By Mark Reed
I am an Atlanta native, born at Crawford Long Hospital on Peachtree Street. I grew up in Smyrna, Georgia, a suburb to the north across the Chattahoochee River. Once I got my drivers license my world expanded to include downtown Atlanta. When I became twenty-one and could legally drink, the bars, clubs and restaurants in downtown were frequently visited. My real estate career in commercial real estate encompassed the entire metropolitan area and a great deal of my business was transacted in Atlanta. In fact, most all of my entertaining of clients took place in downtown Atlanta. Atlanta was a wonderful and diverse place. In the late seventies and early eighties, one of my favorite places was Underground Atlanta. It was full of all sorts of entertainment. In 1982 or so, our closest couple friends had moved out of state. When they visited, we would party large.
I’ll never forget the night we met at Underground and pretty much shut down the place. We walked out to the parking lot which was empty except for my car parked near the main entrance and their van parked in the center of the lot. We said our goodbyes, got in our car as they walked to theirs. As I started to drive off, my buddy waved me down and I drove out to their vehicle. He had a flat tire from a puncture to the sidewall, apparently from a knife. Let me point out that our friends had out of town plates on their van.
As the four of us stood there discussing what we needed to do, I noticed another car parked in a far corner of the parking lot facing us. The car had no lights on, but the motor was running and we could make out a couple of figures sitting inside. They appeared to be watching us. My danger antenna started buzzing. I backed my car beside our friend’s van and turned on my lights directed at the car. I then got my pistol out from under the seat and got out of the car placing it on my belt so they could see I was armed, and stood in front of my car watching them.
It was a Mexican Standoff of sorts, because I had no doubt that the men in the car were armed, as well. After a few minutes of the stare down, they roared off across the parking lot to the exit and left.
Let me break it down for you. Their van was chosen because it likely belonged to a tourist, and was not a threatening type of vehicle. It was primarily chosen because it was a last vehicle in the lot. The apparent plan was for the van owner to have to change a flat in the lot at night all alone with no witnesses. Except that I was there. And I was armed. I totally believe that if I had not been there, with a gun, our friends would have been robbed, or worse, while changing the flat. Instead, he and I changed the flat after the car left and we and our friends left safely.
That was the last time I ever went downtown to party, with the exception of the Olympics and attending a ball game. Sadly, this random event is no longer random. In fact, it is very dangerous to be downtown at night, and in fact, that danger has migrated north to Buckhead and other neighborhoods north of the city.
I hate this for my beloved city. I now live up on Lake Lanier in Dawson County. I feel safer up here.
Missing the Mark 
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