We Interrupt the Regularly Scheduled Program…

…to provide a commentary on Kristina Frazier-Henry’s “Child of the Fort”

Kristina,

I grew up in Marion and didn’t move to Fort Wayne until my early 20’s. It is always frustrating when I’m talking with the natives here and they say “Remember…?” Well actually no, I don’t remember, because I’m a foreigner. Your blog is educating me about what I missed. Here is some feedback for some of your previous posts. I don’t know how to add pictures on a comment, so I’ll just post it here for you to view.

Enjoy,
Phil

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Regarding your Special Request
814 Clay Street & 808 Clay Street: This first picture is of the south-west corner of Clay & Berry. I think that is the correct location, but I could not confirm this as they do not put addresses on parking lots.


This second photo is of the south-west corner of Clay & Wayne, and it might be the location you were looking for. I could not find an address anywhere on this building.

Here are several photos of the Sheridan Court Apartments.

I see that your Main Street photos were already covered on A Beautiful City

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Apparently I can only add five photos per post, so I will continue this on the next two posts.

Child of the Fort - Continued

Regarding your Other Mission, I think this might be the building you are talking about. This house is on the north-east corner of Allegany Avenue and Sand Point Road.

And regarding Remembering Mike, The Talking Bike, I’d suggest you contact Everett. I believe he’s a FWPD officer.

More on Child of the Fort

Regarding First Grade - Indian Village Elementary School

They always moved us to the library for our class picture, and the fact that it was always taken against the same wall, and I was always standing near the middle of the back row means that this was probably the most stabile feature of my childhood. I would add further commentary here, but I’m too busy laughing at these pictures now.

One Crazy Night in Crack-Town: September 2003 - Part III

Monday, September 15 It was about ten in the evening when I glanced out my back window and saw two men standing in my backyard who appeared to be conducting a drug transaction. I opened the door, shined my flashlight on them and asked “What the fuck are you doing in my yard?” One fled to the empty lot behind, and the other quickly went to the sidewalk and headed around front. I gave it little thought as I followed him and again questioned why he was in my yard. He was saying, apologetically, “I didn’t know anyone lived here. I didn’t mean no harm.” As my front yard came in sight I saw something totally unexpected. There were ten to twelve dealers (all wearing their standard uniform of a white t-shirt) standing in my front yard.

I suppose there might have been a slight pause as I considered whether to move forward or fall back, but it was only a fraction of a second before I found myself moving into their midst and shouting “You need to get the fuck out of my yard. This is my property and I don’t want your shit down here. Get the fuck away from my house.” The entire group quickly moved across the street and I just stood there alone.

As I sat down on my front porch steps and began to calm down, the seriousness of the situation began to dawn on me. Here I was, setting on my front steps dressed in sweatpants a t-shirt and no shoes. My front door was locked, my back door was wide open, and I was armed only with an 18” mag-light (not an unsubstantial weapon in some circumstances.) The guys across the street were beginning to laugh now as they realized the ridiculousness of the situation. I knew at that point that if I remained overly assertive, that could provoke them into action. I also figured that walking away too quickly might produce the same effect.

So I just sat there on the steps or paced about my front yard for about five minutes. I didn’t stare at the group, nor did I turn my back on them. I did the only thing a person could do in such a situation. I simply stood and held my ground. Anything more (such as continuing to yell at them after they had crossed the street) would have been too aggressive. Anything less (walking away too quickly) would have indicated weakness. I knew that if this group decided to approach me that it was destined to end badly. After a few minutes, some of them began to walk away, and the ones that remained relaxed their stares and quit talking about me. I turned and walked back inside my house. I didn’t bother calling FWPD because they would have considered it a non-issue at that point because no one was on my property.

Tuesday, September 16 I called Officer Marshall in the morning and left a message briefly explaining last night’s incident. I also typed a letter that day for Marshall and delivered it to The FWPD front desk that evening.

Thursday, September 18 (3:00 A.M.) I was coming home around three in the morning and I saw an unmarked police car parked in the alley behind my house. As I was walking towards the house, the police car pulled out of the alley and slowly headed towards my house. He stopped at the intersection for a moment, then suddenly bolted away. He appeared to be chasing a car that had just cleared the intersection a block away. He circled the block and came back past my house, and headed off to the north again. I heard sirens in the distance a few minutes later, but saw no more activity in the area.

(9:00 A.M.) Parking enforcement had the abandoned car across the street towed away.

(9:30 A.M.) I was setting on my front porch and three men gathered on the corner and kept glancing towards me. One of them approached and offered to sell me tools and an alarm clock that he had. I recognized him as one of the men in my back yard the other night. I told him my name and that I owned and lived in the house, and that is why I was raising hell about what was going on. He introduced himself as Spencer and apologized, saying he thought it was an empty house. I told him that I’m not looking for trouble, but that people need to stay off my property. He said he understood.

(1:00 P.M.) I called Officer Marshall and left a message asking if he had received my letter and if he was still considering my request for the incident report from last week.

Friday, September 19 (9:30 A.M.) Officer Marshall left a phone message saying “I received your letter. Thank you, you said some very nice things. Obviously you put some thought into the letter and I will get back to you, probably next Monday. I am considering your request for the report and I’ll let you know.”

When I think back on what happened that night, I’m still surprised that the dealers didn’t shoot or kick the crap out of me. I know that I felt very threatened at that moment, and if any one of them had chosen to cross the street, I would have felt that my life was in imminent danger. Who knows, maybe they thought I had a gun hidden on me, or maybe they could just read my face and decided it wouldn’t be worth it.

As for what I did, I still don’t know whether brave or stupid best describes my actions. It’s not like I conscientiously chose to put myself in that situation, it just sort of happened. My remaining out front for a while might sound like bravery, but perhaps it was actually fear (of provoking a reaction from them) that kept me from retreating.

My call to Officer Marshall the next day was polite, but I think my adrenaline was still pumping and I probably sounded somewhat incoherent. Although the letter was lengthy, I felt it was necessary in order to explain the situation beyond what a short conversation would allow for.

Finally Meeting the FWPD: September 2003 - Part II

Thursday, September 11 Officer Marshall called me at ten thirty in the morning requesting to change our meeting time to today (between 3:15 and 3:30 in the afternoon.) At a little past three, I went out to the front porch and waited for his arrival. I began to notice a lot of police traffic (both patrol cars and unmarked) in the area, and I realized how strange this might seem to FWPD. Here I was inviting (luring?) a very high ranking officer to come and visit my house in the heart of crack-town. Can’t blame them for being cautious. Officer Marshall called around 3:30 to say he was running a bit late but was on his way to my house.

Officer Marshall arrived at 3:45 and parked a few houses down from me. As he was getting out of his car, an elderly lady with a cane was feebly trying to negotiate her way across the street. Officer Marshall allowed her to hold his arm as he walked her to her front porch. It was a true Norman Rockwell moment, and I was beginning to feel that I had finally found the cop who was going to help me get things under control here.

I had quite a few things that I wanted to say to Officer Marshall and, much to his credit, he seemed prepared to listen. I told him that I viewed last Monday’s incident as a significant change in the behavior of the dealers, and that I planned to begin more aggressively asserting my property rights. I asked for legal clarification on this (what I could do, what I had to leave to the police). I also requested a copy of the incident report from last Monday’s incident and asked that he inform other officers that I am willing to cooperate with them.

I told him that the police are welcome on my property any time, and that if the drug-dealers don’t back down I’ll allow FWPD to place cameras and officer inside my home if that would help. I closed by saying the only way things would get better is if the police would stop and talk with some of the good people down here occasionally (I mentioned other people who I felt would cooperate with FWPD), rather than just whizzing through or automatically treating everyone they encountered as if they were a drug dealer.

As Officer Marshall began to reply, he removed his sunglasses. I saw this as a positive gesture in that he was willing to at least let me look him in the eyes as he spoke. He began by telling me that his mother had lived in the central city area for many years, so he was intimately familiar with the problems here. He also told me some officers have family in this area and that there was not the type of disconnect that I had described.

He said the report might not be available if it is part of a narcotics investigation, but that he will check on it. He said that I can’t do anything about people on the sidewalk myself, but that I have to call the police for this. He reluctantly conceded that I was within my rights to address people who were on my property, but recommended against it. As Officer Marshall left, he said he’d keep in touch with me.

