I usually park in front of my house or beside it. On this particular day, I parked in front of Arlen’s house because someone else was parked in front of mine. I had just finished working all night and I was tired, so I really didn’t give much thought to where I parked. I went inside and fell asleep.
A few hours later a knock on my door woke me up and I answered to find Judd, Arlen’s brother-in-law, standing there. Although it was early afternoon, I had been sound asleep. It took a few minutes for me to get to the door and a few more minutes to actually wake up. Judd had come over to ask me to move my car from Arlen’s space. It was probably because of my grogginess that I said “What?” about four times before I actually understood what he wanted.
Now if I had been fully awake, I might have simply said “Oh, sorry about that, someone was in my spot and I wasn’t thinking when I parked in Arlen’s. Do you really need me to move it right now, or is it OK if I just remember not to do it again?” Knowing Judd as well as I do now, it’s likely he would have replied “Don’t worry about it brother, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t disrespecting us.”
Of course I was dazed and confused, and angry at being awoken for such a trivial matter, so my response was probably more like “What the fuck’s the big deal? There’s plenty of spaces around here. I don’t get pissed when you park in front of mine.” And of course Judd, having no idea that he had awoken me (most people aren’t asleep at that time of day) was taken aback by my crude response, so his reply was something along the lines of “You mother fucker, you better move that or we’re gonna have some problems here.”
Somehow, Judd and I had moved into my front yard now with what had turned into a very heated argument. During all of our shouting, Arlen, was just setting on his front porch, head leaned back, hat tipped forward, and totally ignoring both of us. Then, I turned towards him and said “Arlen, it’s your space, do you need me to move my car?”
Arlen moves pretty quick for a guy even half his age, and as I would soon find out he was every bit as stubborn as I am. He jumped up from his chair, leaped off the porch, and was in my face in a heartbeat. Judd stepped back and it was now me and Arlen having the “discussion.” Of course for all the energy I had invested so far, it would have been easier to just move the damn car. And Arlen had already parked across the street, so he could have just said “Don’t let it happen again.” and walked away. But apparently, Arlen and I just don’t think that way some times.
Arlen took a swing at me that I easily side stepped. At the same time that I was realizing how dangerous the situation might easily become, I was amused. I alternated between lobbing obscenities and saying with a laugh “Arlen, why are we arguing over something this stupid.” At one point, Arlen put his hand in his pocket and said “Do you want shot?” I replied “No, I really don’t. Is that what you plan on doing?”
At this point something really bizarre happened. Two cops on bicycles rounded the corner and stopped to see what the fuss was about. We both explained our side of the story to the perplexed officers. One of them took me aside and quietly said, in an almost pleading tone, “Wouldn’t it be best if you just moved your car?”
I walked back over to Arlen and turned towards the other officer and said “I’m parked on the street. Even though I’m in front of his house I don’t have to move my car, do I?” He replied “It would be best if you did.” I said “I’m not asking what is best. I want to know if I am under any legal obligation to move my car.” He replied that I was not. At that point I turned to Arlen and said “I’ll move my car, not because I have to or because you told me to, but because I just want to go back to sleep and be left the fuck alone.”
I had saved face. By proving that I was moving my car because I wanted to, and not because I had to, I had maintained my integrity. You can read about this rule on page one of the “How to be a dumb ass” handbook.
It took me and Arlen a few weeks to get past this rift. In fact, we had both tried to apologize at different times, but the other one refused to accept it. (This tactic - refusing to accept a sincere apology - can be found on page two of the handbook.) Once we did calm down though, I think it was each others stubborn refusal to back down that caused us both to respect the other more than before. The story of our reconciliation would make a good post in itself, but I’ll save that for another time. I’ve got too many stories about the police and the dealers to tell right now.
The reason that I am telling this story is because it is illustrative of the violent culture that permeates this neighborhood. To escalate from “Hey, would you move your car?” to “I’ll shoot your ass!” so quickly was something that I had never experienced before. But this tendency towards violence was no isolated event here. And I would eventually find that it affected me in ways I never dreamed possible. In some ways, I have become a much more aggressive person because of what I have experienced here.
I’m not saying my actions have not been justified, but it is worth noting that I never owned a gun before I lived here. I have never received a death threat before I lived here, and I have never walked up to a person and challenged them to pull a gun on me before. As I see how these actions are sometimes interpreted by people that are close to me, I realize how much this neighborhood really has changed me.
And then, I begin to wonder about the others here. Perhaps Arlen wasn’t a naturally violent person, but he has lived here much longer than me. How do I know that someone didn’t threaten to shoot him a long time ago, and maybe that is what made him turn violent? It really is a self-perpetuating cycle when it sometimes seems that the only way to counter violence is with even more violence.
I’m perfectly willing to admit that I can be a real dumb ass sometimes. Just don’t ask me to admit it at the time I am actually being one!
Friday, February 29, 2008
The Week in Review: 21 February - 28 February 2008
Well, this has been a busy week as the annotated bibliography for my research paper is due tomorrow. I don’t understand why they have to make everything so complicated in college with all this research and citations. I’m sure I’ll never need to use that stuff on the blogs. It’s also been an interesting week in the ‘hood. Let’s see now, let me take a look at my journal.
Thursday (21st), 3:30 P.M. Several guys came out to stand on one of the corners to shout at passing cars. There was a patrol car parked only fifteen yards from them when they arrived. Often, a patrol car will park somewhere here and just observe things. These guys noticed the car and occasionally turned towards it making some type of taunting gestures. What is funny is that I know that cop, and I know who’s house he was inside at the time. When that cop comes here, he comes to visit a friend, and he doesn’t even look at the corners. But it’s mere presence was enough to make these guys act goofy.
Suddenly, one of these guys ran up on somebody’s porch and crouched down. A minute later, a patrol car actually passed by. After the cops passed, he came back to the corner. A couple minutes later, as yet another patrol car passed by, most of these guys began walking away. Either they had something in their pockets, or they had warrants I suppose. The police did not return, but a few minutes later the remaining two left, so I guess the patrols do help. What’s really funny about this is that the porch where the guy hid from the passing cop - that’s the house that the other cop was inside at the time.
Friday, 3:30 P.M. Darrell, Carl and a few other guys spent the better part of two hours hanging around on the corners. The only illicit activity I witnessed was Carl buying some pirate CD’s from another guy, so nothing to worry about there. Carl is down here at least two or three times a week, which is kind of strange since the house he used to live in is now condemned. I know he has family here, so I am not at all saying the guy doesn’t have the right to be here. It just seems a little strange to be standing on the sidewalk for a half hour or more in freezing weather.
As I stepped out to get my mail, they were all walking away, but they stopped on the other side of the street. When I left about ten minutes later, a patrol car (occupied) was parked a little ways down the street, and I expect the officer was just taking note of who and what was happening.
Saturday, 3:00 A.M. Heard voices outside and went to check. A patrol car and an unmarked car were parked in the road and there were three or four officers standing on the sidewalk talking with Darrell (I couldn’t see him, but recognized his voice) and another guy. It sounded as though they were standing on Darrell’s front porch. I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but the officers seemed frustrated. After an exchange of words with Darrell and friend, the officers turned to confer among themselves for a minute. One of them turned back towards Darrell and said something like “Well, we’ll talk to Officer Black about this,” then they went back to their cars. Another patrol car pulled up at that time, so they had another little conference. Sure am glad I didn’t have to go to work at that time.
I think this is what happened that night: First of all, you should understand that Officer Black is one of the lead officers in this area. He knows all the dealers, and they all know him. In the past, I have personally witnessed Officer Black engaging in what I am certain are “off the record” conversations with some of the dealers here. If the situation was not studied well, it could appear to some that Officer Black is even in collaboration with the dealers. Personally, I do not think that is the case, but I guess it depends upon your definition of collaborate.
If a cop says “I’ll allow you to sell drugs here, as long as you give me a cut,” that is clearly illegal and could easily fall under the federal RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act) statute, depending upon the degree of the narcotics activity. But what if a cop realizes that he is in a neighborhood that is saturated with dealers, and that the only way it could be totally eliminated would be to have 24/7 patrols? And what if this cop knows he doesn’t have the resources for that?
So suppose he tells some of these guys “I’m not giving you permission to deal drugs, but I can say this; If one of my guys drives by and sees you standing in your own yard, or on the sidewalk in front of your own house, it’s very likely we won’t even stop to talk to you. If you’re seen on one of the abandoned properties here, it’s very likely we’ll come back through to check on you and possibly even stop to “talk.” But you should know that if you are found on the property of somebody who has expressly notified both you and FWPD that they don’t want you there, it’s almost certain you’ll be stopped and searched. And if you’re seen standing on the sidewalk in front of such property for extended periods of time, it’s still very likely you’ll be stopped.”
I am pretty certain that this is what Officer Black has told these guys. He has effectively invited them to regulate themselves; keep quiet, no large groups, stay off other peoples property, keep things low-key when the school buses are around, and don’t harass the residents here who don’t want to play the game. And you know what, I’m OK with that! With it’s “War on Drugs,” the federal government has saddled cities with a law enforcement burden that they can not possible meet. I consider it a reasonable measure for them to try and regulate this mess in a manner that ensures that most of the victims are people who chose to play, rather than innocent bystanders.
I’m leaning towards the political now, and I want to leave my full opinion on that till much later in my story. But I will say this much right now. - The federal government’s “War on Drugs” is a joke. They either need to legalize the drugs, or they need to seriously increase the funding and enforcement. As it is, there are two groups of people that fall victim to drugs; willing participants, and innocent bystanders. The willing participants will probably be harmed equally whether we legalize or enforce. But our currently unrealistic approach is the one that benefits them the most. It’s also probably the one that is most harmful to the innocents. So at this point all I’m saying is that I think we should either legalize or we should increase funding to the point that the laws can actually be enforced, but I won’t say yet which I favor.
Any way, back to the cops talking with Darrell on his front porch. I think him and his friend were probably standing where they weren’t supposed to be (probably my front yard!) when the cops saw them and approached. But by the time they got there he had already gotten to his “safe base.” I think their reference to him about talking with Officer Black was just a reminder of the rules. What the cops don’t know is that immediately after they left, Darrell’s mother opened the front door and chased him and his friend away saying “Boy you know better than to bring that bullshit up to my house. I told you I’m tired of it. That key aint gonna work on these doors no more if you don’t straighten up.”
She obviously doesn’t condone his activities (that’s not the first time I’ve heard such an exchange between them.) Yet if she really wanted to totally disassociate her home from drugs she would have chased him off the porch while the cops were still there. So, is she a bad mother - for not wanting to send her drug dealing son to prison?
Tuesday, 11:00 A.M. Saw a marked Allen County Sherriff car pass by, must have been looking to serve a warrant.
Wednesday, 4:30 P.M. There was an unmarked police car parked down the street and an officer was walking from a house back to his car. He left, but I noticed a patrol car was parked in an alley about a block away. Several people were out on the sidewalks, including some of the dealers that I had noticed out there a couple hours earlier shouting at passing cars. After about five or ten minutes everyone had either went inside their house or walked away. The patrol car remained in the alley for about another five minutes then left. Some might say this overbearing surveillance constitutes harassment but hey, they gotta do their paperwork somewhere don’t they? Actually, I’ve offered to let them use my front porch for that. I believe my exact words were “If I come home and find a cop car parked in my front yard and two cops sitting on my front porch, the first thing I’m going to say is - Can I get you officers a cup of coffee?” Well, I guess they can’t say that nobody here gives a damn.
Thursday (28th), 1:45 A.M. Sounded like people arguing outside so I went to check. There was a man lying face down on the sidewalk across the street, pounding his fist against the ground and shouting “Oh God, somebody please help me.” I was considering walking over there to check on him, so I went to get my coat. When I came back, he was still lying down and saying “I don’t want to be like this no more. Please, God. I don’t know how I ever got this way. Please help me God.” He lay there sobbing for a minute, then got up and walked away. I guess it’s rough when there’s nobody standing on the corner to keep you pumped up. About five minutes later a patrol car passed by, so I assume somebody called them - not me, I ain't no narc!
Well, I was going to post a story about some of the past events here, but I guess that this weeks current events are enough for now. And sorry for the lack of a YouTube video on this post. I just couldn't find anything to match all this.
Thursday (21st), 3:30 P.M. Several guys came out to stand on one of the corners to shout at passing cars. There was a patrol car parked only fifteen yards from them when they arrived. Often, a patrol car will park somewhere here and just observe things. These guys noticed the car and occasionally turned towards it making some type of taunting gestures. What is funny is that I know that cop, and I know who’s house he was inside at the time. When that cop comes here, he comes to visit a friend, and he doesn’t even look at the corners. But it’s mere presence was enough to make these guys act goofy.
Suddenly, one of these guys ran up on somebody’s porch and crouched down. A minute later, a patrol car actually passed by. After the cops passed, he came back to the corner. A couple minutes later, as yet another patrol car passed by, most of these guys began walking away. Either they had something in their pockets, or they had warrants I suppose. The police did not return, but a few minutes later the remaining two left, so I guess the patrols do help. What’s really funny about this is that the porch where the guy hid from the passing cop - that’s the house that the other cop was inside at the time.
Friday, 3:30 P.M. Darrell, Carl and a few other guys spent the better part of two hours hanging around on the corners. The only illicit activity I witnessed was Carl buying some pirate CD’s from another guy, so nothing to worry about there. Carl is down here at least two or three times a week, which is kind of strange since the house he used to live in is now condemned. I know he has family here, so I am not at all saying the guy doesn’t have the right to be here. It just seems a little strange to be standing on the sidewalk for a half hour or more in freezing weather.
As I stepped out to get my mail, they were all walking away, but they stopped on the other side of the street. When I left about ten minutes later, a patrol car (occupied) was parked a little ways down the street, and I expect the officer was just taking note of who and what was happening.
Saturday, 3:00 A.M. Heard voices outside and went to check. A patrol car and an unmarked car were parked in the road and there were three or four officers standing on the sidewalk talking with Darrell (I couldn’t see him, but recognized his voice) and another guy. It sounded as though they were standing on Darrell’s front porch. I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but the officers seemed frustrated. After an exchange of words with Darrell and friend, the officers turned to confer among themselves for a minute. One of them turned back towards Darrell and said something like “Well, we’ll talk to Officer Black about this,” then they went back to their cars. Another patrol car pulled up at that time, so they had another little conference. Sure am glad I didn’t have to go to work at that time.
