The Demonic Browns
From James Donahue’s Diary
It was not long after moving into our place on Superior Street that we became familiar with two of our neighbors. An elderly lady lived alone in the house right next to us. Doris quickly befriended her because something in her nature gave her a nurturing spirit. She often looked in on this woman to check on her well-being, and to make sure she had a hot meal at least once a day. Over the years I found that to be something unique about Doris’ loving nature when the elderly lived nearby. I think it stemmed from the deep love she had for her grandmother, who lived for years in a small house next to her home while she was growing up at Cass City.
Two doors farther down the street lived the Brown family. And a most obnoxious and troublesome family this was. The children who were about the same age as ours were constantly invading our yard, walking right in the house, and when around, they destroyed things. Many of our children’s favorite toys were either smashed or stolen.
One day Aaron retaliated, as children do, and did something to the Brown boy that was his equal. He either destroyed something the boy owned or punched him in the nose; I do not recall just what the offense was. I found out about it when the father, a large burly Neanderthal of a man, showed up at my door and demanded that Aaron be punished. I remember scolding Aaron about it, and then spanking him, knowing that I would rather be doing this to the Brown kid than my own son. I still regret that incident.
One day when a Plectron fire call came in I ran out of the house and started the engine, about to race off to the scene. But something made me stop and look behind and then under the car. There I found the Brown kid, lying right under my car. I screamed at him, ordered him off my property and told him never to do that again. After returning from the fire call I knocked on the door of the Brown house and told the parents what had nearly happened. I asked that they keep their children at home and not allow them on our property ever again. I made it explicit that my yard was off limits for all their children.
That was the beginning of the war between us and the Brown children. From that day on, the Browns made it a point to come to our house and dare me to do something about it. I remember one of the girls standing on the sidewalk in front of the house saying she was on “public property” and that I could not do anything about it.
Mr. Brown owned a large Harley Davidson motorcycle that had a very loud muffler or perhaps no muffler at all. He would ride that machine up and down our block at night, making sure he interrupted everyone’s sleep.
One Saturday when Doris was away at work and I was home with the children, I left them downstairs watching the morning cartoons on television while I was upstairs in one of the bedrooms, attempting to corner cut and install strips of ceiling trim. I discovered that cutting angled trim to match up on a corner was a trick, even when using a miter box. Every time I experimented with a new cut it came out wrong, and I was getting really frustrated. I decided to go downstairs and call someone I knew who might give me some advice. I was carrying a piece of the trim so I could describe it.
When I got downstairs I found two of the Brown boys sitting on the floor of our living room watching television. In my frustrated state of mind at that moment, and the discovery of those brats flagrantly in my house, triggered a rage in me. I shouted: “Get out of my house!” and started at them with the trim in my hand, which to them I suppose looked like a relatively long switch. Both boys darted for the kitchen door a few feet away. The door was open with only a screen door for them to go through. One boy made it out the door and the other was almost out by the time I reached him. I slapped him across the rump with my piece of trim before he cleared the doorway. All the while I continued to yell at them, telling them they were never welcome in my home and they were never to return.
It was no more than thirty minutes later that one of the city police officers was at my door. I knew this officer well and it was clear that he felt uncomfortable having to come to my house with a complaint. He said the Browns had filed a charge that I had molested one of their children. This officer told me right out that he found the story hard to believe and wanted to hear my side of it. I invited him in and told him the whole story. He took notes and told me not to worry about it. He said the department had complaints about the Brown family and that he believed my story.
After he left, the elderly woman next to us came over to ask why the police were at the house. I told her the story and she said she agreed that those Brown children were terrorizing the whole neighborhood.
A few days later I received a call from the city attorney. He asked me to come to his office. I was worried that I was about to be arrested and charged for striking that brat. But when I got to his office, the lawyer was all smiles. He said he had looked into the matter and decided to drop any charge against me. He then showed me a petition signed by people all over my neighborhood, supporting me and complaining about the problems they all were having with the Brown children. It seems that the neighbor lady had circulated the petition after she came to see me that day.
It was at about that time that the neighbor on the other side of us sold his house to a new commander at the South Haven State Police Post. A week or two later the house across the street went up for sale and was rented by a Van Buren County juvenile officer. Then I had a new job offer in Kalamazoo and rented my house to a new trooper at the State Police Post. That trooper and his wife liked our house so much they later bought it.
In later communications with that trooper, I learned that the Brown family suddenly began behaving once they were surrounded by the police. After one or two nights of running that loud motorcycle up and down our street, Mr. Brown was suddenly nabbed by a patrolman that just happened to be parked around the corner. The Brown kids ended up in juvenile court. Suddenly I felt vindicated after all of the torment that family had put us through.
