Findersons are short one towel.

[RobinFinderson]

A dude just got shot across the street from our house. He was hit in the leg, only a flesh wound, but most definitely shot. He called out for help a few seconds after the shots rang out. Faith had Little Robin on the ground. As soon as I could see that the shooter was not there I called out, "Are you hit?" He said that he was, so I called to Faith to grab a towel. I helped the man wrap his leg with the towel and told him to put direct pressure onto the wound. He asked me to "Go get my girls," and he told me his address, a few houses down. It was a new duplex where two rough families recently moved in. It has been clear for months now that if anything was ever going to happen on our block, in all likelihood it would involved this house. I walked up to the door and knocked, then stepped back and put my arms out to my sides in plain view. "Who is it?" came a voice shouting out from inside. "Your neighbor from down the street." The door cracked open. "Your husband or father or brother just got hit. I think he's going to be okay, but..." A woman inside screamed and then four women came barreling out of of the house bare foot and running down the street. Their screams mixed with audible sobbing as they approached the wounded man. I said it again, "I think he is going to be ok. He isn't bleeding very badly." The police showed up quick, followed by the helicopters (still flying as I type) and followed by fire trucks and ambulance. I head back home and we have a 'family talk.' The wounded said it was someone he knew, a family member, so it probably won't be long before he is in custody. We are calm and trying to re-instill the sense of peace that we (almost) always feel in our home. We tell ourselves, for Little Robin's sake, that things will be fine; we aren't a target; and yes, we hope to move to a safer neighborhood, some day, hopefully soon. The boy is back to his cartoons and honestly seems totally unshaken. I'm feeling unshaken as well. It has been a long time since anything like this has happened, but it has happened before, and it is remarkable just how unremarkable this sort of thing can become. The street is quiet again.

[HuskyFreeNorthwest]

Wow Robin that is crazy. You are a good guy for helping out.

[Surfah]

Time to move Robin.

[wuapinmon]

I'm very glad yall're okay.

Go watch this

0:55 seconds in!

[New Mexican Disaster]

A dude just got shot across the street from our house. He was hit in the leg, only a flesh wound, but most definitely shot. He called out for help a few seconds after the shots rang out. Faith had Little Robin on the ground. As soon as I could see that the shooter was not there I called out, "Are you hit?" He said that he was, so I called to Faith to grab a towel. I helped the man wrap his leg with the towel and told him to put direct pressure onto the wound. He asked me to "Go get my girls," and he told me his address, a few houses down. It was a new duplex where two rough families recently moved in. It has been clear for months now that if anything was ever going to happen on our block, in all likelihood it would involved this house. I walked up to the door and knocked, then stepped back and put my arms out to my sides in plain view. "Who is it?" came a voice shouting out from inside. "Your neighbor from down the street." The door cracked open. "Your husband or father or brother just got hit. I think he's going to be okay, but..." A woman inside screamed and then four women came barreling out of of the house bare foot and running down the street. Their screams mixed with audible sobbing as they approached the wounded man. I said it again, "I think he is going to be ok. He isn't bleeding very badly." The police showed up quick, followed by the helicopters (still flying as I type) and followed by fire trucks and ambulance. I head back home and we have a 'family talk.' The wounded said it was someone he knew, a family member, so it probably won't be long before he is in custody. We are calm and trying to re-instill the sense of peace that we (almost) always feel in our home. We tell ourselves, for Little Robin's sake, that things will be fine; we aren't a target; and yes, we hope to move to a safer neighborhood, some day, hopefully soon. The boy is back to his cartoons and honestly seems totally unshaken. I'm feeling unshaken as well. It has been a long time since anything like this has happened, but it has happened before, and it is remarkable just how unremarkable this sort of thing can become. The street is quiet again.

Glad you and your family are okay. We had a drive by a couple of blocks away a couple of weeks ago that we heard. Makes us question our ability to stay where we are that much longer.

[falafel]

Crazy story, Robin. Thanks for sharing.

[Drunk Tank]

It's always frightening to be near or see someone get shot. Happened a few times when I was on my mission in NY and again when I moved back to NY afterwards. I also witnessed a shooting in the parking lot at the sporting goods store I managed a few years back. I was maybe 20 yards from the shooter at most. I am glad he was shooting at the larger group of people congregating near the Taco Bell across from us rather than at me and my co-workers who had just left the building....

Hopefully this is just a random incident in your hood, and not something that becomes more common! Keep your head down!

[myboynoah]

I hope you get your towel back.

[Jarid in Cedar]

Glad to here your clan is ok Robin. Scary stuff.

[RobinFinderson]

Thanks for folks' concern. When the shot fired I had actually sat down to write a blog post I had due (as part of a different community blog I write for). I ended up writing about this experience instead of some of the other ideas I was contemplating. Here is the polished (and CUFisized) version of the story (I don't know where all the * came from, but they happened when I cut and pasted):

I settle down at the computer to write a blog post when four gun shots ring out from the street directly in front of our house.* This happens within the hour of my typing these words, the night before my post is due, and the helis only stop buzzing the neighborhood in the last five minutes.