Friday, September 12 I was setting on Arlen’s porch in the afternoon watching several guys (Bernie, Sheldon, Nathan, and a few others) throwing a football in front of my house. They were all around seventeen years old, and they represented the current sophomore team (I’m not referring to sports) in the neighborhood. They stopped throwing and just stood on the corner for a few minutes. Then, Sheldon sat down on the edge of my front yard.

I approached him and politely asked him not to set in my yard. He apologized and quickly moved. Nathan, who I wasn’t even talking to, began to spout off about how I had no right to harass them. He was mouthing off some gibberish as they all walked away. I didn’t know it at the time, but Nathan’s house, about a block and a half away from me, was also a major drug den.

Saturday, September 13 There was quite a bit of activity in the evening. I sat on my porch watching for a few minutes, as that was usually enough to calm things down. The activities continued and I began walking the perimeter of my property several times. There was a large group standing on the corner right in front of my house. They might have the right to be on the sidewalk, but not to block others from passing through. I was testing them to see how they would respond to my interference of their activities. After several laps around the house, I stopped on the corner and just stood there with the group. No one said a word to me or acted aggressively, and after a few minutes they all left the area.

Sunday, September 14 As I left my house in the afternoon, I noticed a patrol car was parked a block south and facing my house. The officer inside appeared to be looking over some paper work. I took this as a very good sign, thinking they had finally decided to watch the area closely. A few block south of there, I encountered another patrol car driving one of the side streets. He couldn’t have been watching my house that far away, but there was certainly nothing that seemed unusual about his presence there. A few minutes later, I came to Rudisill, and yet another patrol car passed in front of me. Of course, Rudisill is a fairly well traveled road, so nothing seemed unusual about that either.

A few minutes later, I arrived at my destination at Southgate Shopping Center. As I pulled in, I noticed the number on the patrol car behind me. It was the same one that only a few minutes earlier was parked watching my house. That seemed like quite a coincidence. I was a couple miles and several turns away form where I had first encountered that cop, and here he was right behind me. I figured it was probably just a coincidence, but it still seemed a little odd. Even more strange was that this same patrol car had followed me home from my visit to Frost last Wednesday.

I arrived home around five that evening and saw five dealers standing on the porch of the abandoned house across the street from me. They were talking among themselves and pointing towards me as I walked into my house. I watched from inside for almost an hour and it was obvious that I was the topic of discussion among the group during most of this time. I assumed that word of my speaking with the police had begun circulating, and I tried to psych myself up in preparation for what might result from this.

The situation with the kids playing football that day exemplifies a big part of the problem here. Every couple years, a few new guys get old enough to start taking to the corners. As soon as I convince them that I am serious about protecting my property, a new group appears and I have to start almost from scratch with them. But even though these young guys are dealing drugs, for many of them this is a just small element of who they are. Most of them are not gang bangers. And this is the kind of thing that adds to the confusion here.

One minute they’re just kids tossing a ball, the next they’re dope selling, gun toting thugs. Those guys weren’t doing any real harm on my grass that day. But if I don’t challenge each encroachment upon my rights, soon those rights will no longer exist. If I hadn’t asked Sheldon to move, tomorrow he and ten of his friends might have been in my yard or on my porch. If they’re not selling dope, I don’t pay that much attention if they’re standing on the edge of my yard, or leaning against my fence. But if I see them selling drugs, even once, then I have to let them know they are not welcome here.

By meeting with Officer Marshall at my home, I had clearly advertised to the drug dealers my intention to cooperate with the police. Given their increased boldness though, I felt this was necessary. And given Officer Marshall’s seemingly good disposition towards me during our meeting, I had every reason to think that FWPD would act in good faith in this matter. I was willing to be patient and give the police some time to figure out how they wanted to work with me on the problems here.

I had begun to notice an increased police presence since I started talking with Officer Marshall. I saw that as a good sign, because they were responding to the needs here. But there were a few occasions where it seemed like I, rather than my neighborhood, was the target of their surveillance. Now before you call me paranoid, consider this. What if I was not the good citizen I claimed to be. What if I was selling drugs from my house, and all these guys standing on the corner were steeling my business? What if I was simply using FWPD to eliminate the competition? If the FWPD needed to analyze me, to see if I could be trusted, that was fine with me. In fact, with the suggestions I had made to Officer Marshall, if they weren’t doing this it would point to an extreme lack of intelligence.

Kids with Guns: September 2003 - Part I

The standard advice that I received so far from any FWPD officers who were willing to speak with me was to simply call the desk sergeant when I saw suspicious activity. Of course, this seemed to contradict the wishes of Officer Forsyth, who appeared to be the one that had to manage such information. Officer Marshall was the only FWPD officer who seemed to be willing to actually engage me in a meaningful way about tackling the problem.

The start of this month marked nearly five weeks since Officer Marshall had promised to call me back, and two unreturned messages had been left with him as well. From my understanding, Marshall was the top of the ranks. If he wouldn’t return my calls, and the problems continued, I wasn’t really sure what other options I had.

Friday, September 5 I called Officer Marshall again, and left a third message in as many weeks.

Monday, September 8 At about ten in the evening, I heard a knock on my front door and found Officer Bayard standing on my front porch. Without introduction, he simply asked “Do you own a gun?” When I answered yes, he held up a clear plastic bag that contained a gun and said “Is this it?” I told him that my gun was inside my house and asked why he wanted to know. He said that this gun was found in the bush in my front yard. Then, without another word, he turned around and walked back to the sidewalk.

There was a patrol car and an unmarked car in the intersection. There were two uniformed officers (including Bayard) and an undercover officer wearing just shorts and a t-shirt. Bernie was standing on the corner, his hands cuffed behind him, and his mother, Abby, was there as well. I listened from my porch as the group talked. Apparently Bernie had been standing on the corner in front of my house. When he saw an approaching patrol car, he ran into my yard and dumped the gun. This was the reason the officer gave for stopping and searching him.

Bernie was wearing an empty shoulder holster, and I do not know if he was carrying any drugs when they searched him. Perhaps he tossed them also (might explain why the bush grew so erratically that year). The officers had asked Bernie if anybody lived in my house, and of course he lied and said no. His mother had seen the commotion and came over to check on her son. It was probably only because she informed the officers that I lived there that they even bothered to knock on my door. Otherwise, I likely would have never even known this event had happened.

According to the police, they did not have enough evidence to arrest Bernie at that time. But they took the gun and said it would be checked for finger prints. After the police left, I walked over and talked to Abby then told Bernie that he or I would likely end up dead if he kept playing these type of games.

Tuesday, September 9 I called FWPD front desk to request a copy of the incident report from last night. I was told that I needed to call Officer Bayard to get approval as it was part of a narcotics investigation. I called Officer Bayard and left a message requesting a copy of the report.

Wednesday, September 10 I called Vic, someone I knew at the Frost Illustrated Newspaper, to talk about the situation here. He invited me to come in and speak with him. I went there and we spoke together for about an hour. He agreed that it was strange that FWPD was so reluctant to engage me on this. He told me he’d look into my situation and see what he could find out. He warned that it was a sensitive area though and that it would probably take a while to find out anything.

When I returned home, I began to think about the current situation. Why should I have to ask a reporter to look into this for me? Why should I accept that the FWPD, whose salaries I pay with my taxes, had ignored me for so long on this very serious problem. As I thought more about this, I began to get angry. Why should I have to wait to find some relief? Why couldn’t FWPD just do their damn job? And why wouldn’t anyone there ever return my calls?

What I did next might seem stupid, but I was so frustrated I didn’t know what else to do. I was tired of seeing large groups of drug dealers standing on my property every time I came home. I called Officer Marshall and left the following message: “This is not a threat. This is a promise that I will be allowed to walk in and out of my house without fear for my safety. Please contact me to let me know what you are doing to address this problem. If you can’t help me with this problem, I will go above you and above the FWPD if necessary. Please return my call.”

I thought about how my last three calls to Marshall had been ignored, so I wanted to make sure he heard me this time. I called Officer Marshall back and left another message. This time I was being a real smart-ass, but I think my point was still valid. There had been a wrecked up car parked across the street from me for several days now, and I used that as an opening for my next message to Officer Marshall.

This time I said “Look, there’s an abandoned car in front of my house and I wonder if you could get it towed. I know that’s probably not your department, but since you don’t seem to be doing your own job, maybe you could take care of this for me. I’ll just call the Allen County Sheriff’s Department for help with the drug problems, since you’re either unwilling or unable to help with that. Thanks a lot.”

