One of the most frustrating things about living in this neighborhood is the mixed signals I often receive from FWPD. They publicly proclaim that they want and need citizen involvement in order to do their job effectively. Yet my experience has shown that often they either resent or simply don’t know how to make use of such help when it is offered to them. I don’t really think the main problem with FWPD stems from a coordinated effort to keep citizens such as myself from being involved in the process. Rather, I think it is a sign of a lack of coordination within the department.
One day I got in a shouting argument with a guy here after I told him to stay off my property. A few minutes later, he drove by my house with a friend and did a mock drive by shooting on me. I did not call FWPD to report this because it seemed useless to do so. Most likely they wouldn’t even question him, and even if they did he’d simply deny it and that would be the end of the story. When I relayed this story to an officer some time later, he chastised me for not reporting it. According to him, I was part of the problem because they (FWPD) can’t do anything about the criminal activities if their not reported.
Then, there was the time that I called FWPD to ask them to remove two guys from my front lawn. As the officers arrived I went out and picked up a CD case that one of the guys had set in my yard. When one of them claimed it I said to him “Look, I have asked you a dozen times this year not to be on my property. Now I’m telling you, with this officer as a witness, stay off my property or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” After finishing talking with this guy, this officer walked down the street to join another officer who was speaking with the other guy. As the man with the CD case was walking away from my house he turned back to me and said “You did the wrong thing - called the police. We’re going to get you.” I immediately went over to the officers and repeated what he had said. I instructed the officer that I wanted to file a complaint stating that this man was threatening me. The officer ran back to the corner, but the guy had already slipped away. I told the officer where this guy lived (only two blocks away) and he just rolled his eyes at me. I said fine, forget it, but now you know why I don’t report frivolous things around here.
I have tried for years to keep the dealers off of and away from my property. I have also tried for years to elicit the cooperation of FWPD in this matter. For the most part their response has been to tell me to just ignore the problem when it is occurring on the sidewalks or in the street. At the same time, I have had several officers seem to accuse me of being the source of the problems here, making comments such as “Don’t you see what these guys are doing around here?” or “Did you ever try to do anything about this?”
In a sense, I feel like a colonized subject living here. If the colonized makes noise and rails against the unfair system, he is labeled as a trouble-maker. If he complies with the rules, which constantly change to ensure that he can never fully comply, he is labeled as stupid or lazy. So the colonized is either so aggressive that he must be controlled, or he is so compliant that he shows a need to be taken care of. Either way, the occupation is justified and the colonizer remains in control. Eventually the farce becomes apparent as enough of the colonized realize that the only true goal of the colonizer is to be in control, and the colonized themselves are mere commodities in this game.
Whether FWPD admits it or even realizes it is irrelevant to the fact that this in the game that they are playing here. They don’t initially respond to my pleas for help because I am insignificant to them. But when I make a little noise and other people become involved, then my situation becomes a public relations case. They act here not because they want to help me, but because they want to appear as though they care to the other people who might be watching. I don’t think that this situation is unique to FWPD, but rather is something that is suffered by most bureaucracies, especially governmental ones.
I have come to accept this situation, not because I want to but because I have little choice in the matter. For quite a while after failing to establish any meaningful communication with FWPD, I fell back on my own resources. I monitored my property and spoke directly with the dealers as best I could, and for the most part I found better results this way than by going through the FWPD. But then a couple years ago things began to get very active here again. Not only were the dealers constantly encroaching upon my property, but I had a few encounters with the police in which they actually seemed to think I was a drug dealer.
During the summer of 2006, I called FWPD to my house several times for what some people might consider to be frivolous events. I did this not because I expected any results from FWPD, but simply as a matter of establishing a public record of what is going on here. FWPD still refuses to release to me a police report which details the time a sixteen year old drug dealer hid his gun in my front yard. As far as I know, there may actually be no official record of this. I have a report of another incident that occurred here which I believe was falsified by the officer in order to protect one of their confidential informants. I have no idea what FWPD’s official summary of this neighborhood is, but I am absolutely certain it is very far from reality.
This concerns me because it would be quite easy for a person to drive past my house and take a few photos that would make pretty convincing evidence that mine is a drug house. On any given day, you could probably search my property or the immediate area surrounding it and find something illegal. I could not count on whatever FWPD might have in their hidden records. I needed to clearly establish that Mine was not a drug house and that I was actually trying hard to work against the problems here. The culmination of my actions in this regard was the certified letter I sent to Chief York in October of 2006. My main goals in all this were so that if I ever got in a full blown fight with one of the dealers it would not appear as though I was the troublemaker, and If FWPD ever found evidence of drugs on my property they could not accuse me of being the perpetrator.
As I said, my acceptance of this situation is not by choice, and I periodically re-test FWPD to see if they are actually interested in doing their job, instead of just pretending to be interested. There is one patrol officer here who I have a lot of confidence in. Officer Rice occasionally stops to talk while I am outside, and has given me his work number so that I can leave a message if necessary. In addition, one member of FWPD Command Staff has recently begun taking a very direct interest in this area. I have seen Officer Jefferson in my neighborhood over half a dozen times in the past month or two, and he tries to interact directly with some of the most obnoxious dealers here. Officer Jefferson has also given me his work and cell phone numbers and I have spoken with him several times over the telephone. The last time I left a message on his voicemail, I saw a positive reaction from both the police and the dealers within a few hours.
But there is still much to be desired in this relationship. Officer Rice is sometimes sporadic in his patrolling of this neighborhood, and my telephone contact only allows me to leave a message, rather than to actually converse. Although he stops while passing through, I feel it is best if we keep such public conversations at a minimum. As for Officer Jefferson, I can’t help but wonder about certain things like what occurred during our last conversation. Several dealers had been standing outside my house one afternoon when Officer Jefferson pulled up to the corner and parked for about ten minutes. The corner (in fact, the entire block) quickly cleared. I think a lot of these guys know who Jefferson is and if someone of his rank is going to come here himself they understand the message that they need to settle down a bit.
I called Officer Jefferson on his cell-phone immediately after he left the area. I didn’t know the guys who were on the corner by name, so I used that opportunity to I.D. them and to give him some information about them. Officer Jefferson then suggested that I call Vice & Narcotics to give this information and ask for their help. I began to explain to Officer Jefferson that I have done that before, even going so far as to offer to let them place cameras on my property, but received no response from them. At this point, Officer Jefferson had to suddenly break away from the conversation because he had arrived at his destination. Things like this just seem very strange to me.
Here I am talking to one of FWPD’s top officers, and he’s telling me I need to call someone else myself to convey this information. Then, when I try explaining that those officers have already shown that they are not interested in hearing my information, Officer Jefferson abruptly ends the conversation. I really appreciate the apparently sincere efforts that I have witnessed Officer Jefferson engaging in here, and I really don’t want to believe that he is simply pretending to care about the problem. But if he really does care, then he is obviously ignorant of the machinations going on inside his own department.
I can not speak with certainty about the motives of any one particular officer, but the empirical evidence does not lie. The FWPD, as an organization, has shown that it is far more interested in appearing to be concerned about the problems here than in actually confronting those problems. There may be many individual officers who are not the cause of this problem, and some may not even be aware of it. But when an officer tells me to take certain steps and I respond that those steps have already been taken, to no avail, then that officer has to make a simple choice. Either he will begin to educate himself and to confront the problems within his own department, or he has chosen to become a part of the problem himself.
One night I called FWPD to report activities going on here. I told them the EXACT location of where the dealers had stashed their drugs. The guys fled as soon as the police came in sight, and there were four officers now searching the empty corner in vain for the drugs. Either these cops don’t know their directions, or it got lost in translation, but I actually had to call back to FWPD, give the name of one of the Officers who was outside, and reiterate my instructions. I was literally saying to the telephone operator “No, they’re at the wrong tree. Tell them to go south about twenty feet, then west about ten feet, and to check the east side of that tree.” It was like watching grown men search for Easter eggs while blind-folded. They were shining their lights and walking in all directions until they finally stumbled upon the stash. At that time I was still trying to act somewhat incognito, but I was very tempted to just walk out there and point it out for them.
The dealers here have a very strong communications network, and it is connected to the FWPD dispatch channel. Most of the time when the police are called to the area because of a complaint, the dealers have already fled. And when the dealers are sometimes caught in the area, they have usually had time to toss the drugs. It is very difficult to fingerprint a piece of crack cocaine or a plastic baggie. If FWPD was sincere in addressing the problems here, they would take a few simple steps. First, they would provide me with a contact officer who patrols this area for each shift. They would then give me the cell phone number for each of these officers so that we could communicate directly and off-line. And finally, they would install cameras here so that all that crack that they keep finding laying around in the grass could be reunited with the proper owners. The fact that they are not doing this leads me to wonder if their current actions are not a mere facade.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Getting Political: October 2003 - Part IV
By this point, it was becoming obvious that the FWPD had no intentions of seriously addressing the problems in my neighborhood. I was coming to see Officer Marshall’s earlier communications with me to be nothing more than a ruse, designed to make me think that FWPD was actually concerned about what was going on here. I began to think about the political situation. This was the year for city elections, and as most people know, politicians willingness to listen to their constituents seems to get a lot better at this time for some reason. I had met my 5th district Councilman, Tim Pape, when he attended one of my neighborhood association meetings. He seemed intelligent and a fairly decent guy, but I really didn’t see my situation as something that he would want to get involved in.
The Mayoral race was interesting though. The incumbent, Graham Richard, had instituted a quadrant system for FWPD, and if re-elected he would continue with this. His challenger, Linda Buskirk, had garnered the endorsement of the police union (FBOP), and it was assumed that she would probably scrap the quadrant system as the union had desired. Of course a new Mayor would appoint a new Chief of Police, and many other positions. I thought of Jason, who worked for the Mayor’s office, and realized that his job was probably on the line with this election.
Monday, October 20 (10:00) I called to speak with Jason and got his voicemail. In the past, Jason had been polite and tried to be helpful, so I would have liked to have handled things in a less blunt manner than I did here. But there would not be another opportunity like this for another four years. I left a message with Jason reiterating the seriousness of the situation in my neighborhood. I then added that the police union was telling me that this was due to the Mayor’s flawed policing policies. I said I would like to believe that he and Mayor Richard were concerned for my safety, but it was appearing that might not be the case.
I told him that I needed to be convinced that re-electing Mayor Richard would not be a mistake, otherwise I would have no choice but to publicize my plight to try to effect the election. The Mayor probably didn’t give a damn about my one vote, but he certainly did not want bad publicity about his police department so close to election day. I’ve always heard that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, so I decided to put that maxim to the test here.
(12:00) Trying to steal a move from the Clint Eastwood playbook (A Fistful of Dollars), I visited the Buskirk Campaign headquarters as well. There was only one person in the office, and she did not seem to know much more than to offer me a sign. I spelled it out for her. “The police union is saying that Mayor Richard’s policies inhibit public safety. My story is proof of a lack of public safety. If Buskirk can convince me that her Police Chief will straighten this mess up, I’ll give her all the details she needs to convince the public that Mayor Richard is soft on crime.” I didn’t really know who’s policies were the best, and I really didn’t care. Whichever one of them would do something to help me with my immediate problem would get my support.
(13:00) I was not home to answer the phone, but Officer Marshall had left a message. “I don’t understand the problem. I read your letter and I think you should work with your neighborhood group and call FWPD when specific help is needed”
(16:30) I came home and saw that Officer Marshall had just called my home telephone again, but left no message this time. A few minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was Officer Marshall, asking if I had received his message from earlier in the day. Marshall had stopped returning my calls, and now he was calling me three times in one day. I’ll probably never know this for certain, but I suspect that my message with Jason had struck a nerve. What is particularly strange is that while Marshall’s earlier message sounded hostile, now he was sounding very polite and almost desperate to converse with me about the situation.