I think this is what happened that night: First of all, you should understand that Officer Black is one of the lead officers in this area. He knows all the dealers, and they all know him. In the past, I have personally witnessed Officer Black engaging in what I am certain are “off the record” conversations with some of the dealers here. If the situation was not studied well, it could appear to some that Officer Black is even in collaboration with the dealers. Personally, I do not think that is the case, but I guess it depends upon your definition of collaborate.
If a cop says “I’ll allow you to sell drugs here, as long as you give me a cut,” that is clearly illegal and could easily fall under the federal RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act) statute, depending upon the degree of the narcotics activity. But what if a cop realizes that he is in a neighborhood that is saturated with dealers, and that the only way it could be totally eliminated would be to have 24/7 patrols? And what if this cop knows he doesn’t have the resources for that?
So suppose he tells some of these guys “I’m not giving you permission to deal drugs, but I can say this; If one of my guys drives by and sees you standing in your own yard, or on the sidewalk in front of your own house, it’s very likely we won’t even stop to talk to you. If you’re seen on one of the abandoned properties here, it’s very likely we’ll come back through to check on you and possibly even stop to “talk.” But you should know that if you are found on the property of somebody who has expressly notified both you and FWPD that they don’t want you there, it’s almost certain you’ll be stopped and searched. And if you’re seen standing on the sidewalk in front of such property for extended periods of time, it’s still very likely you’ll be stopped.”
I am pretty certain that this is what Officer Black has told these guys. He has effectively invited them to regulate themselves; keep quiet, no large groups, stay off other peoples property, keep things low-key when the school buses are around, and don’t harass the residents here who don’t want to play the game. And you know what, I’m OK with that! With it’s “War on Drugs,” the federal government has saddled cities with a law enforcement burden that they can not possible meet. I consider it a reasonable measure for them to try and regulate this mess in a manner that ensures that most of the victims are people who chose to play, rather than innocent bystanders.
I’m leaning towards the political now, and I want to leave my full opinion on that till much later in my story. But I will say this much right now. - The federal government’s “War on Drugs” is a joke. They either need to legalize the drugs, or they need to seriously increase the funding and enforcement. As it is, there are two groups of people that fall victim to drugs; willing participants, and innocent bystanders. The willing participants will probably be harmed equally whether we legalize or enforce. But our currently unrealistic approach is the one that benefits them the most. It’s also probably the one that is most harmful to the innocents. So at this point all I’m saying is that I think we should either legalize or we should increase funding to the point that the laws can actually be enforced, but I won’t say yet which I favor.
Any way, back to the cops talking with Darrell on his front porch. I think him and his friend were probably standing where they weren’t supposed to be (probably my front yard!) when the cops saw them and approached. But by the time they got there he had already gotten to his “safe base.” I think their reference to him about talking with Officer Black was just a reminder of the rules. What the cops don’t know is that immediately after they left, Darrell’s mother opened the front door and chased him and his friend away saying “Boy you know better than to bring that bullshit up to my house. I told you I’m tired of it. That key aint gonna work on these doors no more if you don’t straighten up.”
She obviously doesn’t condone his activities (that’s not the first time I’ve heard such an exchange between them.) Yet if she really wanted to totally disassociate her home from drugs she would have chased him off the porch while the cops were still there. So, is she a bad mother - for not wanting to send her drug dealing son to prison?
Tuesday, 11:00 A.M. Saw a marked Allen County Sherriff car pass by, must have been looking to serve a warrant.
Wednesday, 4:30 P.M. There was an unmarked police car parked down the street and an officer was walking from a house back to his car. He left, but I noticed a patrol car was parked in an alley about a block away. Several people were out on the sidewalks, including some of the dealers that I had noticed out there a couple hours earlier shouting at passing cars. After about five or ten minutes everyone had either went inside their house or walked away. The patrol car remained in the alley for about another five minutes then left. Some might say this overbearing surveillance constitutes harassment but hey, they gotta do their paperwork somewhere don’t they? Actually, I’ve offered to let them use my front porch for that. I believe my exact words were “If I come home and find a cop car parked in my front yard and two cops sitting on my front porch, the first thing I’m going to say is - Can I get you officers a cup of coffee?” Well, I guess they can’t say that nobody here gives a damn.
Thursday (28th), 1:45 A.M. Sounded like people arguing outside so I went to check. There was a man lying face down on the sidewalk across the street, pounding his fist against the ground and shouting “Oh God, somebody please help me.” I was considering walking over there to check on him, so I went to get my coat. When I came back, he was still lying down and saying “I don’t want to be like this no more. Please, God. I don’t know how I ever got this way. Please help me God.” He lay there sobbing for a minute, then got up and walked away. I guess it’s rough when there’s nobody standing on the corner to keep you pumped up. About five minutes later a patrol car passed by, so I assume somebody called them - not me, I ain't no narc!
Well, I was going to post a story about some of the past events here, but I guess that this weeks current events are enough for now. And sorry for the lack of a YouTube video on this post. I just couldn't find anything to match all this.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Submit to Anarchy or Submit to Leviathan - What a Choice: January 1997
Fort Wayne has a weekly newspaper, Frost Illustrated, that’s largely focused on African-American issues. Frost is more likely to carry stories about poor conditions in jails or about inner-city residents being harassed by police than mainstream media sources. I used to read these stories and laugh, not because I though what happened to these people was funny but because I didn’t believe them.
Did someone seriously expect me to believe that they were doing nothing wrong when suddenly police swarmed down on them, pulled them out of their car, threw them on the ground, and searched their car. Then, when nothing was found, the police simply left as quickly as they came with no explanation for their behavior. Get real, that kind of stuff doesn’t happen here, in America. We are a land of laws, and these laws apply equally to the police as they do to ordinary citizens. - Yeah, whatever!
The longer I live in this neighborhood, television shows such as “The Wire” and “The Shield” begin to look more like the History Channel than fictional stories. The following story is my first encounter here with the FWPD.
At about 3:30 A.M. I went out to start my car. Arlen's daughter, Barbara, and her friend Richard were standing on the sidewalk in front of Barbara's house, holding hands and talking quietly. Suddenly, several patrol cars arrived and surrounded my car. Four officers got out and approached Richard. Barbara and I both immediately withdrew to our own front porches. After five minutes of repeatedly asking Richard why he was there, with the officers standing on all sides and about 18” from him, Richard asked what the problem was. One of the officers replied “A guy was stabbed at a bar earlier tonight, and your car matches the description."
It was interesting that while Richard’s car was parked only a few feet away, not one of the officers even went to look at it. Everyone knows that cops like to look around, but they didn’t even glance towards his car when they mentioned it. I really don’t think they even knew that was his car. I think they saw him standing there and stopped to question him for some other reason. When he showed no signs of guilt they began intimidating him. They continued to badger him for another five minutes, even ignoring Richard’s own request for them to search his car to satisfy their curiosity.
My car had been running for ten minutes now, so I approached the officers to ask if they could move one of their cars to let me out. I stopped about eight feet away from the group, waiting to be recognized. One officer turned around, scanned me from head to toe, then turned forward again without saying a word to me. I waited for a few more minutes, as they stood there silently staring at Richard. They were acting in a manner that seemed designed to intimidate Richard, and perhaps cause him to resist. Richard simply stood there motionless and silent.
It did not seem like there was any urgency to the situation. There were four officers, and there was no crowd of unruly people shouting at them, so they obviously had the situation under control. So I spoke, saying "Excuse me officer..." That’s as far as I got when one of the officers turned towards me and shouted “Do you want to be arrested?” I replied “No sir.” and stepped back to my front yard. He then moved towards me and continued shouting “It is a violation of Indiana Law to interfere with an arresting officer.” I simply replied “Yes sir, I understand.”
I went inside my house and called work to tell them that I would be late. My boss was mad that I couldn‘t tell him how late I was going to be. He actually suggested that I go ask the cop how much longer they were going to be there. I think my exact response to that was “Are you fucking insane? They already threatened to arrest me just for talking to them. I’ll be there whenever the hell these assholes decide to leave.” My boss thought I was overreacting to the situation, but hey, I guess you had to be here.
I then went back out to my front porch and waited. After a few minutes, the officers began leaving, so I went to my car. As the last officer was about to get in his car, he stopped and turned towards me. With a grin he said “I bet you want to get out of here, don't you.” I just replied “Yes sir, I need to get to work.” - And they wonder why some people in this area of town don’t like cops!
Did someone seriously expect me to believe that they were doing nothing wrong when suddenly police swarmed down on them, pulled them out of their car, threw them on the ground, and searched their car. Then, when nothing was found, the police simply left as quickly as they came with no explanation for their behavior. Get real, that kind of stuff doesn’t happen here, in America. We are a land of laws, and these laws apply equally to the police as they do to ordinary citizens. - Yeah, whatever!
The longer I live in this neighborhood, television shows such as “The Wire” and “The Shield” begin to look more like the History Channel than fictional stories. The following story is my first encounter here with the FWPD.
At about 3:30 A.M. I went out to start my car. Arlen's daughter, Barbara, and her friend Richard were standing on the sidewalk in front of Barbara's house, holding hands and talking quietly. Suddenly, several patrol cars arrived and surrounded my car. Four officers got out and approached Richard. Barbara and I both immediately withdrew to our own front porches. After five minutes of repeatedly asking Richard why he was there, with the officers standing on all sides and about 18” from him, Richard asked what the problem was. One of the officers replied “A guy was stabbed at a bar earlier tonight, and your car matches the description."
It was interesting that while Richard’s car was parked only a few feet away, not one of the officers even went to look at it. Everyone knows that cops like to look around, but they didn’t even glance towards his car when they mentioned it. I really don’t think they even knew that was his car. I think they saw him standing there and stopped to question him for some other reason. When he showed no signs of guilt they began intimidating him. They continued to badger him for another five minutes, even ignoring Richard’s own request for them to search his car to satisfy their curiosity.
My car had been running for ten minutes now, so I approached the officers to ask if they could move one of their cars to let me out. I stopped about eight feet away from the group, waiting to be recognized. One officer turned around, scanned me from head to toe, then turned forward again without saying a word to me. I waited for a few more minutes, as they stood there silently staring at Richard. They were acting in a manner that seemed designed to intimidate Richard, and perhaps cause him to resist. Richard simply stood there motionless and silent.
It did not seem like there was any urgency to the situation. There were four officers, and there was no crowd of unruly people shouting at them, so they obviously had the situation under control. So I spoke, saying "Excuse me officer..." That’s as far as I got when one of the officers turned towards me and shouted “Do you want to be arrested?” I replied “No sir.” and stepped back to my front yard. He then moved towards me and continued shouting “It is a violation of Indiana Law to interfere with an arresting officer.” I simply replied “Yes sir, I understand.”
I went inside my house and called work to tell them that I would be late. My boss was mad that I couldn‘t tell him how late I was going to be. He actually suggested that I go ask the cop how much longer they were going to be there. I think my exact response to that was “Are you fucking insane? They already threatened to arrest me just for talking to them. I’ll be there whenever the hell these assholes decide to leave.” My boss thought I was overreacting to the situation, but hey, I guess you had to be here.
I then went back out to my front porch and waited. After a few minutes, the officers began leaving, so I went to my car. As the last officer was about to get in his car, he stopped and turned towards me. With a grin he said “I bet you want to get out of here, don't you.” I just replied “Yes sir, I need to get to work.” - And they wonder why some people in this area of town don’t like cops!
I can still recall this event with clarity, even though it happened twelve years ago, and I’ve often wondered why it left such a strong impression upon me. I think it has to do with the fact that I’ve always had a lot of respect for police officers. I guess that I just assumed that they held the same respect for the citizens they worked for. But this event made me reconsider that. These guys seemed to be on some kind of power trip, and there was no apparent reason for them to be questioning Richard, or to threaten me with arrest.
If it had been just another guy on the street who shouted at me, I probably would have forgotten about it by now. But when someone you trust and respect spits in your face, just because you want to get to work on time, it has a greater impact. I can honestly say that was the first time I had ever thought of a police officer as being an asshole. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be the last.
I understand the activities in this area require the police to employ some unconventional tactics at times. I still think these four cops were assholes, but so are many of the drug dealers. And that is why I (as a taxpayer and voting citizen) have created this Leviathan - to keep the criminals in check. It wasn’t anything worth filing a complaint over because, all things considered, I’d still prefer the occasional rogue officer over no police at all.
Leviathan was written during the English Civil War; much of the book is occupied with demonstrating the necessity of a strong central authority to avoid the evil of discord and civil war. Any abuses of power by this authority are to be accepted as the price of peace.
I often find that the best way to let go of anger is to replace it with humor, so I had a “retarded cop” video that I was going to attach here. But I decided this video was more appropriate for this post.
My attention here was not so much drawn to the accident itself, as to the officers’ reaction to it. I think any sensible person, after shooting themselves in the foot, would immediately go to seek medical care. This guy not only tried to continue with his speech, but even brought out another weapon. Judging from the reaction of the crowd, they did not consider that to be a wise move. Yet his pride and adrenaline rush kept him from immediately recognizing that his audience was scared.
But here’s the overall point I want to make. We expect cops to go (psychologically speaking) from zero to sixty, then back down to zero in only a few seconds time. Then we are perplexed when they leave a few skid marks. What we expect from them sometimes is in defiance of the human condition. Maybe the cops I spoke of above had just left a scene where the crowd was shouting and throwing bottles at them. And if their adrenaline was still pumping from that, it would help to explain their overreaction here.
But at the same time, they should try to realize that there is no way I could have known about the circumstances that put them in a bad mood. They should have tried to look at this situation for what it was, which was a non-threat. Instead, they reacted as if I had thrown a bottle or was cussing at them. There may be an explanation for why these guys were mentally traveling so much faster than those around them. But when I’m the one who gets hit by the speeding train, I’m still going to be pissed off.
Friday, February 22, 2008
A Hell of a Way to Make a Living!
This post began as a retelling of my first encounter with the FWPD here in my neighborhood. But since it ended on a negative note, I decided that it would not be fair to introduce the FWPD into my story in such a manner. I would like to employ the same method that I used with my neighbors (giving a few detailed, personal profiles), but that is rather difficult.
