La. woman recalls a chilling encounter

LAFAYETTE, La. - The stranger clenched his fists and shook his head, recounting a time when he tried and failed to beat a cat to death with a steel rod.

His audience, two women lunching at a Lafayette bistro on a Saturday afternoon, sat across from him, shocked and silent. The man in a Hawaiian-print shirt had pulled a chair up to their table minutes earlier. He stroked their dogs and started to ramble: People spend too much money on their pets. There should be a cheaper way to euthanize an animal.

This stranger told them he once took in a stray cat and it got sick, so he bashed its head with the rod but failed to kill it.

"He was hurt that the cat lived," recalled Bonnie Barbier, who listened in horror to the bluster for 30 minutes. "It was this twisted sense that he was doing the right thing."

Days later, John Russell Houser's photograph flashed onto television screens across America as the man who opened fire in a Louisiana movie theater.

"My stomach dropped," Barbier said of the moment she saw his photo, stern and unsmiling. "That was the man from Saturday."

At the bistro, the man seemed unhinged and self-righteous, Barbier remembered. He had written letters to newspapers about conspiracies, he told her. But he was too smart for the world and had to dumb down his missives.

"I'm just sitting there thinking, 'There's something wrong with this. He's out of his mind because normal people don't talk about this kind of thing,' " she said. She and her friend found an excuse to slip away.

Houser, a mentally ill 59-year-old, terrified his own family and ranted in online forums about African Americans, Jews, and gays. He had lost his wife and his house and left behind a paper trail documenting a long history of seeking vengeance.

Five days after the bistro incident, Houser walked into the theater, bought a ticket to the 7 p.m. showing of Trainwreck and picked a seat two rows from the back. Twenty minutes into the movie, he stood up and, according to those who knew him, let loose a lifetime's reserve of rage.

Five hundred miles away in Houser's hometown of Columbus, Ga., some former neighbors say his life was a decades-long collision course with disaster.

"He's been known as a lunatic and a fool around this neck of the woods for years," said Patrick Williams, an antiques dealer who once filed a police report alleging Houser sold him a stolen iron fence at a flea market. "I wasn't a bit surprised when I saw his picture on TV. And no one else that knew him was surprised either."

He fit the familiar mold of mass shooters, said James Alan Fox, a criminologist at Northeastern University, author, and prominent expert on massacres. Houser was paranoid, blamed everyone but himself, alienated his family, and lived in a world of self-imposed isolation.