When crime becomes personal

By Frank/Michael McCormack

Sometime in late 2004, not long after moving to New Orleans, my wife, Jennifer, and a group of her friends were held at gunpoint by a young man looking for money.

The group, made up of three ladies and a baby, parked just off St. Charles Avenue, under a street light, across from a busy restaurant. As they exited the car, the young man walked up, gun drawn, and said, “Okay ladies, this is how it’s gonna be…”

The encounter lasted just a few moments, with Jennifer shielding the baby from the gunman, one girl dumping her purse out on the ground, assuring the man that she hadn’t looked at his face, and the third girl letting him know that they didn’t have any cash. She was holding a diaper bag, not a purse.

Continue reading