While my neighbors live here with me, the officers only work here. I have never sat on one of the officer’s front porches and passed the bottle with them. I have never gone inside one of the officers houses to repair their leaking sink. I have never attended a wedding or a funeral of one of the officers. And I have never paid one of these officer’s sons to mow my lawn. Because their presence here is only a job, not their entire life, I have never gotten to know any FWPD officers as well as I have my neighbors.
I can say from my own observations though, that the officers sometimes face an almost impossible task. I have witnessed a neighbor complain about drug dealers standing on the corner, saying “The police should do something about that.” Then, five minutes later when police stopped to question this group, the same person said “They can’t just harass somebody for standing on the sidewalk. That’s not right.”
I have seen people step out of their house to see why the police are outside, and before they have any idea of what is going on they start complaining about police harassment. The truth is, there are people here who want the police to harass and arrest some of the drug dealers. They just get mad when it’s their own drug dealer (family or friend) who is the current target.
There is no doubt that there are some cases where police abuse is self-evident, but I’ll leave that for another post. Here, I am speaking largely in defense of the police, for the situations where I feel they are unfairly criticized. What I’d like to do now is to ask the reader to watch the following videos where police officers were injured and/or killed. The first thing I want to emphasize is that this is the possibility that every officer faces any time they put on the uniform.
1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXBb7BYkVvY
2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X14ID3zybSk
3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoBpkDrQLFM&feature=related
4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_h9T-k8S1no&feature=related
5) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQC22DGjoL4
Often, in cases where a police officer is involved in a struggle with a civilian, someone will claim that it was actually provoked by the police. If the entire incident was not taped, then it is sometimes difficult to determine the full truth. A video may show the civilian striking the officer, but how do you know that the officer did not strike him first before the cameras began rolling. Of course, the opposite could be true as well.
Looking at video #1, the action is already in progress, so we can’t know for certain what has already transpired. But the fact that the shooter was not even being watched, and that there was only one officer initially trying to apprehend the suspect suggests that the cameras didn’t miss much. And the fact that the shooter fired several rounds after the officers were down and after his friend was released show that this is clearly a case of cold blooded murder. In video #2, the officer only got as far as reaching the shooter’s door before he was attacked, and in video #3, the mere arrival of the police car was enough to draw fire.
In each of the above videos, if the same events had first occurred, but the officers then managed to gain control of the situation long enough to fire their own weapons, I am sure there would have been loud protests about police brutality. Now, watch video #4.
4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lc2fyEa_RkA
In this video, the man doesn’t have a gun, and he isn’t holding the knife to a civilians throat, so the police try to talk him down - and almost die for it. There was a similar case here in Fort Wayne a couple of years ago. A man was holding a woman at knife point and the police shot and killed him. Many people (including, I believe, the woman who’s life was being threatened) criticized the FWPD for using unnecessary force. And I’m sure if they had hesitated for an extra few seconds, the dead woman’s family would have sued because the police weren’t aggressive enough.
Now, look at the following two videos.
5) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pT2hX72BS6A
6) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81RIZephDfM
In video #5, at what point should the officer have felt that deadly force was appropriate? Just because he was trying to take her gun doesn’t necessarily mean that he was going to kill her, does it? If that intervening civilian or another officer had shot this man while the struggle was ensuing, there would likely have been complaints about that as well. Now, look at video #6, where the assailant was shot and killed by the officer. There are people that would probably criticize this, even though the officer was clearly in a struggle for his own life.
The main point I’m trying to make with this post is that there are times when it is both appropriate and necessary for an officer to use physical restraint or deadly force against a civilian. Sometimes this might be for the protection of the officer, and other times to protect another civilian. I have a hard time understanding people who seem to have a knee-jerk reaction that any time an officer uses force implies to them that we are living in a fascist state. I guess that they would prefer anarchy?
As I talk about some of the encounters that I have had with FWPD, I ask that you try to differentiate between my thought about an incident, and my reaction to it. There are times that I have encountered FWPD officers who were deserving of being called an asshole. But I still said “Yes Sir,” kept my hands in full view, and tried to give them room to do their job. In fact, if I had protested too much at the time, that might have provided justification for the asshole to consider me hostile, and perhaps use physical force against me.
And every time (prior to 2006) that one of these incidents has occurred (there have been several), I have let it go without filing any complaint. I consider a little bit of heavy-handedness by the police here (even when occasionally directed at me) to be a necessary and acceptable price to pay for keeping the dealers in check.
But, beginning with my next post, I will retell some of my encounters with the FWPD. It is necessary that the reader understand these many small events because, when combined, they helped greatly to inform my decision to file a complaint against one FWPD officer in 2006.
While my neighbors live here with me, the officers only work here. I have never sat on one of the officer’s front porches and passed the bottle with them. I have never gone inside one of the officers houses to repair their leaking sink. I have never attended a wedding or a funeral of one of the officers. And I have never paid one of these officer’s sons to mow my lawn. Because their presence here is only a job, not their entire life, I have never gotten to know any FWPD officers as well as I have my neighbors.
I can say from my own observations though, that the officers sometimes face an almost impossible task. I have witnessed a neighbor complain about drug dealers standing on the corner, saying “The police should do something about that.” Then, five minutes later when police stopped to question this group, the same person said “They can’t just harass somebody for standing on the sidewalk. That’s not right.”
I have seen people step out of their house to see why the police are outside, and before they have any idea of what is going on they start complaining about police harassment. The truth is, there are people here who want the police to harass and arrest some of the drug dealers. They just get mad when it’s their own drug dealer (family or friend) who is the current target.
There is no doubt that there are some cases where police abuse is self-evident, but I’ll leave that for another post. Here, I am speaking largely in defense of the police, for the situations where I feel they are unfairly criticized. What I’d like to do now is to ask the reader to watch the following videos where police officers were injured and/or killed. The first thing I want to emphasize is that this is the possibility that every officer faces any time they put on the uniform.
1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXBb7BYkVvY
2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X14ID3zybSk
3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoBpkDrQLFM&feature=related
4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_h9T-k8S1no&feature=related
5) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQC22DGjoL4
Often, in cases where a police officer is involved in a struggle with a civilian, someone will claim that it was actually provoked by the police. If the entire incident was not taped, then it is sometimes difficult to determine the full truth. A video may show the civilian striking the officer, but how do you know that the officer did not strike him first before the cameras began rolling. Of course, the opposite could be true as well.
Looking at video #1, the action is already in progress, so we can’t know for certain what has already transpired. But the fact that the shooter was not even being watched, and that there was only one officer initially trying to apprehend the suspect suggests that the cameras didn’t miss much. And the fact that the shooter fired several rounds after the officers were down and after his friend was released show that this is clearly a case of cold blooded murder. In video #2, the officer only got as far as reaching the shooter’s door before he was attacked, and in video #3, the mere arrival of the police car was enough to draw fire.
In each of the above videos, if the same events had first occurred, but the officers then managed to gain control of the situation long enough to fire their own weapons, I am sure there would have been loud protests about police brutality. Now, watch video #4.
4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lc2fyEa_RkA
In this video, the man doesn’t have a gun, and he isn’t holding the knife to a civilians throat, so the police try to talk him down - and almost die for it. There was a similar case here in Fort Wayne a couple of years ago. A man was holding a woman at knife point and the police shot and killed him. Many people (including, I believe, the woman who’s life was being threatened) criticized the FWPD for using unnecessary force. And I’m sure if they had hesitated for an extra few seconds, the dead woman’s family would have sued because the police weren’t aggressive enough.
Now, look at the following two videos.
5) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pT2hX72BS6A
6) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81RIZephDfM
In video #5, at what point should the officer have felt that deadly force was appropriate? Just because he was trying to take her gun doesn’t necessarily mean that he was going to kill her, does it? If that intervening civilian or another officer had shot this man while the struggle was ensuing, there would likely have been complaints about that as well. Now, look at video #6, where the assailant was shot and killed by the officer. There are people that would probably criticize this, even though the officer was clearly in a struggle for his own life.
The main point I’m trying to make with this post is that there are times when it is both appropriate and necessary for an officer to use physical restraint or deadly force against a civilian. Sometimes this might be for the protection of the officer, and other times to protect another civilian. I have a hard time understanding people who seem to have a knee-jerk reaction that any time an officer uses force implies to them that we are living in a fascist state. I guess that they would prefer anarchy?
As I talk about some of the encounters that I have had with FWPD, I ask that you try to differentiate between my thought about an incident, and my reaction to it. There are times that I have encountered FWPD officers who were deserving of being called an asshole. But I still said “Yes Sir,” kept my hands in full view, and tried to give them room to do their job. In fact, if I had protested too much at the time, that might have provided justification for the asshole to consider me hostile, and perhaps use physical force against me.
And every time (prior to 2006) that one of these incidents has occurred (there have been several), I have let it go without filing any complaint. I consider a little bit of heavy-handedness by the police here (even when occasionally directed at me) to be a necessary and acceptable price to pay for keeping the dealers in check.
But, beginning with my next post, I will retell some of my encounters with the FWPD. It is necessary that the reader understand these many small events because, when combined, they helped greatly to inform my decision to file a complaint against one FWPD officer in 2006.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Welcome to Crack Town: Summer 1996
Not everyone here was as friendly and open towards me as Abby, Ben and Arlen were. I was leaving the house one afternoon and I noticed a car parked a couple of houses away. The driver turned towards me when I came outside, and he looked like Ron, someone I had recently met here. I waved and said hello as I walked to my car.
Suddenly the driver and his passenger jumped out of the car and ran towards me. One of them began circling my car and looking inside. The other circled me and asked “What’s up nigga? What are you doing down here?” I replied that I live here, and pointed to my house. He stopped circling and stared at me for a moment, then both of them walked back to their car without saying another word and drove off.
Although I only encountered this one incident of open hostility during my first year here, there were several people who would always glare at me. I could turn my back for a few minutes and when I looked around again, the person’s gaze was still locked on me. Apparently, I was quite the phenomenon here for a while. Although I was about the only white person that lived here, that was not the real issue. The problem was that nobody knew much about me.
I had several people ask me if I was “the police,” or otherwise question my motives for being here. Frequently, people would ask if I was OK, or if I needed anything. A few people asked if I was straight. I really thought it was strange that so many people were concerned about my comfort or about my sexual orientation. Yes, I was a bit naive at first.
One day a guy named Cliff and I were talking out in front of my house. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, he was a drug-dealer. After talking for a few minutes, Cliff leaned in to me and asked in a low voice “You do realize this is pretty much a black neighborhood?” I laughed and said “Yeah, I kind of noticed that. You don’t think there’s a problem with me being here do you?” He responded “No, you’re cool with me, I just wanted to make sure you realize what you’re getting into.
His words didn’t come across as threatening, it was more like he was worried about me. I guess if it was believed that I wasn’t a cop, then I must be mentally deficient in some way. What else could possibly explain why a young white guy who doesn’t do drugs would be in this neighborhood?
I should point out also that the neighborhood was somewhat masking itself at first. I believe that many of the guys who regularly sold drugs on the streets and in front of my house greatly curtailed their activities when I first moved in. It was only when they got to know a bit about me and came to assess me as a non-threat that they resumed their usual habits. Over time, the glares subsided, and the drug activities became more overt.
Some signs that you might be living in crack-town:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJNo7dXIQBU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BiwpJo8qPnc&feature=related
Suddenly the driver and his passenger jumped out of the car and ran towards me. One of them began circling my car and looking inside. The other circled me and asked “What’s up nigga? What are you doing down here?” I replied that I live here, and pointed to my house. He stopped circling and stared at me for a moment, then both of them walked back to their car without saying another word and drove off.
Although I only encountered this one incident of open hostility during my first year here, there were several people who would always glare at me. I could turn my back for a few minutes and when I looked around again, the person’s gaze was still locked on me. Apparently, I was quite the phenomenon here for a while. Although I was about the only white person that lived here, that was not the real issue. The problem was that nobody knew much about me.
I had several people ask me if I was “the police,” or otherwise question my motives for being here. Frequently, people would ask if I was OK, or if I needed anything. A few people asked if I was straight. I really thought it was strange that so many people were concerned about my comfort or about my sexual orientation. Yes, I was a bit naive at first.
One day a guy named Cliff and I were talking out in front of my house. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, he was a drug-dealer. After talking for a few minutes, Cliff leaned in to me and asked in a low voice “You do realize this is pretty much a black neighborhood?” I laughed and said “Yeah, I kind of noticed that. You don’t think there’s a problem with me being here do you?” He responded “No, you’re cool with me, I just wanted to make sure you realize what you’re getting into.
His words didn’t come across as threatening, it was more like he was worried about me. I guess if it was believed that I wasn’t a cop, then I must be mentally deficient in some way. What else could possibly explain why a young white guy who doesn’t do drugs would be in this neighborhood?
I should point out also that the neighborhood was somewhat masking itself at first. I believe that many of the guys who regularly sold drugs on the streets and in front of my house greatly curtailed their activities when I first moved in. It was only when they got to know a bit about me and came to assess me as a non-threat that they resumed their usual habits. Over time, the glares subsided, and the drug activities became more overt.
Some signs that you might be living in crack-town:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJNo7dXIQBU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BiwpJo8qPnc&feature=related
Sunday, February 17, 2008
My Friend and My Neighbor
Writing a post about Arlen is difficult, because there’s so much to say. Instead of wasting too many words trying to write poetically, I’ll simply make a few simple statements about Arlen and his relationship with others, including myself.
Arlen notices everything and everyone. He talks to you, he gets to know you, and he make an assessment of who you are. To have Arlen’s friendship is worth having the friendship of any ten others. You do not want to have Arlen as your enemy.
Arlen surrounds himself with good people. When he and I got in an argument a long time ago, his family and friends refused to be dragged into the argument. In fact, they helped us both to eventually see past it.
When I first moved here, I got a lot of stares because I was the only white guy around. Arlen introduced me to people by putting his arm on my shoulder and saying “This is Phil, he’s my friend, he’s my neighbor.” People quit staring at me.
One day I handed Arlen my duffel bag and said “Watch this, it’s got my gun inside,” then I walked away. In my entire lifetime, I can think of nine people that I would trust to hold my gun. Five of them are family, two of them are from this neighborhood, one of them is Arlen.
