I moved to the farm in March of 2007, and lived in my camper for a
few months, then moved into the upstairs of the barn. There
have been many adventures since then, but few serious issues until now.
Tom
moved into the farmhouse about 3 years ago, and all other roommates
subsequently left, leaving just the two of us- him in the house, and me
in the barn. Things were cool. We hung out and talked every night I was there. We had a fire in the firepit all the time. I like beer. Tom likes dark rum. I bummed smokes off him. We talked about cars, hockey (Tom was an emancipated adult at 17 so he could go play pro hockey in Finland. He's a fucking Minnesotan: Esquire- meaning he's a land owner), and everything, of course. Chickens. Cats. Dogs. Burning bigass
bonfires. Shooting the shit with the hillbilly neighbors. Shooting
coyotes. Dude stuff.
There had been people living there on and
off, scandals, and accusations, a robbery earlier this year in which my
shotgun, generator, t.v., and two video cameras were stolen, but nothing
out of the ordinary for rural Oregon, really. Until Chris moved in.
March
2012: Tom works at a tire shop in Portland. Chris had been living
in his van outside the shop and used the shop's bathroom, which grew
old to Tom's boss, who gave Tom a truck and a raise to let Chris move
out to the farm. There were 3 empty rooms (and already 14 cars, most of
them broken down Saab's, and Chris brought two more vans, btw..). Chris
immediately cleaned the house, and began the process of painting the
bathroom- an undertaking that would last until now- holyshit, there
still isn't a doornob on the bathroom door. 8 months. And he STILL
wasn't done painting a 4X8 room as of today. The iceberg of crazy is
just showing its tip at this point.
I opened a drawer in the
kitchen one day and saw a pistol. I'm very comfortable and familiar
around guns, so it only seemed mostly weird that a guy that just moved
in would feel the need to keep a gun in the kitchen drawer. Chris
invited me to check it out, a .38 Glock with hollowpoint bullets- one in
the chamber. He explained that he used rubber gloves to load the rounds
into the clip, because they kept his DNA off the bullets "Cus, you just
never know". I remember remarking to Tom that Chris had the vibe of
someone who had been to prison before, and that he was willing to go
back rather than be made to feel scared or intimidated. And that he was
going to shoot someone. Really. I said that back in April or May..
Over the next few months, there were a few
incidents which cemented my belief that Chris was going to shoot
somebody, and it would likely be me, Tom, or both of us. Really.
Shouting matches over incredibly sanctimonious demands by Chris
happened frequently. He really acted as though the property was his (we
rent, and Tom is the only one on a lease). Chris acted like Tom and I were both out
to undermine his authority, and as though Tom and I had no right to be
there anymore. He complained Tom and I used too much toiletpaper- which I
had supplied. Chris yelled that we burned firewood that he had a plan
for- firewood Tom had acquired and split, or I had brought as scrap from
a deck I was building. Just infinitely unimaginable crazy bullshit is what I thought of it.
Chris and I had at least 3 major
arguments. The first was over the firewood. The second was over me
watering my strawberry plants which I had planted 4 years earlier,
because he said he had a "plan for them". The other was over just the
fact that he was a guest at the farm and should show more respect to
Tom, who Chris called a "five year old" and said Tom always went against
Chris's wishes. The arguments persisted. I really thought it was beyond ridiculous, so I stayed away.
Fast forward to last week: I hadn't been staying
at the farm for about 3 months, in part because Chris was somebody I
didn't want to be around. When he started to prepare the bathroom for
painting back in April, he had taken down two paintings of mine, and set them aside. I
took them and put them in the barn. Well, on Wednesday of last week, he
saw me carrying those paintings to my car. I was bringing them to take pictures of them. He had been strangely sanctimonious about the paintings ever since I took them back but, after all, they were part of a group of paintings my friend The Dave had given to me. Later that day, he
apparently went up into the barn looking for them, and left my door
open. Tom asked him about the door being open, Chris admitted he'd been
up there looking for the paintings, and Tom said "Were you theivin'?"
Chris freaked out and left.
Thursday Chris left Tom a note saying he didn't feel safe in the house anymore, and that Tom had insulted him. This wasn't the first time Chris had said these things, but whatever...
