"I not only want a car that is built in accordance with the basic principles of physics and in light of an empirically verified, well-winnowed tradition of automobile design, but I also want it screwed together right."

-- Edward W. Constant II, "The Social Locus of Technological Practice: Community, System, or Organization?"

Edward W. Constant II, as it turns out, was not screwed together right. The author of the essay "The Evolution of War and Technology" was saved from death row by the technological advance called Kevlar.

When Mt. Lebanon police Officer Dan Rieg took a shot to the chest from Constant's .44 Magnum, his body armor stopped the bullet. Instead, Constant has been sentenced to at least 14 years in the big house for trying to shoot two police officers when they came to break up one of his regular fights with his wife.

Constant and his wife, Susan, resided at 105 Piper Drive, the last street before Mt. Lebanon gives way to Bethel Park. Neighbors say the Constants had an evening ritual: Susan would take a shower, don a comfortable robe, the pair would take two-liter bottles of liquor -- the kind that require handles on the side -- pour a few libations and re-enact the final hours of Othello and Desdemona.

"We used to call it unhappy hour," said Beth Cowan, who lived next door to the Constants. By dinner hour, Ed and Susan would be stumbling through clouds of alcoholic rage. Neighbors spoke of broken plates, slammed doors and flamingly blue curses.

"They were fairly anti-social around the block," said Sue Rose, who lived across the street from the little brick house the Constants moved into in the early 1990s. Ed and Susan met at Carnegie Mellon, where he was an associate professor of history and a man renowned in his field for books on the evolution of technology and its social impact. He wrote a book on the emergence of the turbojet and the volume is widely cited by military historians. Only the neighbors were aware that Constant conducted a personal war at 105 Piper.

Because they were "fairly anti-social," the Constants had few guests who did not arrive without flashing lights atop their cars.

Beth Cowan tried to befriend the Constants. It was futile. "I said 'Ed, you guys are drinking a lot over there and it gets kind of loud.' He got really nasty to me."

Eventually, Beth and Jim Cowan gave up and put their house up for sale. On May 26 two years ago, they opened a bottle of wine, steamed some shrimp, and sat out on the deck to enjoy an evening that was unusual in two ways: It was warm and clear in Western Pennsylvania, and the Constants were not dueling.

At least the weather held.

As night fell, the Constants were inside screaming. The argument on this night was over Ed's conviction that the paint Susan had applied to their walls was too glossy. "Jim said 'You know, I can't wait to get rid of this house. I just can't wait,'" Beth Cowan recalled.

Then they noticed Edward Constant's arms flailing up and down amid screaming. He appeared to be beating his wife. Jim Cowan called police. Beth gathered up the kids and hid them downstairs. Police arrived. Jim put in another call, advising them to bring backup because Constant was on the porch giving the officers a hard time. That's when the bullets flew.

Neighbors on Piper Drive agree that the survival of Rieg and his partner, Jeff Kite, was miraculous. Rieg was caught straight in the chest by the handgun Edward Constant kept, loaded, on his night stand.

The Cowans finally took a $70,000 loss on their house. They moved to Texas, relieved to be rid of Ed and Susan Constant, one of whom is still living at 105 Piper. The Cowans live outside Fort Worth, Texas, now, where neighbors who heard their story think they lived in a war zone.

One night, their new neighbors had them over for a swim party. During the evening, one of the men shouted to a woman in the pool, who screamed in merriment. The Cowans' son flinched and ducked. Ordinary life will take some getting used to.