12/08/2012
7-year-old fatally shot outside gun store in Pa.
By Isolde Raftery, NBC News Updated at 5:50 p.m. ET: A 7-year-old boy was fatally shot by his father outside a gun shop in western Pennsylvania, according to a Pennsylvania State Police report. Joseph Loughrey, the father, had gone in to Twig's Reloading Den in East Lackawannock Township some time before 11 a.m. to try to sell a 9 mm Taurus handgun and a scope rifle, according to the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. Store managers weren't interested. Loughrey, 44, and his son, Craig Loughrey, returned to the truck, where Loughrey secured his son in a booster seat on the passenger side. He then placed the long gun in the bed of the truck. As he got into the truck, he reached to place the handgun into a glove box storage unit, police told the Tribune-Review. That's when it fired. Authorities were called at 10:53 a.m. local time and found the boy lying next to the truck after a failed attempt at resuscitation. They stayed on scene until after 1 p.m., dispatchers said. "All evidence at this point would suggest that this incident is accidental," the Pennsylvania State Police report stated. According to the Tribune-Review, Loughrey didn't realize that a round remained in the gun's chamber. "This happens all too often where people think the gun was empty," State Police Lt. Eric Hermick. Twig's Reloading Den is an outdoor supply store about 70 miles from Pittsburgh. Imy Howard, owner of Howard & Son Meat Packing store next door, told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that her son heard a shot this morning. She said that Twig's Reloading Den hosted target shooting in the back parking lot last week but not this week. A Twig's employee told the Post-Gazette that the incident was "just an unfortunate accident." More content from NBCNews.com:
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7-year-old fatally shot outside gun store in Pa.
By Isolde Raftery, NBC News A 7-year-old boy was fatally shot in the chest Saturday outside a gun shop in western Pennsylvania, according to Mercer County dispatchers. The boy's father had gone in to Twig's Reloading Den in East Lackawannock Township some time before 11 a.m. to sell a .9 mm gun, according to KDKA-TV Pittsburgh. The father said that as he was backing his pickup truck out of the parking spot, a gun went off, shooting his son in the chest. The boy was seated in a booster seat on the passenger side. Authorities were called at 10:53 a.m. local time and found the boy lying next to the truck after a failed attempt at resuscitation. They stayed on scene until after 1 p.m., dispatchers said. Twig's Reloading Den is an outdoor supply store about 70 miles from Pittsburgh. Imy Howard, owner of Howard & Son Meat Packing store next door, told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that her son heard a shot this morning. She said that Twig's Reloading Den hosted target shooting in the back parking lot last week but not this week. A Twig's employee told the Post-Gazette that the incident was "just an unfortunate accident." More content from NBCNews.com:
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'Jane's' jihad: A vow is confirmed; a terror plot grows
/ Colleen LaRose is seen in a June 1997 mug shot released by the Tom Green County Sheriff's Office after her arrest for driving under the influence (DUI) in San Angelo, Texas. By John Shiffman Colleen LaRose, the middle-aged American woman who called herself Jihad Jane, hurried to the computer in her duplex near Philadelphia -- the place where she had spent months entertaining murder. Second in a four-part series Minutes earlier, an FBI agent had left a card on her door, requesting a call, and LaRose had known precisely what to do. She emailed her al-Qaida handler for advice. It was July 17, 2009, and almost four months had passed since LaRose had agreed to kill in the name of Allah. Now, the FBI left a calling card on her doorstep. How had they found her? And what did they know? Her al-Qaida handler, Eagle Eye, lived in Pakistan. He was wise. He was pious. He would guide her. LaRose, now 46, had never seen his face, but during online chats, he had seen hers. Her blonde hair, fair skin and green eyes made her a prized recruit, especially for the undertaking Eagle Eye had ordered. She would blend in nicely, avoiding suspicion. Eagle Eye's plot called for her to travel to Sweden and murder Lars Vilks, the artist who had blasphemed the Prophet Mohammad. When LaRose reached Eagle Eye, he told her to call the agent back. Find out how much the FBI knows, he said. Obediently, LaRose dialed the number. The agent picked up. Have you ever visited extremist Islamic