Every old suburban neighborhood has one--the legendary geezer with a riding mower, whose lawn means more to him than his mama (god rest her soul). Though he seems to be nowhere around, let some kid on a bike swerve enough to bend a blade of his grass, and he'll come running from the wood shed with a BB gun.
Our Mr. Baker is gone now, and his little house is going too.
Don't worry; he didn't die. He just sold out to the folks at McMansion.