I sensed that I had the upper hand now, at least for a short while, so I decided to play it. I told Officer Marshall that I had a lot of knowledge about what was going on in this neighborhood and I didn’t understand his reluctance to work with me. Marshall assured me that I had misunderstood and he offered to come to my house to meet with me again the next morning to discuss the situation. He suggested that we should drive through the neighborhood together so I could point out which were the problem houses (something I had offered several times already), and we could discuss the matter in greater detail. This was getting interesting. Only a few hours earlier, Marshall didn't see what the problem was. Now he was practically fawning over me in an attempt to hear what I had to say. I sure hope he had his britches padded when he got called into his bosses office that afternoon.
(22:00) I was setting on the front porch with a friend when two men who I had not met before walked up to the corner and started acting oddly. They were talking among themselves mostly, but occasionally one of them would direct something unintelligible my way. After a few minutes of this, I decided to bite on their line. They were both in the street now and I stood up, looked at one of them and just said “What’s up?” One of them said he wanted to ask me a question. There was no hostility to his tone, so I walked out and met him on the corner. His friend remained standing in the distance, and my friend remained on the porch. A few others were scattered about the area and they all seemed to focus on Ted and me as we began talking.
He introduced himself as Ted, and quickly cut to the chase. He was a good sized guy, but his body language made it clear that he was trying to not come across as overly aggressive. He had his hands in his pockets, sliding his foot nonchalantly across the ground as he slowly inquired “Some of us was just wondering if you’re trying to shut things down here.” I explained my list of grievances to him: People using my property to hide their drugs, large groups of people staring menacingly at people who come to visit me, my house broken into, a gun-toting kid standing in front of my house and tossing his gun in my bush, being woke up in the middle of the night by all the noise, etc.
I added “This is my house. I own it. People need to back off a bit, because I really don’t have a choice in the matter.” He hung his head down, almost as if in shame, then looked up and said “It sounds like your just trying to look out for your property. I understand. I’d probably do the same thing if people did that at my house.” Nothing was said explicitly, but there was an agreement of sorts made that evening.
He asked me straight-out if I was trying to shut things down, and I only replied that people need to back off a bit. I listed the many ways that I had been disrespected, and he said he understood my position. But what we each did not say was equally as important. I did not say “I will not rest until drugs are eradicated from this entire neighborhood” and he did not say “We own this entire block, including your house.” The implication was that while I had the right to expect peace and safety for my home, I must also recognized that drugs were an endemic part of the neighborhood.
I frequently think back to that pivotal night when Ted, the drug dealer, and I came to an understanding. I had been doing everything possible to get rid of the drug problem here. I had invited a cop to set on my front porch, had asked them to place cameras on my property, and had offered to allow them to place officers inside of my home. And the police response to this was to simply ignore me. When I spoke with Ted that night, I knew that the law was not on my side. I couldn’t completely rule out the possibility that certain FWPD officers were connected to the drug trade here, but I still thought a more reasonable explanation was that the problem was so huge that it was easier for them to just pretend like they were addressing it than to actually do so. Regardless of FWPD’s motives, the net affect of their actions/inactions was to leave me with no other option than to negotiate with the drug dealers myself.
What is ironic is that the police will then say that people like me (who compromise with the dealers) are a part of the problem. Seriously, think about this for a minute. How many times have you heard the police say “Well, we can’t do anything in those neighborhoods if no one will cooperate with us.” And they say that while they’re throwing people like me to the wolves.
The Mayoral race was interesting though. The incumbent, Graham Richard, had instituted a quadrant system for FWPD, and if re-elected he would continue with this. His challenger, Linda Buskirk, had garnered the endorsement of the police union (FBOP), and it was assumed that she would probably scrap the quadrant system as the union had desired. Of course a new Mayor would appoint a new Chief of Police, and many other positions. I thought of Jason, who worked for the Mayor’s office, and realized that his job was probably on the line with this election.
Monday, October 20 (10:00) I called to speak with Jason and got his voicemail. In the past, Jason had been polite and tried to be helpful, so I would have liked to have handled things in a less blunt manner than I did here. But there would not be another opportunity like this for another four years. I left a message with Jason reiterating the seriousness of the situation in my neighborhood. I then added that the police union was telling me that this was due to the Mayor’s flawed policing policies. I said I would like to believe that he and Mayor Richard were concerned for my safety, but it was appearing that might not be the case.
I told him that I needed to be convinced that re-electing Mayor Richard would not be a mistake, otherwise I would have no choice but to publicize my plight to try to effect the election. The Mayor probably didn’t give a damn about my one vote, but he certainly did not want bad publicity about his police department so close to election day. I’ve always heard that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, so I decided to put that maxim to the test here.
(12:00) Trying to steal a move from the Clint Eastwood playbook (A Fistful of Dollars), I visited the Buskirk Campaign headquarters as well. There was only one person in the office, and she did not seem to know much more than to offer me a sign. I spelled it out for her. “The police union is saying that Mayor Richard’s policies inhibit public safety. My story is proof of a lack of public safety. If Buskirk can convince me that her Police Chief will straighten this mess up, I’ll give her all the details she needs to convince the public that Mayor Richard is soft on crime.” I didn’t really know who’s policies were the best, and I really didn’t care. Whichever one of them would do something to help me with my immediate problem would get my support.
(13:00) I was not home to answer the phone, but Officer Marshall had left a message. “I don’t understand the problem. I read your letter and I think you should work with your neighborhood group and call FWPD when specific help is needed”
(16:30) I came home and saw that Officer Marshall had just called my home telephone again, but left no message this time. A few minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was Officer Marshall, asking if I had received his message from earlier in the day. Marshall had stopped returning my calls, and now he was calling me three times in one day. I’ll probably never know this for certain, but I suspect that my message with Jason had struck a nerve. What is particularly strange is that while Marshall’s earlier message sounded hostile, now he was sounding very polite and almost desperate to converse with me about the situation.
I sensed that I had the upper hand now, at least for a short while, so I decided to play it. I told Officer Marshall that I had a lot of knowledge about what was going on in this neighborhood and I didn’t understand his reluctance to work with me. Marshall assured me that I had misunderstood and he offered to come to my house to meet with me again the next morning to discuss the situation. He suggested that we should drive through the neighborhood together so I could point out which were the problem houses (something I had offered several times already), and we could discuss the matter in greater detail. This was getting interesting. Only a few hours earlier, Marshall didn't see what the problem was. Now he was practically fawning over me in an attempt to hear what I had to say. I sure hope he had his britches padded when he got called into his bosses office that afternoon.
(22:00) I was setting on the front porch with a friend when two men who I had not met before walked up to the corner and started acting oddly. They were talking among themselves mostly, but occasionally one of them would direct something unintelligible my way. After a few minutes of this, I decided to bite on their line. They were both in the street now and I stood up, looked at one of them and just said “What’s up?” One of them said he wanted to ask me a question. There was no hostility to his tone, so I walked out and met him on the corner. His friend remained standing in the distance, and my friend remained on the porch. A few others were scattered about the area and they all seemed to focus on Ted and me as we began talking.
He introduced himself as Ted, and quickly cut to the chase. He was a good sized guy, but his body language made it clear that he was trying to not come across as overly aggressive. He had his hands in his pockets, sliding his foot nonchalantly across the ground as he slowly inquired “Some of us was just wondering if you’re trying to shut things down here.” I explained my list of grievances to him: People using my property to hide their drugs, large groups of people staring menacingly at people who come to visit me, my house broken into, a gun-toting kid standing in front of my house and tossing his gun in my bush, being woke up in the middle of the night by all the noise, etc.
I added “This is my house. I own it. People need to back off a bit, because I really don’t have a choice in the matter.” He hung his head down, almost as if in shame, then looked up and said “It sounds like your just trying to look out for your property. I understand. I’d probably do the same thing if people did that at my house.” Nothing was said explicitly, but there was an agreement of sorts made that evening.
He asked me straight-out if I was trying to shut things down, and I only replied that people need to back off a bit. I listed the many ways that I had been disrespected, and he said he understood my position. But what we each did not say was equally as important. I did not say “I will not rest until drugs are eradicated from this entire neighborhood” and he did not say “We own this entire block, including your house.” The implication was that while I had the right to expect peace and safety for my home, I must also recognized that drugs were an endemic part of the neighborhood.
I frequently think back to that pivotal night when Ted, the drug dealer, and I came to an understanding. I had been doing everything possible to get rid of the drug problem here. I had invited a cop to set on my front porch, had asked them to place cameras on my property, and had offered to allow them to place officers inside of my home. And the police response to this was to simply ignore me. When I spoke with Ted that night, I knew that the law was not on my side. I couldn’t completely rule out the possibility that certain FWPD officers were connected to the drug trade here, but I still thought a more reasonable explanation was that the problem was so huge that it was easier for them to just pretend like they were addressing it than to actually do so. Regardless of FWPD’s motives, the net affect of their actions/inactions was to leave me with no other option than to negotiate with the drug dealers myself.
What is ironic is that the police will then say that people like me (who compromise with the dealers) are a part of the problem. Seriously, think about this for a minute. How many times have you heard the police say “Well, we can’t do anything in those neighborhoods if no one will cooperate with us.” And they say that while they’re throwing people like me to the wolves.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Let There Be Light: October 2003 - Part III
Thursday, October 16 Up to this point, I had not done much work on the outside of my house. I had moved and replaced some doors and windows, but just left them rough framed on the outside. There was no outdoor lighting, and my yard was not fenced in at all. Given that my house looked like an abandoned property, I suspected this might have been a part of the problem. I wasn’t ready to do the wiring for the permanent outside lights yet, so I picked up a string of outdoor lights at the hardware store. It was a hundred feet long, and had a bulb every ten feet. I planned to run it around the perimeter of the house. I spoke with a few of my closest neighbors first, to make sure they would not see this as too obnoxious. They all agreed that it was a good idea.
I also spoke with Abby about her son Bernie. I rehashed all the trouble that I knew he was getting into, adding that there was probably much more. I told Abby that I was going to seek a restraining order against Bernie, to keep him from standing near my house. I assumed the fact that he had hid a gun in my front yard, in addition to other circumstantial evidence would be adequate for this. I explained that I thought Bernie was heading for a lot of trouble and that I thought this might serve as a useful lesson for him. Abby agreed, and said she would support me in getting the restraining order.
I called Officer Bayard and left a message. I explained why I wanted to get a restraining order against Bernie and that I had his own mother’s support for this. I told him it would be useful to have a copy of the incident report for this, then asked that if he was still unable to release this if he would he help me to obtain the restraining order. Officer Bayard never returned my message.
That’s some fine example of community policing. I had stuck my neck out to let the drug dealers know that I wasn’t afraid of them. I had practically gone as far as putting a FWPD emblem on the side of my house in my attempts to communicate with the police. And now, I had spoken with the mother of one of the juvenile dealers and had garnered her support in asking the law to come down on her own son.
I had done all the work already. All I needed was a copy of that report, or a cop that would verify my account before a judge, and I could probably have sent a very loud and effective message to all the dealers here by using Bernie as an example. And FWPD’s response to all this? - absolutely nothing, not even a returned phone call.
Friday, October 17 My brother came up and we spent the day fencing in the back yard and installing the lights. There was a lot of drug activity all day long and some of the dealers were behaving a bit aggressively. At one point I needed to run to Lowe’s to get more supplies. We had too many tools out to take the time putting them up, and we were also pouring concrete. My brother didn’t know his way around Fort Wayne at all, so he insisted on staying to work the cement and watch the tools.
Given the current mood of the neighborhood, I was not at all comfortable with this. He has a wife and kid, and he is not used to the provocative acts that the dealers frequently engage in. He’s older than me though, so I couldn’t argue with him. Instead, I went over and knocked on Arlen’s door. I told him the situation and asked if he would keep an eye on things until I got back.
Arlen immediately walked over to the side of the house and I introduced him to my brother. When I returned a half hour later, Arlen was standing in that same exact spot next to my brother. There aren’t many people I’d trust with my truck or my tools, and even fewer with my guns. But here, I had trusted Arlen to watch my own brother's back, and had no reservations about doing so. I guess this could be seen as further evidence of what a great guy Arlen is, or maybe I just don’t like my brother.