forums? he asked. No, never, she lied. Have you ever solicited money for terrorists? No. Another lie. Do you know anyone who goes by the online name Jihad Jane? No, LaRose said. The call didn't last long, and the FBI agent didn't reveal much. She couldn't tell if the FBI had seen her YouTube posts supporting al-Qaida and violent jihad. For more than a year, LaRose had clashed online with YouTube Smackdown, a group that flagged and reported hate speech and jihadist activity. Maybe they had contacted the FBI. But so what? Her YouTube rants couldn't be considered a crime. Then again, what if the FBI knew more? What if agents had read messages LaRose exchanged with Eagle Eye in Pakistan or his associate Black Flag in Ireland? The men were al-Qaida -- that's what they said, anyway. What about her jihadi friends inside the United States -- the woman in Colorado and the teenager in Maryland? Did the FBI know about them? Or about her pledge to kill the Swedish artist? Despite the concerns, LaRose plunged forward. Without disguising herself, she began contacting fellow jihadists online. She warned them of the FBI's visit and asked them to delete anything that might prove incriminating. Then LaRose took the next step on her path to martyrdom - an act she later described as one of the proudest moments in the conspiracy to kill the artist in Europe. She found a bargain flight to Amsterdam for $400. "I went straight to the airline," she says today. "I didn't use no middle person. I also made it two weeks ahead of time." The plot, loose as it was, was advancing. Jihad Jane booked the flight for Aug. 23. The honor student Please contact jihadi forum administrators, LaRose begged the teen. "Ask him to PLEASE remove ALL my posts … because I told the FBI guy I don't know that site." The teenager, who went by Hassan online, did as asked. "She is being threatened by the FBI," he explained in a message to the forum administrators. / Mohammed Khalid is seen in his 2011 high school yearbook senior portrait, from Mount Hebron High School in Ellicott City, Md. Hassan wasn't a creative pseudonym like Jihad Jane. It was simply the middle name of Mohammed H. Khalid, a gangly Pakistani immigrant who lived with his parents, older brother and two younger sisters in Ellicott City, Md. Khalid, 15, had met Jihad Jane on YouTube months earlier and their online friendship had grown quickly. By now, they were talking to some of the same people overseas: an al-Qaida operative named Eagle Eye and a Muslim man in Ireland who called himself Black Flag. Like LaRose, Khalid had become radicalized watching videos of Muslim children maimed or killed in attacks by Israeli or American forces. Khalid was not a convert. He had been born a Muslim in Dubai and raised in Pakistan from age 11 to 14. His family, classic American immigrants seeking a better life for their children, had arrived in Maryland in 2007. Khalid's father delivered pizzas. His mother kept the home. The family of six squeezed into a modern-day tenement, a tiny two-bedroom apartment selected for its location inside the best school district his parents could afford. In one bedroom, Khalid and his brother shared a mattress. In the other, his sisters lived beside stacked boxes of perfume the family peddled at a weekend flea market. Their parents slept on a mattress in the dining room. Khalid excelled during his first two years at Mt. Hebron High School. He earned A's in English, Algebra, Science and U.S. History. He joined the chess club and later became an administrator for the school website. Although his parents were thrilled with Khalid's grades, they began to notice subtle changes. He seemed withdrawn and spent so much time alone in his bedroom on his laptop. They worried he might be downloading porn. If only. Eager to learn more about his Muslim heritage, the 15 year old had stumbled onto violent jihadi videos and become addicted. The anti-American rhetoric proved intoxicating to an immigrant boy struggling to find an identity in a place that embraced neither his race nor his religion. Khalid began translating from Urdu to English sermons and violent jihadi videos -- snuff-style images of U.S. soldiers in the throes of death, and beheadings of Americans Nick Berg and Daniel Pearl. Khalid posted the videos and began to solicit money online for al-Qaida. He never aspired to kill anyone personally. He later described himself as a "keyboard warrior." "I will be a great facilitator," he wrote to a friend. To shield his identity, Khalid studied basic terrorist tradecraft -- how to use programs such as Pidgin to encrypt chats and Tor to cloak his location. He learned to use code words - for example, "HK" in place of "jihad." The letters