We live in a short street off a main thoroughfare (which was then a sleepy, edge-of-town former farm road, dead-ending at one end. Now one end connects with Interstate 5, the other with [formerly U.S.] highway 99, two of the most traveled highways in America.) We heard a loud commotion outside, and went out to see five police cars speeding down the street, sirens deafening. We didn't care to investigate, so carried on with the yard work we were doing. Sometime later, we heard the sirens and the cars coming back the other direction. What the hey? We heard gunshots, then silence. The next day we read that a bunch of low-lifes robbed the bank about a mile from here, then took a teller hostage. During the police chase, they opened the car door and shoved the woman out of the speeding car, where she was shot and killed by the police. Oops!

Back in the 1970's: Ronald Reagan was giving a political speech here, and narrowly escaped an attack from "Squeaky" Fromm, one of the lesser stars of the hippie gang that committed those infamous murders in Hollywood.

My daughters went to the same high school that a notorious local Mafioso's son attended. (They said the kid was really a nice, shy guy.)

There are an awful lot of Italian and Sicilian farmers hereabouts. Most are kind, decent people. A few are retired Mafioso dons, according to local Italians we know. (One such worked with Papa Elf before they both retired, and claimed that his uncle was "connected.")

In my job, we were trained to look out for evidence of teenage gangs before we ventured into certain parts of town. A lineman, who was wearing blue work pants, was challenged by a gang of toughs for "spying on them from the telephone pole." (Nearly everybody calls all power poles "telephone poles, whether they are or not.) One of the fellows I worked with was tasked with showing a new girl how and what to look for on the job. When it was necessary to go into a back yard, we were trained to knock/ring a doorbell, and ask politely if we might go into their yard. The couple were met at the door with a big, burly guy who pointed a pistol at the two and said, "You ain't turnin' off MY electric!" They beat a hasty retreat. And yes, our supervisor advised the police.

(My only difficulty was the day I was bitten by a dog bigger than I was when I had to go to a junkyard. The scar on my knee has since faded. Mostly.)