Arlen’s son, Darrell, sells drugs (sometimes). Arlen tells his son “You need to get the fuck out of here. You’re bringing shame to this family.”
When people sell drugs in front of Arlen’s house, he tells them “You better get the fuck out of here with that shit or I’ll shoot you in the ass.”
If your tire is low on air, Arlen’s going to notice it and point it out to you.
If someone is messing around on your property, Arlen’s going to let you know about it.
If drug dealers try to burn down your house, Arlen’s going to be there helping to put out the fire.
Arlen goes out at seven in the morning to shovel his sidewalk and his neighbors’.
When a neighbor is ill, Arlen mows their lawn before they can even have a chance to ask.
Arlen worked for a living. Arlen is retired. Arlen does more work in a day still than many people do in a week.
If Arlen offers you food off his grill, you know it’s safe to eat - even if it is raccoon or goat!
When you go on vacation, Arlen is one of those neighbors you want to tell that you’ll be gone.
You can trust Arlen with the key to your house, with any tool you own, or with your truck.
Arlen walks around the neighborhood and talks to people.
If Arlen tells you he’s got your back, you can look forward with confidence.
If you ask Arlen who he is, he’ll simply tell you “I am who I am.”
I’m sure I’ve left something out, so I’ll just summarize by saying that Arlen is a good guy.
Arlen is a good neighbor, just don't get on his bad side.
Arlen notices everything and everyone. He talks to you, he gets to know you, and he make an assessment of who you are. To have Arlen’s friendship is worth having the friendship of any ten others. You do not want to have Arlen as your enemy.
Arlen surrounds himself with good people. When he and I got in an argument a long time ago, his family and friends refused to be dragged into the argument. In fact, they helped us both to eventually see past it.
When I first moved here, I got a lot of stares because I was the only white guy around. Arlen introduced me to people by putting his arm on my shoulder and saying “This is Phil, he’s my friend, he’s my neighbor.” People quit staring at me.
One day I handed Arlen my duffel bag and said “Watch this, it’s got my gun inside,” then I walked away. In my entire lifetime, I can think of nine people that I would trust to hold my gun. Five of them are family, two of them are from this neighborhood, one of them is Arlen.
Arlen’s son, Darrell, sells drugs (sometimes). Arlen tells his son “You need to get the fuck out of here. You’re bringing shame to this family.”
When people sell drugs in front of Arlen’s house, he tells them “You better get the fuck out of here with that shit or I’ll shoot you in the ass.”
If your tire is low on air, Arlen’s going to notice it and point it out to you.
If someone is messing around on your property, Arlen’s going to let you know about it.
If drug dealers try to burn down your house, Arlen’s going to be there helping to put out the fire.
Arlen goes out at seven in the morning to shovel his sidewalk and his neighbors’.
When a neighbor is ill, Arlen mows their lawn before they can even have a chance to ask.
Arlen worked for a living. Arlen is retired. Arlen does more work in a day still than many people do in a week.
If Arlen offers you food off his grill, you know it’s safe to eat - even if it is raccoon or goat!
When you go on vacation, Arlen is one of those neighbors you want to tell that you’ll be gone.
You can trust Arlen with the key to your house, with any tool you own, or with your truck.
Arlen walks around the neighborhood and talks to people.
If Arlen tells you he’s got your back, you can look forward with confidence.
If you ask Arlen who he is, he’ll simply tell you “I am who I am.”
I’m sure I’ve left something out, so I’ll just summarize by saying that Arlen is a good guy.
Arlen is a good neighbor, just don't get on his bad side.
A Preacher Without the Collar - Dedicated to the Memory of a True Gentleman
One day Ben passed by as I was outside working on my car. I didn’t really know much about Ben at that time. I just knew him as the guy that carried the water buckets, and the one who would stop to talk with anyone that was willing. He asked what the problem was and as I explained he put his buckets of water down and came over to look at it with me. Ben thought that I just had an undercharged battery, so he walked back to his house to get his charger. I told him that it would take a while for it to charge, and he just said to make sure and bring it back when I was done.
I was surprised that Ben would lend out his tools to someone he really didn‘t know. I joked with him that I must have an honest face. As he picked up his buckets and walked on towards his garden down the street, he replied “That’s OK, I know where you live.” He said this with a smile though and I knew I had made a good friend that day.
Another day Ben and I were standing in front of my house talking. A man approached and asked us for money. He was only semi-coherent and became somewhat belligerent when we both declined to give money. He walked away cussing at us and I cussed back at him. Ben simply called to him and said “Hey brother you need to get straight. You’re heading the wrong way.”
After the man left I turned to Ben and said “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with that son of a bitch, but he better stay the fuck away from me.” I was a little upset, as I was not yet used to being harassed by crack-heads in front of my own home. Ben responded by saying “Sometimes they can’t help it Phil. That stuff’s like the devil when it gets a hold of you and it changes a person.”
Ben went on to tell me that he used to be addicted to drugs when he was younger, and he knew how bad it could be. He said that he doesn’t give people money when they ask for it, but he doesn’t hate them for their addiction either. It was probably due to this single event, a person I had a lot of respect for admonishing me to have a little compassion, that today I view an addict as having an illness rather than being an evil person.
Ben was the kind of guy who could walk up to two people that were having a fierce argument, stand between them and just start talking like everything was normal - “Hey Gordon, Hey Lamar, how’s it going?” - Refusing to even acknowledge that an argument was taking place. If most people tried this, they would quickly find themselves consumed by the hostilities as well, but when Ben did it, the tensions automatically began to dissipate. His mere presence often generated enough good will that the argument was forgotten.
I could write a lot more about Ben, but I’ll summarize by saying that, to me Ben was like a preacher without the collar. He gave his tools and his time to strangers because he knew that is how you get to know people. He wasn’t afraid to be the first to give, or the last, because he knew that if none of us ever took that chance, then we’d always be strangers. Ben was a true living example of how a person should treat their fellow human beings.
Anyone who says that this is a bad neighborhood, and says no more, ignores people like Ben. That is not only incorrect, but to me it is personally offensive. Ben was a rare individual, the kind of person that seldom exists in any neighborhood - good or bad. And Ben was my friend. That is why Abby’s comments towards me (mentioned in my previous post) had so much meaning.
A tribute to a leader - Dan Fogelberg: Leader of the Band
I was surprised that Ben would lend out his tools to someone he really didn‘t know. I joked with him that I must have an honest face. As he picked up his buckets and walked on towards his garden down the street, he replied “That’s OK, I know where you live.” He said this with a smile though and I knew I had made a good friend that day.
Another day Ben and I were standing in front of my house talking. A man approached and asked us for money. He was only semi-coherent and became somewhat belligerent when we both declined to give money. He walked away cussing at us and I cussed back at him. Ben simply called to him and said “Hey brother you need to get straight. You’re heading the wrong way.”
After the man left I turned to Ben and said “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with that son of a bitch, but he better stay the fuck away from me.” I was a little upset, as I was not yet used to being harassed by crack-heads in front of my own home. Ben responded by saying “Sometimes they can’t help it Phil. That stuff’s like the devil when it gets a hold of you and it changes a person.”
Ben went on to tell me that he used to be addicted to drugs when he was younger, and he knew how bad it could be. He said that he doesn’t give people money when they ask for it, but he doesn’t hate them for their addiction either. It was probably due to this single event, a person I had a lot of respect for admonishing me to have a little compassion, that today I view an addict as having an illness rather than being an evil person.
Ben was the kind of guy who could walk up to two people that were having a fierce argument, stand between them and just start talking like everything was normal - “Hey Gordon, Hey Lamar, how’s it going?” - Refusing to even acknowledge that an argument was taking place. If most people tried this, they would quickly find themselves consumed by the hostilities as well, but when Ben did it, the tensions automatically began to dissipate. His mere presence often generated enough good will that the argument was forgotten.
I could write a lot more about Ben, but I’ll summarize by saying that, to me Ben was like a preacher without the collar. He gave his tools and his time to strangers because he knew that is how you get to know people. He wasn’t afraid to be the first to give, or the last, because he knew that if none of us ever took that chance, then we’d always be strangers. Ben was a true living example of how a person should treat their fellow human beings.
Anyone who says that this is a bad neighborhood, and says no more, ignores people like Ben. That is not only incorrect, but to me it is personally offensive. Ben was a rare individual, the kind of person that seldom exists in any neighborhood - good or bad. And Ben was my friend. That is why Abby’s comments towards me (mentioned in my previous post) had so much meaning.
A tribute to a leader - Dan Fogelberg: Leader of the Band
Please Don’t Walk on the Grass! - Dedicated to the Memory of a Good Friend
One day, a couple of years ago, Abby and I were standing beside her house talking. As I said something, she got a funny look on her face. She just stared at me, silently, until I asked what was wrong. She looked me square in the eye and said “Where are your feet at?” I looked down and discovered, to my horror, that her grass had crept under my feet. “Sorry Abby” I said as I quickly moved back onto the sidewalk. Rule number one, don’t walk on the grass.
Another time we were talking on her porch. She interrupted me, “Phillip!”, cocked her head a bit, and waited for my response. “Oh, sorry Abby” I said as I continued what I was saying. A moment later she interrupted again by sticking her finger in the air. “Abby” I pleaded “we’re not even inside your house, so it really doesn’t count.” Now she shook her finger and said “Do you know how a Marine talks?” I laughed and said it was probably a lot like me, but she was not amused. “Now Phillip, if I can get Barack (her nephew and a U.S. Marine) to talk right around me, then I think you can too.” Rule number two, don’t cuss around Abby.
Abby had two basic rules. Everyone knew her rules and everyone abided by them. And if you occasionally forgot, she had her subtle ways of reminding you. And if that didn’t work, then the conversation was over. The first rule was usually pretty easy for me to abide by. But that second rule was like learning a new language. She was worth the trouble though. In fact, for Abby, I probably would have even put up with a few more rules.
Several years prior to that afternoon on Abby‘s porch, during my first winter here, a young man came from across the street one night and asked if I had a truck. I couldn’t help laughing a bit, since I was unloading my truck as he asked the question. He said his Aunt Abby wanted to know if I’d help her move, as He pointed to her house. I went over and introduced myself to Abby, and told her I might be able to help sometime the next day.
Well, Abby was very persuasive, so a few minutes later Barack and I were loading up the furniture as she supervised. Barack rode with me as Abby followed behind, and the atmosphere in the truck was a little tense. I couldn’t figure it out at first, because although he had an almost angry look on his face, his talk was polite. Somehow the conversation drifted to racism and I remember him saying “I treat all people fair, black or white. Aunt Abby says that’s the way people should be.”
I remember that as we carried the furniture into the other house, the people there looked at me a little funny also. So a few minutes later, here we all were, setting in a basement of some house a couple of miles from my home. I had no idea who these people were, and I probably couldn’t have found my way back home alone. As we all sat there resting for a minute and talking, the strangeness of the situation became more clear.
I have always been somewhat of an optimist, and a bit naïve sometimes. And that’s why it took a minute to realize that most people would find it odd for a stranger to stop what he was doing to help them, then walk into the basement of an unknown house with them. This was especially strange for the neighborhood we were in, and even more unbelievable when the people were of different races.
The reality of the situation began to hit me. Yes, this is THAT area of town, where people are found shot and stabbed in abandoned houses and basements. And here I was, in the basement, with a bunch of strangers who knew that I was not from around these parts. I didn’t feel scared though, no one had made any intimidating remarks. I realized then that the strange looks weren’t hostile at all. They were just surprised that I wasn’t scared shitless to be there under such circumstances.
As we walked outside, I admitted that I didn’t know where I was at. Abby led me back home, then tried to give me money for helping. “What’s a little bit of gas among friends?”, I said as we parted that night.
I got to know Abby well during the next couple of years. She was always one of those neighbors you could call on if you needed some milk or an egg. One day there was a knock at my door. It was Bernie, Abby’s young son, asking if I was hungry. It seemed like a strange question, but I answered honestly. “Yeah, I’m always hungry.” He just said “Well, my momma’s got some food for you. You need to bring a plate.” Then he turned and walked away.
What the hell, I was hungry, so I grabbed a plate and went across the street. When I walked into her kitchen, I was surprised to see a feast of food on the table. Abby began filling the plate as she called off each item. “I saw you were home on Thanksgiving”, she said, “and I know you don’t have any family here, so I thought you might be hungry.” I told her it almost felt like I had family here, as I lifted some turkey from the table.” She gave me a hug, and a huge plate of food, and sent me on my way.
A couple of years later, and another knock on the door. It was early in the morning and it was Bernie again. It had taken me a minute to get to the door, and Bernie acted a little angry. He was older now, a teenager, and it showed. He just said, demandingly, “I need a ride.” I was ready to say no, just as sharply, but instead I asked where he needed to go at that time in the morning. He said “I missed my school bus.” I think he sensed that I was a little irritated, so he shrugged his shoulders, said “That’s OK.”, and began walking away. What the hell, I told him to give me a few minutes to get dressed. At least it was for a good cause. And besides, Thanksgiving was coming soon.
A few years later, Bernie had begun spending a lot of time on the corner in front of my house. There was a rather serious incident that occurred in my front yard one night. After the police uncuffed Bernie and left, I walked over and talked with Abby for a few minutes. I then told Abby that I’d like to speak with Bernie for a minute. He was standing beside his house talking and laughing with his friends when Abbey said “Bernie, get over here now. This man wants to speak with you.”
My words to Bernie were brief and direct. “If I walk out of my house, and see someone standing there with a gun in their hand, they might get shot. Maybe I’ll get shot. Who knows, maybe we’ll both end up shooting each other. I suggest that you give serious consideration to what you’re doing. You need to decide whether the games you’re playing are worth you and me dying over. Because that is what guns are for, killing people.”
I then asked Bernie if he wanted to kill me. He looked at his mother and she said “He asked you a question, Bernie.” He looked me in the eye, and said No, so I figured that was enough said. Abby looked at him for a minute, then told him he could leave. We stood talking for a few minutes more and Abby put her arms around me, giving me a firm hug, and said “Thank you, Phillip. I really do try with him, but I don’t know what to do sometimes. God bless you” As I walked away Abby said “You know, I think maybe you’ve got a little bit of Ben in you.” As you’ll understand from my next post, I took that as a high compliment.