were chosen because J falls between H and K on the keyboard. Now, in mid-July 2009 -- around the time Jihad Jane warned him about the FBI -- Khalid launched a new online endeavor. It was brimming with teenage bravado. He called the blog Path to Martyrdom/Resisting the War Against al-Islaam. From the blog, Khalid linked to hundreds of videos of al-Qaida sermons and violent attacks. He intended Path to Martyrdom to be anonymous. His keystrokes betrayed him. Pivoting between maintaining the school's website and his new jihadist blog, he inadvertently linked the "About Me" section of Martyrdom to the wrong web page -- the page for his high school track team. Jamie joins Jamie Paulin Ramirez felt stifled. Her young son, Christian, bounded past every now and then, and her nosy mother kept making excuses to stroll by. As discreetly as she could, Ramirez tried to shield the screen. She and her mom had clashed about her conversion to Islam. It wasn't that her mother objected to the religion; she had married a Muslim herself. She just thought her daughter was overzealous. Ramirez feared her mom would launch into a tirade if she caught her chatting with her new Muslim friends, just as her mother criticized her for wearing a head scarf, or hijab. "When I would pray she would scream at me," Ramirez recalled in a document reviewed by Reuters. "When I would wear my hijab to work and to the store, she would say it was embarrassing." / Jamie Paulin Ramirez is seen in an undated family handout photo obtained from her family by the Leadville Herald at the time of her terrorism arrest in 2010. One of Ramirez's new online friends was another recent convert to Islam, a woman from Pennsylvania who sometimes called herself Jihad Jane. They seemed a lot alike - they were both white, blonde, Americans. And each had gravitated toward Muslim men in Europe, including one man in Ireland. He had been trying to persuade Ramirez to bring her son and join him there. On this day, Jihad Jane wrote with big news: "Soon, I will be leaving for Europe to be with other brothers & sisters. When I get to Europe, I will send for you to come be there with me. … This place will be like a training camp as well as a home." "I would love to go over there," Ramirez replied. Their chat turned to politics. And, years later, the brief exchange that followed would become part of the government's case against both of them. Jihad Jane: "When our brothers defend our faith their homes, they are terrorist. Fine, then I am a terrorist and proud to be this." Ramirez: "That's right … If that's how they call it, then so be it. I am what I am." Ramirez was raised a Methodist, but she had become embittered toward God and abandoned religion years earlier following her sister's death from cancer. Thrice divorced, Ramirez had moved in with her mother to save money. But they quarreled often, especially about her young son -- what he should read, how he should pray, what he should eat for dinner, whether he should wear his hair short or long. How this series was reported JANE'S JIHAD is based on six months of reporting in Pennsylvania, Texas, Maryland, Colorado, Washington, D.C., and Ireland. The accounts, including the thoughts and actions of characters in the stories, are based on court records and other documents, many of them confidential, as well as interviews with people involved in the case. Reporter John Shiffman gained exclusive access to those documents and individuals. Many spoke only on condition of anonymity. In Ireland, the law forbids the government and defense lawyers from commenting until court proceedings are completed. In the United States, prosecutors do not typically comment before sentencing. The Reuters interview with Colleen LaRose, the woman who called herself Jihad Jane, is the only one she has granted. Ramirez had been looking for a reason to leave. Her turn toward Islam had begun the year before, while researching a paper for a college class. Intrigued by what she learned about the religion, she continued reading. After a few months, she slipped down to a Denver-area mosque and converted. Now, her new, nonjudgmental friends on Islamic forums were enticing her to join them. The man in Ireland -- the one Jihad Jane knew as Black Flag -- pressed Ramirez hardest. Ramirez knew the man only by his real name, Ali Damache, and in his latest message to her, he persisted: Bring your son. Marry me. I will teach you Arabic and the mystical beauty of the Quran. Ramirez hesitated. Men had burned her so many times. She liked what she knew of Damache. He was nice - he complimented her on the color schemes of her hijabs. Even so. Damache urged her to ask Allah for guidance. Pray for a week, each night