!" and "They're killing us all!" as they hauled him off. Of course the news people go crazy with it. I believe this all started the day before we left.
Anyway, so Missy demands we pull off the road. "Why'd ya not go when we stopped 20 minutes ago?" "Dad, I didn't need to go then, and I just drank a big Coke." "Alright," I ask Debbie, "you see a gas station or McDonald's or something?" "Nothing. All I see out there is a big wall," she tells me, "and our road atlas ain't telling us much at all." Missy then chimes in, "If you'd bought me a decent cell phone, like all my friends have, they'd have a GPS apps that would lead us right to one. Please hurry up!" I tell her, "If I had an extra $70 a month to spend, I'd get something worthwhile like a new four-wheeler." I got in the turn lane and took the next exit. "Whoa, look at all those people," I hear Matt say from behind.
There we were stuck in the street right next to the state capital. This huge crowd was massed around the place. They had signs and banners and you could hear someone talking on a bullhorn. "Maybe they're having a gay pride parade," Matt joked. They don't look too gay and happy," Debbie told him. The cops had the street blocked, so they waved us on a side road headed back north. Seems like we spend forever going around the streets downtown, looking for a place to park and pee. No luck. The sounds of the helicopters and sirens were all around us. Just need to find a frontage road next to the interstate, take care of business and get the hell out of Dodge. Finally, I see the interstate down the street a few blocks. "Hurry up, I'm dying here," I hear for the hundredth time.
As we turn down the frontage road, we see more traffic and more people outside. The buildings kept getting older and more run down. Debbie says, "I don't like this," over and over. A car suddenly comes around us fast and just about clips my front bumper. "Idiot-retard." I hit the brakes. "I hope your seat belts are on and yer windows rolled up." I remember going past what looked like a prison. A few cop cars were lit up around it. At last we see a gas station, one of those with a chicken wings place on the side. "We're here."
"This is the ghetto," Debbie tells me. Like, duh. Tattoo and soul food joints are across the street. Abandoned and run-down buildings are everywhere. I park the truck on the far left in front of the wings place. "I don't care if it's a pit in there," Missy cries boltin' out her door. "And hurry-up mom!" So Debbie and Missy trot off inside. "Hold up Matt," I tell him looking around. There were a good number of folks moving around the place, and the interstate was right behind it. How bad could it be?
Well, best be cautious. So I reach in the glove box and take out my old S&W .357. The thing is old, but it shoots fine. I opened the cylinder and pulled out one of the rounds---cheap wad cutters, but at least they were .357 wadcutters, and not .38's. I stick the gun inside my pants under my gut and pull my shirt over it. That's what they call "Mexican carry." Lots of cars are now moving fast to the interstate. "Come on Matt, want some wings?"
Once inside for a few minutes, I begin to calm down. The place was a little dirty and worn, but looked like most of the stores back home. No one paid us much attention. As I wait by Matt for the girls to come out I hear, "Sir, you must pay for that!" from the India-looking guy behind the counter. A group of three locals are going fast out the door, each with a twelve-pack of beer. One of the women in the wings section gets off her cell phone and yells to the counter guy, "They have a riot going on downtown, and they on their way here." I look around in a panic. Lots of cars are pulling in and out outside. One girl, then another runs outside with a handful of snacks. I turn to run over and fetch Debbie and Missy out of the restroom. Then I hear this voice behind me say real loud, "Yo, give it up."
Again, what I didn't know was that demonstration went south in a hurry a few minutes after we drove past. As the crowd grew madder, some of them stormed the barricades around the capital, throwing rocks and firebombs. The cops come back with teargas, then rubber bullets. This drove them into the streets and gave them the excuse to turn into a crazy mob. Cause most everyone has cell phones these days, they say the message got out to every bad guy in the area, so the riot spread like wildfire round the whole center part of Atlanta.
Now back at the store, I turn around and see a black hooded man turned away from me holding a pistol at the counter guy. Another guy, really big and overweight, tries to reach to reach over the counter and grab at the cash register. Well now what? Do I run, get everyone and get out the door? Do I stay put, and let more people come in with more guns? We could be shot, raped or killed in this thing.