I had been given a contact number for Jason, who worked for the Mayor’s office. I don’t recall for certain who gave me the name, bit it was likely Vic from Frost. After my brother had left, I called Jason and explained the problems I was having, both with the dealers and with the police. His first suggestion was that I should join him in a neighborhood walk “stomp out crime” type of event he was hosting. It wasn’t in my neighborhood, and the only way that would effect these guys would be if the marchers carried guns or badges, so I thought to myself that it would be a waste of time.
Jason then suggested that I attend my own neighborhood association meeting. I had attended sporadically before, but it didn’t really seem like an effective tool for helping me with my problems. He really got my attention though when he said that a FWPD officer would be present that night. I told him that I hoped it would be an officer who actually patrols this area, rather than a desk-sitter, and he said he’d see what he could do.
After that, I called Officer Webster and left a message. I reminded him who I was from Wednesday night’s event. I told him about the upcoming neighborhood meeting, and said that he was the type of officer that I would like to set down and speak with in depth about the problems in my neighborhood. I thanked him again for his help so far, and asked if he would come to the meeting if at all possible. I went to sleep early that evening, and the neighborhood was still very active.
Saturday, October 18 (Midnight to 4:00 A.M.) After a few hours of rest, I woke up around midnight. There were still several people standing on the corners so I got dressed and went outside. I stood on the sidewalk in front of my house with two items hidden in my coat pocket. I’m sure you can guess what the first one was. The second was a small remote control device that allowed me to turn on my newly installed outdoor lights. As I clicked the button, lighting up the corner like a bright star, the people standing on the corners began looking around strangely - at the house, at each other, and even up in the sky.
They knew something had happened, they just couldn’t quite figure out what it was. I guess that’s what being high on crack will do to your mind. I mocked their reaction, acting as though I had no clue what was going on either. I stayed outside all night (actually, early morning) alternating between setting on my porch, standing on the corner, and walking around the property. A couple times I even placed my chair on the sidewalk and sat there for a while. If the drug dealers can do this, then I sure the hell can - in front of my own house.
Two different times, someone approached me while I was standing on the corner and wanted to buy drugs. I just told them there were no drugs for sale here, and that they should find somewhere else to hang out. If someone stood on the corner while I was in the yard, I just walked over and stood next to them until they left. Sometimes I’d hide out of site and play with the lights just for fun.
Two patrol cars began driving the area. I was standing on the corner as they slowly passed and checked me out. I actually locked eyes with one of the officers for a few seconds, and I am really surprised that did not cause them to stop and question me. I still wonder about their presence there. Perhaps it was just a random patrol, or maybe a neighbor had called because of the flashing lights. Who knows, maybe one of the dealers had called “his” cop to complain about the new guy standing on the corner.
(10:00 A.M.) I woke up and looked to see Bernie and three other guys standing on the corner in front of my house. I went out and stood beside them without saying a word. After a few minutes, they walked across the street to the corner with the empty lot. I followed and turned my back on them to look towards Carl’s drug house a half block away. Several people were standing there, and I locked eyes with one of them for a few minutes. Bernie and his friends crossed the street again, this time landing on the corner in front of his own house. I decided not to follow. I remained standing on the corner for about ten minutes, as both the drug house and the sidewalks began to clear. There was not a single person in sight as I walked back to my house. I had definitely sent a message, I just wasn’t quite sure what it was.
(11:45 A.M.) I called Frost to update Vic on the situation. He agreed that things sounded strange with FWPD, adding he had not heard back from anyone yet on his inquiries. He said he might attend my neighborhood association meeting that was coming up soon.
(7:00 P.M.) I saw a suspicious car at Carl’s drug house for the second time today. I called FWPD to report it. I don’t recall if they sent anyone out for it.
Sunday, October 19 I called Officer Marshall and left a message reminding him of the two issues he had promised to look into for me and mentioned that I had been waiting for a month now to hear back from him. I said I assumed that he had just gotten busy, but wanted to make sure he hadn’t forgotten about me. I closed by saying that if I did not hear back from him this time, I would have to assume that simply meant he did not want to engage me in this matter.
I also spoke with Abby about her son Bernie. I rehashed all the trouble that I knew he was getting into, adding that there was probably much more. I told Abby that I was going to seek a restraining order against Bernie, to keep him from standing near my house. I assumed the fact that he had hid a gun in my front yard, in addition to other circumstantial evidence would be adequate for this. I explained that I thought Bernie was heading for a lot of trouble and that I thought this might serve as a useful lesson for him. Abby agreed, and said she would support me in getting the restraining order.
I called Officer Bayard and left a message. I explained why I wanted to get a restraining order against Bernie and that I had his own mother’s support for this. I told him it would be useful to have a copy of the incident report for this, then asked that if he was still unable to release this if he would he help me to obtain the restraining order. Officer Bayard never returned my message.
That’s some fine example of community policing. I had stuck my neck out to let the drug dealers know that I wasn’t afraid of them. I had practically gone as far as putting a FWPD emblem on the side of my house in my attempts to communicate with the police. And now, I had spoken with the mother of one of the juvenile dealers and had garnered her support in asking the law to come down on her own son.
I had done all the work already. All I needed was a copy of that report, or a cop that would verify my account before a judge, and I could probably have sent a very loud and effective message to all the dealers here by using Bernie as an example. And FWPD’s response to all this? - absolutely nothing, not even a returned phone call.
Friday, October 17 My brother came up and we spent the day fencing in the back yard and installing the lights. There was a lot of drug activity all day long and some of the dealers were behaving a bit aggressively. At one point I needed to run to Lowe’s to get more supplies. We had too many tools out to take the time putting them up, and we were also pouring concrete. My brother didn’t know his way around Fort Wayne at all, so he insisted on staying to work the cement and watch the tools.
Given the current mood of the neighborhood, I was not at all comfortable with this. He has a wife and kid, and he is not used to the provocative acts that the dealers frequently engage in. He’s older than me though, so I couldn’t argue with him. Instead, I went over and knocked on Arlen’s door. I told him the situation and asked if he would keep an eye on things until I got back.
Arlen immediately walked over to the side of the house and I introduced him to my brother. When I returned a half hour later, Arlen was standing in that same exact spot next to my brother. There aren’t many people I’d trust with my truck or my tools, and even fewer with my guns. But here, I had trusted Arlen to watch my own brother's back, and had no reservations about doing so. I guess this could be seen as further evidence of what a great guy Arlen is, or maybe I just don’t like my brother.
I had been given a contact number for Jason, who worked for the Mayor’s office. I don’t recall for certain who gave me the name, bit it was likely Vic from Frost. After my brother had left, I called Jason and explained the problems I was having, both with the dealers and with the police. His first suggestion was that I should join him in a neighborhood walk “stomp out crime” type of event he was hosting. It wasn’t in my neighborhood, and the only way that would effect these guys would be if the marchers carried guns or badges, so I thought to myself that it would be a waste of time.
Jason then suggested that I attend my own neighborhood association meeting. I had attended sporadically before, but it didn’t really seem like an effective tool for helping me with my problems. He really got my attention though when he said that a FWPD officer would be present that night. I told him that I hoped it would be an officer who actually patrols this area, rather than a desk-sitter, and he said he’d see what he could do.
After that, I called Officer Webster and left a message. I reminded him who I was from Wednesday night’s event. I told him about the upcoming neighborhood meeting, and said that he was the type of officer that I would like to set down and speak with in depth about the problems in my neighborhood. I thanked him again for his help so far, and asked if he would come to the meeting if at all possible. I went to sleep early that evening, and the neighborhood was still very active.
Saturday, October 18 (Midnight to 4:00 A.M.) After a few hours of rest, I woke up around midnight. There were still several people standing on the corners so I got dressed and went outside. I stood on the sidewalk in front of my house with two items hidden in my coat pocket. I’m sure you can guess what the first one was. The second was a small remote control device that allowed me to turn on my newly installed outdoor lights. As I clicked the button, lighting up the corner like a bright star, the people standing on the corners began looking around strangely - at the house, at each other, and even up in the sky.
They knew something had happened, they just couldn’t quite figure out what it was. I guess that’s what being high on crack will do to your mind. I mocked their reaction, acting as though I had no clue what was going on either. I stayed outside all night (actually, early morning) alternating between setting on my porch, standing on the corner, and walking around the property. A couple times I even placed my chair on the sidewalk and sat there for a while. If the drug dealers can do this, then I sure the hell can - in front of my own house.
Two different times, someone approached me while I was standing on the corner and wanted to buy drugs. I just told them there were no drugs for sale here, and that they should find somewhere else to hang out. If someone stood on the corner while I was in the yard, I just walked over and stood next to them until they left. Sometimes I’d hide out of site and play with the lights just for fun.
Two patrol cars began driving the area. I was standing on the corner as they slowly passed and checked me out. I actually locked eyes with one of the officers for a few seconds, and I am really surprised that did not cause them to stop and question me. I still wonder about their presence there. Perhaps it was just a random patrol, or maybe a neighbor had called because of the flashing lights. Who knows, maybe one of the dealers had called “his” cop to complain about the new guy standing on the corner.
(10:00 A.M.) I woke up and looked to see Bernie and three other guys standing on the corner in front of my house. I went out and stood beside them without saying a word. After a few minutes, they walked across the street to the corner with the empty lot. I followed and turned my back on them to look towards Carl’s drug house a half block away. Several people were standing there, and I locked eyes with one of them for a few minutes. Bernie and his friends crossed the street again, this time landing on the corner in front of his own house. I decided not to follow. I remained standing on the corner for about ten minutes, as both the drug house and the sidewalks began to clear. There was not a single person in sight as I walked back to my house. I had definitely sent a message, I just wasn’t quite sure what it was.
(11:45 A.M.) I called Frost to update Vic on the situation. He agreed that things sounded strange with FWPD, adding he had not heard back from anyone yet on his inquiries. He said he might attend my neighborhood association meeting that was coming up soon.
(7:00 P.M.) I saw a suspicious car at Carl’s drug house for the second time today. I called FWPD to report it. I don’t recall if they sent anyone out for it.
Sunday, October 19 I called Officer Marshall and left a message reminding him of the two issues he had promised to look into for me and mentioned that I had been waiting for a month now to hear back from him. I said I assumed that he had just gotten busy, but wanted to make sure he hadn’t forgotten about me. I closed by saying that if I did not hear back from him this time, I would have to assume that simply meant he did not want to engage me in this matter.
Monday, April 14, 2008
One Very Long Day: October 2003 - Part II
Everything listed in this post occurred during one particularly long and stressful day. I had several days like that during the Summer of 2003. I was working twelve-hour shifts in a local factory at the time, and many of the activities here directly caused me to be late or miss days at work. This had a detrimental effect on both my immediate income as well as my job performance reviews. This particular post, multiplied by several similar days, explains why I began to refer to 2003 as “My summer of hell.” At the time, I had no idea that only three years later I would have to change this to “My first summer of hell.”
Wednesday, October 15 (3:00 A.M.) I was returning home from a very late night out when I noticed a bicycle standing on the sidewalk by my back yard. It is not uncommon to find a bicycle (or other oddities) setting around unclaimed, but I was curious so I walked towards the bike. It was pitch black outside, so it was not until I got closer that I realized it was my own bicycle that was setting there on the sidewalk.
As I reached the bicycle, I saw that my back door was standing partially opened. As I neared the door, I saw that my television, computer, microwave and several tools were stacked to the side of the doorsteps. There were bags and boxes filled with items also, so I really had no idea what all was there. There was an aluminum extension ladder propped up to a second floor window that was wide open.
I did not have my cell phone with me, and I certainly did not want to drive away from the area with all my belongings setting there in the yard, so I laid the ladder down on the ground and had my gun drawn as I entered through the back door. I was operating under the assumption that there were still people in the house as I made my way to the telephone on the second floor. My house has too many loose floor boards to even hope that I had any element of surprise, so if someone was inside they probably knew I was there as well.