before bedtime, he said, then consider the colors of the dreams: If the dreams come in white or green, it is a sign that she should to fly to Ireland with her son; if the dreams come in red or black, she and her son should stay in Colorado. Ramirez struggled to recall her dreams, but it wouldn't matter. Damache told her he had prayed, too, and his dreams were glowing green -- the color of Islam, and of Ireland. OK, Ramirez agreed, that must be a sign from Allah. She began shopping for two plane tickets to Ireland. The passports Finally, she would meet some true Muslims -- men more righteous than she was, people wholly committed to the cause. They would teach her to pray and the ways of Allah. More important, they would accept her as one of their own. It would be an honor to fly to Amsterdam for training, then travel on to Sweden to carry out the killing. Her instructions: to shoot the artist Vilks six times in the chest. "That way," LaRose recalls today, "they know it was not an accident. It was intended." A short while before her flight, LaRose stole her boyfriend's passport and birth certificate, presumably to provide false identification for the terrorists. LaRose located two of the boyfriend's passports, one current and one expired, as well as several birth certificates. Following her handler's instructions, LaRose mailed everything to young Khalid near Baltimore. Then, days before the flight to Amsterdam and the start of her new life, the realities of her old one intervened: Her boyfriend's father suffered a heart attack. Soon after, he died. Read Part 1: 'Jihad Jane' begins strange journey from abuse victim to wannabe terrorist LaRose wasn't deterred. She let her al-Qaida associates know she was still coming. "I will be away from here in a couple days," she wrote. "… Then…I will get to work on important matters." Within hours, LaRose heard a knock on the door of her home near Philadelphia. The FBI had returned. This time, LaRose answered. Sunday: The jihad begins More from Open Channel:
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Sandy-struck Breezy Point faces 'greatest historical challenge'
By Miranda Leitsinger, NBC News The Breezy Point neighborhood of Queens, New York, where more than 100 homes burned when Superstorm Sandy hit. (John Makely / NBC News) BREEZY POINT, N.Y. -- This private community, which has fended off previous existential threats, is now facing its "greatest historical challenge" as a result of Superstorm Sandy, with some residents questioning whether they can afford to rebuild and others wondering if the resurrected beachside community will bear any resemblance to its bucolic former self. A halting first step on what figures to be a long road back took place Thursday evening, when the Breezy Point Cooperative Inc. Board held its first post-Sandy shareholders meeting at a Catholic high school in Brooklyn. More than 1,000 residents of the community founded by Irish immigrants around the turn of the 20th century packed the meeting, which was closed to the media and members of the general public. According to residents who attended, the board discussed applications for emergency Small Business Administration loans, the status of efforts to restore various utilities, demolitions and a disaster recovery fund, planned infrastructure improvements and other topics. But some of those interviewed as they left said that their biggest concerns weren't addressed. "In the long run, it seems like things are going to take a lot of time," said Rob Moran, a 38-year-old construction worker who attended with his wife, Carinne Bach. "A lot of questions are still up in the air right now." Bob Esposito, a former police officer whose home sustained water damage, said he was pleased to hear about infrastructure improvements, but wished the board had at least touched on the bigger issues that are weighing on residents' minds. "They were prepared to give a lot of information out, which we all needed to hear, but I think they are very reluctant on answering the hard-core questions," he said. Sandy smacked into the village on the southeastern tip of the city's Rockaway peninsula the night of Oct. 29, unleashing floodwaters that surged through the bungalows and bigger, newer homes, tearing some of the former off their foundations. The flooding also may have sparked a fire that burned down more than 130 of the 2,800 homes in Breezy Point. John Makely / NBC News Heavily damaged homes along Oceanside Drive in Breezy Point, N.Y. The tight-knit community, home to many generations of numerous families, is only beginning to grapple with the wide-ranging consequences. Debris is slowly being cleared and power restored, but the water system is still shut