As many of us tend to do, he got into a relationship with the wrong woman. She got angry at him and called the police to report him as a danger. Keep in mind this was well before “red flag laws” were all the rage with antigun bigots, so I guess they aren’t “necessary” after all.
Wilson had a bit of a temper, which I experienced a few times as his target. Fortunately, most of the time he was upset at someone or something else– not me.
He had been stopped by a cop at some point, and ticketed for something. Probably “driving without a license”, but I’m not certain of that (I do know he never had a driver’s license as long as I knew him). Part of his “fine” was community “service” at the recycling center– I think he was there for a couple of months. (I met him during his stint at the recycling center.)
I’ve mentioned the business “Wilson” had which was shut down by government meddling. Well, due to our similar interests in that area he and I used to hike in the wilderness area outside of town. He wore a camo army jacket with cargo pants and army boots and I wore my buckskin clothes and mocassins– in other words, I didn’t dress any differently than normal for the hike, although I did carry extra gear.
“Wilson” was accused by a guy he knew of being involved with the guy’s wife. The guy came to Wilson’s house carrying a shotgun and yelling threats. Wilson met him at the door with his revolver held down at his side. A nice Dan Wesson revolver that he really liked. Seeing Wilson’s gun, the other guy decided to just yell at him for a bit, then walked back to his vehicle. But as he left he fired a shot from his shotgun into the air.
“Wilson” was the stingiest person I ever knew… with his ammunition. In his mostly unfurnished house, he had built a “wall of ammunition”. He had stacked the little boxes of 7.62×39 and the bigger boxes of .40 S&W so as to build a “wall” against the back wall of his living room.
“Wilson” was a little paranoid. We spent a fair amount of time together, frequently wandering trails (and off-trail) on foot in the nearby wilderness area. I knew he didn’t trust easily. I was to discover that what trust he did have was shakey and easily upset.
I first met “Wilson” soon after he moved to the area. He told me he moved because he had lost his business. Personally, I think his business was stolen from him by the mafia Wilson always referred to as the “Forest Circus”. These were the clowns who controlled (and rationed) the license which “allowed” Wilson to conduct his business.
“Wilson” never had a driver’s license in all the years I knew him. He normally traveled by bicycle. He wasn’t usually in a hurry and it was cheaper than buying fuel. Especially at our local prices. When he needed to carry a load or make a longer trip he drove his old full-sized van. He avoided being pulled over because he wasn’t a reckless or impulsive driver. But one day his luck ran out when he was a few miles outside of town.
After “Wilson” moved out of the house without heat, he and his elderly black chow (I’m blanking on the dog’s name) moved into a pop-up camper he had bought. One day he came to the shop very agitated. Almost explosive with anger.