Negotiating the corners of the stairway was the most troublesome. Not only was I moving into a blind area, but my footing was unstable as well. If someone was there, coming at me then would have been the most opportune moment for them to challenge me. Both times, as I approached the corners, I announced loudly to whoever might be there “You need to speak up now, and come out slowly where I can see you. Otherwise you’re probably going to end up dead.” Then I slid the rack on my gun and paused for a moment. I have a large clip, and if the remaining bullets weren’t enough to do the job then I’d probably still be dead even if I had kept those two. But I know that the sound of a bullet chambering will get a person’s attention. By doing this, I hoped to cause some reaction (movement, talking) from the other side that might give away their position.
I had cleared the two main floors and picked up my phone. Confident that no one was on the second floor, I quickly replaced the partial clip with a full one. I cautiously walked back down to the kitchen and began to descend the basement stairs. Realizing that the open stairway would give a very clear advantage to anyone who might be hiding down there, I stopped at the landing and came back up. My common sense had finally caught up with my adrenaline as I called the police and stepped outside to wait for them. It only took a few minutes before Officers Stettinius and Haig arrived. I informed them that I had already checked the main floors, but not the basement or attic. They insisted that I wait outside as the house was being searched.
The only damage to the house was the frame of the air conditioner that had been shoved from the entry window was a little busted up, but it still worked. (Good lesson learned there - bolt it down!) They had left three empty or partially drank cans of pop (from my fridge) lying around. I was actually quite surprised that my house had not been totally trashed as retribution for my law-abiding activities. As the officers and I looked around outside, I realized why. Almost every item of value had been removed from my house. And everything was neatly bagged, boxed and stacked at various areas in the back yard. As we walked around my shed, we kept finding more stuff. Everything was staged for pick-up, and it was a simple matter of luck that I had returned when I did. In fact, the only things unaccounted for were my TV remote control and a jar that had about $50 worth of change in it.
The police brought their dog out and had him sniff the pop cans and the ladder. The dog circled around my shed for a minute, then quickly walked across the street and sniffed around Patrick’s house, but he kept getting distracted by a dog that was chained in the yard. I know Patrick, and I really don’t think he had anything to do with this. But the drug dealers spend a lot of time hanging around his house (usually when he’s not there - funny how that works!), so it was probably just latent crack fumes that enticed the dog.
The officers bagged the pop cans as evidence and said they would try to get a print off them. I told them about the trouble that Bernie had recently been getting into, and said that I felt he was a likely suspect for this. I pointed out to the officers that the ladder was not mine, and asked with a smile if they were going to take it in as evidence as well. They looked at each other for a moment, probably wondering how they’d get it in their car and what to do with it after that, then suggested that perhaps I could just hold on to it for them. It’s likely that my home invaders had stolen the ladder from one of my neighbors, so I told the officers that if someone could offer reasonable proof that it was theirs I’d return it. I’ve had that ladder for almost five years now, and it was definitely worth the $50.
(9:00 A.M.) I saw two men standing in Jim’s front yard and searching through his bushes. One of them picked up something and they moved over to the side of his house. I called FWPD-Vice & Narcotics and spoke with Officer Rusk about the situation. He suggested that I should call the front desk to report this information. I told Rusk that the guys were already gone, so the front desk would see this as a non-problem. I told him that I was sure he realized how bad the drug trafficking in my neighborhood was, and I informed him of how my previous offers to help his department seemed to have been ignored.
Officer Rusk said he would look into the matter himself, but suggested that I call Officer Evarts. Rusk said that Evarts is the one who would determine whether they (FWPD) would want to use my property for surveillance of the neighborhood. I called Officer Evarts and left a brief message, including having been referred to him by vice and narcotics Officer Rusk. Officer Evarts never returned my call.
I then called Officer Bayard again and left a message asking about getting the incident report released. He immediately returned my call and said he could not release the report because it was part of an ongoing narcotics investigation. Officer Bayard said that Bernie had been printed and they were trying to match him to the gun. I asked him to convey this information to officers Haig and Stettinius, who were investigating my burglary. I told him there was a good chance that Bernie’s prints might match those found on the pop cans.
(11:00 P.M.) Bernie and four of his friends were searching Jim’s front yard with flashlights. I assumed they were looking for the drugs that had been stashed there earlier in the day. I called FWPD desk sergeant and reported this. I had to leave the house for a moment, but hurried back to see what was going on.
(11:30 P.M.) I returned home and saw that four police officers were on the scene. They had the five guys all lined up in front of Abby’s house and were questioning them. The police handcuffed one of these guys and put him in the back of their car. I approached the officers and explained why I had called them. Bernie and his friends did not have very pleasant looks on their faces as I did this.
All five of these guys were probably under drinking age, and the one they arrested was found carrying beer. One of the officers turned to the group and said either they could spend ten minutes picking up trash (pointing to an empty lot) or their friend would be arrested for P.I. Officer Webster then turned towards me and asked if I had a trash bag they could use. I gave him four bags, and watched with amusement as Bernie and friends worked to get their friend out of an arrest.
Officer Webster apologized for not being able to do more. I thanked him and said that was the best results I’d seen so far. These guys don’t mind wasting their time just standing on the corner all day long. A lot of them even laugh about jail time, referring to it as “going on vacation.” But they sure the hell don’t want to be picking up trash! Officer Webster was now my personal hero.
I asked Officer Webster if Officer Marshall had spoken to him about my situation here and he said no. I told him that the police are welcome on my property anytime. He said that would be useful to know as he patrolled my neighborhood. Although I thought it was quite strange that Officer Marshall failed to inform his fellow officers of my cooperative efforts, I didn’t want to explain all this to Officer Webster. Instead, I simply asked that he try to convey this information to other officers.
Wednesday, October 15 (3:00 A.M.) I was returning home from a very late night out when I noticed a bicycle standing on the sidewalk by my back yard. It is not uncommon to find a bicycle (or other oddities) setting around unclaimed, but I was curious so I walked towards the bike. It was pitch black outside, so it was not until I got closer that I realized it was my own bicycle that was setting there on the sidewalk.
As I reached the bicycle, I saw that my back door was standing partially opened. As I neared the door, I saw that my television, computer, microwave and several tools were stacked to the side of the doorsteps. There were bags and boxes filled with items also, so I really had no idea what all was there. There was an aluminum extension ladder propped up to a second floor window that was wide open.
I did not have my cell phone with me, and I certainly did not want to drive away from the area with all my belongings setting there in the yard, so I laid the ladder down on the ground and had my gun drawn as I entered through the back door. I was operating under the assumption that there were still people in the house as I made my way to the telephone on the second floor. My house has too many loose floor boards to even hope that I had any element of surprise, so if someone was inside they probably knew I was there as well.
Negotiating the corners of the stairway was the most troublesome. Not only was I moving into a blind area, but my footing was unstable as well. If someone was there, coming at me then would have been the most opportune moment for them to challenge me. Both times, as I approached the corners, I announced loudly to whoever might be there “You need to speak up now, and come out slowly where I can see you. Otherwise you’re probably going to end up dead.” Then I slid the rack on my gun and paused for a moment. I have a large clip, and if the remaining bullets weren’t enough to do the job then I’d probably still be dead even if I had kept those two. But I know that the sound of a bullet chambering will get a person’s attention. By doing this, I hoped to cause some reaction (movement, talking) from the other side that might give away their position.
I had cleared the two main floors and picked up my phone. Confident that no one was on the second floor, I quickly replaced the partial clip with a full one. I cautiously walked back down to the kitchen and began to descend the basement stairs. Realizing that the open stairway would give a very clear advantage to anyone who might be hiding down there, I stopped at the landing and came back up. My common sense had finally caught up with my adrenaline as I called the police and stepped outside to wait for them. It only took a few minutes before Officers Stettinius and Haig arrived. I informed them that I had already checked the main floors, but not the basement or attic. They insisted that I wait outside as the house was being searched.
The only damage to the house was the frame of the air conditioner that had been shoved from the entry window was a little busted up, but it still worked. (Good lesson learned there - bolt it down!) They had left three empty or partially drank cans of pop (from my fridge) lying around. I was actually quite surprised that my house had not been totally trashed as retribution for my law-abiding activities. As the officers and I looked around outside, I realized why. Almost every item of value had been removed from my house. And everything was neatly bagged, boxed and stacked at various areas in the back yard. As we walked around my shed, we kept finding more stuff. Everything was staged for pick-up, and it was a simple matter of luck that I had returned when I did. In fact, the only things unaccounted for were my TV remote control and a jar that had about $50 worth of change in it.
The police brought their dog out and had him sniff the pop cans and the ladder. The dog circled around my shed for a minute, then quickly walked across the street and sniffed around Patrick’s house, but he kept getting distracted by a dog that was chained in the yard. I know Patrick, and I really don’t think he had anything to do with this. But the drug dealers spend a lot of time hanging around his house (usually when he’s not there - funny how that works!), so it was probably just latent crack fumes that enticed the dog.
The officers bagged the pop cans as evidence and said they would try to get a print off them. I told them about the trouble that Bernie had recently been getting into, and said that I felt he was a likely suspect for this. I pointed out to the officers that the ladder was not mine, and asked with a smile if they were going to take it in as evidence as well. They looked at each other for a moment, probably wondering how they’d get it in their car and what to do with it after that, then suggested that perhaps I could just hold on to it for them. It’s likely that my home invaders had stolen the ladder from one of my neighbors, so I told the officers that if someone could offer reasonable proof that it was theirs I’d return it. I’ve had that ladder for almost five years now, and it was definitely worth the $50.
(9:00 A.M.) I saw two men standing in Jim’s front yard and searching through his bushes. One of them picked up something and they moved over to the side of his house. I called FWPD-Vice & Narcotics and spoke with Officer Rusk about the situation. He suggested that I should call the front desk to report this information. I told Rusk that the guys were already gone, so the front desk would see this as a non-problem. I told him that I was sure he realized how bad the drug trafficking in my neighborhood was, and I informed him of how my previous offers to help his department seemed to have been ignored.
Officer Rusk said he would look into the matter himself, but suggested that I call Officer Evarts. Rusk said that Evarts is the one who would determine whether they (FWPD) would want to use my property for surveillance of the neighborhood. I called Officer Evarts and left a brief message, including having been referred to him by vice and narcotics Officer Rusk. Officer Evarts never returned my call.
I then called Officer Bayard again and left a message asking about getting the incident report released. He immediately returned my call and said he could not release the report because it was part of an ongoing narcotics investigation. Officer Bayard said that Bernie had been printed and they were trying to match him to the gun. I asked him to convey this information to officers Haig and Stettinius, who were investigating my burglary. I told him there was a good chance that Bernie’s prints might match those found on the pop cans.
(11:00 P.M.) Bernie and four of his friends were searching Jim’s front yard with flashlights. I assumed they were looking for the drugs that had been stashed there earlier in the day. I called FWPD desk sergeant and reported this. I had to leave the house for a moment, but hurried back to see what was going on.
(11:30 P.M.) I returned home and saw that four police officers were on the scene. They had the five guys all lined up in front of Abby’s house and were questioning them. The police handcuffed one of these guys and put him in the back of their car. I approached the officers and explained why I had called them. Bernie and his friends did not have very pleasant looks on their faces as I did this.
All five of these guys were probably under drinking age, and the one they arrested was found carrying beer. One of the officers turned to the group and said either they could spend ten minutes picking up trash (pointing to an empty lot) or their friend would be arrested for P.I. Officer Webster then turned towards me and asked if I had a trash bag they could use. I gave him four bags, and watched with amusement as Bernie and friends worked to get their friend out of an arrest.
Officer Webster apologized for not being able to do more. I thanked him and said that was the best results I’d seen so far. These guys don’t mind wasting their time just standing on the corner all day long. A lot of them even laugh about jail time, referring to it as “going on vacation.” But they sure the hell don’t want to be picking up trash! Officer Webster was now my personal hero.
I asked Officer Webster if Officer Marshall had spoken to him about my situation here and he said no. I told him that the police are welcome on my property anytime. He said that would be useful to know as he patrolled my neighborhood. Although I thought it was quite strange that Officer Marshall failed to inform his fellow officers of my cooperative efforts, I didn’t want to explain all this to Officer Webster. Instead, I simply asked that he try to convey this information to other officers.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Shots Fired: October 2003 - Part I
Getting back to the original story now, the next several posts will cover October of 2003. You will see that during this one year alone, I probably had more contact with various police officers than many people do during their entire lifetime. All I wanted was for FWPD to be aware that mine was not a drug house, and to react accordingly, and I figured this contact with them would have established that firmly. Apparently I was wrong.