down and demolition of the roughly 200 homes that sustained the worst damage -- including what remains of those in the fire zone -- has yet to begin. Breezy Point, which was largely self-sufficient before the storm, is receiving assistance from the city as it attempts to jump-start its recovery. But officials and residents acknowledge that they have only begun to regroup. Cooperative board Chairman Joseph Lynch declined an interview request from NBC News to discuss the current situation, but in an online statement to shareholders posted Nov. 16 he wrote, "This storm and its destruction have presented our Cooperative its greatest historical challenge, which will take time to overcome." In a later message posted just before Thanksgiving, he said that "the economic challenge for some in this regard will be a true test and hardship," before ending on an optimistic note: "In spite of this very serious setback I am confident that our Cooperative will also continue to grow, evolve, and prosper as it has over the past fifty-two years," he said. "We also have no other choice." But other community members, including at least one co-op board member, are less sanguine about the prospects of the largely middle-class neighborhood, home to many firefighters, police officers and sanitation workers. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid it may cause some people to leave the community," said Marty Ingram, fire chief of the Point Breeze volunteer firefighters and a member of the co-op board, though stressing that he was speaking only for himself. "I hope it doesn't. But it's going to have an impact." Ingram said the community would pull together and he believed would offer some "quiet" financial aid to help people who can't otherwise afford to rebuild. Mary Elizabeth Smith, a lifelong resident and author of "A History of Breezy Point," noted that the community, which started out as more of a summer getaway spot for working-class families and slowly morphed into a charming residential enclave with intimate sand lanes running between homes, has proven remarkably resilient over the years. Courtesy of Mary Quinn Mary Quinn, now 59, stands with her parents and older brothers as a little girl in Breezy Point in front of their bungalow, which was the typical type of housing in the community's earlier days. Quinn's family moved to the community full time in the early 1960s. She rebuilt the house in 1994. The Breezy Point Cooperative was created in 1960 when residents learned that the 800-acres on which their homes stood had been quietly sold to a developer interested in building seaside high-rises. A group of homeowners went door-to-door collecting $500 from each family to raise an initial $75,000 defense fund, she said, and the group was ultimately able to buy back 400 acres for $12 million. The co-op has been an oasis of economic stability in the decades since, paying off its communal mortgage years ago. That prosperity was in part due to the board's initial ban on mortgage loans -- a requirement that was eventually relaxed to allow buyers to put 50 percent down on a home and finance the remainder. As a result, Ingram said that not a single Breezy Point home was foreclosed on during the housing crisis that erupted in 2008. Smith said the credit belongs "to our ancestors … (who) really took a major chance, put up money in a belief in something that did not occur anywhere else in the United States: a community of houses that owned the land underneath them." The city briefly considered making Breezy Point a public park in 1962, but protests from residents and the developer scotched that effort. Then, after the National Park Service took title to land to the west and east after the same developer ran into financial problems, the cooperative went to federal court to battle with its new neighbor over ownership of newly formed sand flats, winning the rights to the land in 1982. "A lot of people who live there today have no idea of the battles that were fought to get this property," said Smith, 62, who was about 9 when the fight began to save Breezy Point, "and that's why people really don't want to leave the place. I'm certainly one of them." Moran and Bach are among the residents hoping they can rebuild their bungalow, which may have to be demolished. The home, which was built by Bach's deceased father, was inundated by a couple of feet of raw sewage and water, has a slight tilt and apparently some problems with the foundation. Though city inspectors indicated in two initial inspections that they should be able to rebuild, the couple fears it needs more than a repair and they may have to start anew. John Makely / NBC News Rob Moran, 38, cleans out the flooded