By Mary Liz Mulligan, Former Administrator, Senior Citizens Council

Nov. 9, 2016:  About 10 years ago in early fall, while at home, dinner in the oven, two daughters at home, and after puttering around all day putting summer "stuff" away for the winter, I had one more thing to do--bring a small fan down to our basement--which we called the catacombs for a good reason!

As I always was and still am, if warm enough, I was barefoot and in shorts, savoring the last beautiful early fall evenings. As I went into the second room of the catacombs and bent over to place the fan on the floor, to my horror, I saw, what I was convinced, were a young boy's legs, which I viewed only up to mid-thigh, since there was so much junk in the basement. I called out asking who was there. No response. I felt strongly that it was a kid…with pretty long and skinny legs…but why he didn't answer was a mystery.

I said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to harm you, I just want to help you." No response again. So I turned and ran up the staircase and locked the door.

Our daughters were in the den, and I told them I thought a kid was in our basement (someone had left the garage door open and we never lock the basement door), and when I asked them to speak, there was no response. Hmmmm.

I called the Yonkers Police Department and explained the situation. I insisted that there was no danger and please just send one officer. It's a scared kid! To my horror, about a minute and a half later, the SWAT Team, four police patrol cars, and Rin-Tin-Tin in another cruiser arrived. I wanted to crawl into a hole but wasn't allowed that luxury.

The head honcho spoke to me and asked our daughters (with our dog) to please wait outside, perhaps at neighbor's house. One daughter, I discovered later, had our largest carving knife that could be used on an elephant.

The honcho asked me to step outside because they would be conducting a "through search." Meanwhile, I'm thinking what shape is my closet in and other paranoid thoughts.

Rin-Tin-Tin’s nails could be heard on our wood floor as he (actually it was a she) headed, when unleashed, hell-bent down the basement stairs. My heart was in my throat. 

After about 10 minutes--and by now there were SWAT officers all over the inside and the outside of the house--the honcho comes out to me and says the house is clear. He looks at me and asks just me to come inside. I thought I was going to get a lecture but he asked me to relive what happened as I took the fan to the basement. He followed me, and as I said, "And when I bent over to put the fan down…" to my horror, as I looked ahead to where "the kid" was, I realized it was a mirror, and it was my legs. 

It gets worse; one of the officers was Bill Regan's (Bronxville village administrator at that time) brother. And a good friend of ours was a Yonkers PD detective at the time. So I was cooked before sunset. So word was out quite quickly about my "scary experience." Not by me! 

By the way, the police couldn't have been nicer. I would have been happier if they had just sent one officer in one car, but at least I saw our taxes at work! 

And I really did have an eye doctor's appointment the next day--skinny legs? What??

Pictured here:  Mary Liz Mulligan.

Photo by A. Warner