So let’s look at the relationship between Abby and myself. I tell her own son that I might shoot him. Does Abby respond by defending Bernie? No, she responds by thanking me for helping. And as far as my views towards Abby - she fed me! In my book, that qualifies as family. Over the years, Abby helped me a lot with the problems I had here. And as I began to understand the relationship between her and her son, my views towards some of the dealers was tempered a bit. After all, they’re all somebody’s son. And many of their mothers were my friends.
Respect yourself, respect others, but mostly - respect the rules!
Always remember to stay off the grass & don't cuss.
Another time we were talking on her porch. She interrupted me, “Phillip!”, cocked her head a bit, and waited for my response. “Oh, sorry Abby” I said as I continued what I was saying. A moment later she interrupted again by sticking her finger in the air. “Abby” I pleaded “we’re not even inside your house, so it really doesn’t count.” Now she shook her finger and said “Do you know how a Marine talks?” I laughed and said it was probably a lot like me, but she was not amused. “Now Phillip, if I can get Barack (her nephew and a U.S. Marine) to talk right around me, then I think you can too.” Rule number two, don’t cuss around Abby.
Abby had two basic rules. Everyone knew her rules and everyone abided by them. And if you occasionally forgot, she had her subtle ways of reminding you. And if that didn’t work, then the conversation was over. The first rule was usually pretty easy for me to abide by. But that second rule was like learning a new language. She was worth the trouble though. In fact, for Abby, I probably would have even put up with a few more rules.
Several years prior to that afternoon on Abby‘s porch, during my first winter here, a young man came from across the street one night and asked if I had a truck. I couldn’t help laughing a bit, since I was unloading my truck as he asked the question. He said his Aunt Abby wanted to know if I’d help her move, as He pointed to her house. I went over and introduced myself to Abby, and told her I might be able to help sometime the next day.
Well, Abby was very persuasive, so a few minutes later Barack and I were loading up the furniture as she supervised. Barack rode with me as Abby followed behind, and the atmosphere in the truck was a little tense. I couldn’t figure it out at first, because although he had an almost angry look on his face, his talk was polite. Somehow the conversation drifted to racism and I remember him saying “I treat all people fair, black or white. Aunt Abby says that’s the way people should be.”
I remember that as we carried the furniture into the other house, the people there looked at me a little funny also. So a few minutes later, here we all were, setting in a basement of some house a couple of miles from my home. I had no idea who these people were, and I probably couldn’t have found my way back home alone. As we all sat there resting for a minute and talking, the strangeness of the situation became more clear.
I have always been somewhat of an optimist, and a bit naïve sometimes. And that’s why it took a minute to realize that most people would find it odd for a stranger to stop what he was doing to help them, then walk into the basement of an unknown house with them. This was especially strange for the neighborhood we were in, and even more unbelievable when the people were of different races.
The reality of the situation began to hit me. Yes, this is THAT area of town, where people are found shot and stabbed in abandoned houses and basements. And here I was, in the basement, with a bunch of strangers who knew that I was not from around these parts. I didn’t feel scared though, no one had made any intimidating remarks. I realized then that the strange looks weren’t hostile at all. They were just surprised that I wasn’t scared shitless to be there under such circumstances.
As we walked outside, I admitted that I didn’t know where I was at. Abby led me back home, then tried to give me money for helping. “What’s a little bit of gas among friends?”, I said as we parted that night.
I got to know Abby well during the next couple of years. She was always one of those neighbors you could call on if you needed some milk or an egg. One day there was a knock at my door. It was Bernie, Abby’s young son, asking if I was hungry. It seemed like a strange question, but I answered honestly. “Yeah, I’m always hungry.” He just said “Well, my momma’s got some food for you. You need to bring a plate.” Then he turned and walked away.
What the hell, I was hungry, so I grabbed a plate and went across the street. When I walked into her kitchen, I was surprised to see a feast of food on the table. Abby began filling the plate as she called off each item. “I saw you were home on Thanksgiving”, she said, “and I know you don’t have any family here, so I thought you might be hungry.” I told her it almost felt like I had family here, as I lifted some turkey from the table.” She gave me a hug, and a huge plate of food, and sent me on my way.
A couple of years later, and another knock on the door. It was early in the morning and it was Bernie again. It had taken me a minute to get to the door, and Bernie acted a little angry. He was older now, a teenager, and it showed. He just said, demandingly, “I need a ride.” I was ready to say no, just as sharply, but instead I asked where he needed to go at that time in the morning. He said “I missed my school bus.” I think he sensed that I was a little irritated, so he shrugged his shoulders, said “That’s OK.”, and began walking away. What the hell, I told him to give me a few minutes to get dressed. At least it was for a good cause. And besides, Thanksgiving was coming soon.
A few years later, Bernie had begun spending a lot of time on the corner in front of my house. There was a rather serious incident that occurred in my front yard one night. After the police uncuffed Bernie and left, I walked over and talked with Abby for a few minutes. I then told Abby that I’d like to speak with Bernie for a minute. He was standing beside his house talking and laughing with his friends when Abbey said “Bernie, get over here now. This man wants to speak with you.”
My words to Bernie were brief and direct. “If I walk out of my house, and see someone standing there with a gun in their hand, they might get shot. Maybe I’ll get shot. Who knows, maybe we’ll both end up shooting each other. I suggest that you give serious consideration to what you’re doing. You need to decide whether the games you’re playing are worth you and me dying over. Because that is what guns are for, killing people.”
I then asked Bernie if he wanted to kill me. He looked at his mother and she said “He asked you a question, Bernie.” He looked me in the eye, and said No, so I figured that was enough said. Abby looked at him for a minute, then told him he could leave. We stood talking for a few minutes more and Abby put her arms around me, giving me a firm hug, and said “Thank you, Phillip. I really do try with him, but I don’t know what to do sometimes. God bless you” As I walked away Abby said “You know, I think maybe you’ve got a little bit of Ben in you.” As you’ll understand from my next post, I took that as a high compliment.
So let’s look at the relationship between Abby and myself. I tell her own son that I might shoot him. Does Abby respond by defending Bernie? No, she responds by thanking me for helping. And as far as my views towards Abby - she fed me! In my book, that qualifies as family. Over the years, Abby helped me a lot with the problems I had here. And as I began to understand the relationship between her and her son, my views towards some of the dealers was tempered a bit. After all, they’re all somebody’s son. And many of their mothers were my friends.
Respect yourself, respect others, but mostly - respect the rules!
Always remember to stay off the grass & don't cuss.
It’s a Wonderful Day in the Neighborhood
As my story progresses, it will become apparent that the drug activity here is deeply rooted. It involves numerous people who live in the immediate area, as well as many of their family and friends. In fact, the reputation for this street, and even this particular corner, is known in other cities. It is not an overstatement to say that this is a drug neighborhood, rather than just a neighborhood with a little drug activity.
As bad as all that might sound, you should also realize that there are a lot of good people who live here. They work full time jobs, or are retired. They grow gardens, and keep their homes looking nice. They’ll mow a neighbor’s lawn when she’s ill, or give him a ride when his car won’t start. If something suspicious is happening on your property, your neighbors here will let you know about it. They share their time, their tools, their food and their friendship with others. It would be significantly misleading to define this neighborhood only by it’s bad elements.
The story gets more interesting when you realize that these two groups (good neighbors and drug dealers) are neither mutually exclusive nor are they coterminous. There are several dealers here who, in many other respects, qualify as good neighbors. And among the many good neighbors, there are widely varying degrees of involvement with the drug. The situation here is far more complex than some people might think.
Therefore, before I start focusing on the drug activities here, I want to introduce you to some of my good neighbors. I don’t expect that most people will read each of these posts completely. But if you do plan on following my story, at least read a bit to help you understand my perspective better. I did not keep strict records on most of these accounts, so they are a bit vague. But they do help to personalize the situation, and they might make for helpful reference tools later.
I will write about many individuals eventually, but as for these first three, I can honestly say that I would be a lesser person today if I had never known Abby, Ben and Arlen. No matter where I go or where they’ve already gone, I will always consider them to be my friends and my neighbors.
As bad as all that might sound, you should also realize that there are a lot of good people who live here. They work full time jobs, or are retired. They grow gardens, and keep their homes looking nice. They’ll mow a neighbor’s lawn when she’s ill, or give him a ride when his car won’t start. If something suspicious is happening on your property, your neighbors here will let you know about it. They share their time, their tools, their food and their friendship with others. It would be significantly misleading to define this neighborhood only by it’s bad elements.
The story gets more interesting when you realize that these two groups (good neighbors and drug dealers) are neither mutually exclusive nor are they coterminous. There are several dealers here who, in many other respects, qualify as good neighbors. And among the many good neighbors, there are widely varying degrees of involvement with the drug. The situation here is far more complex than some people might think.
Therefore, before I start focusing on the drug activities here, I want to introduce you to some of my good neighbors. I don’t expect that most people will read each of these posts completely. But if you do plan on following my story, at least read a bit to help you understand my perspective better. I did not keep strict records on most of these accounts, so they are a bit vague. But they do help to personalize the situation, and they might make for helpful reference tools later.
I will write about many individuals eventually, but as for these first three, I can honestly say that I would be a lesser person today if I had never known Abby, Ben and Arlen. No matter where I go or where they’ve already gone, I will always consider them to be my friends and my neighbors.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Monthly Police Activity Logs For My Neighborhood
Click here for definitions of signal codes.
NOVEMBER 2009
OCTOBER 2009
SEPTEMBER 2009
AUGUST 2009
JULY 2009
JUNE 2009
MAY 2009
APRIL 2009
MARCH 2009
FEBRUARY 2009
JANUARY 2009
DECEMBER 2008
NOVEMBER 2008
OCTOBER 2008
SEPTEMBER 2008
AUGUST 2008
JULY 2008
JUNE 2008
MAY 2008
APRIL 2008
MARCH 2008
FEBRUARY 2008
JANUARY 2008
DECEMBER 2007
NOVEMBER 2007
OCTOBER 2007
SEPTEMBER 2007
AUGUST 2007
JULY 2007
JUNE 2007
NOVEMBER 2009
OCTOBER 2009
SEPTEMBER 2009
AUGUST 2009
JULY 2009
JUNE 2009
MAY 2009
APRIL 2009
MARCH 2009
FEBRUARY 2009
JANUARY 2009
DECEMBER 2008
NOVEMBER 2008
OCTOBER 2008
SEPTEMBER 2008
AUGUST 2008
JULY 2008
JUNE 2008
MAY 2008
APRIL 2008
MARCH 2008
FEBRUARY 2008
JANUARY 2008
DECEMBER 2007
NOVEMBER 2007
OCTOBER 2007
SEPTEMBER 2007
AUGUST 2007
JULY 2007
JUNE 2007
Friday, February 15, 2008
Surrender Today to Fight Tomorrow?
Mine is not a political blog. It’s simply designed to help me tell my story. But I do have a strong interest in politics, and sometimes I notice some commonalities between my situation and the world of politics. For example, this morning I was watching the U.S. House of Representatives. They were discussing the question of whether the President can overrule a Congressional subpoena.
In my opinion, the Constitution is clear on this matter. The sovereign power of the United States government lies in the hands of the Congress, not the President. The Congress can actually go so far as to remove the President from office. The President holds no such authority over the Congress. As clear as this seems to me though, I’ll admit that I might be wrong in my interpretation. But that question itself is not the main point I want to make here.
I don’t know the full details, but it appeared that if they approved the bill being debated, that would not have necessarily forced the President to do as they said. Rather, it would have likely forced it to a court ruling. One Congressman (Lincoln Diaz-Balart, I believe) spoke against the bill. I would summarize his remarks as follows.
Perhaps we do have the right to subpoena persons against the President’s wishes. But if this issue goes to court, and we lose there, then we have lost that right for all time. Therefore, I suggest that we vote against this bill, allowing the president to over rule us this time, so that we might still preserve this important right of ours (Congress) for the future.
Now for my analogy. Suppose I look out the window and see three drug dealers standing in my yard. I want to go out and tell them to leave. But I realize that, since I’m outnumbered, I might lose the argument. If I do lose, then I have shown that I am not able to protect my own property. I have therefore issued an open invitation for other drug dealers to come here as well.
So I rationalize the situation. I convince myself that by not fighting (and losing) today, I have preserved my ability to assert my rights some time in the future. But is this really correct? By not asserting my rights today, have I not effectively sent the same message as if I fought and lost. Will not all the drug dealers now begin to flock to my property. It doesn’t matter to them if my acquiescence is because I’m unable to fight, or just unwilling. By failing to assert my rights, haven't I acknowledged that such rights really don’t exist?
It seems to me that this is what Congressman Diaz-Balart was suggesting they do. “Don’t fight today, because we might lose.” But he neglected to mention that by not fighting at all, the same results would occur as if they fought and lost. As I said, I might be wrong in my interpretation of the law. Regardless, it seems that this is an important enough issue that it should be forced to a definitive decision.
Any thought on this matter?
Cory Hart: Never Surrender
Especially when you're fighting for your rights
or your home
In my opinion, the Constitution is clear on this matter. The sovereign power of the United States government lies in the hands of the Congress, not the President. The Congress can actually go so far as to remove the President from office. The President holds no such authority over the Congress. As clear as this seems to me though, I’ll admit that I might be wrong in my interpretation. But that question itself is not the main point I want to make here.
I don’t know the full details, but it appeared that if they approved the bill being debated, that would not have necessarily forced the President to do as they said. Rather, it would have likely forced it to a court ruling. One Congressman (Lincoln Diaz-Balart, I believe) spoke against the bill. I would summarize his remarks as follows.
Perhaps we do have the right to subpoena persons against the President’s wishes. But if this issue goes to court, and we lose there, then we have lost that right for all time. Therefore, I suggest that we vote against this bill, allowing the president to over rule us this time, so that we might still preserve this important right of ours (Congress) for the future.
Now for my analogy. Suppose I look out the window and see three drug dealers standing in my yard. I want to go out and tell them to leave. But I realize that, since I’m outnumbered, I might lose the argument. If I do lose, then I have shown that I am not able to protect my own property. I have therefore issued an open invitation for other drug dealers to come here as well.