Saturday, October 4: Late in the evening I heard a gunshot outside. I stepped out on my front porch and saw Bernie and three other guys coming from his back yard carrying what appeared to be a towel-wrapped shotgun. They placed it in the trunk of their car and left. I walked over and looked in his back yard to see if there was anybody lying on the ground. There wasn’t, so I assumed they were just getting their kicks by shooting off the gun. I didn’t get the license plate number, and they were gone now, so I didn’t waste my time calling the police.
Friday, October 10: Mayor Graham Richard was up for reelection and Linda Buskirk was his Republican challenger again. The Fraternal Brotherhood of Police union (FBOP) had endorsed Buskirk, who’s husband was a FWPD officer. I had recently read an article where a representative of the union explained why Buskirk was good for cops, or rather why Richard was bad. FWPD uses a quadrant system with the city divided into four districts. Each district has it’s own Deputy Chief, and patrol officers are generally assigned to work in one specific quadrant. From it’s inception, it seemed that many of the officers felt it was overly restrictive and inhibited their ability to perform their job well. Now, the FBOP was claiming that it inhibited public safety. Officially, it seemed that the main reason the union supported Buskirk was because she was not in favor of maintaining quadrant policing. The fact that her husband was a high ranking officer probably didn't hurt her prospects either.
I was going to visit the Frost Illustrated newspaper again, and FBOP was just across the street, so I walked in and was greeted by Officer Frelinghuysen. I talked about my neighborhood and asked him if the FWPD’s inability to effect the problem had anything to do with the poorly organized quadrant system. Frelinghuysen answered “Yes, there are too many cops setting at desks and doing paperwork, instead of being out on the streets.” He went on to tell me how the unnatural quadrant barriers just created another level of bureaucracy. He said that was the reason the patrol officers did not have time to talk and get to know people in the neighborhoods they patrolled. He said that their supervisors were so buried in paperwork that they could not effectively do their jobs either.
He suggested the name of an officer that I should speak with about the problems here. It was Officer Marshall. At that point, I told him I was having a little trouble understanding Marshall. It had been three weeks now since I last heard from him (September 19), and that was when he said he’d get back in touch with me on the following Monday. I told Frelinghuysen about the miscommunication Marshall and I had earlier, adding that I was reluctant to call him for fear that I would seem like a pest. I told him that I was trying to be patient, but things were really getting crazy around my house. He said Marshall was a really good cop, and he probably had just gotten busy and was unable to get back to me yet.
Officer Frelinghuysen allowed me to elaborate about the problems, and I closed by saying that I would really like to obtain a copy of the incident report (September 8), and get the no-trespass order put into effect. Officer Frelinghuysen said he’d try to look into the matter and would get back in touch with me soon. I then walked over to Frost and spoke with Vic. I updated him on the situation in my neighborhood and with the police. I asked if he thought he would have better luck than me in getting a copy of the incident report. He said he’d look into it.
Saturday, October 11: Vic left a phone message; “Got some calls in, haven’t heard anything yet.”
Tuesday, October 14: Officer Frelinghuysen called in the morning and left a message; “I’m talking with some people. It sounds like you’re on top of things there. I’ll be in touch with you.”
As I read my journal to make my blog entries, I am sometimes surprised by what I read. There is a lot of information there, and my memory alone seems to just blend it all together. But reading the details in the journal is a bit strange. Looking at events from a reflective perspective, some of them seem far different than they did when I actually experienced them. I suppose it might be something comparable to a veteran watching a film about the war that he was actually engaged in. It's the same, but it's different too.
When I recalled exactly how I reacted to Bernie and his friends shooting the gun that night, I was a bit shocked myself. I had become so jaded that I did not even call the police when a group of juveniles were shooting a shotgun into the air in the middle of the night. But really, what would have been the point? I had checked to make sure no one was hurt. The only thing the police would have done beyond that would be to keep me awake an extra hour to fill out their report - a report that would just be filed away to have nothing ever come of it.
But as dire as things seemed at times, I was beginning to feel more confident about the situation. The newspaper was looking into things, and a police officer was returning my calls now. I figured it could only get better from here. I’d soon come to realize how mistaken that notion was though.
Saturday, October 4: Late in the evening I heard a gunshot outside. I stepped out on my front porch and saw Bernie and three other guys coming from his back yard carrying what appeared to be a towel-wrapped shotgun. They placed it in the trunk of their car and left. I walked over and looked in his back yard to see if there was anybody lying on the ground. There wasn’t, so I assumed they were just getting their kicks by shooting off the gun. I didn’t get the license plate number, and they were gone now, so I didn’t waste my time calling the police.
Friday, October 10: Mayor Graham Richard was up for reelection and Linda Buskirk was his Republican challenger again. The Fraternal Brotherhood of Police union (FBOP) had endorsed Buskirk, who’s husband was a FWPD officer. I had recently read an article where a representative of the union explained why Buskirk was good for cops, or rather why Richard was bad. FWPD uses a quadrant system with the city divided into four districts. Each district has it’s own Deputy Chief, and patrol officers are generally assigned to work in one specific quadrant. From it’s inception, it seemed that many of the officers felt it was overly restrictive and inhibited their ability to perform their job well. Now, the FBOP was claiming that it inhibited public safety. Officially, it seemed that the main reason the union supported Buskirk was because she was not in favor of maintaining quadrant policing. The fact that her husband was a high ranking officer probably didn't hurt her prospects either.
I was going to visit the Frost Illustrated newspaper again, and FBOP was just across the street, so I walked in and was greeted by Officer Frelinghuysen. I talked about my neighborhood and asked him if the FWPD’s inability to effect the problem had anything to do with the poorly organized quadrant system. Frelinghuysen answered “Yes, there are too many cops setting at desks and doing paperwork, instead of being out on the streets.” He went on to tell me how the unnatural quadrant barriers just created another level of bureaucracy. He said that was the reason the patrol officers did not have time to talk and get to know people in the neighborhoods they patrolled. He said that their supervisors were so buried in paperwork that they could not effectively do their jobs either.
He suggested the name of an officer that I should speak with about the problems here. It was Officer Marshall. At that point, I told him I was having a little trouble understanding Marshall. It had been three weeks now since I last heard from him (September 19), and that was when he said he’d get back in touch with me on the following Monday. I told Frelinghuysen about the miscommunication Marshall and I had earlier, adding that I was reluctant to call him for fear that I would seem like a pest. I told him that I was trying to be patient, but things were really getting crazy around my house. He said Marshall was a really good cop, and he probably had just gotten busy and was unable to get back to me yet.
Officer Frelinghuysen allowed me to elaborate about the problems, and I closed by saying that I would really like to obtain a copy of the incident report (September 8), and get the no-trespass order put into effect. Officer Frelinghuysen said he’d try to look into the matter and would get back in touch with me soon. I then walked over to Frost and spoke with Vic. I updated him on the situation in my neighborhood and with the police. I asked if he thought he would have better luck than me in getting a copy of the incident report. He said he’d look into it.
Saturday, October 11: Vic left a phone message; “Got some calls in, haven’t heard anything yet.”
Tuesday, October 14: Officer Frelinghuysen called in the morning and left a message; “I’m talking with some people. It sounds like you’re on top of things there. I’ll be in touch with you.”
As I read my journal to make my blog entries, I am sometimes surprised by what I read. There is a lot of information there, and my memory alone seems to just blend it all together. But reading the details in the journal is a bit strange. Looking at events from a reflective perspective, some of them seem far different than they did when I actually experienced them. I suppose it might be something comparable to a veteran watching a film about the war that he was actually engaged in. It's the same, but it's different too.
When I recalled exactly how I reacted to Bernie and his friends shooting the gun that night, I was a bit shocked myself. I had become so jaded that I did not even call the police when a group of juveniles were shooting a shotgun into the air in the middle of the night. But really, what would have been the point? I had checked to make sure no one was hurt. The only thing the police would have done beyond that would be to keep me awake an extra hour to fill out their report - a report that would just be filed away to have nothing ever come of it.
But as dire as things seemed at times, I was beginning to feel more confident about the situation. The newspaper was looking into things, and a police officer was returning my calls now. I figured it could only get better from here. I’d soon come to realize how mistaken that notion was though.
Friday, April 11, 2008
A Big ol Pile of Dirt
I re-sided my house last year and started working on the yard but got cut short by the weather. The front yard used to slope down to the sidewalk and I never liked this. Although the openness invited people to creep into my yard, I’ve never really liked fences on a front yard either. So I decided to build a retainer wall and raise the lawn to be level. Below are two photos of my front yard and porch soon after I moved in here.
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The next two photos show what it looked like at the beginning of this year.
I have definitely been tested here at times. They try to figure out if I’m carrying a gun, and where it’s at. They try to figure out what makes me jumpy and what things I don’t notice. They’ve tried to figure out my schedule and what room I sleep in at night. They’ve have tried to figure out exactly what makes me tick. But I welcome these games because the truth is, no one can act without giving away certain information about themselves. They test me to try and figure me out, but in so doing they also reveal much about themselves in the process. If a gunfight broke out, I think I could predict the reaction from many of these guys; which ones would flee, which ones would stay and fight, and which ones would just shit their pants. That knowledge alone gives me enough confidence to be able to do things now that I couldn’t do when I first moved in here.
The entire time that I was working on the dirt pile, I only got a bad vibe one time. Three of the younger guys were standing on the corner beside me and my back was turned to the street when a van drove up quickly and pulled over behind me. I immediately straightened up, turned around , and pulled the shovel into a somewhat defensive position. I moved quick enough that it actually seemed to startle a couple of the guys standing there. I quickly realized there was nothing funny going on, other than a reckless driving jack-ass pulling over on the wrong side of the road to talk with his buddies, so I just stretched a bit to give the appearance that was why I had stood at attention.
Below are two photos after we were done shoveling. The extra dirt will be used on the other side of the front yard after I build the wall there. Hopefully by this summer I will have grass and flowers growing.
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The next two photos show what it looked like at the beginning of this year.
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The nice weather got me in the mood to do some work, so this weekend I prepped the inside of the wall with a sealant and on Monday I called Irving Brothers to check on getting a load of dirt delivered. The unevenness of the ground made it difficult to measure, but I calculated that I would need six cubic yards. Irving said that translated to nine tons, so I decided to order an even ten as I still have work to do on the other side of the lawn. It was four in the afternoon when I called and I was surprised that they offered to deliver it that day still.
It was about six o’clock when the truck arrived and he backed in to dump it in the front yard. Unfortunately there were two problems. First, the dirt was very wet so he had to raise the bed completely before it would fall. Also, there was a wire overhead that made it impossible for him to reach the yard with the bed raised that high. He tried different angles and shaking the bed several times, but it soon became apparent that it just wasn’t going to make it into the yard. I finally told him to just drop it on the sidewalk as close to the yard as he could get. Below are a couple picture of the dirt piled on the sidewalk.
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I didn’t realize just how big this pile of dirt would be. Ten tons of dirt equals 6 2/3 cubic yards. That is a pile of dirt six foot wide by ten foot long by three foot high. That’s a lot of dirt! I was pretty certain I wouldn’t be able to move that much dirt before it got dark, so I just started in clearing the area that was closest to the wall to let people pass by. Within a couple minutes, my neighbor Jim came walking over with his own shovel and just started in digging.
After we were at it for about fifteen minutes, Mike came over with a shovel also. I’ve seen Mike around before, but I don’t think he actually lives in this neighborhood. That means he had to go to somebody else and borrow a shovel to help me. The three of us worked for almost an hour and had the walkway opened up when Jim said he’d had enough. I knew Jim probably wasn’t looking for money, but I offered anyway. He almost seemed offended that I’d even offer.