I sat on my front porch, cooling down, and contemplating the fact that I had basically just told one of FWPD’s top cops to go screw himself. Of course I framed it with more civilized words so that I could not be accused of assaulting an officer, but the message was clearly there. I began to wonder what Officer Marshall’s response to this might be; how long it would take before the first squad car arrived; how many cops he might send to beat the crap out of me. Still, for the most part, I did not regret it. I pay these cop’s salaries, and they’re all going to tell me to go to hell? Well, they can go to hell too!

Having vented my frustrations, I began to gain a clearer perspective of the situation. Although my anger towards Officer Marshall may have been justified, expressing it in the way I did would certainly bring no relief. I called Officer Marshall’s voicemail one final time and apologized for my rudeness, but added that the situation here was stressing me out. I told him that I really needed some help with the problems here. Shortly after leaving this last message, Officer Marshall called me back. I again apologized for my rudeness. I pointed out how frustrated I was becoming with the problems I faced, and said it seemed like he had chosen to ignore me.

Officer Marshall had several things to say to me. First was “Please don’t threaten us, we don’t respond well to that.” This was followed with “I understand you are at your wits end right now, but don’t stick your neck out. Let us do our job.” He went on to say that he’s not ignoring me, but he hadn’t received my previous messages because he shares a line with others. He said they (FWPD) are doing a lot but there are some things he can’t tell me due to privileged information.

Officer Marshall agreed to meet with me in person to discuss the situation. He asked if I wanted to come to the station but I requested that he visit my house instead. I said that I thought these guys (drug dealers) need to realize that some people aren’t afraid to speak with the police. Officer Marshall agreed to meet at my house on Friday.

The situation with Bernie was troubling in many ways. The mere fact that an armed juvenile was “patrolling” the sidewalk in front of my house was bad enough, but my relationship with his mother made it even more troubling. Normally, if a drug dealer hid his gun in my yard, I would simply take a “fuck-you” approach to that person. But Abby was a good friend, and I had to consider that as I decided how to respond to this latest development.

I’d like to know what eventually happened to that gun, but I’m sure that is unlikely as FWPD still will not even allow me to obtain a copy of the incident report from that night. It certainly must be frustrating for the police when a citizen unnecessarily interferes in their business like this. I mean, how dare I request information about an armed drug dealer who was in my own front yard. I guess I need to just shut up and learn to mind my own business. And apparently, according to FWPD, this does not include my own front yard.

When I think back on this today, I still find it inexcusable that Officer Marshall let nearly six weeks lapse after our first discussion before contacting me again. As for the “threat,” I simply said I would seek help elsewhere if none was to be found from FWPD. I really consider that more an exercise of my civil rights than a threat. His call seemed to only come about as the result of my leaving an impolite message, and his explanation that he hadn’t received my previous three calls, while he just happened to get these ones, seemed disingenuous.

But Officer Marshall had called me back though. And he seemed to accept my apology for my brash behavior, agreeing to meet with me in person to discuss the situation in more depth. Once again, I was feeling more positive about the situation here.

My First Summer of Hell: August 2003

As I said previously, this season started early and was going strong. The dealers would still conduct their heaviest activities while I was away from the house. I was informed by neighbors that large groups would be setting in my yard and on my porch when I was gone. Sometimes, they would take the chairs off my porch and set on them at the corner. I guess I should appreciate that they put the chairs back at the end of their “shift.” The amount of trash they’d leave on the ground was getting ridiculous.

I tried to be assertive. When I saw someone in my yard, I’d talk with them. But as I said, most of the activity occurred when I was unable to witness it. I began calling FWPD again that spring. I don’t recall exactly how many times I called or who I spoke with early on, but one of them had referred me to Officer Marshall. Marshall was apparently a high ranking officer who had a lot of say over how this area was administered. I had left a phone message with Officer Marshall briefly explaining my situation and asking for advice.

During 2003, my home was broken into, a juvenile drug dealer was caught hiding his gun in my front yard, and I had an encounter one night that really should have left me dead. Of course, that’s just the top three. I began that summer feeling that FWPD was not really very concerned about the problem here. And although there were some hopeful signs to the contrary along the way, the season ended on the same note.

This is the first of several posts that will cover 2003, and by the time you finish reading about what all occurred here during that period you’ll probably understand why I affectionately referred to it as the summer of hell. Little did I know that only three years later, I would have to begin referring back to 2003 as my first summer of hell.

Sunday, August 3, 2003: Officer Marshall called my home around six o’clock in the evening. From the beginning of our conversation, Marshall sounded sympathetic to my plight. Instead of asking accusingly “What do you want me to do?” he came across more like “Let’s see how I can help you.” After talking for a while, Officer Marshall suggested I sign a consent form giving the FWPD rights to monitor and be present on my property. Marshall said he would call back when he had this “no-trespass” form ready for me to sign.

Tuesday, August 5: I was setting with Arlen on his front porch around seven in the evening when we saw a car driving erratically down the street. The plate had a 95 prefix, so he likely wasn’t from around here. The car came back and stopped in front of my house for a minute. He started backing out onto the side street but stopped suddenly. I assumed that he had almost backed into a passing car.

As he pulled forward, a police car was tailing him. Arlen and I started laughing at the irony. He parked about a half block down the street as the officer slowly passed by. The patrol car came back a second time, but did not stop. After that, the driver got out of the car and Harry approached him on foot. Harry said “Man, you need to watch how you’re acting down here.” The driver shouted back “I don’t care about no fucking police.” They talked for a few minutes and conducted their business, then the driver left.

Wednesday, August 6: Around ten in the morning, the same car from yesterday parked down the street as he and his three passengers went inside Carl’s drug house. As soon as this car pulled up, Harry and a few other dealers positioned themselves on the corners that surrounded Carl’s house. It appeared that they were providing look-out, so whatever was going on inside the drug house must have been something important. I watched for a minute, wondering what was going on, and contemplated whether to call FWPD.

I had no trepidation about asking the dealers to clear off of my property, but I had to consider exactly how deeply I wanted to involve myself in their business. After all, whatever was happening was taking place inside their home, not on the street. And if they were coordinated enough to have people watching all the streets for any police that might come through, then I had to consider what type of retribution my actions might possibly draw from them. I decided to take the easy way out. I drove to a phone booth so the number couldn’t be traced and called anonymously.

I didn’t want to sound alarmist with my call. The truth is, I had no idea what was going on inside there. But it looked suspicious, so I just stated what I had observed. I said “Last night around seven, one of your officers was following a guy around here (gave description of car) because he was acting suspicious. After that officer left, it looked like he was doing some business with one of the regular dealers here. That same car just showed up again with four guys in it, and they all went into the drug house (gave location). As soon as they arrived, several of the other dealers positioned themselves on both corners that surround this house. It looks like they are there scoping the area as lookouts. From what I’m seeing, I assume there must be something fairly important going on there.”

That’s all I said. I did not scream “help!” I did not even say that I knew for certain anything illegal was taking place. I just told them what I saw, as they had requested of me numerous times, and left it to their judgment. I was actually surprised that when I returned to the area about five to ten minutes later it was swarming with police. They had one intersection completely blocked and they were driving all the streets and alleys. The car that had been at the drug house was nowhere in sight, and all the corners were cleared off. I was not here to witness the drug dealers evacuation, so I don’t know how soon after my call they fled. It’s very likely that something was said over the scanner to tip them off.

Seeing this strong and immediate response from FWPD led me to decide that I should give up my anonymity. If they were going to do their part, then I’d certainly step up and do mine. I approached one of the patrol cars and notified the officer that I was the person who had just called them. The first thing he asked was “Where’s the car? We don’t see the car over there.” I only answered that it had been parked across the street from Carl’s house and that’s where all of them had been inside.

The officer asked what the address of the drug house was, and I did not know it. The best I could do was give a very precise description of it’s appearance and location. This seemed to frustrate the officer. Then the officer asked for the plate number of the car. All I had was a description of the car and the 95 prefix. I also mentioned the previous night’s incident, thinking that officer had probably called in the plate number when the guy almost backed into him. I also assumed, since I had mentioned this fact with my call, that the dispatcher would have done a quick check and passed it on to the officers.

But the officers on the scene didn’t have the plate number. And they appeared to not know which house I was talking about, even though it was the only 24/7 drug house on the block. Overall, the cop seemed pretty pissed at me because the guys were gone and that I could not give them all the information they wanted.