basement of his home in Breezy Point, N.Y., on Dec. 1, 2012. Moran and his wife Carinne Bach, 38, are asking building inspectors to re-assess their home, which they fear may not be safe to live in. With a Dec. 31 deadline set to apply for a free demolition provided by the city, they had hoped to learn at Thursday's co-op board meeting how the building codes might change as a result of Sandy's incursion, especially whether rebuilt homes might need to be elevated to lessen the likelihood of future flooding. But they left empty-handed. "We got a little information, but I'm sure not quite as much as everybody had hoped," said Bach, 38, a dance and fitness instructor who is several months pregnant. "I don't think it's for a lack of trying. I just think there's so much red tape and so much unknown." "As far as where we're to go from here, there's not a clear road map," she added. New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg hinted on Thursday that building code changes should be expected for waterfront areas, noting that "we can't just rebuild what was there and hope for the best." John Makely / NBC News A FEMA inspector works amid the burned homes in Breezy Point. "As you can see, the yardstick has changed -- and so must we," he added. "FEMA is currently in the process of updating their (flood) maps -- and those maps will guide us in setting new construction requirements." If new, more-stringent building requirements are put in place, many fear the expense will drive out some longtime residents, particularly the elderly and families that have kept summer or part-time homes -- about 40 percent of the residences -- there for decades. Laurie Cerra is struggling to keep the small green bungalow that had been in her family for about 85 years. She swept the floors, filled garbage bags and struggled to hold back tears last week as volunteers used crowbars to rip down the walls. The home received a red card -- meaning it was unsafe to enter -- from inspectors, but she was doing the work in a bid to save the damaged foundation. "I'm trying to separate myself from this, I really am. I spent every summer here … growing up. I'm really hoping I can repair the foundation," said Cerra, 54, a dietitian from Greenfield Township, Pa. But because she can't get coverage from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which doesn't provide emergency aid on second homes, and has not heard from her flood insurers in three weeks, she can't afford to rebuild in the short term. John Makely / NBC News Laurie Cerra, a registered dietitian from Pennsylvania, stands in the living room of her Breezy Point, N.Y., home on Dec. 1, 2012, as volunteers help her remove debris. Cerra is hoping she can save the damaged foundation and rebuild the home, which has been in her family for about 85 years. "Maybe in, I don't know, three or four years, if I get (the) foundation, then I can do it myself. I can try and do sheetrock myself," she said. "At this point, no, it's just going to be out of my savings account to rebuild." The co-op board is implicitly acknowledging the financial threat. In a statement posted online on Saturday, it said Breezy Point homeowners can now borrow, over the next two years, up to 80 percent of their home's appraised value, or up to $500,000, to repair or replace their properties. It also waived one part of the "carrying charges" -- monthly fees that include garbage collection, road and building maintenance, property tax and security services -- for the owners of about 300 homes that were destroyed or significantly damaged. Lynch, the co-op board chairman, had upset some residents by reminding them that it is "really important" that shareholders continue to pay the fees "as our corporation will face real financial challenges and pressure in the immediate future." Lifelong resident Kim Dillon was among those who felt the tone was wrong so soon after the disaster. "Our lives are in disarray and I don't think their first contact with us should have been … 'we're still expecting maintenance fees' when there's people that don't have houses," said Dillon, 43, whose family is one of two that have moved back onto their block, even though there is still no running water. But Dillon said her neighbors, who were like family, would be back, though she acknowledged her hometown would change as a result of the devastation. "It's going to be sad to see the bungalows gone, because that was like old Breezy Point," she said, referring to the area known as "the wedge," where the six-alarm fire burned so hot that stormy night. "I don't think there's going to be many -- if any -- left." More content from NBCNews.com:
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