So I rationalize the situation. I convince myself that by not fighting (and losing) today, I have preserved my ability to assert my rights some time in the future. But is this really correct? By not asserting my rights today, have I not effectively sent the same message as if I fought and lost. Will not all the drug dealers now begin to flock to my property. It doesn’t matter to them if my acquiescence is because I’m unable to fight, or just unwilling. By failing to assert my rights, haven't I acknowledged that such rights really don’t exist?
It seems to me that this is what Congressman Diaz-Balart was suggesting they do. “Don’t fight today, because we might lose.” But he neglected to mention that by not fighting at all, the same results would occur as if they fought and lost. As I said, I might be wrong in my interpretation of the law. Regardless, it seems that this is an important enough issue that it should be forced to a definitive decision.
Any thought on this matter?
Cory Hart: Never Surrender
Especially when you're fighting for your rights
or your home
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The New Sales Strategy
I should start this post by saying that I did not sleep last night. I have been awake since about eleven o'clock yesterday morning. In the past thirty hours, I have eaten a little bit of real food, but mostly potato chips, Oreo cookies, and lots of pop. Whenever I stay up all night, it kind of messes with my senses.
I actually had to turn the TV on a few hours ago to see what day it was (I knew it was either Thursday of Friday, so it's not like I'm totally whacked out of my head). No sleep + junk food = a bad combination for me. It would be a fair assessment to say that right now I am not feeling too stable. The reason for my all-nighter had nothing to do with anything going on outside. I have a paper due for school on Friday, and it's not done yet (but it's getting pretty damn close).
I spend a lot of time peeking outside here. I don't always stare for long periods of time, but I hardly ever walk past a door or window without looking. It's weird, because I don't really think about it any more. I just do it. Anyway, a couple of hours ago, several people gathered on my corner for a while. The numbers fluctuated between two and five as they came and went, and together they stayed for about forty minutes.
This is a pretty regular occurrence at this time of day, so I often look for it. There are some regulars that I am surprised if they don't show up with the rest, then there are always the wild cards - people I've never seen or who haven't been around for a long time. The thing about this group though is that they are usually pretty quiet. Sometimes they might raise their voices in conversation a bit, but it's not screaming and shouting. Also, anytime I look, they are all on the sidewalk, rather than on my property. I know a few of these guys are dealers for sure, but to be honest you really couldn't make that charge from their behavior. as far as I'm concerned, I don't see this as a problem.
Anyway, about thirty minutes ago, I looked out and saw two guys that I didn't recognize. I'd say that I could name at least half the regulars around here, and identify at least another quarter by looks, so it really is unusual to see two strangers standing alone. Then one of them sat down on the retainer wall that I built this last summer. I know it's the perfect height to invite this, so I have been trying to watch closely and let people know I don't want them setting there. It's on my property. So if they're tired they can lean against the tree in the median (The median: a.k.a. - that strip of grass that I have to maintain, yet which I'm not allowed to tell people not to loiter or litter on).
So I'm watching now as the second guy sets something on my wall and pulls out his cell to start making calls. So I'm thinking I should go out and ask them to get off my property. But I'm wearing sweats right now, which makes it difficult to carry a gun. So do I tuck a knife in my waistband, or put my jeans or a coat on so I got somewhere to conceal? Maybe I should have stuffed it down my underwear. I go out there and say "Hi girls, you want to come in and play?", then they look down and see that big bulge, they'd probably run and never come back.
Or I could call FWPD. "Yeah, this is Mr. Marx on E. Suttenfield. There's some guys on my property. Do you want to send someone out to talk to them or should I." I know the last time I did this I got really good results. Anyway, as I'm thinking it over, the one guy stands up, the other one picks his stuff up from my wall and I can now see that it's a clipboard. As they walk away, I see the back of their jackets had some company logo (Ventronics or something like that).
And I thought to myself - Now that's a good scam. Carry a clipboard and wear a company jacket while your out standing on the corner. No one will ever suspect what you're really up to.
In hindsight, I'm a little glad that I didn't go out there myself and tell them to leave. I would have been within my rights, but I really don't mind if someone who's doing legitimate business here wants to stop for a minute and rest on my wall. But I'm really glad that I didn't call FWPD. I would have felt bad being the cause of them getting sued by the NAASP (National Association for the Advancement of Sales People) for undue harassment.
Support Your Local Door-to-Door Salesman!
I actually had to turn the TV on a few hours ago to see what day it was (I knew it was either Thursday of Friday, so it's not like I'm totally whacked out of my head). No sleep + junk food = a bad combination for me. It would be a fair assessment to say that right now I am not feeling too stable. The reason for my all-nighter had nothing to do with anything going on outside. I have a paper due for school on Friday, and it's not done yet (but it's getting pretty damn close).
I spend a lot of time peeking outside here. I don't always stare for long periods of time, but I hardly ever walk past a door or window without looking. It's weird, because I don't really think about it any more. I just do it. Anyway, a couple of hours ago, several people gathered on my corner for a while. The numbers fluctuated between two and five as they came and went, and together they stayed for about forty minutes.
This is a pretty regular occurrence at this time of day, so I often look for it. There are some regulars that I am surprised if they don't show up with the rest, then there are always the wild cards - people I've never seen or who haven't been around for a long time. The thing about this group though is that they are usually pretty quiet. Sometimes they might raise their voices in conversation a bit, but it's not screaming and shouting. Also, anytime I look, they are all on the sidewalk, rather than on my property. I know a few of these guys are dealers for sure, but to be honest you really couldn't make that charge from their behavior. as far as I'm concerned, I don't see this as a problem.
Anyway, about thirty minutes ago, I looked out and saw two guys that I didn't recognize. I'd say that I could name at least half the regulars around here, and identify at least another quarter by looks, so it really is unusual to see two strangers standing alone. Then one of them sat down on the retainer wall that I built this last summer. I know it's the perfect height to invite this, so I have been trying to watch closely and let people know I don't want them setting there. It's on my property. So if they're tired they can lean against the tree in the median (The median: a.k.a. - that strip of grass that I have to maintain, yet which I'm not allowed to tell people not to loiter or litter on).
So I'm watching now as the second guy sets something on my wall and pulls out his cell to start making calls. So I'm thinking I should go out and ask them to get off my property. But I'm wearing sweats right now, which makes it difficult to carry a gun. So do I tuck a knife in my waistband, or put my jeans or a coat on so I got somewhere to conceal? Maybe I should have stuffed it down my underwear. I go out there and say "Hi girls, you want to come in and play?", then they look down and see that big bulge, they'd probably run and never come back.
Or I could call FWPD. "Yeah, this is Mr. Marx on E. Suttenfield. There's some guys on my property. Do you want to send someone out to talk to them or should I." I know the last time I did this I got really good results. Anyway, as I'm thinking it over, the one guy stands up, the other one picks his stuff up from my wall and I can now see that it's a clipboard. As they walk away, I see the back of their jackets had some company logo (Ventronics or something like that).
And I thought to myself - Now that's a good scam. Carry a clipboard and wear a company jacket while your out standing on the corner. No one will ever suspect what you're really up to.
In hindsight, I'm a little glad that I didn't go out there myself and tell them to leave. I would have been within my rights, but I really don't mind if someone who's doing legitimate business here wants to stop for a minute and rest on my wall. But I'm really glad that I didn't call FWPD. I would have felt bad being the cause of them getting sued by the NAASP (National Association for the Advancement of Sales People) for undue harassment.
Support Your Local Door-to-Door Salesman!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
What's this neighborhood coming to?
I returned home about four hours ago and decided to shovel the sidewalks. I had already done the front of my house and three of my neighbors. Now I was working on the side of my house. I was facing south, and two guys approached from the north. They were in the street, and didn't appear threatening.
One of them made a comment about my shoveling and I stopped to reply. He moved my way a bit, so I put the shovel aside to make sure he knew that I was giving him my full attention. The other guy was still at a distance, so I didn't bother taking off my gloves.
He asked if I was trying to make some money. At first I thought he was talking about drugs, but then realized me was referring to my shoveling. I replied that it was my house. He said "You own it, or that's just your crib?" I simply replied "I live here." He asked this same question two more times.
Now I understand a person doesn't always know what kind of questions others feel are intrusive. Especially in our society where many people speak so publicly about their "intimate" relationships. But whatever the question is, if a guy refuses to answer it twice, you should take a hint. Anyway, after the third time, he figured I really didn't want to elaborate.
They both started to walk away and he turned back around to say "You don't know where I can get anything?" I just replied "I ain't into that shit" and resumed shoveling. He said "My fault, man. That's cool." and they both walked away.
When I talk about this being a drug neighborhood, this is what I'm referring to. These guys were just passing by and they asked the first stranger they saw for drugs. That does not happen in most neighborhoods. The police would have to park here 24/7 to stop this completely, and I realize that is not possible.
There was a time, not very long ago, where I would have responded to this in a more confrontational manner. I would have said much more than I did, possibly moving towards him, and I definitely would have had my gloves off. Now, I usually just let it roll off me. As long as no one is acting aggressively towards me, it's usually pretty easy to keep my cool.
What's funny is that in most neighborhoods, two men asking a stranger on the street for drugs would appear abnormal. Here, when too much time passes without any activity, people begin looking around and saying "What happened?" Also comical is that I didn't recognize either of these two guys, so they likely didn't know anything bout me. Seeing a guy standing on the corner at two in the morning has to mean that he's either buying or selling. I would love to have heard their conversation as they walked away. "What the fuck, white boy down here ain't into that shit. What the hell is this neighborhood coming to?"
One of them made a comment about my shoveling and I stopped to reply. He moved my way a bit, so I put the shovel aside to make sure he knew that I was giving him my full attention. The other guy was still at a distance, so I didn't bother taking off my gloves.
He asked if I was trying to make some money. At first I thought he was talking about drugs, but then realized me was referring to my shoveling. I replied that it was my house. He said "You own it, or that's just your crib?" I simply replied "I live here." He asked this same question two more times.
Now I understand a person doesn't always know what kind of questions others feel are intrusive. Especially in our society where many people speak so publicly about their "intimate" relationships. But whatever the question is, if a guy refuses to answer it twice, you should take a hint. Anyway, after the third time, he figured I really didn't want to elaborate.
They both started to walk away and he turned back around to say "You don't know where I can get anything?" I just replied "I ain't into that shit" and resumed shoveling. He said "My fault, man. That's cool." and they both walked away.
When I talk about this being a drug neighborhood, this is what I'm referring to. These guys were just passing by and they asked the first stranger they saw for drugs. That does not happen in most neighborhoods. The police would have to park here 24/7 to stop this completely, and I realize that is not possible.
There was a time, not very long ago, where I would have responded to this in a more confrontational manner. I would have said much more than I did, possibly moving towards him, and I definitely would have had my gloves off. Now, I usually just let it roll off me. As long as no one is acting aggressively towards me, it's usually pretty easy to keep my cool.
What's funny is that in most neighborhoods, two men asking a stranger on the street for drugs would appear abnormal. Here, when too much time passes without any activity, people begin looking around and saying "What happened?" Also comical is that I didn't recognize either of these two guys, so they likely didn't know anything bout me. Seeing a guy standing on the corner at two in the morning has to mean that he's either buying or selling. I would love to have heard their conversation as they walked away. "What the fuck, white boy down here ain't into that shit. What the hell is this neighborhood coming to?"
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Who Let the Dogs Out?
I was getting ready to leave the house one night last week. I looked out the peep hole before opening the door and saw a police car parked on the corner. An officer got out and began questioning a couple guys that were standing there. I don't know how long they had been there, or what they had been up to.
After speaking with them, the officer went back to his car. The guys were saying something to him, but I couldn't make out their conversation. The officer turned towards them and said something about a dog. The guys quieted down immediately. He then turned his spotlight on them and this totally blinded my view. I could only see rough shapes and hear muted voices, so I really don't know what happened next. I do know that he had them set on the edge of my front porch while they were being detained. I don't know if he let the dog out either.
I almost went out to have a better look, but changed my mind for two reasons. In this neighborhood, the dealers not only shoot at each other, but at the police as well. Many people here are verbally abusive towards the officers when they're trying to do their job. It looked like the officer was handling things well, so I decided it was best to stay inside and not distract him.
Oh, as for the second reason that I didn't go outside
After speaking with them, the officer went back to his car. The guys were saying something to him, but I couldn't make out their conversation. The officer turned towards them and said something about a dog. The guys quieted down immediately. He then turned his spotlight on them and this totally blinded my view. I could only see rough shapes and hear muted voices, so I really don't know what happened next. I do know that he had them set on the edge of my front porch while they were being detained. I don't know if he let the dog out either.
I almost went out to have a better look, but changed my mind for two reasons. In this neighborhood, the dealers not only shoot at each other, but at the police as well. Many people here are verbally abusive towards the officers when they're trying to do their job. It looked like the officer was handling things well, so I decided it was best to stay inside and not distract him.
Oh, as for the second reason that I didn't go outside
How to Buy a HUD House: October 1995
Almost every Sunday, the Journal Gazette had a listing of HUD houses for sale. Some were priced as high as $40,000, but most were well below $20,000. Most were in the inner city, but not all. I looked at one that was near Shoaff Park in the N.E. area of the city.
I’d been watching the HUD houses for about a year now, and had noticed something interesting. A house would rarely be listed for more than three weeks in a row, then it was removed. This gave the impression that it was sold. But very frequently, after a short break, the same house would reappear at a lower price.
For the past three months, I went to inspect any house that was listed below $10,000. Originally, I only walked around the property and peaked inside the windows. One house had been gutted from a fire, and even the skeletal remains of the internal walls looked ready to crumble. I wanted something that I could move into immediately and do the work while living there.
Eventually I began letting myself into houses that were not secured and often found large holes in the walls, ceilings and floors. Some had so many personal items inside that I wondered if someone was squatting there. I decided to contact a realtor, but found that many do not handle HUD homes because the commissions were too low and the paperwork too cumbersome. Feichter Real Estate was very helpful in showing me a couple of houses and giving me more information about the HUD homes.
Somehow I ran across Ed Barker. He was a semi-retired broker, and used Karen’s Kitchen on Bluffton Rd. as his office. My house was listed at $4,000 when I first noticed it. Ed Barker showed me inside the house and we both agreed that, structurally speaking, about the only thing wrong was a crumbling foundation on part of the basement wall. Although it needed a lot of cosmetic work, it was a pretty solid house.