Later that day I called Officer Forsyth. I had been given his name by another officer and was told that he had a lot to do with police actions against the drug houses. I told him briefly about what had happened that morning. He verified that the two main houses I was suspicious of were indeed known drug houses to the FWPD. One of them was Carl’s house, where all the commotion had taken place earlier.

I told Officer Forsythe that I wanted to help FWPD with the problem here, but I didn’t want to cause confusion as I had apparently done that morning. He gave no reply to this, so I then added that I expect FWPD to address this problem. To this he replied “We’re trying, but every time we raid one of the houses a bunch of blacks scream harassment. We’ve been arresting people on the street that buy there, and that’s about all we can do.” I told him I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass by calling too frequently, but that I need to know how I can be useful to them (police).

Officer Forsythe then told me “We get over 40 calls a day on the drug-tip line.” I replied “I'm being told to call whenever whenever I see suspicious activity. It sounds to me like that might just make things more confusing for you. I need to know what will be useful to you, so that I don’t end up slowing you down. What can I do on my end to help with this problem?.” His only response to this was to tell me because they (dealers) sell on the street, rather than inside of their house, the police can not get a warrant to enter. He said an undercover narcotics officer has to make a purchase three times while inside of a drug house before they can kick the door in.

Friday, August 22: It had been nearly three weeks since I spoke with Officer Marshall. I was trying to be patient, but these people were taking over my yard. I called and left a message checking to see if the no-trespass order was ready for me to sign.

Friday, August 29: Called Officer Marshall again and left another message.

My initial telephone conversation with Officer Marshall had definitely left me feeling hopeful about the situation. Every officer I’d met prior to this had either accosted or ignored me. Marshall was the first to actually engage me in polite dialogue about the matter. The no-trespass order seemed like a simple yet powerful tool to allow the police and me to work together on this problem. But the summer was heating up each day, and how long could it take to simply pull some form out of a file and have me come and sign it? I don’t think my two calls were excessive, given the circumstances. And neither of them were returned.

The police had repeatedly told me “When you see something happening, call it in.” So I did. I didn’t have the address of Carl’s house because every time I drove past, there was a large group of people staring at passing cars, especially mine. Slowing down to look at that house just did not seem like a wise thing to do. As for the plate number, what was I supposed to do, walk a little closer and pull out a memo pad to jot down a few notes? I guess maybe I should have asked the guys on the corners for their names and blocked the wheels of the car as well. I certainly can’t expect the police to do everything. I could understand the responding officer’s frustration, but I think his anger being directed at me was inappropriate.

And then there’s Officer Forsyth, another high ranking officer. He seemed overly intent on telling me how badly their hands were tied. I understood everything he was saying, and I was not expecting him to perform magic. But I asked him directly for guidance on what my role should be. To this he simply offered more excuses.

Then, there was his ridiculous response about the blacks screaming harassment. Even if that is true, it seemed an odd thing to say. He had no idea who I was, or how offensive that might have sounded. He could have just as easily said “Every time we do something, a bunch of people there scream about harassment.” Like I said, my comments here have nothing to do with whether his claims were true or not. It just seem unnecessary and unwise to state it that way. I really think the poor guy was just overloaded and was stressing out.

All the other officers I’d spoken with in the past said that if I see something suspicious that I should just phone it in. Now, I met the poor guy who received all those calls, and had no idea what to do with them. Seems like maybe these folks should sit down and talk among themselves a little more often.

My First Letter to FWPD: September 16, 2003

Following is a letter which I sent to Officer Marshall, a member of the FWPD Command Staff in September of 2003. In this letter I offered my complete assistance, including allowing FWPD to station officers and cameras inside my home in order to help eradicate the drug problem here. I also offered to act as a liaison between FWPD and other people who wanted to help, but feared retribution.

There may be legitimate reasons why FWPD chose not to accept this offer. Regardless, I still would have thought that the officers who patrol this area would have been informed that they had a potential ally here. Obviously this did not occur, as for the next three years almost every FWPD officer that I encountered here treated me as though I was just a wandering crack-head. One officer I met, after convincing him that I was legitimate, actually asked me if I would allow FWPD to install cameras on my property to monitor the drug house. When I told him that I had made that offer already, three years prior, he just looked at me in disbelief and asked if I was kidding him.

Read this letter for yourself and decide if it makes sense that Officer Marshall and the FWPD would simply choose to throw it in the trash can. I apologize in advance for my bad spelling in this letter, but I was typing it at work, and I was tired!

16 September 2003

Officer Marshall,

I want to thank you for taking the time to come to my home on Thursday to discuss the problems we are having in my neighborhood. After having met with you in person, I can see that you share my concern for these problems. I appreciate all that you and your fello officrs are doing to help improve the quality of life in my neighborhood. I, and other residents in this area, realize that your department can be useful in heping us to deal with the problems. I am sure also that you realize that assistance from the residents of this area can be an aid to you and your department.

I realize that the degree of concern for the drug related problems varies widely among the residents of my neighborhood. Some of the people who complain about the probems are just as likely to complain about the police when they work toward eliminating these problems. I realiz this can be very frustrating for yourself and other officrs. Likewise, I hope you realize that the level of concern for these problems also varies among members of your own department. While I am certain that the majority of your fellow officers are truly concerned with improving the quality of life for the people they serve, I also believe that to some theirs is simply a thankless job that they are glad to forget about at the end of the day. It has been my misfortune to deal with some of those officers (in my opinion) in the past, and I hope you can appreciate the frustration this causes.

I requested to meet with you in person with the hope that we could begin to establish a relationship based upon our comon goals. I believe this was accomplished with our meeting. I am now convinced that yu are a dedicated and competent officer who is truly concerned about the problems in my neighborhood. I hope also that I have convinced you that I am a concerned citizen who is willing to work with your department to address these same problems.

My request to have you come to my home, rather than meeting at the police department, was to have communicated a message to two different groups of people. The first goup includs those neighbors of mine who share my concerns. Some of them, for various reasons, are reluctant to contact your department and unwilling to invite an officer to set on their front porch to discuss the problems. The second group includes those who are causing the problems. Many of them are under the mistaken notion that all the residents of this area are unwilling to openly coperate with your department.

I have received a positive response from the first group. After our meeting, some of my neighbors inquired as to what you (FWPD) intend to do about the problems here. When I explained that it will be necessary for us to work with you to achieve success, some of the reasons for their shyness were revealed to me - It seems that an anonymous tip about a problem neighbor loses it’s anonymity when an oficer shows up at the callers door! I have assured them that I know a dedicated and competent officer (That’s you!) who is willing to help us deal with our problems. I have also let them know that I can help provide a degree of separation if they are unwilling to be seen as too closely associated with your department.

With the second group, I was not as sucessful. I had hoped, by showing tht mine is a police-friendly home, to convince them that they should take their problems elsewhere. Unfortunately, they are not as receptive as the first group. In the past few days I have personally notified several people that they are not welcome to stand on my property. In addition, when I see suspicious activity on the sidewalks and streets in frot of my home, I make my presence known to them. The usual result is that they quickly go away, only to return again soon after I go inside or leave. Finally, last night I had to chase too men out of my back yard and about a dozen out of my front yar. This is a situaton that is becoming intolerable, and I will need your help to effectively deal with it.

Protocol would have dictate that I deal with this most recent problem by immediately calling your department that night. Please try to follow my explanation of why I did not do this and try to understand the situation that I am faced with. Yesterday, I worked for twelve hours. I was trying to get a little sleep last night before I had to return today to work another 12-hour shift. Had I called in last night, I think that the probable result would have been for your department to send a car or two to the area. Had any of the trespassers still been present when your officers arrived they would most likely have quickly vanished between houses to disapper into the night. In addition, I might have been questioned as to why I called in over "nothing” (Point being that if I called FWPD every time someone stands on my property or I see suspicious activity, I will perhaps be labeled a nuisance and not receive help when it is truly necessary.) Instead, I chose to notify these people (In a not too polite manner) myself that they were violating my rights and that I would not tolerate this. The net resul was the same - in that they left, but will return again later - but I achieved immediate results and was able to go back to sleep sooner.

