When I moved to that house in Wissahickon in 2001, the previous owners already had the burglar alarm installed and I simply renewed the contract with the company. I wasn’t sure that I really needed a burglar alarm though, as I didn’t have anything worth stealing.

Still, the house was set apart from the other houses in that area and overlooked the Wissahickon Valley and Creek, so perhaps there was some justification for having an alarm.

After all, a potential burglar wouldn’t necessarily know that I had nothing worth stealing, and the semi-isolation meant that even in the daytime someone could slip in without being seen.

One evening, shortly after dark, there was a knock on the door. 

The house had several doors, the knock was on the living room’s thick wooden door that had been rescued from an abandoned church (the folks who built the house in the the 1960s were antique dealers and had used a lot of old wood and wrought iron that they had retrieved from various sites).

There was no peephole in the door so I had no way of telling who was knocking. I didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood yet, and I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. Who could possibly be knocking on the door after dark?

For the first time I was glad I had the burglar alarm and doubly glad I had the key fob with the panic button.

I opened the door and there were two scary looking Black dudes standing there.

I gripped the key fob tighter.

One of them spoke.

In a very quiet voice he asked for the fellow who had lived there before me.

I explained that the previous owners had moved but I didn’t know their forwarding address. That was a lie, but I wasn’t sure if I should give it out to strangers.

He explained that he had been in trouble a year or so ago and the Previous Owner (who I’ve already mentioned was an Assistant District Attorney) had helped him, and that now his friend (he pointed to his companion) was in similar trouble, and he was hoping for the same kind of help.

Well, that certainly seemed like a worthwhile pursuit. The Black dudes were no longer looking scary and I no longer felt I was in any danger. I relaxed my grip on the key fob.

I told him that his best bet was to probably call the DA’s office and ask for the Previous Owner by name. I had no reason to doubt the sincerity of his story, but I wasn’t about to give out the new address and phone number of the Previous Owners. I didn’t think that was mine to give out.

He thanked me and the two of them left.

And as I thought about it, I realized that both of the Previous Owners were in law enforcement, I think she worked for the sheriff’s office or something, and potential burglars aside, what if someone that they had previously dealt with had a grudge against one or the other of them and came looking for them and didn’t realize they had moved?

I was very glad I had the burglar alarm and the panic button.

By the way, regarding referring to the two fellows who showed up as “scary looking Black dudes”, I’d just like to point out that practically any two strangers who showed up at that point—whether white or Black or whatever—would probably have looked scary to me. It was dark, I was alone, I wasn’t expecting anybody. In fact the only reason I even answered the door was because I had the lights on and had I not answered it, they might very well have come around to the back of the house where the basement had a glass door and they could have looked in.