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In a Pool of Blood
Lamar Avenue is one of the busiest roads in Memphis. So for someone to slam on the brakes and start backing up was pure suicide. That’s what Zohnn Griggs was thinking as he watched the car in front of him one chilly night last February. Then he realized what had prompted the other driver to stop. A man was lying on the sidewalk, frantically kicking at two dogs that were hunched over him and snarling.“Whoa, it looks like someone is getting attacked,” Griggs said to his two sons, Denarius, 12, and DeShun, 9. Their late-night run to McDonald’s was going to have to wait.
He swung his Dodge Durango across six lanes in a swooping U-turn and circled back. His headlights clearly showed a horrific scene: 58-year-old James Chapple, Jr., was on the ground screaming as two powerfully built pit bulls dragged him along the sidewalk. Earlier that evening, the pair had escaped through an open door at a nearby car repair garage, where they were used as guard dogs. Griggs blasted his horn, hoping to scare them off. The dogs didn’t move, but they stopped biting long enough for the victim to struggle to his knees.
“Hop in my truck,” Griggs yelled.
“I can’t,” the man said softly.
On impulse, Griggs opened his door and was about to run to help when Denarius grabbed him. “Dad, don’t,” he said.
The 33-year-old shipping supervisor knew his son was right. He had nothing to protect himself with. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket. All he had on was a jogging suit. He’d dressed to be comfortable for a DJ gig earlier that evening, playing music at a party for disabled children put on by the parks and recreation division.
Griggs took out his cell phone, dialed 911 and told the operator what was happening. After hanging up, he decided he had to do something besides sit there and wait for help to arrive. He and his family lived nearby, so he knew there was a firehouse about half a block away. He put his truck in gear and drove up the road. On the ground near the station, he saw a lead pipe about four feet long. He grabbed it and jumped back in his truck.
Only a couple of minutes had passed, but by the time he returned, the man was facedown in a pool of blood, absolutely still. The dogs stood over him, and—there is no other word for it—they were feeding. Griggs rolled down the window and screamed, “Let him go!” The animals ignored him.
He grabbed the pipe, took a deep breath and eased his six-two, 250-pound frame out from behind the wheel. No sooner had he closed the door when the bigger dog, a huge male about half Griggs’s size, growled and came charging straight at him.
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