After a few seconds I make up my mind. Fumbling with my shirt, I pull my gun out of my belt, scratching my gut with the hammer. "Freeze, or I'll blow yer head off," I tell the hood with my best TV cop voice. The hood with the gun and his friend turn their heads and see me. I grab Matt with one hand and pull him hehind me, and with the other I point my gun back and forth, shaking a bit, at the two dudes. "Move and die!" I tell them. "Who you?" the gunman dude said. He began to move the gun away form the counter and towards me. "I did two tours in Iraq," I lied, "and I'll kill you in a heartbeat if you don't drop that gun right now."
I guess I impressed the hood and he tossed his gun down. "Now get," I tell them. A few other dudes start to come in as the two hoods start to walk out. "Come on homie," the gunman tells the big guy. "Go on now, everyone out, now!" I shout out. Then just before they leave the gunman turns back and says, "Y'all mo-fo's gonna get it. You, and you," and then pointing at me, "and you." After they all clean out I tell the counter guy, "Lock the door! Lock the door!"
You guys tell me about how jacked-up things are in this country these days, but ya know, I was right there when it hit the fan. As you may know, I'm Robert Lockwood, or Rob. That big mess down in Atlanta almost got me and my family killed. We made some stupid mistakes alright, but ended up doing enough right to get out with our hides still attached.
Startin' off, all we were going to do was drive down from our home here in Dunlap (Tennessee) to see our friends down in Macon for a couple of days. I got some time off from Thermo King, and my wife Debbie took off from Dr. Clark's office. We took the kids. Missy, our oldest, was 13 then, and Matt was 10. We were coming through the center of Atlanta on I-85 around noon. We all saw helicopters buzzing around up ahead. Debbie says, "Must be a big game in town." Told her I didn't know of any, but I'm no Atlanta fan. Missy suddenly tells us, "I gotta go to the bathroom---real bad."
Now what I didn't know at the time, being an ignernt redneck that didn't watch the new much, was that a big demonstration was happening downtown. None of us knew nothing about it, so like major dumb butts we drove right into it. Y'all have probably heard the story about how the riot started before, but basically there was that Atlanta city councilman who was always shooting his loud mouth off about civil rights stuff. He was the "champion of the poor" who had all the answers. As ya know, a whole lot of people got worked up when the (federal) government cut back on welfare, education and food stamps, so the system wouldn't go bankrupt. No one's more mad about it tan the coucilman guy who calls the cuts "The War on the Poor." So no big suprise they find the guy is dirty. Bribes, girlfriends, payoffs---the works. The state police and FBI catch the dude red-handed in some sting and also find about $100,000 in his dresser drawers.
When the state police go to arrest the dude at his house, a whole swarm of his people come out of the woodwork and begin to yell at them. Somehow a pit bull gets loose and comes at them, so some officers shoot it. Right then, this young kid whips out his black and silver cell phone to take a picture of the cops. So a white cop shoots a black kid in the confusion. The councilman yells things out like: "The war has begun!" and "They're killing us all!" as they hauled him off. Of course the news people go crazy with it. I believe this all started the day before we left.
Anyway, so Missy demands we pull off the road. "Why'd ya not go when we stopped 20 minutes ago?" "Dad, I didn't need to go then, and I just drank a big Coke." "Alright," I ask Debbie, "you see a gas station or McDonald's or something?" "Nothing. All I see out there is a big wall," she tells me, "and our road atlas ain't telling us much at all." Missy then chimes in, "If you'd bought me a decent cell phone, like all my friends have, they'd have a GPS apps that would lead us right to one. Please hurry up!" I tell her, "If I had an extra $70 a month to spend, I'd get something worthwhile like a new four-wheeler." I got in the turn lane and took the next exit. "Whoa, look at all those people," I hear Matt say from behind.