Mike stayed for another fifteen minutes or so then said that he was finished. I knew Mike was looking for money, and if I didn’t have any to give I would have told him as soon as he started helping. But he never asked. He just grabbed a shovel and started in digging. I gave him fifteen bucks, which might sound like a lot of money for an hour of work, but it was hard work and he earned it. After a few minutes by myself, Arlen came over and helped for about a half hour. I knew better than to offer him any money and just told him to let me know when he needed my help with something.
A few minutes after Arlen left, Spencer showed up to help. I had already been at it for nearly two hours straight, and I was about ready to quit. But even though my back was killing me, it was difficult to walk away when I had someone helping. After Spencer and I worked for almost an hour, I announced that I was finished. I told Spencer I’d finish it the next day although I knew in reality that my back would be in no condition to do anything the next day. Spencer responded by shoveling faster and said “Come on now, we almost got it beat.” What the hell, the pain was beginning to turn to numbness, so I stayed to finish the job with Spencer. He hadn’t mentioned money either, but I gave him twenty bucks when we finished.
I had four different people jump in to help with out being asked. None asked for money and only two accepted what I offered them. I probably only moved four tons myself, and it was starting to get dark, so I’m sure I wouldn’t have completed the job myself that night. But in addition to them physically helping me, there is something to be said about the encouragement factor as well. Each new person was coming into it fresh, so as I was beginning to slow down myself, I was challenged to keep up with whoever was helping me. I definitely overworked myself that evening, and I’m certain that if I had tackled it alone I probably would have moved only about a quarter of the pile.
A few interesting things happened while we were out there working. The young guys that usually stand on the corner selling actually showed up while we were working, but they weren’t facing the street this time, and they weren’t shouting like they usually do. No, they were just silently watching us work our asses of. Although none of them joined in, you could tell they were impressed by what they were seeing. At first, I thought this viewing of someone actually doing physical labor might encourage them to change their ways and get honest jobs. But seeing me limping around with my stiff back the next day probably actually convinced them that the easy money is the way to go.
About an hour into the job, Collin walked past and offered to sell me some Vicadin (a prescription pain-killer.) Hey, at least he was being customer focused! Towards the end, when we were probably down to the last ton, another man came along and offered to help. He asked for twenty dollars up front, so the word must have gotten around that I was handing out cash. As soon as I told him that I could finish it myself, he dropped his price to ten, then to five dollars. He seemed a little too desperate, so I told him no more firmly a second time. He then actually took a hold of the shovel and tried to pull it out of my hands. I was about to drop the shovel and let him know he needed to quit slowing me down, but Tricia called to him by name and shook her head at him. He walked away after that.
Mike Harvey (fairplaybeach) made a comment on a previous post that it was surprising that no one messes with me here. I’ve come to know this neighborhood pretty well over the years. For the most part I know who’s here to make money and who’s here just for kicks. I can tell you some guys that would see shooting me as a badge of honor, and others that would see the potential fallout from this as harmful to their business. There are some who I could stand among three or four of them talking and not feel threatened, and there are others that I would not turn my back on just them alone.I have definitely been tested here at times. They try to figure out if I’m carrying a gun, and where it’s at. They try to figure out what makes me jumpy and what things I don’t notice. They’ve tried to figure out my schedule and what room I sleep in at night. They’ve have tried to figure out exactly what makes me tick. But I welcome these games because the truth is, no one can act without giving away certain information about themselves. They test me to try and figure me out, but in so doing they also reveal much about themselves in the process. If a gunfight broke out, I think I could predict the reaction from many of these guys; which ones would flee, which ones would stay and fight, and which ones would just shit their pants. That knowledge alone gives me enough confidence to be able to do things now that I couldn’t do when I first moved in here.
The entire time that I was working on the dirt pile, I only got a bad vibe one time. Three of the younger guys were standing on the corner beside me and my back was turned to the street when a van drove up quickly and pulled over behind me. I immediately straightened up, turned around , and pulled the shovel into a somewhat defensive position. I moved quick enough that it actually seemed to startle a couple of the guys standing there. I quickly realized there was nothing funny going on, other than a reckless driving jack-ass pulling over on the wrong side of the road to talk with his buddies, so I just stretched a bit to give the appearance that was why I had stood at attention.
Below are two photos after we were done shoveling. The extra dirt will be used on the other side of the front yard after I build the wall there. Hopefully by this summer I will have grass and flowers growing.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Welcome to the U.S.A.
In the four weeks since I have been tracking my blog’s readership, I have received visitors from ten nations outside of the United States of America. I would like to welcome those readers to my HUD house and give a brief explanation of what this blog is about, as well as how my situation might connect to people in other areas of the world.
I’ll begin my introduction by stating the obvious. No single person’s experiences should be automatically taken to be reflective of an entire nation. Through reading my blog you will perceive certain messages about illegal drug trafficking, police actions, racial relations, the role of the news media, domestic politics, international politics, and much more. If you try to extrapolate my own personal views into a general understanding of my entire country, without further investigation, then your understanding will surely be very limited and flawed.
But my claims should be investigated by persons both from within this nation as well as by persons from other areas of the world. I have not yet delved much into the political sphere, and I have not even touched on the topic of international relations. Although I do have some strong opinions on these matters, I realize that this alone is not enough to form an accurate assessment. I need to further research some issues myself before I fully opine on such matters, but I can generalize my thoughts at this point.
The United States of America is addicted to drugs. While not everyone has had the opportunity to experience this addiction in such a personal manner as I have, all they need to do is look at our own government’s statistics on the matter to be convinced. American citizens consume large amounts of narcotics and this is an activity that they freely choose to engage in, rather than having it forced upon them by others. While the drug suppliers from other areas of the world might be a part of the problem, the main focus should rightfully be placed upon those who demand the drug.
Of course, one can not claim that the American drug dealers and users are allowed to act with impunity. Our large prison population belies this. But our treatment of them should be compared to our actions against the international drug suppliers. We have an active military presence in other countries that often employs lethal force against those who feed our habit, while those who are truly responsible for the situation are given a relative slap on the wrist. I believe that it is very unscrupulous for people to hold others to a higher standard than they hold themselves to. And when this becomes an integral part of a nation’s foreign policy, I believe it is dangerous for the one employing it.
My country, the United States of America, is proclaiming through it’s actions that while we will fine or imprison our own citizens for taking part in illegal drug activities, we will murder foreign citizens for the same reason. Many other nations employ corporal and capital punishment against even their own citizens for being associated with illegal drugs, and our own government and society berates them for their barbaric behavior. The reality is that we only consider such actions to be barbaric when employed against ourselves, not against others.
I can not fathom that any intelligent person does not recognize the hypocrisy of this country blaming others for a self-induced problem and for punishing them far more severely than we punish ourselves. This problem is huge, and I do believe that some liberalization of our drug laws would be helpful. Those who are intent on harming themselves probably can’t be stopped, but we could do more to lessen the harm that comes to innocent victims as a result of their actions. Instead of trying to manage the situation in a realistic manner, we have chosen to base our policy upon naive concepts about personal responsibility and individual rights.
We have taken what should be a minor problem for a few individuals who choose to harm themselves and turned it into a criminal enterprise that often has violent or deadly consequences for innocent victims. Yet the foolish ones are still harming themselves. One could easily look at the actions of those who control our national drug control policy and seriously wonder if they are not high themselves. And yet we blame the world for our problem. Perhaps a little historical reference is needed here.
During the mid-nineteenth century China outlawed the importation of opium into their country. At the time, native traffickers of Opium were put to death. Great Britain refused to comply with this law, so the Chinese government seized and destroyed the Opium that was found on several British merchant ships. The British response to this action was to make war on China based upon the premise that they had destroyed private property. The French joined with Britain in the noble cause of being allowed to continue delivering drugs into China.
While the United States did not usually participate in these aggressive actions, we had warships just off the coast observing some of the battles and in at least one battle we provided cover for a fleeing British fleet. And of course we were more than willing to share in the spoils of China’s defeat once her sovereignty had been stripped away. Based upon my historical understanding, I think it is safe to say that our trepidation was based more upon the fact that we were still a young nation who was unsure of it’s place among the other powerful countries rather than any moral considerations about the plight of China. Our nation literally stood by and watched as another nation was being force fed opium.
As the saying goes, “You’ve come a long way baby.” Today, we are murdering people in other nations for engaging in the same enterprise that we once supported strongly enough to destroy a nation over. So if you are a foreign visitor to this blog, welcome to the America's "War on Drugs," and welcome to my HUD house.
I’ll begin my introduction by stating the obvious. No single person’s experiences should be automatically taken to be reflective of an entire nation. Through reading my blog you will perceive certain messages about illegal drug trafficking, police actions, racial relations, the role of the news media, domestic politics, international politics, and much more. If you try to extrapolate my own personal views into a general understanding of my entire country, without further investigation, then your understanding will surely be very limited and flawed.
But my claims should be investigated by persons both from within this nation as well as by persons from other areas of the world. I have not yet delved much into the political sphere, and I have not even touched on the topic of international relations. Although I do have some strong opinions on these matters, I realize that this alone is not enough to form an accurate assessment. I need to further research some issues myself before I fully opine on such matters, but I can generalize my thoughts at this point.
The United States of America is addicted to drugs. While not everyone has had the opportunity to experience this addiction in such a personal manner as I have, all they need to do is look at our own government’s statistics on the matter to be convinced. American citizens consume large amounts of narcotics and this is an activity that they freely choose to engage in, rather than having it forced upon them by others. While the drug suppliers from other areas of the world might be a part of the problem, the main focus should rightfully be placed upon those who demand the drug.
Of course, one can not claim that the American drug dealers and users are allowed to act with impunity. Our large prison population belies this. But our treatment of them should be compared to our actions against the international drug suppliers. We have an active military presence in other countries that often employs lethal force against those who feed our habit, while those who are truly responsible for the situation are given a relative slap on the wrist. I believe that it is very unscrupulous for people to hold others to a higher standard than they hold themselves to. And when this becomes an integral part of a nation’s foreign policy, I believe it is dangerous for the one employing it.
My country, the United States of America, is proclaiming through it’s actions that while we will fine or imprison our own citizens for taking part in illegal drug activities, we will murder foreign citizens for the same reason. Many other nations employ corporal and capital punishment against even their own citizens for being associated with illegal drugs, and our own government and society berates them for their barbaric behavior. The reality is that we only consider such actions to be barbaric when employed against ourselves, not against others.
I can not fathom that any intelligent person does not recognize the hypocrisy of this country blaming others for a self-induced problem and for punishing them far more severely than we punish ourselves. This problem is huge, and I do believe that some liberalization of our drug laws would be helpful. Those who are intent on harming themselves probably can’t be stopped, but we could do more to lessen the harm that comes to innocent victims as a result of their actions. Instead of trying to manage the situation in a realistic manner, we have chosen to base our policy upon naive concepts about personal responsibility and individual rights.
We have taken what should be a minor problem for a few individuals who choose to harm themselves and turned it into a criminal enterprise that often has violent or deadly consequences for innocent victims. Yet the foolish ones are still harming themselves. One could easily look at the actions of those who control our national drug control policy and seriously wonder if they are not high themselves. And yet we blame the world for our problem. Perhaps a little historical reference is needed here.
During the mid-nineteenth century China outlawed the importation of opium into their country. At the time, native traffickers of Opium were put to death. Great Britain refused to comply with this law, so the Chinese government seized and destroyed the Opium that was found on several British merchant ships. The British response to this action was to make war on China based upon the premise that they had destroyed private property. The French joined with Britain in the noble cause of being allowed to continue delivering drugs into China.
While the United States did not usually participate in these aggressive actions, we had warships just off the coast observing some of the battles and in at least one battle we provided cover for a fleeing British fleet. And of course we were more than willing to share in the spoils of China’s defeat once her sovereignty had been stripped away. Based upon my historical understanding, I think it is safe to say that our trepidation was based more upon the fact that we were still a young nation who was unsure of it’s place among the other powerful countries rather than any moral considerations about the plight of China. Our nation literally stood by and watched as another nation was being force fed opium.
