High Noon in Georgetown

This is what happens when civilization collapses, law and order goes away, and one man tries to do the right thing. High Noon in Georgetown. I'm surprise that there hasn't yet been a campaign led by some crybullies to get WaPo to remove this story and apologize for its existence.

Caesar Junker said he was heading out for a nighttime bite of pizza on Sunday when he saw them: more than 100 people in hoodies looting stores with abandon all along M Street, just around the corner from the Georgetown house where he has lived for 30 years. Junker, a sports medicine doctor and a colonel in the Air Force, spotted police standing nearby, watching but doing nothing. He took out his phone and began filming, not necessarily intending to intervene, but lost his temper when the vandals began targeting Sebago, a footwear store whose owners he has known for years.

You can guess the rest of the story. Junker tried to talk them out of it and then tried to get the cops involved. The cops proved useless, as they often did during the looting, and he was left to face them alone.

High Noon in Georgetown.

 Junker kept filming, kept yelling at them to stop it. He kept urging the police to step in — and he kept hoping that someone else from the neighborhood would join him and help restore calm...

If enough people in his tightknit community would just stand up and tell the vandals what they were doing was wrong, Junker thought, they’d feel ashamed, remember they were human beings and quit it. He was going to stay outside, he decided, until they did.

There was momentary relief when more police showed up: the flashing lights and siren noises temporarily sent the vandals fleeing. But a few minutes later, without Junker realizing it, the police disappeared. The looters came trickling back. Suddenly, it was just Junker, alone on the street, and six of the looters — four women and two men — had started to pay attention to him.

They advanced and Junker, realizing their intentions, broke into a run. A woman yelled “Get him, get him!” Someone stuck out a leg, and Junker was suddenly sprawled on the pavement as fists and legs pummeled him from all sides. The men seemed especially determined to hit his face, and although Junker tried to repel them, something sharp split open his forehead and someone tore out the cartilage of his ear before Junker could scramble up and get away.

His memory of how he escaped is hazy: All he can really recall are the cries of “Get him!” and the feeling of being bludgeoned against hard concrete.

Adrenaline pumping hard enough to block out the pain, Junker ran toward where he’d last seen police, and eventually his pursuers lost interest and left him alone. He’s still not entirely sure why they didn’t just beat him to death.

This is the wonderful utopia that the Democrats and their pro-crime politics are ushering in. This is what happens when people are too afraid to join together to protect their communities. This is what happens when thugs become our moral icons. In such a culture, High Noon has a different ending.


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