Twice during the next week I returned to look at the house and the neighborhood. It was obvious that this was a predominantly African-American area, but I saw nothing to indicate that it was a bad neighborhood. No menacing crowds were gathered on the corner, no one was staring at me or offering to sell me drugs. There was one person that approached me. He was a tall, slender, elderly African-American gentleman. He asked in a pleasant manner, but with a suspicious look in his eye, what I was doing here. When I told him I was considering buying the house, the suspicion left and the pleasantness took over. Eventually I would come to consider this man, Arlen, as one of my most trusted friends.
I decided to put in a bid of $2,500 on the house. Ed Barker said he was certain they’d reject it if I didn’t offer at least $4,000. I told him it looked to me that HUD was desperate to sell. After my bid was rejected, the house was de-listed. A few weeks later it was re-listed, at $2,500. I submitted a new bid of $2,600, just in case this lower price had attracted some attention, and it was accepted. A month later, I was moving in.
Join the fun, buy your own HUD house!
I’d been watching the HUD houses for about a year now, and had noticed something interesting. A house would rarely be listed for more than three weeks in a row, then it was removed. This gave the impression that it was sold. But very frequently, after a short break, the same house would reappear at a lower price.
For the past three months, I went to inspect any house that was listed below $10,000. Originally, I only walked around the property and peaked inside the windows. One house had been gutted from a fire, and even the skeletal remains of the internal walls looked ready to crumble. I wanted something that I could move into immediately and do the work while living there.
Eventually I began letting myself into houses that were not secured and often found large holes in the walls, ceilings and floors. Some had so many personal items inside that I wondered if someone was squatting there. I decided to contact a realtor, but found that many do not handle HUD homes because the commissions were too low and the paperwork too cumbersome. Feichter Real Estate was very helpful in showing me a couple of houses and giving me more information about the HUD homes.
Somehow I ran across Ed Barker. He was a semi-retired broker, and used Karen’s Kitchen on Bluffton Rd. as his office. My house was listed at $4,000 when I first noticed it. Ed Barker showed me inside the house and we both agreed that, structurally speaking, about the only thing wrong was a crumbling foundation on part of the basement wall. Although it needed a lot of cosmetic work, it was a pretty solid house.
Twice during the next week I returned to look at the house and the neighborhood. It was obvious that this was a predominantly African-American area, but I saw nothing to indicate that it was a bad neighborhood. No menacing crowds were gathered on the corner, no one was staring at me or offering to sell me drugs. There was one person that approached me. He was a tall, slender, elderly African-American gentleman. He asked in a pleasant manner, but with a suspicious look in his eye, what I was doing here. When I told him I was considering buying the house, the suspicion left and the pleasantness took over. Eventually I would come to consider this man, Arlen, as one of my most trusted friends.
I decided to put in a bid of $2,500 on the house. Ed Barker said he was certain they’d reject it if I didn’t offer at least $4,000. I told him it looked to me that HUD was desperate to sell. After my bid was rejected, the house was de-listed. A few weeks later it was re-listed, at $2,500. I submitted a new bid of $2,600, just in case this lower price had attracted some attention, and it was accepted. A month later, I was moving in.
Join the fun, buy your own HUD house!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Cops on Broadway Street Tonight
Just a little past midnight (Saturday night) I went out to get something to eat. I was driving past Broadway Joe's Bar (near Catablu restaurant) and several police cars began converging there from all directions. I drove back up to see what was going on and they had Broadway St. closed off. There were about fifteen people standing in front of the bar and three guys across the street. Two officers were searching and cuffing these guys while a third stood watch with his gun drawn.
I figured that it was over, so I went to get my food. I drove back there about twenty minutes later just to see if things had cleared up. There were now about six police cars , but they had opened the north bound lane up to traffic.
There were about thirty people standing in front of the bar. I've been inside Joe's several times before. It has been my experience that when the police show up there, those who can leave do so, and rather quickly. I didn't see the police searching or arresting anyone else, but it did appear that the bar patrons were being held there by the police.
My thoughts here are not so much about the police action as they are about our local media. It is very likely that there will be little or no mention of this event in the newspaper, and I can understand why they won't do a front-page story for every little police action. But if it's enough for the police to shut off a main road, draw their weapons, and detain a very large group of people, it seems like at least some small explanation might be in order.
I know that I have witnessed some events in the inner city that were under-reported or never reported at all. I always wonder why this is. Is the news media just not paying attention and fails to actually see what's going on? Do they under-report certain items at the request of the police? Or am I just expecting too much?
About a year and a half ago I was driving on Broadway St (near the GE building) when I saw something that startled me. The police were conducting a raid on a house, and that is something I had seen before. But this was much different. There were about thirty or forty officers, all wearing riot gear, carrying shileds, and with their entire faces except for the eyes covered up, standing around the perimeter of the house. It would be more apt to describe this as a military action rather than a police action.
I parked and took a few pictures from across the street. I crossed over and took a few from the side, but at a distance of about twenty yards from the edge of the property so as to not get in the way. As I came around to the back, there were only a couple officers there. One of them called to me and said "Put the camera away." I began to politely protest, saying "You all have your faces covered, and I'm too far away to get any real detail..." He interrupted me saying "NO PICTURES!"
Well, constitutionally speaking, I think he was in the wrong. I was far enough away so as to not be interferring with them, and their identities were so well concealed that even their own mothers' probably wouldn't have recognized them. But he had a gun, and I was there alone, so I left. The pictures turned out like crap because I used a cheap disposable camera. You could make out the police cars and the ambulance, but everything else was a blur.
Several months later, I was searching the newspaper archives to find this story. I couldn't remember the exact date, so it is possible that I simply missed it. I did find one mention of a police raid. It was in the same block as this house and around the right time. It was only one or two sentences long, so it certainly contained no details.
In the past three years the following events have occurred within a one block radius of my house. Two arsons, one individual being set on fire, two cross-street shootouts, and one man walking down the sidewalk with a rifle slung over his shoulder. These are just the few events that I am aware of and that I know involved police action. I don't know, maybe I have too much personal bias because I am in the center of it. But it seems to me that someone in the new media should really be interested in looking into this for the larger story.
I figured that it was over, so I went to get my food. I drove back there about twenty minutes later just to see if things had cleared up. There were now about six police cars , but they had opened the north bound lane up to traffic.
There were about thirty people standing in front of the bar. I've been inside Joe's several times before. It has been my experience that when the police show up there, those who can leave do so, and rather quickly. I didn't see the police searching or arresting anyone else, but it did appear that the bar patrons were being held there by the police.
My thoughts here are not so much about the police action as they are about our local media. It is very likely that there will be little or no mention of this event in the newspaper, and I can understand why they won't do a front-page story for every little police action. But if it's enough for the police to shut off a main road, draw their weapons, and detain a very large group of people, it seems like at least some small explanation might be in order.
I know that I have witnessed some events in the inner city that were under-reported or never reported at all. I always wonder why this is. Is the news media just not paying attention and fails to actually see what's going on? Do they under-report certain items at the request of the police? Or am I just expecting too much?
About a year and a half ago I was driving on Broadway St (near the GE building) when I saw something that startled me. The police were conducting a raid on a house, and that is something I had seen before. But this was much different. There were about thirty or forty officers, all wearing riot gear, carrying shileds, and with their entire faces except for the eyes covered up, standing around the perimeter of the house. It would be more apt to describe this as a military action rather than a police action.
I parked and took a few pictures from across the street. I crossed over and took a few from the side, but at a distance of about twenty yards from the edge of the property so as to not get in the way. As I came around to the back, there were only a couple officers there. One of them called to me and said "Put the camera away." I began to politely protest, saying "You all have your faces covered, and I'm too far away to get any real detail..." He interrupted me saying "NO PICTURES!"
Well, constitutionally speaking, I think he was in the wrong. I was far enough away so as to not be interferring with them, and their identities were so well concealed that even their own mothers' probably wouldn't have recognized them. But he had a gun, and I was there alone, so I left. The pictures turned out like crap because I used a cheap disposable camera. You could make out the police cars and the ambulance, but everything else was a blur.
Several months later, I was searching the newspaper archives to find this story. I couldn't remember the exact date, so it is possible that I simply missed it. I did find one mention of a police raid. It was in the same block as this house and around the right time. It was only one or two sentences long, so it certainly contained no details.
In the past three years the following events have occurred within a one block radius of my house. Two arsons, one individual being set on fire, two cross-street shootouts, and one man walking down the sidewalk with a rifle slung over his shoulder. These are just the few events that I am aware of and that I know involved police action. I don't know, maybe I have too much personal bias because I am in the center of it. But it seems to me that someone in the new media should really be interested in looking into this for the larger story.
MY STORY
Mostly this blog will be a way for me to tell the story of the past twelve years here. I’ll also mix in current events and other topics occasionally. I will post my retelling of the past events in chronologically ordered segments and listed under the heading of “HISTORY” That way no one will confuse the past situation with the present.
I do not have the time or the discipline to post every day, at least not at the present time. Therefore, I am announcing this as a weekend only blog. I will try to post every Saturday and Sunday. Occasionally I might start early on Friday or carry over into Monday. But I will not be posting on Tuesday through Thursday, so you have been warned. Bobby G. (see links list) is the weekday blogger, so I am just trying to pick up the slack.
I am releasing this information as copyrighted material. All that means is if you stand to make any money off of my words, then please share a bit with me. If you use my words or ideas for no financial gain, then please at least mention my name or link to my blog. The only reason I am doing this is that many of my stories would probably make for a good movie or TV episode.
American Gangster - Movie Trailer
EDITED; 11 MARCH, 2008: I have decided to remove the "HISTORY" label. The headline for each post clearly states when the post is retelling an old story. The individual labels for the many persons involved should be adequate for helping a person to navigate the archives.
I do not have the time or the discipline to post every day, at least not at the present time. Therefore, I am announcing this as a weekend only blog. I will try to post every Saturday and Sunday. Occasionally I might start early on Friday or carry over into Monday. But I will not be posting on Tuesday through Thursday, so you have been warned. Bobby G. (see links list) is the weekday blogger, so I am just trying to pick up the slack.
I am releasing this information as copyrighted material. All that means is if you stand to make any money off of my words, then please share a bit with me. If you use my words or ideas for no financial gain, then please at least mention my name or link to my blog. The only reason I am doing this is that many of my stories would probably make for a good movie or TV episode.
American Gangster - Movie Trailer
EDITED; 11 MARCH, 2008: I have decided to remove the "HISTORY" label. The headline for each post clearly states when the post is retelling an old story. The individual labels for the many persons involved should be adequate for helping a person to navigate the archives.
Know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em
Keny Rogers: The Gambler
On my previous post, Gadfly posed an interesting question,: With all the problems I’ve had here, why don’t I just move?
First, I’ll give you some idea of how settled in I am here. When my house was firebombed, one of the officers asked where I would be staying at that night. When I told him I planned on staying here, he suggested that might not be a good idea. I told him if I left that night, when I came back the next day there would be people setting on my porch asking me what I was doing down here. I had to stay that night, or I would have been surrendering my home automatically.
For the next several days after the fire, things were very tense around here. I could not go outside without several people from all directions turning to stare at me. The most troubling aspect of this was that, although I know most people around here, I was seeing a lot of unfamiliar faces at that time. One day, I had the opportunity to approach one of the dealers alone and speak with him.
The shorthand version of what I said was “You probably realize by now that if you want to force me from my home, it’ll take a bullet to the head. You can do it for sure, hell there’s five of you here right now.” - I nodded in the direction where a group was standing. - “But it’d probably be a lot easier to just get along with me. All I want is for people to respect me and my property.”
That explains how attached I am, now for the why. My reasons for this are both personal and financial. Although the house cost me less than $3,000, I have put several thousand dollars into fixing it up over the years. And if you count the labor hours invested, it really adds up. If I tried to sell it, location would be a huge factor and probably means I wouldn’t get what I consider a fair price. If I had tried to sell it under duress, it would have been even lower. One guy actually offered me $15,000 a few days after the fire. I don’t know if he was serious, but I wouldn’t even consider such a low bid.
Also, I’m stubborn. The more someone pushes me, the more I usually resist. As I tell my story, you will find ample evidence of this. Moreover, I don’t have a wife or kids to worry about. It’s just me, and I already know that I’m going to die sometime. It might as well be standing up straight rather than running away.
Although I don’t feel race is a major factor in my circumstance here, I do find my situation similar to people who are racially harassed. Imagine you are black. You come home to find a cross burning in your yard and a sign that says “Leave or die!” What would you do? Obviously, if all of your neighbors claim they say and heard nothing, you are probably not safe there. Would concern for your safety cause you to leave, or would this unwarranted attack only strengthen your resolve to stay?
And if you can be forced from your home, are you really a free person?
As the Frisians like to say:
Bowing was alien to the old folk;
they held in honor
Their name and speech,
their free will;
Their word was law;
just and loyal were their teachings,
And force, no matter whose,
they fought against
On my previous post, Gadfly posed an interesting question,: With all the problems I’ve had here, why don’t I just move?
First, I’ll give you some idea of how settled in I am here. When my house was firebombed, one of the officers asked where I would be staying at that night. When I told him I planned on staying here, he suggested that might not be a good idea. I told him if I left that night, when I came back the next day there would be people setting on my porch asking me what I was doing down here. I had to stay that night, or I would have been surrendering my home automatically.
For the next several days after the fire, things were very tense around here. I could not go outside without several people from all directions turning to stare at me. The most troubling aspect of this was that, although I know most people around here, I was seeing a lot of unfamiliar faces at that time. One day, I had the opportunity to approach one of the dealers alone and speak with him.
The shorthand version of what I said was “You probably realize by now that if you want to force me from my home, it’ll take a bullet to the head. You can do it for sure, hell there’s five of you here right now.” - I nodded in the direction where a group was standing. - “But it’d probably be a lot easier to just get along with me. All I want is for people to respect me and my property.”