It all happens fast, the four shots spaced evenly within about three seconds.* Faith pulls Little Robin to the floor.* I leap from my seat to turn off the light and look out the front door, which is open to the cool night air.* I see a man on the sidewalk across the street.* It is already dark, but he is wearing a draping white t-shirt, and I can see him clearly.* He takes a couple of steps and then falls to the ground letting up a howl.* I’m under the stucco arch on my porch, pressed into a dark corner with my head peering out to scan the street looking for a shooter, but I see nothing.* No scattering crowd, no runner, and no car peeling away from the curb.* There is just the man, on the ground, crying out in pain.* I shout out to him,

“Are you hit?”

“Yes!* I need help!”

I poke my head back into the house,

“Faith, grab a towel!”

I fumble with my iPhone, trying to dial 911 on a touchscreen, and the interface has never seemed so clumsy.* Faith tosses me a towel and I pocket the phone, assuming that someone else will make the call (I find out later that Faith is the first to get through to 911).* I cross the street deliberately, looking from side to side to make sure there is no detail I might have missed, like someone lurking.* I’m the first person there.* The smell of the gunpowder is still hanging in the air.

“Where are you hit?”

“My leg!”

He is wearing long denim shorts that cover the gore, but there really isn’t much blood.* It is a flesh wound, but a most definite hit.* I help him wrap the wound with the towel and I tell him to put direct pressure on the spot.

“My foot hurts!* Take off my shoe!”

I unlace the sneaker and pull it off, but there is no damage there.

“Your foot looks ok.”

Others approach the scene.* The man’s face is glistening, but he is sitting up on his own.* He keeps forgetting to press the wound, so I tell him again,

“You need to apply direct pressure to wound, or you are going to lose a lot of blood.* Help is on the way.”

“Can you get my girls?”

“What girls?”

“They live down the street in the green apartment, number …”

“Okay, but you have got to put pressure on that bullet.* I’ll be right back.”

I run down the street to a green duplex.

It is a new building, constructed within the last twelve months, and rented out as soon at it was completed.* Two hardened families moved in.* I don’t even know exactly what I mean by that word ‘hardened,’ except to say that it has long been my sense that if anything were going to happen on the street (and nothing has happened in a long while) that it would probably involve the people in this duplex.* The families include a lot of children, all young women, who literally run the street, up and down, so fast and with so much kinetic grace that I am embarrassed and ashamed to confess having once had a Kipling moment, when I looked up and away from my lesson prep to see these girls running past my window, and my mind thought, ‘gazelle!’* There is a wildness in these children, in the way they talk, in the way they carry themselves, and in the way they snarl at me when I smile and wave at them from my yard.* They range in age from nine to nineteen, but there is also a grown woman in the house, and I assume that she is their mother.

So tonight, for the first time, I step into these girls’ yard, and I knock the door.* The curtains are drawn, and the lights inside are out, so I know that I am being watched.* I knock the door and step back, holding my arms out to my sides in plain view.* A voice calls out from behind the closed door,

“Who is it?”

“I’m your neighbor from down the street!”

The door shifts open and I speak into the black crack,

“Your husband or brother or father was shot.* I think he’s going to be okay, but...”

A woman screams and the door flings wide open.* I miss the name, but one of the girls cries,

“... has been shot!”

Four women fly out the door barefoot, running down the sidewalk.* I hear one of them identify the shooter as a family member.* She says he has gone too far, and that she doesn’t care what else happens, but that man has got to go to jail.* The others are sobbing.* I chase after them.

Before the squad cars turn out, there are plain-clothed men in flak jackets asking questions.* I have no idea where they came from, but they are at the scene within minutes of everything.* Then come the squad cars with the men in blue.* Then come the helicopters.* Then come the fire trucks, and last of all there are the ambulances.* The scene is awash in twitchy spotlights and flashing strobes.* Now I’m in the way, so I walk back home, leaving the towel.

We sit down and have a ‘family chat.’* The wounded had confirmed to the police that the shooter was a family member, so it probably won’t be long before the attacker is in custody.* We are calm and trying to re-instill the sense of safety that we (almost) always feel in our home.* We tell ourselves, for Little Robin’s sake, that things will be fine; we aren’t a target; and yes, we hope to move to a safer neighborhood, some day, hopefully soon.* Little Robin is shaken up, but our calm assurances seem to set his mind at ease.* By the time I am settled down enough to write, he is watching cartoons, and now it is his resilience that is calming me.

It has been a long time since anything like this has happened, but it has happened before, and it is remarkable just how unremarkable this sort of thing can become.* The street is quiet again, Little Robin and Faith have gone to bed, and once more I’m left wondering what it means for me to turn any of this into something akin to art.

[RC Vikings]

After reading that I thought to myself how grateful I am to be in Rexburg but with winter approaching maybe I would trade the cold for the occasional need to dodge a bullet. Keep your head down Robin.

[ERCougar]

Wow, Robin. I'm glad you're ok. I think going into the neighborhood crackhouse was one of the dumber things you could possibly do, but I'm glad everything worked out. You're a good man.

[BigPiney]

what a crazy experience. Glad all of yours are OK.

[TripletDaddy]

robinfinderson, you are a true man of the people. I have seen this myself firsthand. I am glad that you and your family are safe and am not surprised that you endeavored to help the victim.

Good luck.

ps it may be time to move out to OC, brother.

[JohnnyLingo]

All you people telling Robin he should probably move are making me laugh. Robin knows the risks and lives where he does despite them. He has the ability to move, yet clearly doesn't want to. Why? Maybe it's so he can post stories like this on CUF. Maybe it's to get some street cred. Maybe he's assuaging his own white guilt.

I don't get it, but everyone has their own windmills at which to tilt.