"You’re 3 minutes late", one of my work buddies said to the other.

He flipped back the bird. "Don’t flip me off! Admit it…you’re late because you were out shooting people again!" The break room erupted in laughter. There was a newspaper open on a nearby desk with the front page flashing a familiar headline: Arizona Serial Shooter Hits New Victim.

It was another story about the Serial Shooter that had been stalking Phoenix residents for over a year. Atleast 38 shootings now. This guy was dangerous and was just picking off people at random. What monster would do something like this? The mood in the room turned from laughter to a more subtle tone.

“It’s like rape…who would do something so sick?”, someone else asked.

“I know you can’t be a rapist…you have enough trouble when a woman is willing.” The break room again erupted into laughter, but it was soon squelched as our supervisor walked in to hand out our daily work assignments.

Even as we went about our daily work, the whole Valley of the Sun - even the whole nation - was abuzz with the fact that danger was in the air. But who could this killer be? And why couldn't the police catch this guy?

People in Phoenix were literally afraid to go out at night. Terror was on the forefront everyone's minds here. It seemed the cops had no idea who the killer was or where he was going to strike next. We just hoped we didn't have to open the morning paper to see another headline about another victim blown away in the dark of night.

My family all talked about it; we all agreed to be extra careful. We weren't supposed to go out after dark, especially on foot, because that seemed to be when the murders occured.

Map of Serial Shootings - click for full interactive map.

But even with all this concern, Phoenicians still had their lives to live. I went about my daily routines as always - going to work, producing comedy shows, etc., etc. I thought about it as much as the next guy, but I wasn't going to let it change my life.

Then came the morning of Friday, August 4^th, 2006.

Just an ordinary day...or so I thought. I was in the kitchen flipping my eggs at 5 am as usual. Suddenly, a knock at the door. "No one ever knocks this early", I said to myself as I put my eggs on the plate. Mustering up a macho voice in order to startle any possible stranger, I said, “Who is it?”

“It’s your mother,” the voice on the other side meekly states.

"Uh oh", I thought. This must be something serious. No one knocks on my door this early - especially mom.

Carrying my plate in one hand I open the door, thinking something terrible like…oh no, dad had a heart attack.

I open the door and see my mom shaking like a dog crapping out razor blades. I knew something was very, very wrong.

“Your not going to like this,” my mom states.

“What is it?” I said, more shocked and curious.

Smash goes the plate full of eggs I was holding, breaking loudly on the floor. Now both of us were shaking. At that moment we knew our lives would never be the same.

Instantly, the press was relentless. Right away they were knocking on my door and yelling, “We know you’re in there…just come out and talk, we want to help you.”

They wanted to talk to me about my brother, Dale Hausner, who is accused of being a heinous serial killer, sniping people from a distance in the dark of night. Sorry, that’s just not possible of my brother.

Last thing I needed is my face plastered on the evening news, especially when I was in a state of complete shock and at my dire weakest. But pressure was mounting around the Valley. Everyone's anger, fear, frustration and hatred had reached a boiling point and they wanted answers. My home and cell phones were ringing constantly and my friends were warning me to be careful when I leave my apartment - the same apartment now swarmed by news media.

A friend of mine pulled up his car outside my back door. I quickly opened the door, threw in my luggage, and sped away. I needed to get somewhere, fast. Anywhere, just not here.

We stopped at a Mexican restaurant on 16^th St. and Camelback Rd. as I tried to regain my thoughts. Looking up and I see, of all people, Mike Tyson!

Ironically, Tyson knew my brother Dale through the boxing world (Dale was a professional boxing photographer). I walked up to Tyson and chatted with him for a few minutes…the only few minutes that could possibly take my mind off the situation my family and I were in. Tyson is extremely gracious, unlike the public image that engulfs his turbulent life.

My close friends were mostly supportive. I say mostly because there was one person who wasn't…a lady that I met at a singles get together. I’ll call her Bertha (name has been changed to protect her guilt). Bertha was down on her luck when I first met her. She had gone through a tough divorce. She didn’t have many friends so I took her under my wing and introduced her to my social circle. We had even gone to Vegas together as a group - a bunch of comedians and Bertha (her being the only one of us not a comedian). She admitted it was one of the best trips she had ever had; she said she’d never laughed as hard as the weekend she spent with a bunch of us comedians. She later met her future husband at one of my singles functions I organized.

Imagine the shock and disbelief that I felt when I found out that, when all this happened with my brother, she called Silent Witness on me (which by the way, there is nothing silent about it, or I wouldn’t have found out she called). She expressed interest in wearing a wire tap to see if she could get any incriminating info out of me. She even informed them when I left town to escape the media and when I would be coming back. Of course, she wanted to do this to see if she could get any reward money out of it.