Last
Friday: Tom was upstairs in his room and heard Chris come in. Tom came
downstairs to apologize to him. He said that when he did, he said
"Sorry, but.." and Chris lost it. He started yelling that there was
always a "But..", and got in Tom's face. Yelling. Gesturing. Tom said he
turned and walked back to his door, looked back and Chris had reached
into the drawer and grabbed the gun, he said something Tom doesn't
remember, pointed the gun, and shot Tom in the abdomen from about 8 feet
away. Tom says he doubled over and said "You shot me!!", and Chris
walked over and held the gun to the back of Tom's head and said
something to him, but Tom grabbed the gun, punched Chris in the face,
and then Tom ran out. He went to get in his car and he said Chris yelled
something about "You're not hurt that bad if you can run. I have
another gun in here!"
Tom drove 7 miles to St. Helens only to find
out the clinic there doesn't have 24/7 emergency services, so he turned
around and drove the 27 miles to Portland. He says he stopped to get
gas and cigarettes(??!!!??). He went to the hospital there in St. Johns,
but they didn't have the proper services, and they transported him to the right place. This is when he told them he'd been shot, and the hospital called
911. Why he didn't call, i don't know.
There had been little blood
because the entrance wound was the only opening, as the bullet never
exited. It travelled 15 inches through his abdomen and lodged in his
leg! They gave him a local anesthetic, and removed the bullet intact.
The nurse said she'd never seen anybody survive a shot with a .38
hollowpoint, and the doctor told him it was shot at such close range
that it never had a chance to "spool up" and be able to fragment, and
that it only hit flesh so it never flattened. A very fortunate thing.
Had the bulled exited because Tom's body position had been different, or
the bullet had come from a different angle, or hit a bone, or just
about anywhere else, he'd have at the very least be missing some part of
him, or have bled to death. No major organs hit. Not his bladder, not
his intestines. Just flesh. (Tom's a bigger guy, and the doc said that
helped him!)
God bless Tom, he didn't take any pain meds beside
the local, and he then drove himself home where the cops got the gun and
bullet that was removed from his leg.
I got a call and a few
texts from Tom and the police in the middle of the night, but didn't
answer because I normally get drunk calls from friends back home in
Wisconsin around that time, but at about 5 a.m. I checked my phone, and
saw a text that said "been shot by chris. @ legacy emanuel". Like, what
the fuck, dude???? Really??!! When I found out Chris was on the loose, I
became concerned, of course. I knew he was unstable, and probably
preferred to kill me as much as he did Tom. That's when I posted a pic
of a similar van to his on my facebook page, and pretty much sounded
like a crazy guy myself by saying "THIS ISN'T A JOKE" a bunch of times.
That
afternoon my girlfriend Toni and I went shopping. Chris still was on
the loose. We went to a couple stores, then Fred Meyer. I had texted Tom
asking what was his favorite vegetable, as we were getting some food
and supplies for him. In the middle of the produce section I began
crying, really inexplicably. Toni asked me what was wrong, and I said I didn't know. "I
have an overwhelming sense of dread right now" was the only explanation
I had. Ten minutes later I got a text from Tom saying
verbatim:"cauliflower, but christopher just showed up and peabody is on
his way". Peabody is the cop Tom had talked to the night before. I
immediately called Tom and he said he was barricaded up in his room with
a rifle and his dog. I then called 911 and explained the situation.
Toni
and I drove up to the farm, and upon cresting the hill, saw no cops. I
called 911 again, and they said they were staging. Long story short, the
cops started showing up one after the other, and by the time an hour
and a half had passed, there were 13 cops in riot gear, with a canine
unit, and a ambulance on standby. I helped by describing that the front
door didn't open, and diagramming the whole property and house. They
waited until it was dark, and slowly went down there, and spied on things
for a while, before calling Chris on the phone and asking him to come out,
which he did.
It's truly great that he did, as he is just looney enough for it to have gone either, or any way.
So,
Tom Bengston is a tough motherfucker. Let that be known. He is very
sore and doesn't feel like climbing those stairs up to his room, so I
have set him up in one of the downstairs rooms with a nice bed, space
heater, t.v., vcr and dvd player, and even an Elvis poster to liven up
the place. He was watching "Anchorman" for the first time when I saw him
last, was planning on watching "Caddyshack" next, and eating cookies.
Oh yeah, the one thing about Chris that is good: he stockpiled
chocolate, cookie dough, meat, wine, and beer when it was on sale. So
Tom's got that going for him, which is nice.
here's a pic of all the coppers coming in to gittim:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200109261634372&set=a.4161379312854.2181991.1235217961&type=1&theater
here's the audio/video of the scanner when they got chris:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzsZGIRBNUk
here's chris' mugshot and list of preliminary charges:
http://www.co.columbia.or.us/sheriff/inmates/ICUD0032.HTM
