The Heist

[This article recounts an experience from my life.]

When I was in my 40's, I lived near Macy's on Queens Blvd. in Queens, NY.  Whenever I would be in a mood to shop but didn't want to travel too far, I would visit Macy's.  Department stores were the Amazons of their day (meaning the mail-order store, not the river) -- there was so much to buy there that I could look forever.  One day -- I don't remember the year -- when I was stepping out of Macy's, I noticed that there was an armored truck outside, and two guards were taking money out of Macy's in canvas bags.  One guard looked to be early middle-aged, and the other looked to be late middle-aged.  They were going about their duties in a perfunctory way, as if they had done it a thousand times before.  But then, suddenly, they were under attack.  Two young men with masks on were running and yelling at them with guns.  The guards did not stop and fight.  Both of them turned tail and ran.  However, that wasn't good enough for the attackers, one of which shot the older guard in the back, who fell on his face, dead on the sidewalk.

I ducked back inside the store and watched what was happening through the plate-glass window -- not that the glass would have protected me, but I couldn't take my eyes away.  The robbers dragged some bags out of the Brink's truck and into an idling car, and then they jumped in and took off.

Now, here is the part of the story that will surprise some people.  At the moment that I saw the guard get shot, I had an intense feeling of pity -- not for the guard, but for the robber.  The feeling was very deep and profound.  Instinctively I knew that the robber had committed a serious sin or spiritual transgression which would most likely ruin his life, and I pitied him for having done it.  I felt very little for the guard, although that feeling might have been different had the guard been young and handsome.  (I am gay, and although that might sound shallow, appearances do affect my feelings about people.)

It should be pointed out that pity is a different emotion from sympathy.  Pity includes a negative judgement of the person being pitied, while sympathy does not.  There is, I should add, something that I call "false pity" in which a conceited person pretends to judge another person who doesn't deserve judgement, thereby making him- or herself feel superior to the person being pitied.  What I felt wasn't false.  It was something much deeper than that, something primal.

What I experienced was consistent with my religious views.  In my view, people choose the time and manner of their death -- thus, I felt little for the guard because he chose this death.  Indeed, a sudden death by gunfire may actually be a good death since it is quick, unlike dying from a long illness.

The shooter, however, was young and just starting out in life.  Instinctively I knew that he had ruined his life.  Forever after he would carry the burden of being a murderer.  He could never pretend to be a good person.  His innocence was completely gone.  Everything he did would be tainted.  None of us, in my view, escapes judgement for the things we do -- not necessarily the judgement of God, but our own judgement of ourselves.  There would have to be a reckoning for him at some point in the future, and it wouldn't be pleasant -- especially since the murder was gratuitous (he didn't have to kill the guard).

After the robbers were gone, people mulled around looking at the body (I didn't approach it).  After it was removed, however, I noticed that there was blood on the sidewalk.  Over the following weeks, I returned to that spot periodically until the blood was gone.  I watched it as it dried, then faded, then disappeared into the dirt.

I gave the police my name, but they never contacted me, so I don't know whether the robbers were caught.  Probably not.  Ultimately, however, every murderer is caught by his own actions.