Please do not take my explanation as criticism of FWPD. Rather, it is a testament to the transient nature of the drug traffickers, as well as your inability to immediately deal with the problems (since you do not, and can not, always have an officer present right when the problems appear.) It is my belief, and I assume you will recognize this as well, that many of the narcotics-related actions taken by your department often result in merely pushing the problm to another neighborhood. While I do appreciate anytime an officer drives through my neighborhood and chases off the offenders, it must be recognized that without arrests and convictions this problem will simply re-emerge at another time or place.

Getting To The Point

I do not know if my neighborhood is the worst, as far as drug trafficking is concerned, in Fort Wayne, but it certainly must rank high. I have lived here for over 7 years and have watched as the activities rise and fall. It is clear to me that the narcotics problem in my neighborhood is a persistent one and will not be significantly diminished unless a significant number of people are arrested, rather than just chased off. It is also clear to me that this will not happen unless your department is willing to change it’s approach to dealing with the problem (Again, no offense meant, but the same old approach will result in the same old results.)

I am sure that, in an attempt to learn what is truly going on here, FWPD has undercover agents perusing my neighborhood, and I applaud your creative and brave efforts in this respect. However, I am equally certain that no one riding through on their bicycle or making an occasional buy can learn as much about this neighborhood than if they actually lived here. I am not, of course, suggesting that I am more informed about the narcotics business here than is your own department. What I am suggesting though is that if my residence (with a unique view of the activities on both Suttenfield & Warsaw Sts.) were combined with the expertise of your officers a significant, and hopefully long-term impact could be made.

I will leave it to you to decide if mine is a useful offer, and I will defer to your professional judgment as to where we go from here. However, if you are not willing to take my offer, please advise me on how I should deal with the situation here. To date, the most frequent advice I get is to phone the police and let them do their job. This begs me to ask the question - Do you really want me to call FWPD every time someone steps on my property or that I see suspicious behavior in the Suttenfield/Warsaw area? This would probably require a private line and a dedicated operator.

Final Note

I realize that some of my call to you may have seemed less than polite. However, please keep in mind that my situation is very frustrating. At the end of the day, Suttenfield St. is where I go home to, and I can not escape the problems there. The situation I found myself in last night required immediate attention. After shouting at 12 men to “Get the F*** off my God D*** property,” I was in no state to be talking with the police. If my message to you this morning sounded confusing, consider what it would have been like if I called last night. I do appreciate the professional manner in which you have responded to my situation, and I will try to extend the same courtesy towards you. If I can be of any help to you or your department, please contact me.

Sincerely,
Phillip D Marx

Home Phone: 479-4010
Cell Phone: 704-0212
Work Phone: 745-1893

Obviously, this letter is not completely self-explanatory. I will therefore spend the next several posts recalling what happened here during the summer of 2003. As you read these posts, I will reveal some of my own flaws in both judgment and demeanor. Although some of my accounts do not paint a nice self-portrait, I feel that including them is necessary in order for the full story to be better understood.

In my defense, I would like to point out that in the letter I apologized to Officer Marshall for my previously rude behavior. I also attempted to minimize the unprofessional behavior of a few individual officers, and characterized most of the problems here as being caused by factors that were beyond FWPD’s control.

REO SPEEDWAGON: In Your Letter

Good Morning FWPD!

Reassessing FWPD Command Staff

On Tuesday, there was a lot of activity on my corner for several hours during the day. But as far as I could see, nothing illegal was taking place. Things got a little noisy on occasion, and I’d still prefer they conduct their meetings across the street, but there was nothing worthy of calling the police about. Three patrol cars did come through the area at one point, and two stopped to talk with these guys. The officers were looking around the grounds, even glancing in my yard and the bed of my truck, but left after a short time. One was a k-9 unit, and they didn’t release the hounds, so I guess everything was kosher. Also on Tuesday, Officer Jefferson returned my call. Although we only traded voice messages, it was still a very good sign.

At this point in time, I have concluded that it is very likely that the FWPD Command Staff is aware of my blog. I am pleased with this, because they were the intended audience from the beginning. I only chose to blog because I felt I was not getting my message through on the traditional channels. I can now also say that, for the most part, I feel that FWPD is handling the current situation in an appropriate manner. I offer here a very sincere apology to any officers who I have unduly offended with my previous posts. As an extension of my apology, I will try to refrain from blogging about the current activities here. If something occurs that I feel is necessary to mention, it will be brief and with very limited detail.

The reason for this is because there are many things here that are difficult to explain to the unfamiliar person. For example, I once witnessed an officer walk up to a young (adult) man who was standing in his own front yard. The officer got right in his face and ordered this guy to “Go inside your house - NOW!” As an added incentive he said “If you don’t cooperate, I WILL find something to arrest you for.” For most people, if that short scene was all they observed, they would be shocked at the officer’s behavior.

But there is much more to the story than just that short event. The entire situation here is complex, and dealing with it is often not as straight forward as some people might think. It is sometimes difficult to live here, and I am sure it is difficult as well for those who work here. If word of my blog would somehow get to the patrol officers who work my neighborhood, I do not want them to worry about how their current actions might be portrayed by me. If the drug dealers want to complain about being “harassed” for “just standing on the sidewalk,” they can keep their own journal.

It is also worth mentioning that much of my outrage towards FWPD stemmed from the fact that it took so long for them to recognize me. Considering the number of times I have called them, and the number of times I have interacted with individual patrol officers here, it is simply incredible that up until the summer of 2006, most FWPD officers seemed to treat me as though I were just another crack-head wandering about. If this was by accident, then it points to a dangerous level of ignorance or stupidity. If it was by design, then my more provocative speculations begin to seem more plausible.

At this point though, I think it is a fair assumption to believe that I am pretty well known by the FWPD. This does not stem from my blog so much as from events that have occurred here during the past year and a half. I think it is now very unlikely that I will be ignored or treated as impolitely by FWPD as I have been in the past.

The Blog Continues

Although I am reasonably content with the current situation, there are still several reasons that I think it is wise to continue with my story, including my past accounts of FWPD. First, as mentioned above, whether FWPD’s past treatment of me was intentional or not, it points to a serious problem within that organization. I will openly admit that my own speculation about things may be far from accurate. Living here has strongly affected me, and those affects have very likely skewed my own perceptions. But an outside observer should be able to cull out what they feel is inaccurate or overstated from my account, and focus on what is solid.

FWPD has already heard more from me than this blog has revealed, but there is much more than even that to be told yet. FWPD has made a lot of mistakes here in the past, and my blog will chronicle some of them. An intelligent person seeks to learn from their mistakes, not hide from them, so I hope that FWPD will continue to monitor my blog.

The second reason that I will continue this blog is because the story is much wider than just the drug dealers and the FWPD. I have tried in the past to gain relief from this situation through several other governmental agencies including the DEA, the Allen County Sheriff’s Department, the Allen County Prosecutors Office, the Indiana State Police, and the Office of Indiana’s Attorney General. For the most part, I was either ignored or simply referred back to the one organization (FWPD) whose own refusal to assist led me to seek outside help in the first place. These stories themselves are important to tell, and they will not make sense unless attached to the broader context of what has been going on with FWPD.

In addition, I sought to relate my story to three major outlets of our local media (one television, two newspapers) in the past. I had hoped that a little public exposure to my grievances against FWPD might encourage them to alter their position. But the media decided this was not a story that they wanted to get involved in. Although one minor media outlet did offer to assist me in getting my story out, I did not feel that the plan they offered was a feasible option at the time. As most of the readers here are probably regular bloggers, you will find it noteworthy that without this outlet, my voice would probably never have been publicly heard.

But the third, and most important reason to continue the blog is due to the uncertainty of the future. I have witnessed extreme fluctuations in the drug activities here over the years. Innumerable times in the past, I have thought that things were settled. But as soon as I stood down, the dealers stepped right in to take advantage of the situation. There have been noticeable variations in the behavior of FWPD as well. I need to make sure that my past experiences here are publicized well enough so that if things regress again there might be others who join in my outrage.

Phil Marx - Friend or Foe to FWPD?

If you are a FWPD officer, it is very likely that a casual reading of my blog might strike you as somewhat offensive. I am, in fact, pointing out some of your flaws, and many people do not like this. But I would like to encourage you to take a broader view than this. Would you like to walk around with your zipper undone, or would you rather someone would point this out so that you can correct it? And if that person first tried to tell you this discreetly, only shouting it out loud after you refused to listen, is it really fair to blame that person for any embarrassment that might befall you? Well, I believe that the FWPD Command Staff has been suffering from something far more serious than an open fly for quite some time now. I have tried to tell them discreetly, to no avail. So now I am forced to blog about it.

