When I lived in a low-income apartment complex back in the day, a man and his wife moved into the apartment directly above ours. They played their stereo far too loud, which is the number one complaint in apartment buildings the world over. People have the right to peace and quiet in their own home. It's not much to ask. If someone needs their loud music, why not use headphones? No need to subject everyone else to the same stuff. What some people think of as music, others interpret as noise.
The man who lived above us had a friend that would be locked out from time to time. I think the wife did not like this "friend" and wanted to keep him out. The "friend" would shimmy up the pole from our apartment patio to their apartment patio. Once he hopped onto their patio, he jimmied open their back door to let himself in. For my part, it was disturbing to look out the window and see a pair of legs dangling in mid-air. I interrogated him one afternoon to find out what he was up to. I ordered him to leave, because he seemed like a burglar to me. He left, but later the neighbor explained, in a polite fashion, that he was a friend and asked if it would be all right if he jimmied up the pole once in a while. I agreed, but specified that there should be no littering on our potted plants, because we had found cigarette butts on more than one occasion, which is a token of disrespect. He and his friends were also in the habit of leaving empty beer cans everywhere, including the parking lot where I parked my car.
On several occasions, I went up to knock on their door and complain because of the loud music. The man was polite on those occasions and did turn the music down, but there would be repeat provocations later, particularly during the day if they assumed that no one was at home below. They seemed to be home all of the time.
We overheard a violent fight late one night. The wife took off and never came back. She probably made the right decision. The man began to unravel. Loud music became an everyday occurrence. I thumped a broom handle on the ceiling whenever it became too much, and sometimes he would turn it down, but sometimes he wouldn't.
He began to deal drugs. It was obvious. People would drop by at all hours of the day and night. We saw headlights in our window and then heard voices, followed by knocking on his door. Two or three minutes later, the same people would leave. We overheard his footsteps creaking on the floor boards all night long on most nights. But the constant in and out traffic was disturbing. These customers littered the parking lot with their beer cans, cigarette butts and candy wrappers. Their music was loud and wretched. I was pretty sure about my hunch, because the length of visits was no greater than a few minutes apiece. These were not social calls, but drive-through shopping. There were about a half-dozen to a dozen visits most nights.
If someone decides to deal drugs, the very least they should do is make sure that their neighbors are not inconvenienced in any way. Good relations with neighbors is essential no matter what, but in an illegal profession, they are paramount. Fear will not serve to ensure silence.
I did something I never thought I would do in my entire life. I called the cops to report a drug dealer. Granted, I am opposed to Prohibition. I do not believe drugs should be illegal--any drugs, for that matter. No drugs were illegal in 1776, and none need to be illegal today either. But this guy was running a twenty-four hour, seven-day a week business right above my home. Between the loud music and the noise and the commotion in the dead of night, I was having difficulty sleeping, and I worked a full-time corporate job from 7 AM to 4 PM. It was either him or me.
To my surprise, the police officer I spoke with on the phone sounded disinterested. He took down my name, phone number, and address, and then asked me a few questions, but I got the feeling he did not take me seriously. Nothing whatsoever came of this phone call. The neighbor continued dealing drugs in the middle of the night. I did not notice any police presence. There were no follow-up calls made to me. Only later did I understand the reason why. In our town, there are a great many busybodies in the habit of calling the police whenever they see someone suspicious walking through the neighborhood. To them, anyone unfamiliar is suspicious. I am sure the narcotics detective I spoke with fields calls every day from "concerned citizens."
I solved the problem of my bad neighbor in a different manner. I was on amicable terms with the home owner who lived across the street. She disliked the litter that drifted into her yard from the apartment complex. She had no idea where it was coming from. I let her know it was our neighbor and his drug customers that were dumping their trash in the parking lot. She knew the owner of the apartment complex--I believe he was a relative. I urged her to let him know her feelings about the situation. She made a phone call, and the neighbor was evicted within a matter of weeks.
Repercussions were minor. I was then in the habit of walking everywhere to save fuel and get exercise. I thought it was a good habit, and it was, but it was not safe. Nothing brings out the cowardice of a jackal than an automobile, the getaway vehicle that prevents reprisals. My partner and I were walking from the grocery store one night when someone in a car threw a large cup of iced soda, striking me in the back of the head. They screamed obscenities. Then they sped off into the night. I never got a good look at my assailant or his license plate number, although it seems likely it was the drug dealer or one of his customers, because he had been evicted just a month prior to that incident.
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