Needless to say, when I found out, I cut her out of my life. My final words to her must have echoed loudly, “You’re no longer a welcome part of my life. I’m taking out the trash…the white trash.” After I confronted her, I left her in the restaurant looking like a porcupine in a rubber life raft. A raft that she later tried to justify to her family and others…to no avail.

On a later, random, typical Monday night, I was with the singles group that I organized. We were at the Coffee Plantation on 24^th St. and Camelback Rd. sitting at our table inside. Just then, of all people, Mike Tyson came and sats down at the table next to me. What a shock again! This time I greeted him with a hand shake but I could tell he couldn't quite place me.

"I'm Dale's brother", I said.

His eyes lit up and he shook my hand vigorously, "How you doing buddy?"

He said, "Fine, fine." I offered to buy him a coffee, but he had a young, cute girl waiting in line to get their drinks.

“I’m sorry to hear about what your brother is going through. I of all people don’t believe everything I hear in the media…and I hope the truth comes out,” he said. 

"Thanks Mike", I said meekly.

Then, he leaned forward to tell me what he really thought. “I can see it in your eyes.”

I said, "What?"

Tyson calmly stated, “you carry the embarrassment and shame around with you. You worry about what people think. That’s going to ruin you if you don’t let it go.”

"You’re right", I agreed. "I have to let this go. If I don’t, I’m going to be a shell of a man."

Tyson smiled. “Fuck what people think! You are your own man. I can’t walk around worrying about what others think of me, and now neither can you. This could be a blessing in disguise. I mean, it’s horrible to have a brother accused like that, no two ways about it. But you got to let it go or it’s going to bother you for the rest of your life. Let it go, brother.”

I knew he was right. I left that coffee shop with a new realization... It's what I think of myself, and what God thinks of me…that is all that matters.

I hadn’t taken the stage in many months. Stand up was still a love of mine but I had done more producing of shows then performing. I decided to go to JJ’s Cantina one Friday night just to watch some great local performers. The MC and organizer of the show, Jeffrey Michos, who goes by the nick name 'Captain Trip', asked me to go up. 

“No," I said, "I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you need to go up,” he prodded.

"Ok, but just for a few minutes."

His introduction shocked me. “I’d like to call to the stage a man who’s bound to kill tonight! He ought to, it runs in the family! Heeeere he is, Randy Hausner!”

The audience gasped! Everyone's eyes widened and it was obvious they recognized the name. I had to pass it off.

“So, um, my brother sits accused of being the most prolific serial killer in Arizona history. I feel the Hausner name is now tarnished. So, I’ve decided to change my last name to something less offensive. From now on, call me Randy Manson.” 

The crowd erupts. Tension dissipates. I go on to tell a few more.

“The experience has changed me socially. Last night, I rented a movie that describes my dating life…it’s called, 'Home Alone'.” More laughs ensue.

I felt I was onto something. Five minutes later I left the stage feeling ambivalent. The feeling was kind of like if your worst enemy driving off a cliff in your new car. Mixed feelings were flooding over me. It was then and there I decided that if I did anymore jokes on the subjects, I’d follow a strict rule, NEVER JOKE ABOUT VICTIMS OR THEIR STRUGGLES. Any joking would center around myself, or Dale's life in jail, his court proceedings, etc.

As of the writing of this, Dale has not been tried yet. Pretrial mumbo jumbo is still in the process. Dale insists his innocence, but prosecutors claim the opposite. Dale has actually been very supportive of my stand-ups. He even said he doesn’t mind if I make jokes about him. He even gave me a few ideas. He has nothing but idle time and spends it reading and writing people. He will occasionally send me a joke and ask me if I can use it in my act.

Meanwhile, my stand-ups have evolved:

This is like a soap opera that never ends. I realized this when I was sitting at 4^th Avenue and Madison Jail waiting room, passing time until my name was called to do a weekly visit with Dale. Sitting next to me was an attractive lady in her mid 40’s who seemed kind of down. I told her to cheer up.

"Nothing your loved one is in here for is anything like what my brother is accused of," I said. 

She begged to differ. She said her husband was the highest profile person in the jail. That made me chuckle.

"Ma’am, no disrespect, but my brother is the highest profile person in here…not that I’m proud of that. You see, my brother is accused of being the Phoenix Serial Shooter."

She said, “My husband is accused of being the Baseline Rapist.” 

Then it hit me. There was someone else who shared in my despair, she knew what it was like. The media had been having a frenzy looking for the Baseline Rapist and the Serial Shooter - as both crime sprees were committed around the same time span. They thought our loved ones were to blame.

Looking toward the future, we still have the trial and the outcome. There are many hard days ahead for myself and my family. It reminds me of the song played in Rocky IV where it says, “there is no easy way out, there’s no shortcut home.” My family and I are just taking it a day at a time, knowing that the future is uncertain.

As a matter of fact, uncertainty is the only thing we can be certain of.