The Night Someone Shot at Us
In the summer of 1964, I started working at the Roxy Theatre in Barrie. We lived in Dalston, 15 kilometres away. It was too far to walk home at night after the shows were finished, so Mom or Dad would drive into Barrie to pick me up and bring me back home.
One night, Mom was driving me home, and as we passed the 20/21 Side Road West, Oro(-Medonte) on Highway 93, a small noise sounded on my side of the car. I turned to look out the window, only to see that it was shattered, but still hanging together. Then I saw the bullet hole near the front and bottom corner of the window.
Someone had shot at us!
The Police Were Called
We didn’t stop (or even slow down) in case that someone tried a second shot.
When we got home, the Police were called, and the officer was there within minutes. He surveyed the damage, took a few notes, and then slammed the car door.
The glass went everywhere in the car. No one sat on that side when the car went in to have the window replaced.
It reminded me of some feeble attempts of rock-throwing when I was a young boy in Dunsford. I never did hit any cars or trucks, but not for want of trying. I just wasn’t very accurate.
Now the tables had been turned and we were the intended target of someone’s practice. We didn’t suffer any physical harm, but the psychological effect lives on every time I drive by that particular spot.
Which just goes to prove the adage: What goes around, comes around again.