On a Sunday in February 1980, cabbie Mason Seymour drove a woman home from church. He dropped her off at her house in the Pleasant Hill neighborhood and, while wheeling away up her street at the edge of Linwood Cemetery, another car zipped past, its driver enraged.
And, as it turned out, armed.
With a pistol.
The driver motioned for Seymour to pull over.
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“Come back!” the man hollered.
“He had come around a curve and I had swerved to miss him,” Seymour, 55, recalls. “As soon as I stopped and stepped out of the car, he shot me.”
Seymour, hit once in the chest, hopped back in his Yellow Cab, peeled out and headed for downtown Macon on Walnut Street. He made it as far as the Interstate 75 overpass, now the James Brown Bridge, before he passed out. His brother, who was riding with him, radioed for help.
Seymour, 25 at the time, later laminated the newspaper clipping about the incident as a keepsake. “You got to have something for a souvenir,” he said.
He also kept the bullet.
“When it happened, the doctor told me that I would go to the bathroom one day and the bullet would pass,” Seymour said. “But it never passed.”
Late last month, he went to the doctor to have a cyst removed. The cyst was in his side, just above his left hip.
The doctor deadened the area and told Seymour to lay his head back and raise his arm. A minute or two later, the doc asked, “Have you ever been shot?”
“Yes, sir,” Seymour said. “With a .25-caliber bullet.”
“Well,” the doctor said, “here’s your bullet.”
Now Seymour keeps the projectile in a curio cabinet along with the steins he collects. He figures it has traveled far enough.
“Twenty-nine years is a long time to be carrying a bullet around,” he said.
To contact writer Joe Kovac Jr., call 744-4397.