

It was around 1969 in the Shenandoah Valley near Woodstock, Virginia.  Me,
my wife, a friend, his wife, and his 2 kids were hiking in a totally
desolate mountain area.  All of a sudden, large rocks began raining down
on us.  Looking up, we saw at least 3 punks gleefully letting loose rocks
from what was an obvious stash.  They were a couple hundred feet above us.
Meanwhile, the women and kids were screaming and running for cover and the
punks were shrieking with laughter.  Me and my friend yelled for them to
knock it off.  They responded that we should "Get f***ed!".  Me and my
friend drew our pistols and fired a couple of times into the trees above
their heads.  They ran.  With no more 3-5 pound rocks coming at our heads,
we proceeded on our journey.

Sorry, but me and my friend saw no need to let it evolve to a more
"violent" level than we were already experiencing.  I guess we should
have tried harder to understand and cope with the anger that society
had instilled in them and was driving them to do such things.  Guess
that's a cross I'll have to bear.