Firing guns on New Year's — a perilous, time-honored tradition

Editor's note: This story originally appeared online on Dec. 30, 2014.

Derek Tow and his wife, Cindy, bought an old house in the Riverside neighborhood, fixed it up, and now live in it with their two kids, 6-year-old Stuart and Kennedy, 5. They are happy there.

Except for one night a year. Dec. 31.

The trouble comes at midnight, when more than a few neighbors step into their yards and usher in the New Year by firing guns into the sky like happy, liquored-up cowboys in old Westerns. Much of the noise seems to come from semi-automatic weapons.

"You learn to differentiate between gunshots," said Tow, who year after year considers moving his family into a hotel room for the night, decides against it and then, when the shooting starts, second-guesses himself. By then, of course, it's too late. "So," Tow said, "we tough it out."

In much of Indianapolis, as in much of the world, gunfire is as integral to New Year's Eve as booze. People celebrate with gunplay in Asia, the Middle East, Latin America and Europe. In the U.S. they do it in the city and in the countryside, too.

Gravity being what it is and population density being what it is, bullets fired in jubilation sometimes hit things or people and do damage — or worse.

"When fired into the air, bullets can return to the ground at speeds greater than 200 ft./sec., a sufficient force to penetrate the human skull and cause serious injury or death," said the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which studied the custom in Puerto Rico on Dec. 31, 2003, when there were 19 gunshot injuries, one fatal.

Most celebratory gunfire injuries, about one in three, occurred to the head, the CDC found. Twenty-six percent were to the feet; 16 percent to the shoulder; and 11 percent to the chest and arm.

The custom cuts across cultures — Latinos do it, white people do it, black people do it — and locales.

Angela Goldman, a conservation officer with the DNR, hears celebratory gunfire every New Year's around her home in rural Monroe County. Mike Bruin, an Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department commander, hears it near his house in Boone County.

As the ball drops in Times Square in New York, much of Indianapolis' Center Township begins to sound like Baghdad in the spring of '03 when American troops invaded. Some of the popping noises are made by firecrackers, but unlike on July 4, most are gunfire, police believe.

New Year's Eve is the 911 call center's busiest night of the year, every year. "It's an epidemic," said Michael Hubbs, the call center's commander. Between midnight and 2 a.m. Jan. 1, 2014, 110 calls were received regarding "shots fired," about seven times as many "shots fired" calls fielded on a typical Saturday night.

And that's not an accurate comparison. Celebratory New Year's Eve gunplay is by now old hat, just part of life. Even Tow hasn't called the police since 2004. Police themselves are apt to park under bridges to avoid the raining bullets.

Shooting a gun in Marion County is against the law except in self-defense. It's felony criminal recklessness even if you don't hit anyone, punishable by up to 2 1/2 years in prison.

But on Dec. 31 shooters effectively get a pass because of their large numbers and "because you need a witness, and that's hard to get on New Year's Eve when it's night time and people are among their friends," Hubbs said.

Olgen Williams, the deputy mayor of Indianapolis, said many of his Haughville neighbors don't even realize the tradition is illegal. "People think New Year's is a legal justification to shoot the gun," he said. "They think, 'It's alright to do it. Everybody does it.' They love to do it."

Making loud, potent noises is a basic, human way to whoop it up, and gunfire is louder and more potent-sounding than the best primal scream. It's also less physically taxing than screaming primally and less physically taxing than dancing, too. It's more convenient than fireworks (you don't need a lighter), though less visually rewarding.

It's unclear when the New Year's Eve shooting tradition started, but it certainly predates Dick Clark and probably Guy Lombardo and maybe even Auld Lang Syne. Goldman remembers it from her childhood in rural Shelby County in the 1970s. Williams, 56, remembers it from his childhood on Indianapolis' Westside in the 1960s. Donna Shea, an Indianapolis public relations adviser, remembers hearing jubilation gunplay in Marion in the 1930s.

The military has for centuries used guns for reasons other than fighting. Armies "saluted" each other with canon volleys in the 14th century, according to the U.S. Army Center for Military History. Later, in the 1800s, came the 21-gun salute, the highest honor a nation rendered.

John Adams, the second U.S. president, suggested in 1776 that Independence Day be celebrated with "pomp, shews, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations."

But guns were different then. "In the days of muzzle loading arms, it was simple to load the powder only as a 'blank cartridge' for noise, without the dangers of a bullet being fired," said John Spangler, of the American Society of Arms Collectors. "I am not sure that all modern gun owners understand that firing regular ammunition with a bullet, not specifically made blank ammunition, has safety issues."

Today New Year's Eve far outpaces Independence Day for celebratory gunfire, police say. And New Year's Eve gunfire seems to be trending ever higher, at least by the sound of it. "It's always been an issue, but it seems like it has gotten worse since the millennium," said Bruin, the IMPD commander."There are more automatic guns, clips that hold 30 rounds."

Williams notes that today's guns fire at a much faster rate than the guns people had in the 1970s. "It used to be someone had a shotgun, for hunting, or maybe a pistol," he said, "but now you have automatics, Uzi's. You hear rapid shots now."

Bruin recalls Dec. 31, 1999, as a turning point, when New Year's gunplay intensified. "It was the new millenium, and it was obviously a special night," Bruin said. Six people were arrested, including a man in a yard in the 100 block of North Lawndale Avenue on the Westside. At his feet, according to the police report, were three handguns, two rifles and a shotgun.

So far the New Year's tradition hasn't killed anyone in Indianapolis, but it has caused damage. It's impossible to say how much damage because police don't keep separate statistics on celebratory gun play. But the soft, puffy roof of the old RCA Dome routinely was torn by falling bullets on New Year's Eve — workers would simply tape up the holes. Parked cars are occasionally reported damaged.

Bruin several years ago investigated a leak on the roof of his parents' house in Pike Township. "A bullet had come down through the singles and was wedged in the roof," he said.

But in other cities, bullets fired happily on New Year's Eve have led to tragedy. One killed 10-year-old Aaliyah Boyer in Elkton, Md., at midnight, Jan. 1, 2013. In Columbus, Ohio, on New Year's Eve 2005, 16-year-old Angela Hughes was killed and her grandmother injured by a drunken neighbor firing in celebration.

Four years later in Columbus, on New Year's Eve in 2009, calamity was narrowly avoided when police officers on two occasions confronted armed revelers. The happy shooters refused to drop their weapons, and the police shot them. No one was seriously injured.

Williams' habit on New Year's Eve is to go to his church, Victory Tabernacle. It's three doors down from his house. Four years ago, as he walked home from services shortly past midnight, a bullet fell from the sky and landed a few feet from him. "Big bullet," he said. "Looked like a .45." He scooped it up and made a souvenir of it.

Williams said he continues to go to church on New Year's, but he waits to walk home until the shooting has at least died down.

And he walks holding a Bible on top of his head.

So far so good.

Call Star reporter Will Higgins at (317) 444-6043 & follow him on Twitter: @WillRHiggins.