A Sad, Sad Case

by Joyce

Most of you have probably heard about the sad case of the 11-year-old boy who shot and killed his father's pregnant girlfriend--it's been on the national news. The boy has been arrested and charged with criminal homicide, which in Pennsylvania means he is charged as an adult.

When I first heard about this, I felt sorry for the boy, wondering if they could charge him with a lesser offense so he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life in jail. Did an 11-year-old even know what he was doing?

But as more facts are revealed, I've changed my mind. The boy allegedly covered his own shotgun with a blanket, went to the woman's bedroom and shot her in the head. He then put the gun and blanket back in his room, and He then ran to catch the school bus with the woman's seven year old daughter. As he headed for the bus, he tossed the spent shotgun shell. The district attorney stated, "He took the time to hide what he was doing."

As sad as it is, I can see why they've charged him as an adult. If he were to be charged as a juvenile in Pennsylvania, he could only be held until he's 21. The adult conviction would most likely commit him to prison for life. Could the boy be rehabilitated before he turns 21? Is that a chance anyone wants to take?

One of the difficulties authorities are facing is they basically have nowhere to house the boy. In Pennsylvania, there is no bail for anyone facing a criminal homicide charge. And since he's being charged as an adult, he can't be placed in a juvenile facility. The boy has to be kept isolated and away from the general jail population. In the rural county where he's being held there are no separate facilities for juveniles charged as adults, so authorities are looking for other counties with more experience with juveniles, like Allegheny County.

While I still feel sorry for the boy, I feel worse for the woman's family--and for the boy's father. I read that he keeps saying it had to be an accident. I can understand why he'd think that way. How could any parent admit that their baby could do something like that? The man has essentially lost his entire family--not only the woman he loved and their unborn child, but his son, too.

What do you think of this case? Do you agree that the boy should be charged as an adult? How should communities deal with children who commit heinous crimes, like murder? Can they be rehabilitated, or is there something basic wrong with them that can't be fixed?

Note: The boy is being moved to a juvenile facility. See here for details.

Not the Perfect Crime

by Joyce

Gina mentioned in a comment the other day that you shouldn't mention crimes you're going to commit in a public forum. Someone should have told these people about that. Talk about stupid criminals.

According to the article in the newspaper, three people were charged with homicide for what they believed would be the perfect murder. Allegedly Susan Yeager wanted her estranged husband, Shawn Yeager dead, so she had her brother Cory Altman shoot him in a way that they believed would look like a hunting accident. Cory borrowed a rifle, hid in the trees behind his brother-in-law's house and shot Shawn Yeager in the back when he reached his back porch. Then he got into a car driven by Robert Pessia. The article stated that Cory joked about what he'd done saying he'd "got his buck for the year." They then returned the rifle, and went to Walmart (where Susan Yeager worked) and told her what happened. Yeager's body was found by his sons, ages 12 and 15 when they returned home from school.

They might have gotten away with it except for the fact that, according to news accounts, Mrs. Yeager had been talking for several years that she'd like her husband to be killed. She had actually asked co-workers where she could buy an unregistered gun and told them she and her brother could take her husband hunting where he could be killed in an "accident."

These killers are not only the epitome of cold blooded, they're the epitome of stupid. How in the world could they think they wouldn't get caught?

I've noticed that in many cases, criminals are caught because they can't keep their mouths shut. It's human nature for someone to want to talk about his accomplishments. Most people like to brag. Imagine committing the perfect crime and not being able to tell anyone about it. Let's say you steal a famous diamond worth a gazillion dollars that no one else has even gotten close to. All your buddies are talking about the genius who stole it, and you can't say a word! Not one word. Sooner or later, most people wouldn't be able to stand it anymore. They'd have to talk. They'd have to brag. And usually to the wrong person, like a future ex-spouse. The criminal dumps the spouse and before he knows it, he's wearing the latest in shiny handcuffs.

Can any of you name any perfect--or near perfect crimes? How about some criminals who got caught because they couldn't keep their mouths shut?

Small Town Politics

by Annette Dashofy

Unless you live under a rock, you know that the nation is in its usual election-year frenzy. Everyone thinks THEIR candidate is going to change the world and make their life better. Well, guess what. Probably not. Regardless of whether the next President’s name is Obama, Clinton, McCain or Huckabee (President Huckabee???) odds are, not much will change that directly affects any of us. If you want to see government truly at work, you have to look closer to home.

I attended our local township supervisors’ meeting the other night. I’m ashamed to admit that the last time I went to one was back in the seventies when I was supporting the movement to start a real ambulance service in our area. At the time, our EMS consisted of a red hearse manned by firemen with basic first aid training. We succeeded.

I also attended local meetings a few years ago when we were trying to block the building of a State Correctional Institute a mile from the high school and then-proposed (now real) elementary center. We succeeded again.

On a local level, politicians and government can actually DO something.

My reason for attending the township supervisors’ meeting this time was much less activist in nature. In fact, I just sat in the back of the room and made comments about the weather with another township resident. My reason for venturing out into the cold was simply RESEARCH. My next novel involves local politics. Dirty politics in its grassroots form. So I figured I’d better spend some time in that world.

And what a world. Most of it was fairly boring stuff. The three supervisors voted to buy a new/used police car. A report was made on the new dump trunk they had recently purchased. A lawyer made a brief presentation regarding his bid to get nearly 80 acres of farmland rezoned so his client could build yet another housing development. Hunters in the audience moaned. There goes their hunting grounds. Others pointed out that our tiny corner of the universe desperately needs expansion and growth. Nothing was decided, but I’m willing to bet the hunters are out of luck.

