You may have read this article when in dropped in the Omaha World Herald about a certain David J. Young of Omaha, Nebraska:
“Omaha attorney is disbarred, in prison after his latest legal trouble,” by Todd Cooper.
Todd writes, “David J. Young surrendered his law license and was disbarred late last week after he stole from his father, terrorized his girlfriend, took thousands of dollars in fees from a client without doing any legal work and was accused of groping a client.” He goes on to say, “…in June 2020, Young’s girlfriend alleged that he tore up her home near 120th and Blondo streets, tried to set fire to her belongings, grabbed her by the neck and threw her against a door. She said he then chased her around the house with a broken banister and a cast-iron skillet. The girlfriend alleged that he told her that he was going to kill her.”
I remember reading that article and wanting to reach out to Todd to correct him on a few things.
After several years, I still feel the article didn’t grasp the weight around the sentence, “the girlfriend alleged that he told her that he was going to kill her.”
I have him telling me to call the cops because he was going to kill me on voice recording. So I wouldn’t say it was “alleged.”
Here’s my story:
For context, a couple days prior on Friday, I cut him off financially.
Sunday rolled around. He lost an online poker game and decided he wanted to get plastered and take some pills. I told him I didn’t think it was the best idea, but after our time together, I knew I couldn’t tell him no. We started fighting about 5/6p. I took his car keys so he couldn’t drive. A few hours later as I paced my bedroom, I heard things being tossed around in the garage and went down to see what was going on. He had urinated all over the garage floor and fell over a bunch of things directly into his piss. Eventually, he wanted to leave, so he fought me for his keys. He kicked me, pulled me to the ground by my hair, pushed me, and eventually got his keys with a kick to the gut. As he left, I locked all the doors down to the screen doors and even the garage door. He crashed into multiple mailboxes in my cul-de-sac and then into a parked car before he even got out of the neighborhood. I saw cop lights on the front door security camera and was sure he was to be arrested as he was on felony probation and clearly inebriated. The officer knocked on my door and said he was refusing a breathalyzer so he would be taken downtown. He said he would call me if needed and I nodded, making it very clear with body language and wide eyes that, yes, I would love to be called before anything happens. I reiterated it a few times before he left.
If any women would have seen and heard the way I spoke to the officer, they would have understood the hints and vibes I was giving off - I was uncomfortable. I was scared. I didn’t feel like I could tell the officer right then and there that I did not want him back here because he has been physically abusive to me most our relationship and for hours at this point into the night. But this officer simply wasn’t paying any attention. When the officer did call and asked me to come to the north police station, I wrongly assumed that he was asking me to come in for some kind of statement. Nope. When I arrived, the officers let him out of the back of the cop car. His hands were covered with blue gloves because of his car crash injuries. Then they shook his hand, handed him over to me, and called it willful reckless driving. Cool. Cool. Cool…I didn’t want to take him home. I thought he was supposed to be going to jail? What happened to the breathalyzer?
The ride home he kept telling me to kill myself. I asked him why he even had me pick him up if he hated me and he said he had no choice. He did. I am not the only person he knows. He didn’t need to come back to my house. He could have gone to his parent’s house. We rolled up into the driveway, got out of the car, and went inside. The night continued to escalate from there. He attempted to wrap my aerial silks around his neck to hang himself. He hit and kicked me as I fought him for the silks, eventually winning and hiding them upstairs. That upset him even more, so he turned to destruction. He tore apart my whole house. He tore drawers out of the kitchen and spilled them onto the floor. He threw plants, punched holes in my personal paintings, threw things at me, and threw everything in the bedroom all over the room itself. He told me I was worthless. I was a cunt. He told me I should die. He chased me down to the living room and ripped the entire stair banister out and threw pieces at me. He followed me down the the entry way with a piece of the banister and hit me with it over and over, kicked me, lifted me up by the neck choking me, then attempted to choke me with the banister - all while telling me how worthless I am and that he hopes that when he wakes up in the morning, I’m dead. Then just like that, he pushed off me and went to the kitchen to tape up his hands as the gloves were torn off and blood from his accident was splattered all over my house. That’s when he told me to call the cops. I asked why. He said he was going to kill me and showed up in the doorway to the living room with a cast iron skillet. I ran, he ran after me, throwing the skillet. I made it to the car and that’s when I decided to call the cops.
I have the last 10 minutes of that interaction on recording. Thank goodness he accused me in an earlier fight of trying to record him, otherwise that idea would have never crossed my mind. I was in my car when the garage door opened. He had taken all of my paintings along with many other trashed items, put them in a pile, and was trying to set them on fire. I stayed in my car, moved to the street, and called 911 twice over half an hour, asking when the cops would be here. While I was waiting for them to show up, he didn’t stop his destruction. He broke my mailbox and threw it at the car, tried to break the driver side window, and would chase me down the street as I drove away from him. The officers finally showed up as I was circling the cul-de-sac for the third or fourth time. The officers saw him sitting on the curb as if he had been waiting for them. The officers arrested him and took my statement. A forensics van showed up and took photos of me and of the house. Eventually, a little after 3a, everyone left. I gathered the pillows from my car - I originally thought I’d just sleep in the car while he slept off yet another violent fight - took them to my bedroom, and fell asleep on blood-spattered pillows with the contents of my vanity strewn all over the bare mattress.
The rest of my time with him is in my Victim’s Impact Statement which I’ve also decided to share - with redactions, of course. Some of my experiences are incredibly unsettling and I simply don’t want to share those parts. Nothing changed except redactions for privacy.
Source here: Omaha World Herald
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