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Yet another officer drew Bell and Schroff aside. “You’re not in trouble,” he explained, although an investigation into the incident would occur. He gave them two thumbs up. “Sounds like you guys did great,” he reassured them. “OK? Things like this happen.” James Fuller Plymell III was a son of the Willamette Valley, the wide green land between the Oregon Coast Range and the Cascade Mountains, home to Oregon’s prized hazelnuts and luscious pinot noir grapes. Plymell had lived in Lebanon and Albany and Eugene and all the spaces between those towns for nearly his entire life. Three generations of Plymells have called this part of Oregon home; his grandfather was a city councilman in Waterloo, and a member of the council’s police committee in 1951. The area was already — and is still — home to the Kalapuya, Molalla and Chinook peoples when, in the 19th century, white emigrants followed the Oregon Trail to the Willamette Valley. They built ferries that shuttled passengers up the Willamette River. At a bend in the river, they constructed a bustling downtown filled with ornate French and Italianate architecture, much of it still standing in Albany today. Before statehood in 1859, back when Oregon Territory was known as a bastion of Confederate supporters, the Legislature combined Albany — a pro-Union town — with the town of Takenah, which was dominated by Southern sympathizers. Workers lose jobs as mill closes The International Paper Co. Shut down at the end of 2009. Benjamin Brink/The Oregonian LC- The Oregonian For a long time, Albany, like most places in the state, was powered by timber money and industrial labor. Until a decade ago, travelers driving up or down Interstate 5 would know they’d arrived when the acrid reek of the International Paper mill wafted through their open windows. The mill — which was actually located in Millersburg, not Albany — closed in 2009, and was demolished in 2012. “How will I know where to find Albany now?” one reader mused on the local newspaper’s Facebook page. Plymell’s first name was James, but some family and old friends called him Jeff, his childhood best friend, Don Ackroyd, said. “He was one of those hardcore friends that’s hard to find.” Dolphin No Matter How Old I Am I Still Get Excited Everytime I See Dolphins Shirt

Plymell briefly moved away, then returned to the valley as a young teenager. Unlike Ackroyd and his other friends, he didn’t graduate from high school. He “probably didn’t hang around the true role model adults,” Ackroyd said. (HCN could not locate any immediate family members for this story.) Court records show that Plymell’s troubles with the law started early. When he was 13, he was caught driving without a license. At 16, he was caught driving without insurance; at 18, with an ounce of marijuana. He tried methamphetamine. At some point, Plymell was diagnosed with schizophrenia. And yet, Ackroyd said, time and time again he saw his friend beat back his addictions, cycling in and out of sober housing in Albany, attending recovery meetings, trying to clean up his life. “Nobody’s perfect, you know?” Ackroyd said. “He had a problem with alcohol. I’m not gonna lie or beat around the bush. It didn’t define who he was.” More than once, drinking and drugs landed Plymell in the hospital; the doctors would call Ackroyd to ask if Plymell had any allergies. It was a heartbreaking cycle. “You could trust him with anything,” Ackroyd said. “He wouldn’t steal from you or rob you. But God, the drinking. When he was drinking, he was just really difficult. He would argue, or just rattle on about crazy things.” At times, he held down stable work. Plymell was good with cars, “a Dodge guy,” who worked in auto body shops around the valley. Some years, he took seasonal work stacking hay bales at local farms, a job he loved. Plymell was living in a group home when he met Querina Landauer in a recovery group. The two got married in 2006, when Plymell was 32. But when he relapsed, “he started really getting verbally abusive to me,” Landauer said. “He was conniving. He was a narcissist.” He never hit her — “I wouldn’t put up with that s–t,” she said — but he was impossible to live with, and the two divorced in 2010. His encounters with local police continued throughout their marriage, and Plymell became convinced that the cops were out to get him. One late night in June 2004, shortly before he met Landauer, Plymell stood in the road near the Highway 20 overpass of Interstate 5, shirtless and yelling at cars. Police said he was screaming that he wanted to talk to Jesus. An officer, suspecting that he was on drugs, ordered him to get out of the road. He didn’t. Albany Police fired beanbag rounds — fabric pouches filled with either lead shot or sand that can fracture skulls and break blood vessels in the brain — from a shotgun to get Plymell to comply. When the first shot didn’t work, the officers fired more than a dozen more, tearing through Plymell’s skin.

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