Then the fun started. The public got their chance to voice complaints and get action. Most of the issues had to do with trash in the neighbor’s yard or a dilapidated house creating a hazard. These things seem small potatoes, but think about it. A concerned citizen can walk into a meeting and talk directly to the guy doling out citations, give him an address, and have the situation dealt with. One lady complained that local cops were griping about not wanting to respond to her neighborhood anymore (probably because this gal seemed to complain about everything from her neighbor’s trash blowing into her yard to the kids urinating next to her house). But she spoke up and the supervisor who deals directly with the Chief of Police promised to talk to the guys.

The evening was not without one major revelation for me. I’ve been told, though, that EVERYONE knows this, but I did not. When you see a pair of sneakers tossed over an electric line, that’s a sign that kids can buy drugs there. There’s been a pair of sneakers hanging on the line outside our yoga center for years! And (duh) kids hang out on the steps in front of the building all the time. Is there anyone out there besides me who DIDN’T know this!

Anyhow, research or not, I think I’ll be going back. It was interesting to find out what’s going on in the township. And I found some great new characters for my next novel. Besides, now I know what to do if the neighbor’s trash blows into my yard. Forget writing your congressmen. Go to a meeting of your LOCAL government if you want to experience REAL change.

In the Moos

By Annette Dashofy

It’s not been a good couple of weeks to be a bovine
in rural southwestern Pennsylvania. First came this news story about a guy from Westmoreland County who decided to demonstrate his unhappiness with regards to his wife’s affair by sending the boyfriend a cow’s head.

Perhaps I should go back and re-watch my old gangster movies, but isn’t it supposed to be a horse’s head in the bed? Not a cow’s head in a box thawing on the front porch. I’m still perplexed as to what message he was trying to send. Apparently, though, whatever the message, it worked. The wife reconciled with the sender of the head. I guess she was mooooved by his romantic display.

Sorry. I couldn’t resist.

Then there came this story from neighboring Fayette County about two step-brothers (STEP brothers,
not biological…can’t say stupidity is a family trait) who killed four cows on the first day of deer season. It was after dusk and they were using a spotlight to hunt by and mistook the cattle for deer.

Ahhhh, yeah. Right. FOUR of them.

Plus, it took them ten shots to kill the suckers.

Oh, my, where to start. Okay, first off, IT WAS DARK. If you need a spotlight to see something, it’s too dark to be hunting! And four? I can maybe accept shooting ONE cow by mistake. But deer are skittish creatures. They bolt at the sound of a twig snapping. Cows amble. Cows lumber. That makes them easy targets. So what were these kids thinking? Oh, boy, Bubba, I got me one! And the rest of ‘em ain’t runnin’! Let’s shoot some more! Them ‘re some big ol’ bucks, ain’t they? Bet I’m gonna win the buck pool!
Sorry. Cows don’t have antlers!

Personally, I think these kids heard about the guy with the cow head and thought they’d found a way to make some extra money selling dead livestock parts to jealous husbands.

Country Cold Case

by Annette Dashofy

I suspect most folks assume that life in the country can be summed up with words like serene, quiet, and peaceful. Murder, mayhem, and intrigue probably don’t enter into the equation. In fact, the only thing mysterious about farm life these days is how anyone makes a living at it. And years ago, farm living was even more tranquil, right?

Not necessarily.

Even as a child, I loved a good mystery. And from as early as I can remember, I often heard one story in particular repeated in hushed tones. My own family’s cold case. I’ve changed the names to protect the not-so-innocent because newer generations of all involved continue to reside in the area.

My maternal grandmother’s family owned the Andrews farm, two farms over from my maternal grandfather’s family farm. Yes, it was a romance between neighboring farm boy and farm girl, but that’s another tale for another time. When Great Grandpap Andrews died back in the early 1940s, he willed the farm to his oldest son Pete who ran the operation with his brother Charlie until Pete’s death a few years later. Both men were old bachelors and when Charlie took over, a couple of men from a poor immigrant family, moved in as hired help. Other Andrews family members frowned upon the arrangement and the way the Mastro family seemed to be isolating Charlie from his other brothers and sisters. They also seemed to be making all the major decisions for Uncle Charlie, with or without his approval.

Then one day Uncle Charlie was found dead in the barn. The Mastros arranged for a quick burial. Neighbors nagged at the surviving Andrews that an investigation should be conducted. But none was. And while everyone assumed that younger brother Dale and his wife would inherit the farm, when the will was read, Uncle Charlie had left the family property to the Mastros instead.

This all transpired years before my birth, but as a child I remember that anytime someone in my family mentioned the Mastros, the name was spoken in hushed, venomous tones. Not quite a full blown Hatfields and McCoys type of feud, but I knew better than to associate with any of them.

Several years ago, one of the Mastros who had been involved in the suspicious dealings was murdered. My sweet unassuming (grudge-carrying) mother calmly said at the time, “Well, the Andrews farm didn’t do him any good did it?”

No, I can’t quite make the connection either. I guess that’s her way of saying What goes around, comes around. Rural karma.

Personally, even with all we don’t know, I think it makes for a great mystery. Maybe this should be the basis for my next short story. Or even a novel. What do you think? Cold Case: Green Acres.