That explains how attached I am, now for the why. My reasons for this are both personal and financial. Although the house cost me less than $3,000, I have put several thousand dollars into fixing it up over the years. And if you count the labor hours invested, it really adds up. If I tried to sell it, location would be a huge factor and probably means I wouldn’t get what I consider a fair price. If I had tried to sell it under duress, it would have been even lower. One guy actually offered me $15,000 a few days after the fire. I don’t know if he was serious, but I wouldn’t even consider such a low bid.
Also, I’m stubborn. The more someone pushes me, the more I usually resist. As I tell my story, you will find ample evidence of this. Moreover, I don’t have a wife or kids to worry about. It’s just me, and I already know that I’m going to die sometime. It might as well be standing up straight rather than running away.
Although I don’t feel race is a major factor in my circumstance here, I do find my situation similar to people who are racially harassed. Imagine you are black. You come home to find a cross burning in your yard and a sign that says “Leave or die!” What would you do? Obviously, if all of your neighbors claim they say and heard nothing, you are probably not safe there. Would concern for your safety cause you to leave, or would this unwarranted attack only strengthen your resolve to stay?
And if you can be forced from your home, are you really a free person?
As the Frisians like to say:
Bowing was alien to the old folk;
they held in honor
Their name and speech,
their free will;
Their word was law;
just and loyal were their teachings,
And force, no matter whose,
they fought against
Thursday, February 7, 2008
First Post
I created this blog two months ago with the intention of telling my complete story. During that time I have been going through my notes and trying to formulate the information there into something that is both comprehensive and comprehensible. The comprehensive aspect means that this story would reflect my observations about crime, race, poverty, friendship, the police, politics and the media.
The comprehensible aspect means that my story has to reflect all of the many different views I have garnered over the years here about each of these various aspects. If I fail to be comprehensive in my views of any one aspect, that will hinder the reader’s understanding of other aspects as well.
In addition to this being a complex story with a lot of information to be assimilated, that only deals with the intellectual features. I have found as well that my emotional condition has affected my ability to write this story. Every time I have begun to write, I end up spinning off into a rant of sorts. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I am now at least able to recognize this in myself, for a short time ago this was perhaps not the case.
So during the past two months I have been perusing my notes, trying to harness my emotional drive so that it empowers the story rather than overpowers it, and drinking lots of whiskey. During this time I have tried to distance myself somewhat from the situation here. I look out the windows less often, am less confrontational with people, and only make a journal entry once a week instead of twice a day. I did this partly because I had other things to keep me busy, but mostly just to protect my sanity.
Despite my purposeful attempts to ignore my surroundings though, I could not avoid recognizing certain changes. The most obvious difference is in the behavior of the dealers. I must first be honest and say that there is still illegal drug activity taking place here, and that is certainly not something that I condone. However, it is not anywhere near as intense as it used to be.
The most noticeable change is that you are far more likely to see only one or two guys standing on the corners at one time instead of the formerly large groups. In addition, I have noticed that my particular corner has gotten a lot less busy. Unfortunately for my neighbors, some of this activity has just been transferred to their corners. There is one corner though with no house on it. Whenever someone is selling there, I just ignore it. I figure that realistically, that is probably the best I can hope for.
I am very pleased that it appears that no one is trespassing on my property now. No coming home to find a bag of pot on my steps, or my porch chairs moved around. No walking out the front door to find a group of people standing in my front yard. No angry looks, no pretend drive-bys, and best of all, no more Molotov cocktails!
The other major change has to do with the police. I know that FWPD has always been active in this area, and much of that is noted in my journal, but their performance (in my opinion) has also left a lot to be desired. I have always been willing to admit that I do not see the whole story, and that which I do see is subject to my own biased interpretation. But despite any misconceptions I might have about what has gone on here in the past, I can say with confidence that the FWPD is now acting in a manner which I feel is more responsive to the needs of this neighborhood.
So currently, the dealers sometimes stand for a short time in front of my house, and for longer times across the street, but that is still a great improvement over what was. The few neighbors that have been angered by my actions are greatly outnumbered by those who have expressed to me their appreciation. Occasionally, the police need to use my front yard as a staging area for questioning and searching suspects, but that is a price I’m willing to pay for a little bit of tranquility.
It might seem to some that I am overly compromising, but I would suggest that those people are probably ignorant of the reality of my situation. I can not afford (financially or mentally) to wage constant battle with either the dealers and/or the police. I am willing to concede that there will probably always be some drug activity here. And there will also be what I feel is the occasional improper response to this problem by the FWPD.
But the current situation where most of the dealers are quiet and non-aggressive, and where the police take reasonable steps to keep those who aren’t in check, is something that I can live with. In my opinion, both the dealers and the FWPD have significantly changed their behavior. And so, as with any long-term solution, both sides must make concessions.
Fifteen months ago, a few days after they tried to burn down my house, I approached one of the main dealers here and told him that he’d have to put a bullet through my head to force me from my home. I then told him that I thought it would be a lot easier for everyone if we just found a way to get along. He responded to this well. During the next two days I frequently observed him speaking with many of the younger dealers, convincing them to calm down a bit.
My promise to the dealers was that I was not trying to shut down their operation, but that I demand respect for myself and my property. For the most part, they have honored their promise, so I will continue to honor mine. Since December 24 of 2006, I have only called FWPD one time. And this was only after three dealers were fighting in the middle of the night, one of them was slammed against the side of my house, and I first went out to speak to them myself.
I still continue to openly speak with any police officer who I might encounter here. I have certainly not changed to one of those people that says “I didn’t see nothing!”, acting with indifference or disrespect towards the officers. It’s just that I am trying to make it clear to everyone that my mission is just to protect my property. The rest of the neighborhood can take care of itself.
As for the FWPD, there was no formally stated agreement made. There was just me filing a complaint accusing one high ranking officer of coordinating the drug activities here, threatening to sue, and generally telling everyone I know what a piece of shit organization I thought the FWPD was. My stance was met mostly by silence from FWPD, which only served to reinforce my opinion. But as I have stated above, either their behavior has changed or just my perception of it has changed. Regardless, I now feel that their motto of “To serve and to protect” now applies to me, so I am willing to revise my posture towards the FWPD.
Originally I had stated that low ranking officers would remain anonymous in my story, while high ranking officers would be named. I had reasoned that while most of the low level officers were probably acting under conditions that were out of their control, the high ranking officers were the ones who set these conditions. If those conditions are flawed, then so are the officers who created them. I am now more willing to admit that I may have either lacked the necessary information and/or been so personally affected by the situation so as to prohibit me from making a correct analysis of the FWPD.
Whether I simply misunderstood the situation, or if in fact the FWPD has changed, I do not know for certain. But what is certain is that the past is far less important to me than the present and the future. Before, I concentrated on the past here only because I thought it was indicative of the future. While some of my actions might properly be seen as vengeful towards FWPD, this was only because I thought they had no intention of fulfilling their obligation towards me as a citizen.
By naming certain officers publicly, I may have caused individual embarrassment and other problems as well for them. It’s likely that in a close knit organization such as FWPD, any such individual problems would have been felt by the entire group, including those officers who I either bear no grudge towards or who I actually appreciate and respect. But the truth is, I really didn’t give a damn. I was so pissed off, I just wanted to raise hell and damn the consequences for my actions.
I now realize that this is probably neither the most successful nor the most deserved approach. I do still plan on telling my story, but it will probably be more respectful to FWPD (both as an organization, and as individuals) than was previously planned. All person’s will be listed under a pseudonym (except where absolute necessity dictates otherwise). And while it will be apparent that I am of the opinion that there were at least a few officers who have acted incompetently or unprofessionally, I will also try hard to differentiate between what I was feeling at the time, and what (with hindsight) might actually be a more reasonable explanation of events.
As far as I’m concerned, the FWPD is now treating me respectably, and so I plan to return the favor. The most serious charges are a thing of the past, and I expect that this will remain so going forward. Any questions that might eventually be brought to the attention of FWPD as a result of my blog should not be problematic for them. They could be responded to by simply saying “Well, we’ve made some changes and things are better now.” At least that’s the way I see it.
The comprehensible aspect means that my story has to reflect all of the many different views I have garnered over the years here about each of these various aspects. If I fail to be comprehensive in my views of any one aspect, that will hinder the reader’s understanding of other aspects as well.
In addition to this being a complex story with a lot of information to be assimilated, that only deals with the intellectual features. I have found as well that my emotional condition has affected my ability to write this story. Every time I have begun to write, I end up spinning off into a rant of sorts. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I am now at least able to recognize this in myself, for a short time ago this was perhaps not the case.
So during the past two months I have been perusing my notes, trying to harness my emotional drive so that it empowers the story rather than overpowers it, and drinking lots of whiskey. During this time I have tried to distance myself somewhat from the situation here. I look out the windows less often, am less confrontational with people, and only make a journal entry once a week instead of twice a day. I did this partly because I had other things to keep me busy, but mostly just to protect my sanity.
Despite my purposeful attempts to ignore my surroundings though, I could not avoid recognizing certain changes. The most obvious difference is in the behavior of the dealers. I must first be honest and say that there is still illegal drug activity taking place here, and that is certainly not something that I condone. However, it is not anywhere near as intense as it used to be.
The most noticeable change is that you are far more likely to see only one or two guys standing on the corners at one time instead of the formerly large groups. In addition, I have noticed that my particular corner has gotten a lot less busy. Unfortunately for my neighbors, some of this activity has just been transferred to their corners. There is one corner though with no house on it. Whenever someone is selling there, I just ignore it. I figure that realistically, that is probably the best I can hope for.
I am very pleased that it appears that no one is trespassing on my property now. No coming home to find a bag of pot on my steps, or my porch chairs moved around. No walking out the front door to find a group of people standing in my front yard. No angry looks, no pretend drive-bys, and best of all, no more Molotov cocktails!
The other major change has to do with the police. I know that FWPD has always been active in this area, and much of that is noted in my journal, but their performance (in my opinion) has also left a lot to be desired. I have always been willing to admit that I do not see the whole story, and that which I do see is subject to my own biased interpretation. But despite any misconceptions I might have about what has gone on here in the past, I can say with confidence that the FWPD is now acting in a manner which I feel is more responsive to the needs of this neighborhood.
So currently, the dealers sometimes stand for a short time in front of my house, and for longer times across the street, but that is still a great improvement over what was. The few neighbors that have been angered by my actions are greatly outnumbered by those who have expressed to me their appreciation. Occasionally, the police need to use my front yard as a staging area for questioning and searching suspects, but that is a price I’m willing to pay for a little bit of tranquility.
It might seem to some that I am overly compromising, but I would suggest that those people are probably ignorant of the reality of my situation. I can not afford (financially or mentally) to wage constant battle with either the dealers and/or the police. I am willing to concede that there will probably always be some drug activity here. And there will also be what I feel is the occasional improper response to this problem by the FWPD.
But the current situation where most of the dealers are quiet and non-aggressive, and where the police take reasonable steps to keep those who aren’t in check, is something that I can live with. In my opinion, both the dealers and the FWPD have significantly changed their behavior. And so, as with any long-term solution, both sides must make concessions.
Fifteen months ago, a few days after they tried to burn down my house, I approached one of the main dealers here and told him that he’d have to put a bullet through my head to force me from my home. I then told him that I thought it would be a lot easier for everyone if we just found a way to get along. He responded to this well. During the next two days I frequently observed him speaking with many of the younger dealers, convincing them to calm down a bit.
My promise to the dealers was that I was not trying to shut down their operation, but that I demand respect for myself and my property. For the most part, they have honored their promise, so I will continue to honor mine. Since December 24 of 2006, I have only called FWPD one time. And this was only after three dealers were fighting in the middle of the night, one of them was slammed against the side of my house, and I first went out to speak to them myself.
I still continue to openly speak with any police officer who I might encounter here. I have certainly not changed to one of those people that says “I didn’t see nothing!”, acting with indifference or disrespect towards the officers. It’s just that I am trying to make it clear to everyone that my mission is just to protect my property. The rest of the neighborhood can take care of itself.
As for the FWPD, there was no formally stated agreement made. There was just me filing a complaint accusing one high ranking officer of coordinating the drug activities here, threatening to sue, and generally telling everyone I know what a piece of shit organization I thought the FWPD was. My stance was met mostly by silence from FWPD, which only served to reinforce my opinion. But as I have stated above, either their behavior has changed or just my perception of it has changed. Regardless, I now feel that their motto of “To serve and to protect” now applies to me, so I am willing to revise my posture towards the FWPD.
Originally I had stated that low ranking officers would remain anonymous in my story, while high ranking officers would be named. I had reasoned that while most of the low level officers were probably acting under conditions that were out of their control, the high ranking officers were the ones who set these conditions. If those conditions are flawed, then so are the officers who created them. I am now more willing to admit that I may have either lacked the necessary information and/or been so personally affected by the situation so as to prohibit me from making a correct analysis of the FWPD.
Whether I simply misunderstood the situation, or if in fact the FWPD has changed, I do not know for certain. But what is certain is that the past is far less important to me than the present and the future. Before, I concentrated on the past here only because I thought it was indicative of the future. While some of my actions might properly be seen as vengeful towards FWPD, this was only because I thought they had no intention of fulfilling their obligation towards me as a citizen.
By naming certain officers publicly, I may have caused individual embarrassment and other problems as well for them. It’s likely that in a close knit organization such as FWPD, any such individual problems would have been felt by the entire group, including those officers who I either bear no grudge towards or who I actually appreciate and respect. But the truth is, I really didn’t give a damn. I was so pissed off, I just wanted to raise hell and damn the consequences for my actions.
I now realize that this is probably neither the most successful nor the most deserved approach. I do still plan on telling my story, but it will probably be more respectful to FWPD (both as an organization, and as individuals) than was previously planned. All person’s will be listed under a pseudonym (except where absolute necessity dictates otherwise). And while it will be apparent that I am of the opinion that there were at least a few officers who have acted incompetently or unprofessionally, I will also try hard to differentiate between what I was feeling at the time, and what (with hindsight) might actually be a more reasonable explanation of events.
As far as I’m concerned, the FWPD is now treating me respectably, and so I plan to return the favor. The most serious charges are a thing of the past, and I expect that this will remain so going forward. Any questions that might eventually be brought to the attention of FWPD as a result of my blog should not be problematic for them. They could be responded to by simply saying “Well, we’ve made some changes and things are better now.” At least that’s the way I see it.
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