The Screamer

My San Francisco neighborhood once had its own superhero. We called him The Screamer.

The Screamer lived in the apartment building next door with his son, who was a couple years younger than me. The Screamer was a 6’2”, lean, African-American man who, over the years, went from sporting dreadlocks to a shaved head. He was not a man who cared about his appearance, preferring to wear a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt or tank top. Sometimes he would go around barefoot.

The Screamer would teach karate and tae kwon do classes to kids out of the basement of his apartment building. Afternoons on our block regularly echoed with the yells and chants of his apprentices as they practiced in the makeshift dojo. I don’t know if The Screamer held any other job, but I do know what he did with most of his spare time: crime-fighting.

Using the same skills he imparted on some of the local youth, The Screamer did his best to keep our streets clean. The lowlifes that inhabited our neighborhood rarely had to worry about police interference of their debauchery, but they did have to worry about The Screamer.

Woe unto the person who picked a fight with The Screamer rather than fleeing in terror at his terrible vengeance. Not only would The Screamer unleash a powerful round of kicks, strikes and Mongolian Death Locks upon his prey, but he had a special weapon up his sleeve. Or rather, in his voice.

Besides his impressive martial arts skills, The Screamer had a legitimate superpower. He had the loudest voice of any human being. When unleashed at full strength, his yelling could blow back assailants, rattle city blocks and even be heard from space (forget what the trailer for “Alien” taught you. You’d hear him). 

The San Francisco Bay Area (called SFBA, for short, by absolutely nobody) is well-known for its earthquakes. Several earthquake epicenters have been pinpointed to my neighborhood.

I’ve even seen The Screamer cause grown men’s heads explode.

At times, The Screamer was a greater nuisance to the neighborhood than any of the drunks, addicts or dealers in the area. Problem was, no one dared tell The Screamer and risk his wrath. Truth be told, The Screamer wasn’t picky who he berated with his exceptionally loud voice. I felt real bad for his poor son.

Living right next door to The Screamer proved especially wearisome. The Screamer’s building was often the center of all the trouble. To this day I don’t really know what went on in there (I have theories that it was a crack den or a gang hideout) but there was always a lot of noise late at night stemming either from wild parties or from people fighting (or some combination of the two). Naturally, The Screamer would become annoyed and get involved, causing the noise level to dramatically increase.

The Screamer lived next door for about six years, doing everything he could in that time to keep us safe while simultaneously bugging the hell out of everyone with his obnoxious yelling. Then, in the summer of 2006, he was gone! Never to be seen again! But more importantly, never heard from again.

What exactly became of The Screamer remains a mystery, but it was that summer that things started changing in the neighborhood. It all began with a crime that still haunts the neighborhood to this day…

How’s that for a dramatic cliffhanger?