For those of you who detect some personal animosity towards FWPD in my posts, I ask that you first consider the sign that I spray painted on the side of my house the night it was firebombed. About a dozen of you stopped to take pictures, and I’ll bet quite a few of you still remember what I’m talking about. If not, it’s in the police report from that night. I want you to first realize that the anger I had towards the drug dealers (as evidenced by my message) that night was very similar to what I was feeling towards several members of your own department at the time. Although I still believe that my reaction towards your department at that time was not entirely unjustified, I will admit that my anger probably blinded me somewhat and perhaps caused me to overreact. And although many of my posts about previous experiences here will sound outright venomous, I think that if you take the time to investigate, you will see that my more reflective posts are far more sympathetic towards the FWPD.

I have shown many times in the past that I am willing to apologize if I was in the wrong. If I say something here that you wish to challenge me on, I would welcome your thoughts. If my openness and willingness to engage you here still has not convinced you that I am not hostile towards the FWPD, please consider that I have chosen to use pseudonyms for all FWPD officers. As discomforting as it might be to hear what I have to say, and to know that others are reading it, I think my anonymous approach should at least convince you that I am not doing this out of anger. I truly believe that FWPD suffers from some serious organizational problems. And I think many people, including most FWPD officers, would benefit if these problems were to be properly addressed.

The Main Point

I need to make certain that everybody (drug dealer’s and police) understand that I will not relax as long as people are selling drugs near my home. I have learned from past experiences that allowing myself to do so could be quite dangerous. If they sell on the sidewalk unchecked, then they begin to place their stash on my property. At first, they just edge in, then eventually they end up back on my front porch and hiding their drugs in my mailbox.

If they congregate near my house, I will watch them, and I expect the FWPD to continue doing the same. If they enter my property, then I will either confront them myself or call FWPD. If I witness them selling, then I will call FWPD and continue to discreetly measure the response. I live in a drug neighborhood, and I have accepted that there is not much I can do about that. But I will not tolerate other people using my home as a front for their illegal and dangerous activities, and I sincerely hope that FWPD will continue to assist me with this.

If they are conducting their activities on any one of the other three corners, then I will try as hard as I can to simply ignore what is going on. With this statement, I am in no way condoning their activities. I am simply doing what I have witnessed several FWPD officers (of both low and high rank) do in the past. By recognizing that the resources to eliminate this problem simply are not available, then the intelligent choice is to manage it so that as few innocent persons as possible are harmed.



Phillip D Marx
462 E Suttenfield Street
Fort Wayne, IN

A Response from FWPD?

From my previous post, you probably realize that I believe that FWPD has seriously mishandled the situation here. There are, in fact, some actions of certain officers which I feel should be criminally investigated. But this assumption jumps quite a bit ahead of where I am presently at in the story. It took several years for my view to evolve from seeing this as just some unprofessional mistakes being made by a few patrol officers to a coordinated effort by FWPD to allow the drug activity here to go on unchallenged.

A lot of information is needed to take you from the early years to the point where I developed this strong opinion. My plan had been to take you through my stories in a chronological order, so that you might better understand my perspective. I didn’t want to lump everything together by just saying “Something bad happened to me ten times.” Instead, I wanted to relay each story individually, so that by the tenth time, you too would be outraged. With an aggregate view, you would just see this as one big offense, but the detailed view shows that it is really a long and constant chain of repeated offenses.

But what began as a reply to a reader’s comment ended up going directly to the heart of the matter. I believe that FWPD engaged in a long-term and coordinated effort to disallow me from working with them to address the issues here. I believe that unnecessarily allowed the drug dealers to effectively rule this neighborhood for several years. And it is that situation that directly led to the circumstances under which three fire-bombs were thrown at my home in October of 2006.

The reason that I focused my attention on the FWPD Command Staff is because they collectively hold responsibility for the actions of the entire department. Personally, I have only interacted with six of these eighteen officers, but that does not excuse the rest. If they were unaware of my plight prior to October 2006, then they are dangerously ignorant. If they were aware of it, then they apparently acted with disregard for my safety. FWPD may not be the source of the problems here, but I stand by my claim that they have been a significant enabler.

But of course, providing for a better future is much more important than just complaining about the miserable past. Whether it is the overly emboldened dealers, the frequently ambivalent neighbors, or the recalcitrant FWPD, I am willing to engage anyone in useful dialogue. If people who have formerly worked against me show that they are no longer doing so, then my disposition towards them will quickly improve. With that in mind, I would like to relay to you a story that happened very recently.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008; 14:30 I heard people talking outside and went to check on it. Sometimes when this happens I’ll just open the door and walk right out to announce my presence. This usually has a quick dampening effect on any untoward activities. Sometimes the people there leave the area, sometimes they just remain and stare at me, but most of the time they will simply walk across the street to occupy one of the other corners.

Other times, I will just watch and listen unobserved to gain some insight on what is going on. In this case I decided to look first, and am very glad that I did because I would not have wanted to interfere with what was going on at that time. A FWPD patrol car was parked beside my house and Officer Jefferson was standing there with two of the regulars from around here and another that is relatively new to the area. They were all young though, I believe the oldest of them now being twenty three.

Because the patrol car was parked the wrong direction and at a slight angle, I assumed there was a search and/or arrest taking place. But after scoping the surrounding area I realized that Officer Jefferson was alone, and he was just talking with the three. From the tone of the conversation I assume that Officer Jefferson personally knew these guys, at least casually. For the most part, he spoke as a concerned older brother might.

Officer Jefferson was confronting them about their activities and the direction they were heading in. Several times he referred to how they were wasting their time out here on the streets, and challenged them to do better. He added a little coercion by talking about how much prison time they could get for some of the more serious crimes. Although they politely listened and even engaged in his conversation, it seemed obvious that these three would probably not be making any drastic changes to their lifestyle any time soon.

Perhaps sensing their stubbornness, Officer Jefferson then said “You can do what you want inside, we don’t care about that. If you want to mess yourself up, go ahead. But you’re out here, and that’s what I’m talking about.” One of the guys replied somewhat defiantly “If we’re doing it in there, then we’re going to be doing it out here.” But in spite of this, I think Officer Jefferson made his point that their activities would not go unchecked. Although it will certainly take time to tell the full effect of Officer Jefferson’s actions, it certainly can’t make the situation any worse.

If my recognition was correct, Officer Jefferson is a member of the FWPD Command Staff. I felt somewhat heartened to know that such a high ranking officer would personally engage himself in the matter in this way. With respect to that, I would like to thank the entire FWPD Command Staff for this positive effort. If I criticize you as a group, then it is only fair that my compliments should follow the same rule.

15:05 After Officer Jefferson left, the three guys walked to the other side of the street and were soon joined by a couple others. A few minutes later, a patrol car passed through the area. This was not Officer Jefferson, but Officer Rice, one of the regular patrol officers in this area. I can’t help but think that was coordinated. The nice guy just stops for a friendly chat and says he’s worried about their future, then the cop who does the arresting does a quick follow up. Sort of a good cop, bad cop thing as if to say “You can either choose to settle down, or you can be forced to.”

16:00 - 17:00 The area had been clear for almost an hour, then about six guys showed up in front of my house. I listened and watched for almost an hour before I saw one of them walk up to a vehicle that had stopped. They appeared to be doing business, so I called FWPD to report this. I gave them a detailed description of the vehicle, including that it had a temp. plate in the left, rear window, and it’s location and direction of travel. I also gave a description of the guy who had interacted with him, although I did not know his name.

Only a few minutes after I called, all of these guys suddenly evacuated the area. I assumed that an approaching police car was the cause of this, but none arrived. I watched for a few more minutes, and neither the police or any of the guys were in sight. Now, you might assume that something was broadcast over the police scanner that alerted these guys, but I was listening to the scanner myself and heard nothing. Sometimes coincidences really do occur, but you really do have to wonder about things like this.

After a few more minutes, I called FWPD back to report that the area appeared to be clear now. I simply told them if no officer was presently en route, that it would probably be best to just cancel it. I then called Officer Jefferson and left a voice message explaining what had just occurred. I also informed him that I had witnessed his actions here earlier today and that I appreciated the effort. I informed him that two of the guys he spoke with earlier were among this latest group.

