they got him ... and let him go

In November 2006, while I was in Wolcott visiting my parents, my house trailer was robbed by this guy, James "Jimmy" Strickland:

A man who once bragged that he "smokes crack the way most people smoke cigarettes." A career thief. Sometimes he tried to store stolen items at our place; a couple of tower computers without monitors or keyboards (I told him we didn't have any room).

A couple of weeks before the burglary I spent the evening away from home. On my return I couldn't find my electric guitar. My crackhead roommate had left Jimmy Strickland, Scumbag, unattended while smoking in his bedroom. Jimmy must have looked in my room and grabbed the first thing of value he saw.

Shortly thereafter, my roommate moved out. So, when I went on vacation, the trailer was unoccupied for about three days.

When I got home I noticed that the front door had been attacked with a crowbar. Everything of any tangible (fencible) value was gone. Tools. The alarm clock. Lamps. Clean clothes (thank God I was behind on my laundry). All of the dirty clothes and every one of my books were still there. Dope dealers probably don't trade drugs for computer geek manuals.

I had left my bicycle indoors when I left town. It probably would have been safer locked to the fence out front. As it is, the bike was incredibly easy to steal once the front door was open.

And how do I know for sure that it was Jimmy? Aside from eyewitness accounts from fellow crackhead whores and thieves, there is also an account from someone I trust describing how Jimmy was giving out 'Noles beads to girls at a crack house. I was making those beads as a side job. There were a lot of beads - strung and ready to go - stolen from the trailer.

Hmmm ... I guess I should send this on to the guy whose beads I was stringing. He still holds a grudge against this Strickland toad.