There we were stuck in the street right next to the state capital. This huge crowd was massed around the place. They had signs and banners and you could hear someone talking on a bullhorn. "Maybe they're having a gay pride parade," Matt joked. They don't look too gay and happy," Debbie told him. The cops had the street blocked, so they waved us on a side road headed back north. Seems like we spend forever going around the streets downtown, looking for a place to park and pee. No luck. The sounds of the helicopters and sirens were all around us. Just need to find a frontage road next to the interstate, take care of business and get the hell out of Dodge. Finally, I see the interstate down the street a few blocks. "Hurry up, I'm dying here," I hear for the hundredth time.
As we turn down the frontage road, we see more traffic and more people outside. The buildings kept getting older and more run down. Debbie says, "I don't like this," over and over. A car suddenly comes around us fast and just about clips my front bumper. "Idiot-retard." I hit the brakes. "I hope your seat belts are on and yer windows rolled up." I remember going past what looked like a prison. A few cop cars were lit up around it. At last we see a gas station, one of those with a chicken wings place on the side. "We're here."
"This is the ghetto," Debbie tells me. Like, duh. Tattoo and soul food joints are across the street. Abandoned and run-down buildings are everywhere. I park the truck on the far left in front of the wings place. "I don't care if it's a pit in there," Missy cries boltin' out her door. "And hurry-up mom!" So Debbie and Missy trot off inside. "Hold up Matt," I tell him looking around. There were a good number of folks moving around the place, and the interstate was right behind it. How bad could it be?
Well, best be cautious. So I reach in the glove box and take out my old S&W .357. The thing is old, but it shoots fine. I opened the cylinder and pulled out one of the rounds---cheap wad cutters, but at least they were .357 wadcutters, and not .38's. I stick the gun inside my pants under my gut and pull my shirt over it. That's what they call "Mexican carry." Lots of cars are now moving fast to the interstate. "Come on Matt, want some wings?"
Once inside for a few minutes, I begin to calm down. The place was a little dirty and worn, but looked like most of the stores back home. No one paid us much attention. As I wait by Matt for the girls to come out I hear, "Sir, you must pay for that!" from the India-looking guy behind the counter. A group of three locals are going fast out the door, each with a twelve-pack of beer. One of the women in the wings section gets off her cell phone and yells to the counter guy, "They have a riot going on downtown, and they on their way here." I look around in a panic. Lots of cars are pulling in and out outside. One girl, then another runs outside with a handful of snacks. I turn to run over and fetch Debbie and Missy out of the restroom. Then I hear this voice behind me say real loud, "Yo, give it up."
Again, what I didn't know was that demonstration went south in a hurry a few minutes after we drove past. As the crowd grew madder, some of them stormed the barricades around the capital, throwing rocks and firebombs. The cops come back with teargas, then rubber bullets. This drove them into the streets and gave them the excuse to turn into a crazy mob. Cause most everyone has cell phones these days, they say the message got out to every bad guy in the area, so the riot spread like wildfire round the whole center part of Atlanta.
Now back at the store, I turn around and see a black hooded man turned away from me holding a pistol at the counter guy. Another guy, really big and overweight, tries to reach to reach over the counter and grab at the cash register. Well now what? Do I run, get everyone and get out the door? Do I stay put, and let more people come in with more guns? We could be shot, raped or killed in this thing.
After a few seconds I make up my mind. Fumbling with my shirt, I pull my gun out of my belt, scratching my gut with the hammer. "Freeze, or I'll blow yer head off," I tell the hood with my best TV cop voice. The hood with the gun and his friend turn their heads and see me. I grab Matt with one hand and pull him hehind me, and with the other I point my gun back and forth, shaking a bit, at the two dudes. "Move and die!" I tell them. "Who you?" the gunman dude said. He began to move the gun away form the counter and towards me. "I did two tours in Iraq," I lied, "and I'll kill you in a heartbeat if you don't drop that gun right now."
I guess I impressed the hood and he tossed his gun down. "Now get," I tell them. A few other dudes start to come in as the two hoods start to walk out. "Come on homie," the gunman tells the big guy. "Go on now, everyone out, now!" I shout out. Then just before they leave the gunman turns back and says, "Y'all mo-fo's gonna get it. You, and you," and then pointing at me, "and you." After they all clean out I tell the counter guy, "Lock the door! Lock the door!"