I told Officer Jefferson that I try not to get involved with these guys but that I can not ignore it when they are standing in front of my house, to do so would be dangerous. I said that there are three other corners, including an empty lot, that they can stand on without bothering me. I told him as long as they are not bringing it to me, by standing in front of my house, then I don’t even see them. I left my number and invited Officer Jefferson to call if he felt we needed to talk about the situation.

18:00 Everybody had left and things were quiet here for almost an hour, then they started to return. I looked out and saw two of the guys from earlier today were standing on the corner across the street, but another was standing by my house. As I walked outside and stood on the porch, I noticed three other guys a little ways down the sidewalk looking at me with concern. They looked very young, possibly under eighteen. The guy by my house looked older (late twenties, early thirties) and although I have seen him around many times, I’ve never had much interaction with him yet.

I sat down on my front porch steps and casually surveyed the area. One of the guys across the street called to the guy by my house “Man, you can’t be on that corner.” This guy appeared to ignore them, but after a couple minutes he walked away. Two of the guys from down the street had joined the ones on the corner now. They remained there at least until I left the house a half hour later. When I returned a couple hours later, the are was clear and remained so for the remainder of the night.

Taking Responsibility - Not a Difficult Concept to Grasp!

I was not going to post today. But my response to bobby g's latest comment became very long, and it made a strong enough point that I thought it should be added as a separate post. The last paragraph here really summarizes my point, the rest just explains it in more detail.

As you read, keep in mind that when I talk about FWPD, I am referring to the bureaucratic structure rather than the individual patrol officers. As far as the latter group goes, I have met some that are very good, and others that are at least slightly bad. But for the most part, they are just doing what they are told.

But the FWPD Command Staff can not offer this same excuse. They are FWPD, and responsibility for the organization as a whole and for any of the individual officer rests squarely upon each of these eighteen people. If a mistake happens, and they do nothing to correct it, then they have automatically assumed responsibility for the mistake themselves.

So, bobby g, this one's for you.

When you said: One thing you bring up about a "police-sanctioned" drug neighborhood is that the police often feel (or are told from the top down) that areas like this are fine (as long as they keep killing each other). It's when those few survivors (like us) are STILL IN those areas that points of contention arise. you hit the nail right on the head.

Watching a drug dealer cry foul over the actions of another dealer or over slight transgressions by the police is comical. You get what you deserve when you agree to play this game.

But I know an old man down here that was told by a neighbor that the dealers were using his car to hide their drugs. He did not have confidence in FWPD because of the way they mishandled a prior incident. So instead of calling the police, he stayed up that night with a loaded shotgun in hand, and watched out the window for the dealers to come near his car. If FWPD ignores our pleas for help, and they do not properly address the problems themselves, they are inviting us to become vigilantes. I believe there is legal standing for this argument.

I believe that I have a reasonable expectation that I should be able to walk about my home, my property, and even my neighborhood without fear of being molested by armed criminals. The FWPD has accepted the mandate to provide a reasonable degree of safety for the citizen's of this city. By paying taxes that fund FWPD, I have offered consideration from my end of the agreement and a legally binding contract has thus been established.

In the past, the situation was frequently such that I had to drive around the neighborhood for several minutes, reconnoitering the area before I felt that I could safely approach my own home. That certainly meets the legal definition for apprehension or intimidation which means such acts constitute an assault against me.

If FWPD fails to deliver on their promise of providing public safety, then I should reasonably be allowed to act as my own rescuer from this assault, thus invoking the doctrine of Danger invites rescue. At this point, FWPD would become the tortfeasor, and be forced to assume financial responsibility for any suffering which I might incur while doing that which they had contracted with me to do themselves.

Of course I'm no lawyer, and all that legal B.S. above was pulled from my memories of an old business law class I took and wikipedia. Any real lawyer would be able to quickly point out a serious contradiction in the terms I used. But I think the logic is still solid. If the police will not ensure my safety, then I must do so myself.

But even if a forlorn citizen could make a legal rationalization for an act of self-defense, most of us are not professionally trained to handle this type of situation. So if FWPD forces us to take care of the problem ourselves, it's likely to not turn out very well. When FWPD uses a blanket approach and fails to distinguish between the good, the bad and the down right ugly among the people in this neighborhood, they cause the problem to become far worse. They might not be the source of the problem, but they are certainly a big part of it.

The day after my house was firebombed, a FWPD officer said something very inappropriate to me. This was too serious an offense to ignore, so I called the desk sergeant and asked who I could speak with about it. He referred me to Internal Affairs. I told them I did not want to file a formal complaint. I just wanted to know if our telephone conversation had been taped. If it was, I wanted Chief York to listen to it, then tell me if he thought the officer had acted inappropriately.

I was told that they could not even check to see if the tape existed unless I filed a formal complaint first. Here I just wanted to have a private conversation but apparently that was not an option. The only means I was allowed for addressing this problem was to file a complaint.

Then, after filing this complaint, they summarily dismissed it without investigation or explanation. Again, I tried to reach Chief York to talk about the matter off the record but received no response. So the only option available to me was to file a formal appeal. It took more than a month for their "investigation" this time, and I expect they had to spend a bit of money having their lawyers review it.

In this complaint, I accused a high ranking officer of racketeering, and their only response was to say "We disagree." They did not invite me to come before them to explain myself or to answer any questions. They gave no real explanation for their dismissal. They gave no detailed response to my complaint. Their letter of response may as well have just said "Dear sir, Fuck You! Sincerely, the City of Fort Wayne."

I did not want to make noise, I did not want to broadcast my story publicly, but the stubborn refusal of FWPD to simply engage me in dialogue has left me no choice other than to air their dirty laundry for them.

If you shit your britches, wouldn't it be prudent to excuse yourself and clean up the mess? Only an idiot tries to just act like it never happened, and ignores the fact that people are pointing at him and saying "Hey, you stink. I think you need to change your underwear."

We all screw up sometimes, but it's how we react to this that is most important. FWPD shit their britches and is either unaware of it or is just trying to act like it never happened. There is a major malfunction with the FWPD, and this needs to be corrected.

Recommended Training Video for FWPD Command Staff

Jumping Ahead: Let’s Get this Party Started

My last story took you up to the Summer of 1999. I had been here three and a half years and already had a few confrontations with the drug dealers and a couple bad experiences with some patrol officers. The people who run FWPD had made it clear to me that they either had no idea what was going on here, or they just didn’t care. My attempt to join FWPD had exhausted me. There was a lot of time and energy involved. Often, their tests were scheduled during my regular work hours, so I had used up a lot of my vacation time already by half way through the year. It was an interesting experience, but I decided it would not be worth going through another time or two, so I gave up on the idea of becoming a cop.

As for the drug dealers, the next four years were roughly a repeat of the previous pattern. As I got to know more of my neighbors though, there was less of an edge to the relationship between myself and some of the regular dealers here. Many of our encounters could probably be better characterized as discussions, rather than confrontations. I still had to assert myself on a regular basis though. The worst times were when I lived alone, or when I was away from the house for long periods of time. The dealers always made it clear that they were ready to reclaim their turf if I did not remain alert and active.

As for the police, I don’t know if I called them once during this period of time. It really seemed pointless. I could take care of the immediate problems quicker and perhaps as effectively as the police would have. As for a long-term solution, the police had basically told me that they did not want to talk about that. So I got by as best as a guy could when living in what was beginning to appear to be a police-sanctioned drug neighborhood.

There was an important personal event in my life which occurred during this time as well. Although it was not in itself related to this neighborhood, the impact that it had upon me greatly affected how I dealt with the problems here. I began to write here about that event which occurred in December of 2000, but after three pages I realized I could not summarize that subject in a concise manner. Instead, it should suffice here to simply say that one of the most noticeable effects was that I became more assertive and more willing to confront dangerous situations. Although my actions here often seem reckless to others, I feel (even with the benefit of hindsight) that I usually acted judiciously. But before December of 2000, the saying “Courage is doing what you can’t do, because you have to do it,” was just something I heard. Now, those words had meaning to me.

Had this been a rented apartment, it’s likely I would have left a long time ago. And although I paid less than three thousand dollars to purchase the house, I had invested thousands of dollars and many hours of labor. This had become my home now, and I would fight to protect it.

It was probably due to the fact that the activities in 2003 started early and were more intense than usual that I realized that just “Letting the cops do their job” was not a viable option. I would need to develop a real strategy to effectively deal with this situation, and a key to that strategy would be to better understand the full scope of the activities here. I needed information, about the dealers and the police, and my journal is the result of that quest.