As the saying goes, “You’ve come a long way baby.” Today, we are murdering people in other nations for engaging in the same enterprise that we once supported strongly enough to destroy a nation over. So if you are a foreign visitor to this blog, welcome to the America's "War on Drugs," and welcome to my HUD house.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Fort Wayne's Next Homicide?
Monday, April 7, 2008 (16:20) I’d been setting outside for the past half hour waiting for Irving Brothers to deliver a load of dirt for my front yard. Three of the older dealers were standing on the southwest corner for the past five minutes when a car pulled up and parked across the street. The driver remained in the car while the passenger walked towards the group standing on the corner. He was not being very coy as he began asking them for drugs before he even crossed the street.
I’ve always said that the older dealers here have a little more common sense than the younger ones, and these guys proved it by quickly walking away from the obnoxious man. He was standing on the corner as they walked away and calling out “Come on, don’t you remember me? I need to get twenty. I’ve got my I.D. this time.” After they left, the man walked right over to Arlen, and tried to buy from him. Typically, Arlen would respond to such idiocy by threatening to shoot the man in the ass. But evidently he was in a good mood because he just laughed and told the guy to move on.
The guy lingered for a moment and turned towards me. I couldn’t resist having some fun so I said “Aren’t you going to ask me?” He looked at me strangely for a second, then walked back towards his car. A couple of the younger guys were standing by his car then and he turned towards them. After talking for a minute, this guy walked down the street and around the corner with the two young dealers. As they went out of sight, I told Arlen that either that guy was carrying a big gun or he’s just plain stupid to be walking off with those two. We were both openly speculating that the guy might be an undercover cop.
While this was occurring, I noticed something strange about the driver of the car who remained parked across the street from my house. Arlen and I were both talking quite loudly about the fact that he was here buying drugs. We were pointing at both the car and the other man and laughing about the situation. Whenever I’ve done this in the past I’ve gotten some reaction, either a stare or the driver will pull forward a bit. But this guy was totally unaffected, staring straight ahead the entire time and seemingly oblivious to what we were saying.
A few minutes later, the other guy came hobbling back around the corner, shirt rumpled and carrying one of his shoes in his hands. Arlen and I immediately began laughing as we knew he’d been hustled. The waiting car drove down the street bit and pulled over to let him in. As he walked to the car, he was shouting out loud “Those mother fuckers are gonna be sorry. I’ll come back down here with some people and take care of this. I’m best friends with Rusty York man, you mother fuckers are gonna be sorry.” Of course all his ranting just made Arlen and I laugh even harder.
Our laughing seemed to further upset this idiot and he then focused his attention on us saying “I’ll take care of you too. I’ll come back here and shoot both you’re asses.” I shouted back “Fuck you, that’s what you get for buying drugs here. Why don’t you come and shoot my ass right now?” I was still laughing as I knew this guy was all talk, but Arlen was not laughing. First, this guy had mistaken him for a drug dealer, and he just shook that off. But now this guy was threatening to shoot him, and Arlen doesn’t go for that kind of shit.
Arlen ran down the street about a half block to the waiting car and I quickly followed to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. Arlen actually had a hold of the man’s shirt as he was climbing into the car and he reached in and slapped the man across the face as the car began driving off. The car stopped after about twenty feet and the passenger stuck his head out the window and started cussing. Without hesitation, Arlen ran back and actually reached in and grabbed a hold of the guy. At this point, the car just sped the hell out of there and it is a wonder that either Arlen didn’t succeed in pulling this guy out through the window or Arlen didn’t get dragged off with the car.
I thought about calling FWPD to report the disturbance, but what the hell would be the point. I’m not even sure how I’d describe something like that over the phone. Anyway, I figured the idiot had probably learned his lesson and wouldn’t be back. But there was something that was bothering me still. The idiot was obviously not an undercover cop, as Tom and I had speculated. But during this entire episode that driver was remarkably cool, almost professional in his demeanor. I do not consider it unlikely that the driver of the car was actually an undercover cop, and the passenger was just one of his informants working off a debt.
On the off chance that this was an undercover police action, I thought that FWPD should hear my side of the story. I wanted them to know that by extending their drama to a couple of innocent bystanders, these two men had created a situation that could have easily turned very ugly. I will not say that I was carrying my Glock, model-19 weapon at the time because, as Paul Helmke will tell you, only criminals carry guns and there is no need for law abiding citizens to be armed. But I will say that if either of those men had produced a weapon, I feel very confident that I would have had the situation under control.
The message that I needed to convey to FWPD was quite simple. “If this was one of your officers, you need to realize that if he had produced a weapon without showing a badge, I would have put his ass down.” Of course even though my position was entirely defensive, just saying such a thing to most officers would come across as a threat. This was not something that the people at the front desk could handle, so I was trying to decide which of the officers that I knew would be best to speak with about the matter. As I was contemplating this, Officer Clayton (A member of FWPD Command Staff) just happened to drive slowly past my house. I flagged him down and briefed him on the situation. I told him the license plate number of the car and he quickly replied that “That’s not one of ours.” Of course I’m sure he wouldn’t have let me know if it was a cop, but at least I had gotten the message through just in case.
Just this morning I spoke with Officer Jefferson on the phone about the recent events here. I summed things up by telling him that although the guys are still active, relatively speaking things have been pretty calm here lately. Nobody on this block has been killed this year - at least not yet!
I’ve always said that the older dealers here have a little more common sense than the younger ones, and these guys proved it by quickly walking away from the obnoxious man. He was standing on the corner as they walked away and calling out “Come on, don’t you remember me? I need to get twenty. I’ve got my I.D. this time.” After they left, the man walked right over to Arlen, and tried to buy from him. Typically, Arlen would respond to such idiocy by threatening to shoot the man in the ass. But evidently he was in a good mood because he just laughed and told the guy to move on.
The guy lingered for a moment and turned towards me. I couldn’t resist having some fun so I said “Aren’t you going to ask me?” He looked at me strangely for a second, then walked back towards his car. A couple of the younger guys were standing by his car then and he turned towards them. After talking for a minute, this guy walked down the street and around the corner with the two young dealers. As they went out of sight, I told Arlen that either that guy was carrying a big gun or he’s just plain stupid to be walking off with those two. We were both openly speculating that the guy might be an undercover cop.
While this was occurring, I noticed something strange about the driver of the car who remained parked across the street from my house. Arlen and I were both talking quite loudly about the fact that he was here buying drugs. We were pointing at both the car and the other man and laughing about the situation. Whenever I’ve done this in the past I’ve gotten some reaction, either a stare or the driver will pull forward a bit. But this guy was totally unaffected, staring straight ahead the entire time and seemingly oblivious to what we were saying.
A few minutes later, the other guy came hobbling back around the corner, shirt rumpled and carrying one of his shoes in his hands. Arlen and I immediately began laughing as we knew he’d been hustled. The waiting car drove down the street bit and pulled over to let him in. As he walked to the car, he was shouting out loud “Those mother fuckers are gonna be sorry. I’ll come back down here with some people and take care of this. I’m best friends with Rusty York man, you mother fuckers are gonna be sorry.” Of course all his ranting just made Arlen and I laugh even harder.
Our laughing seemed to further upset this idiot and he then focused his attention on us saying “I’ll take care of you too. I’ll come back here and shoot both you’re asses.” I shouted back “Fuck you, that’s what you get for buying drugs here. Why don’t you come and shoot my ass right now?” I was still laughing as I knew this guy was all talk, but Arlen was not laughing. First, this guy had mistaken him for a drug dealer, and he just shook that off. But now this guy was threatening to shoot him, and Arlen doesn’t go for that kind of shit.
Arlen ran down the street about a half block to the waiting car and I quickly followed to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. Arlen actually had a hold of the man’s shirt as he was climbing into the car and he reached in and slapped the man across the face as the car began driving off. The car stopped after about twenty feet and the passenger stuck his head out the window and started cussing. Without hesitation, Arlen ran back and actually reached in and grabbed a hold of the guy. At this point, the car just sped the hell out of there and it is a wonder that either Arlen didn’t succeed in pulling this guy out through the window or Arlen didn’t get dragged off with the car.
I thought about calling FWPD to report the disturbance, but what the hell would be the point. I’m not even sure how I’d describe something like that over the phone. Anyway, I figured the idiot had probably learned his lesson and wouldn’t be back. But there was something that was bothering me still. The idiot was obviously not an undercover cop, as Tom and I had speculated. But during this entire episode that driver was remarkably cool, almost professional in his demeanor. I do not consider it unlikely that the driver of the car was actually an undercover cop, and the passenger was just one of his informants working off a debt.
On the off chance that this was an undercover police action, I thought that FWPD should hear my side of the story. I wanted them to know that by extending their drama to a couple of innocent bystanders, these two men had created a situation that could have easily turned very ugly. I will not say that I was carrying my Glock, model-19 weapon at the time because, as Paul Helmke will tell you, only criminals carry guns and there is no need for law abiding citizens to be armed. But I will say that if either of those men had produced a weapon, I feel very confident that I would have had the situation under control.
The message that I needed to convey to FWPD was quite simple. “If this was one of your officers, you need to realize that if he had produced a weapon without showing a badge, I would have put his ass down.” Of course even though my position was entirely defensive, just saying such a thing to most officers would come across as a threat. This was not something that the people at the front desk could handle, so I was trying to decide which of the officers that I knew would be best to speak with about the matter. As I was contemplating this, Officer Clayton (A member of FWPD Command Staff) just happened to drive slowly past my house. I flagged him down and briefed him on the situation. I told him the license plate number of the car and he quickly replied that “That’s not one of ours.” Of course I’m sure he wouldn’t have let me know if it was a cop, but at least I had gotten the message through just in case.
Just this morning I spoke with Officer Jefferson on the phone about the recent events here. I summed things up by telling him that although the guys are still active, relatively speaking things have been pretty calm here lately. Nobody on this block has been killed this year - at least not yet!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Fort Wayne's Eighth Homicide of 2008
When I first turned on the scanner early this morning, I thought the most interesting thing I’d have to write about would be the officer who declared he was unable to respond to a call because he was stuck in the drive-through at Taco Bell. I suppose he could have turned on his siren and tried to force the cars in front to move. But this was one o’clock in the morning, on a weekend, at Taco Bell. Most drunks don’t take well to being pushed around, especially when they're waiting on their food, so he probably would have needed to call for assistance to quell the riot that would have ensued. I guess it was better for him to just set there and wait for his tacos.
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Then, at a little past two in the morning, a signal-113 (shots fired) was called in the 2800 block of Adams St. This is about a block south of the idiot circle where Wayne Trace and Pontiac meet. A minute later the dispatch called out that there had possibly been someone shot in the head at the Grand Saloon on Wayne Trace, just south of Pontiac Street. The information given was that the victim fled the scene in a white Pontiac Grand Prix or Bonneville.
Within five minutes of the signal-113 being called, the first officer was on the scene and reporting that there were gun shell casings and a lot of blood on the parking lot at the Grand Saloon. About two minutes later, something was going on at Maumee & Dubois St, but it was not exactly clear what was happening. At first, it sounded like there had been another shooting, but it turns out they had found the victim from the shooting at the Grand Saloon. There was another person in the vehicle who had apparently picked the victim off the ground after the shooting, threw him in the car, and drove away.
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A few minutes later, it was determined that the perpetrators were actually driving the white Pontiac. Witnesses said that the car drove up with four young black males all having their faces covered and opening fire on the victim.
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It is very confusing listening to the scanner sometimes. Just before this event at the Grand Saloon occurred, an officer reported finding a holstered gun lying on the ground, but I did not catch the location. He reported that there were several live rounds of ammunition as well as spent casings littering the ground. I am pretty sure this event had nothing to do with the shooting at the Grand Saloon. I think it was in response to shots fired earlier in the morning somewhere else.
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It is very confusing listening to the scanner sometimes. Just before this event at the Grand Saloon occurred, an officer reported finding a holstered gun lying on the ground, but I did not catch the location. He reported that there were several live rounds of ammunition as well as spent casings littering the ground. I am pretty sure this event had nothing to do with the shooting at the Grand Saloon. I think it was in response to shots fired earlier in the morning somewhere else.