From James Donahue’s Diary
It was not long after moving into our place on Superior Street that we became familiar with two of our neighbors. An elderly lady lived alone in the house right next to us. Doris quickly befriended her because something in her nature gave her a nurturing spirit. She often looked in on this woman to check on her well-being, and to make sure she had a hot meal at least once a day. Over the years I found that to be something unique about Doris’ loving nature when the elderly lived nearby. I think it stemmed from the deep love she had for her grandmother, who lived for years in a small house next to her home while she was growing up at Cass City.
Two doors farther down the street lived the Brown family. And a most obnoxious and troublesome family this was. The children who were about the same age as ours were constantly invading our yard, walking right in the house, and when around, they destroyed things. Many of our children’s favorite toys were either smashed or stolen.
One day Aaron retaliated, as children do, and did something to the Brown boy that was his equal. He either destroyed something the boy owned or punched him in the nose; I do not recall just what the offense was. I found out about it when the father, a large burly Neanderthal of a man, showed up at my door and demanded that Aaron be punished. I remember scolding Aaron about it, and then spanking him, knowing that I would rather be doing this to the Brown kid than my own son. I still regret that incident.
One day when a Plectron fire call came in I ran out of the house and started the engine, about to race off to the scene. But something made me stop and look behind and then under the car. There I found the Brown kid, lying right under my car. I screamed at him, ordered him off my property and told him never to do that again. After returning from the fire call I knocked on the door of the Brown house and told the parents what had nearly happened. I asked that they keep their children at home and not allow them on our property ever again. I made it explicit that my yard was off limits for all their children.
That was the beginning of the war between us and the Brown children. From that day on, the Browns made it a point to come to our house and dare me to do something about it. I remember one of the girls standing on the sidewalk in front of the house saying she was on “public property” and that I could not do anything about it.
Mr. Brown owned a large Harley Davidson motorcycle that had a very loud muffler or perhaps no muffler at all. He would ride that machine up and down our block at night, making sure he interrupted everyone’s sleep.
One Saturday when Doris was away at work and I was home with the children, I left them downstairs watching the morning cartoons on television while I was upstairs in one of the bedrooms, attempting to corner cut and install strips of ceiling trim. I discovered that cutting angled trim to match up on a corner was a trick, even when using a miter box. Every time I experimented with a new cut it came out wrong, and I was getting really frustrated. I decided to go downstairs and call someone I knew who might give me some advice. I was carrying a piece of the trim so I could describe it.
When I got downstairs I found two of the Brown boys sitting on the floor of our living room watching television. In my frustrated state of mind at that moment, and the discovery of those brats flagrantly in my house, triggered a rage in me. I shouted: “Get out of my house!” and started at them with the trim in my hand, which to them I suppose looked like a relatively long switch. Both boys darted for the kitchen door a few feet away. The door was open with only a screen door for them to go through. One boy made it out the door and the other was almost out by the time I reached him. I slapped him across the rump with my piece of trim before he cleared the doorway. All the while I continued to yell at them, telling them they were never welcome in my home and they were never to return.
It was no more than thirty minutes later that one of the city police officers was at my door. I knew this officer well and it was clear that he felt uncomfortable having to come to my house with a complaint. He said the Browns had filed a charge that I had molested one of their children. This officer told me right out that he found the story hard to believe and wanted to hear my side of it. I invited him in and told him the whole story. He took notes and told me not to worry about it. He said the department had complaints about the Brown family and that he believed my story.
After he left, the elderly woman next to us came over to ask why the police were at the house. I told her the story and she said she agreed that those Brown children were terrorizing the whole neighborhood.
A few days later I received a call from the city attorney. He asked me to come to his office. I was worried that I was about to be arrested and charged for striking that brat. But when I got to his office, the lawyer was all smiles. He said he had looked into the matter and decided to drop any charge against me. He then showed me a petition signed by people all over my neighborhood, supporting me and complaining about the problems they all were having with the Brown children. It seems that the neighbor lady had circulated the petition after she came to see me that day.
It was at about that time that the neighbor on the other side of us sold his house to a new commander at the South Haven State Police Post. A week or two later the house across the street went up for sale and was rented by a Van Buren County juvenile officer. Then I had a new job offer in Kalamazoo and rented my house to a new trooper at the State Police Post. That trooper and his wife liked our house so much they later bought it.
In later communications with that trooper, I learned that the Brown family suddenly began behaving once they were surrounded by the police. After one or two nights of running that loud motorcycle up and down our street, Mr. Brown was suddenly nabbed by a patrolman that just happened to be parked around the corner. The Brown kids ended up in juvenile court. Suddenly I felt vindicated after all of the torment that family had put us through.