Up to this point, most of my posts have been colorful and descriptive, but often lacking in specific details. For example, when I say “During the summer of 1997, some guy was selling drugs on the side of my house,” or “During the spring of 1998, a couple cops checked my I.D.,” this means I can’t recall with clarity exactly when the events occurred or the names of the dealer or the police involved. Beginning in 2003 though, my journal often lists specific dates, times, names of officers and dealers, identifying numbers of police cars, and phone numbers that I called or where calls to my house originated from. I probably won’t include everything on my blog, but I suspect what I do include will be detailed enough to add credibility to my story.

There are many interesting stories I could tell about this skipped period of time, but they are not central to the main theme of detailing the activities of the drug dealers and the police. So, beginning with my next post, we’ll just move ahead a bit to 2003 and get the party started.

FWPD - An Equal Opportunity Employer: Autumn 1998

The dealers were using my home as a front for their drug activities while I was away, and they would often pack up and leave as I was coming home. There was trash strewn everywhere, sometimes my porch furniture was moved around, and my neighbors told me that they were even hiding drugs in my mailbox. Yet if I called FWPD about this, they would act as though the problem was solved because it wasn’t occurring at that moment. Forget the fact that the same thing would happen again as I went to work the next morning. These problems could not be solved with a simple call to the anonymous and seemingly ignorant “desk sergeant,” many of the patrol officers here seemed too stressed out to carry on a civil conversation, and I was unable to establish meaningful communication with any higher ranking officers at FWPD.

All I wanted was a little assistance from FWPD. I didn’t expect them to watch my property 24/7, but I wanted the officers who patrol this neighborhood to know that mine was not a drug house. And I wanted them to know that when they see a group of people standing in my yard or setting on my porch, those people are probably drug dealers. I simply wanted the higher ranking officers to pass this information on to the patrol officers.

Monitoring and arguing with the dealers, picking up their trash, being harassed by some of the patrol officers, and being ignored by the bureaucrats was wearing on me. I often felt like this was a battle I was losing. So, as the saying goes, I decided “If you can’t beat them, join them.” And no, I was not considering becoming a drug dealer.

I don’t recall when the notice first appeared in the paper, but I believe it was in October of 1998 that I went to South Side High School to take a written examination. There were several hundred other applicants, all vying to fill a few open positions as a patrol officer with the FWPD. The written exam was a piece of cake. It was long, but it was multiple choice questions, mostly math, reading comprehension, and other rudimentary mental skills. I suppose that if they provide the definition of burglary, theft and robbery to you, then ask you to define these terms (while the definitions are still in front of you) and you fail, then you probably shouldn’t be a cop!

The next step was the physical testing at the Police training station on St. Mary’s Ave. The first section was a four point obstacle course set up in the gymnasium. The first obstacle was a five foot high wall that you had to scale. Then there were a set of low lying bars that you had to slide or crawl under without knocking them off the cones they rested on. I’m thinking they were about 18” off the ground and there was a series of them stretching for 6-8’. I think the third obstacle was a distance jump, and I really can’t recall how far it was. I am really vague on my recollection of the fourth obstacle. It might have been running through tires on the floor, or walking a balance beam. But I’m thinking the balance beam came later when we went upstairs. I believe we had to run this course three or four times in continuous sequence. I don’t recall exactly how they scored on this. I know you got points taken off if you knocked off any of the bars, and I think failure to scale the wall was an automatic disqualifier.

After that, we ran up and down the stairs for a while, then we went upstairs for the remainder of the test. We had to drag a sack filled with weights (I don’t recall how much) back and forth along the hallway. Several times you had to come to a complete stop and start fresh again. That made a big difference. Each new drag would burn the legs (especially the calves) a little more, and by the time we stopped, I was a bit sore. I think we also walked back and forth on a balance beam a few times for the last test. I would say that dragging the weights was the most trying of the tests for me, and running the stairs was probably the second hardest part. Overall, it seemed fairly easy to me, so I guess it wasn’t that difficult.

I don’t remember the exact order of the different trials they put us through, but I think the next step was an interview before a panel of three FWPD officers. This was probably the most intimidating part of the test. You’re setting in a dingy looking room of a building that looked on the verge of being condemned, and facing three uniformed officers. They all look at you in unison, with expressionless faces, and ask “Why should we let you be a police officer.” I swear, at one point I almost blurted out “Okay, I admit it, I’m guilty!” At least they weren’t shining a light in my eyes.

After that was the lie detector test. I had never sat in a police interrogation room or had a lie detector test administered to me before. It was a little uncomfortable, mainly because the circumstances seemed designed to make you feel like you were a criminal. But I suppose that can be good for a couple reasons. First, the intimidation probably makes it more difficult for you to fool the machine, but it’s probably also good for a (future) cop to understand things from the perspective of the criminal (I mean the accused.)

The last test was a psychological examination which took place at IPFW in may of 1999. They gave us no preparation for this, not even a rough idea of how long it would take. I had expected an actual personal interview for this. As there were only about sixty applicants left at this stage, that seemed feasible. Instead, it was another multiple choice test. I would estimate we were there about six hours, although we were allowed a couple breaks.

Many of you have probably seen these tests before. They ask “have you ever stolen anything?” Well, you’re applying to be a cop, so you can’t admit you’re a thief. But almost everybody has probably stolen something, sometime in their life, so if you answer no, they’ll think you’re a liar. Then they ask if you’ve ever smoked pot, kicked a cat, lied to your mother, and a lot of other silly questions. Some are straight forward, and others are very ambiguous. Many people worry so much about how they think they are expected to answer the questions, instead of just answering them, that this itself causes a lot of frustration.

I really don’t think they even look at how you answer the questions. The first thing they probably check is to see if you left too many questions unanswered. This means you were giving it too much thought, which means you were trying to manipulate the test rather than give honest answers. But if you answer too quickly, it perhaps shows you are reckless and lack the ability to think deliberatively. So timing is everything. You can have a few unanswered questions at the end or you can finish a little before the time is up, and you’re okay. But too much of either and you’re out. Of course, the other disqualifier is when someone jumps up and runs from the room screaming.

So, from this final group of about sixty candidates, I think we were told that twenty-three would be selected. We were also told that if we had made it this far, then we all would make good cops. They encouraged those who didn’t make the cut to re-apply in the future. During the application process, I had talked with many of the other candidates. Some were trying out for the second or even third time. Many of them said they’d heard that most people don’t make it on their first try.

Some were attempting to cross over from other police agencies, which I expect gave them a strong advantage in certain areas of the selection process. I understand the need to interview and give some of the tests to everyone, but I was actually surprised when I found out that a current Allen County Officer has to take the full battery of physical and written tests that a civilian does in order to join FWPD. There’s certainly no harm in doing this, I just figured they’d say “Oh, since you’re already a cop, let’s just ask you a couple quick questions before we give you your new badge.”

Although I had encountered several FWPD officers during this lengthy process, it was always in a very formal manner. There really wasn’t any chance to say to one of them “By the way, I’m having this problem in my neighborhood and I wonder if you could tell me what I should do about it.” I kept wondering when somebody would take note of my home address on the application, and I was expecting one of the officers to call me aside and say “You live in crack-town and you want to be a cop? You’ve got to be kidding.”

As I wrote this post, I remembered one other part of the application process. Officer Hay came to my home to conduct a personal interview. I don’t remember how much advance notice I had for this, but it certainly wasn’t enough time to conceal the fact that the outside of my house was dilapidated and the interior was under construction. And of course, there was no way to change the fact that I was living in crack-town. In retrospect, I’m actually quite surprised that Officer Hay was able to maintain his composure during the interview. Here I was, the only white guy around, living in a drug infested neighborhood, and owning a home that probably looked like it could be a crack house itself, and I wanted to be a cop. I would really love to be able to read his report on that interview someday. “Applicant must either be a drug dealer himself, or just a damned idiot for not realizing that a blue uniform down here will probably get him killed. - Recommend no pass.”



The Few, The Proud, the FWPD:

If you can handle the written test, the physical test, and successfully pass before the police review panel they might eventually give you a gun to play with. You should probably have a couple stiff drinks before taking the psychological test to help you relax though. Just don’t admit that you’re drunk, but don’t deny it either - damn, now I need another drink!