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The shooting at the Grand Saloon prompted calls of shots fired from at least three different locations within the span of a couple minutes. At first it was not apparent that these all stemmed from the same incident. When you add to this the radio traffic that was still going on regarding the previous disturbance, it sounded for about five minutes as though the entire town had spontaneously erupted into gun fighting.
The gunshot victim from the Grand Saloon was taken to a local hospital and pronounced dead. He has not yet been publicly identified. He was twenty-eight years old, and is the city’s eighth homicide victim this year.
I drove by the Grand Saloon this morning and noticed that there is still a pool of blood on the parking lot. This surprised me as I assumed it would have dissipated by now. One of the owners of the Grand Saloon was pulling into the lot as I was about to leave, so I stopped to speak with him. He didn't know much about the shooting, but he said it was uncharacteristic for his bar. He acknowledged that things get a little rowdy sometimes, but not usually violent, and very seldom as deadly as this event turned out to be.
The Journal Gazette on-line appears to have nothing to say about this event.
Here is the story from the News-Sentinel on-line.
________________________________________During the past few weeks, I have spoken twice with a member of the FWPD command staff about the situation in my neighborhood. During that time, this same officer has been on my block at least three different times interacting with the guys on the street. I'm not sure exactly what he has said to them, but it seems to be working. For the past two weeks, each day becomes a little bit quieter than the previous one.
There is a strange correlation between what is happening in my immediate neighborhood and what is happening in other parts of the city. As my block has calmed down, other areas of Fort Wayne have erupted in deadly violence. I can't help but wonder if there is a connection. Maybe Officer Jefferson simply told these guys to take their problems somewhere else, and they did. Perhaps it would be better if I just left and let the dealers have their block back.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Month in Review: March 2008 - Part 1 of 4
This is just a compilation of interesting things I saw or heard during the past month. Most of them do not pertain to my immediate neighborhood, but there is a strong connection. They all involve the police, and many of the other parties appear to have been high on crack at the time of the incidents. Anyone who says F.W. is boring needs to get a clue. Just listen to the police scanner (especially late at night) and you‘ll probably hear something interesting. Again, I had to break this up into several posts because I can’t figure out how to post more than five photos at a time.
Tuesday, March 4
(16:00) A man was running from the police in the area of Lilly and Anthony when he tossed his gun. When I heard this, I was thinking that would probably be a tough decision for the cop to make. Do you follow the guy that was running, or do you stop and retrieve the gun? The officer called for someone to secure the gun, which means he opted to follow the suspect. I had to leave the house, so I did not hear the follow up to this. I wonder how quickly another officer arrived to retrieve the gun. It seems to me that a gun lying on the ground wouldn’t stay there very long. I don’t know if they caught the suspect.
(16:50) It was reported that a man was threatening someone. Officers were advised that the person making the threat had a prior arrest for carrying a weapon without a permit. They listed the name of the suspect, and I am certain that I had heard it before. That’s going to really bug me until I can figure that out. Right after this, a man was reported to have been selling drugs at a Speedway gas station. I’m not sure if that was related to the previous call.
(18:25) An officer was pursuing two men. I believe he was just getting out of his car when he shouted “Come back here,” immediately after that I heard dogs barking. I believe the officer had released his dogs to chase the suspects, but I’m not sure. It could have just been dogs in the neighborhood that were barking.
Thursday, March 6
(22:09) Someone from Wal-Mart called to report that the photos they were developing appeared to be of a man in a prison uniform. They thought he might have been an escapee.
Tuesday, March 11
(03:00) I encountered a car that had wrecked into a telephone pole on Beaver Avenue, just north of Wildwood Avenue. This is a block east of Wildwood Liquor on Broadway. Both front doors and the trunk were open, and the airbag had been deployed. There was nobody in the car or anywhere to be seen in the area. Since the car was halfway out in the street, I decided to call it in from a nearby phone booth. I told them I wasn’t going to stay around to speak with the officers, as I really hadn’t witnessed the wreck itself. I returned to the scene to snap a couple of photos, and the police arrived while I was still there. That was pretty damn quick for a non-emergency. The photos did not turn out, as I have a piece-of-shoot camera. I still can’t believe that none of the people that live in that area came out to see what was going on.
Wednesday, March 12
(16:25) A woman bought a gun and wanted to shoot her husband. The responding officer had secured the gun, but advised that this would probably be a signal-66 (demented person). As I listened to this, I was thinking to myself - Shouldn’t you get to know the husband first, before judging her mental state? Maybe he deserved to be shot!
Saturday, March 15
(03:30) An officer radioed in that a car was “…heading north on Lafayette, or Clinton, whichever it is.” This made me feel good to know that I’m not the only one who gets these two streets mixed up.
(3:45) A person was shot at one of the Showgirl strip clubs. I think it was Showgirl I on Goshen Road. So, evidently it is true that these types of businesses induce crime!
(04:00) A man was pushed from a moving car while driving on Jefferson Boulevard. I really don’t understand why the police were called. If two morons are arguing, the best solution is to simply separate them from each other. It sounds to me like they had resolved the matter themselves.
(04:15) A person called in to report that a car was pulling into neighbor’s driveways. The driver would get out, look at the house, then get back in and go to the next house. Responding officer reported that it was a newspaper delivery vehicle. I think they should have went to the caller’s house and checked him for drugs!
Tuesday, March 18
(00:30) An officer began pursuing a vehicle around the area of McKinnie and Anthony. The pursuit lasted for five to ten minutes and was very interesting to listen to. While running from the police, the driver of the vehicle apparently continued slowing or stopping as he came to each intersection (must not have been a stolen vehicle). As he neared the end of his run, he drove through somebody’s yard. His truck finally stopped in an alley and he tried to flea on foot but was quickly caught.
The alley where he was stopped is exceptionally long (¼ mile) and the houses on both sides of the alley had very little space between them. As you drive this alley, because of it’s length and the tightness of the houses, you almost feel as though you’re driving through a tunnel. Driving through there during the dark of night, especially while being pursued, might easily cause one to become disorientated. A quarter mile is a considerable distance to drive blind, and he really had no idea what might be waiting for him when he finally got to the other end of the alley. I suspect that might be the reason he decided to bail half way through.
The most interesting part of this was listening to the pursuing officer radio in his location. They must have crossed or traveled along Pontiac Street at least eight times. McKinnie was called out several times. And they went through the idiot circle (Pontiac x Wayne Trace) at least once. Throughout the chase, the officer constantly radioed in which street he was on, which direction he was traveling, and the streets he was crossing. I was impressed by this because even if all the streets were marked, they couldn’t be easily read while traveling fast and late at night. That cop definitely knew his territory.
I drove to the location, but was unable to get in close to take a picture without interfering with the officers. It doesn’t matter though, as my piece-of-shoot camera hardly ever produces good night time photos. I went there the next day and took a couple photos. The first one is the full length of the alley, and you can not even tell where it ends from there. The second photo is from halfway through the alley. Although I could make out the end of the alley from there, I expect it was less clear at night. That poor guy must have thought he was driving down an endless alley, and I expect this perception was further enhanced by the fact that he was (probably) high at the time. I’ve included a satellite photo of the location as well to show how long it is. The alley is highlighted in red.
Tuesday, March 4
(16:00) A man was running from the police in the area of Lilly and Anthony when he tossed his gun. When I heard this, I was thinking that would probably be a tough decision for the cop to make. Do you follow the guy that was running, or do you stop and retrieve the gun? The officer called for someone to secure the gun, which means he opted to follow the suspect. I had to leave the house, so I did not hear the follow up to this. I wonder how quickly another officer arrived to retrieve the gun. It seems to me that a gun lying on the ground wouldn’t stay there very long. I don’t know if they caught the suspect.
(16:50) It was reported that a man was threatening someone. Officers were advised that the person making the threat had a prior arrest for carrying a weapon without a permit. They listed the name of the suspect, and I am certain that I had heard it before. That’s going to really bug me until I can figure that out. Right after this, a man was reported to have been selling drugs at a Speedway gas station. I’m not sure if that was related to the previous call.
(18:25) An officer was pursuing two men. I believe he was just getting out of his car when he shouted “Come back here,” immediately after that I heard dogs barking. I believe the officer had released his dogs to chase the suspects, but I’m not sure. It could have just been dogs in the neighborhood that were barking.
Thursday, March 6
(22:09) Someone from Wal-Mart called to report that the photos they were developing appeared to be of a man in a prison uniform. They thought he might have been an escapee.
Tuesday, March 11
(03:00) I encountered a car that had wrecked into a telephone pole on Beaver Avenue, just north of Wildwood Avenue. This is a block east of Wildwood Liquor on Broadway. Both front doors and the trunk were open, and the airbag had been deployed. There was nobody in the car or anywhere to be seen in the area. Since the car was halfway out in the street, I decided to call it in from a nearby phone booth. I told them I wasn’t going to stay around to speak with the officers, as I really hadn’t witnessed the wreck itself. I returned to the scene to snap a couple of photos, and the police arrived while I was still there. That was pretty damn quick for a non-emergency. The photos did not turn out, as I have a piece-of-shoot camera. I still can’t believe that none of the people that live in that area came out to see what was going on.
Wednesday, March 12
(16:25) A woman bought a gun and wanted to shoot her husband. The responding officer had secured the gun, but advised that this would probably be a signal-66 (demented person). As I listened to this, I was thinking to myself - Shouldn’t you get to know the husband first, before judging her mental state? Maybe he deserved to be shot!
Saturday, March 15
(03:30) An officer radioed in that a car was “…heading north on Lafayette, or Clinton, whichever it is.” This made me feel good to know that I’m not the only one who gets these two streets mixed up.
(3:45) A person was shot at one of the Showgirl strip clubs. I think it was Showgirl I on Goshen Road. So, evidently it is true that these types of businesses induce crime!
(04:00) A man was pushed from a moving car while driving on Jefferson Boulevard. I really don’t understand why the police were called. If two morons are arguing, the best solution is to simply separate them from each other. It sounds to me like they had resolved the matter themselves.
(04:15) A person called in to report that a car was pulling into neighbor’s driveways. The driver would get out, look at the house, then get back in and go to the next house. Responding officer reported that it was a newspaper delivery vehicle. I think they should have went to the caller’s house and checked him for drugs!
Tuesday, March 18
(00:30) An officer began pursuing a vehicle around the area of McKinnie and Anthony. The pursuit lasted for five to ten minutes and was very interesting to listen to. While running from the police, the driver of the vehicle apparently continued slowing or stopping as he came to each intersection (must not have been a stolen vehicle). As he neared the end of his run, he drove through somebody’s yard. His truck finally stopped in an alley and he tried to flea on foot but was quickly caught.
The alley where he was stopped is exceptionally long (¼ mile) and the houses on both sides of the alley had very little space between them. As you drive this alley, because of it’s length and the tightness of the houses, you almost feel as though you’re driving through a tunnel. Driving through there during the dark of night, especially while being pursued, might easily cause one to become disorientated. A quarter mile is a considerable distance to drive blind, and he really had no idea what might be waiting for him when he finally got to the other end of the alley. I suspect that might be the reason he decided to bail half way through.
The most interesting part of this was listening to the pursuing officer radio in his location. They must have crossed or traveled along Pontiac Street at least eight times. McKinnie was called out several times. And they went through the idiot circle (Pontiac x Wayne Trace) at least once. Throughout the chase, the officer constantly radioed in which street he was on, which direction he was traveling, and the streets he was crossing. I was impressed by this because even if all the streets were marked, they couldn’t be easily read while traveling fast and late at night. That cop definitely knew his territory.
I drove to the location, but was unable to get in close to take a picture without interfering with the officers. It doesn’t matter though, as my piece-of-shoot camera hardly ever produces good night time photos. I went there the next day and took a couple photos. The first one is the full length of the alley, and you can not even tell where it ends from there. The second photo is from halfway through the alley. Although I could make out the end of the alley from there, I expect it was less clear at night. That poor guy must have thought he was driving down an endless alley, and I expect this perception was further enhanced by the fact that he was (probably) high at the time. I’ve included a satellite photo of the location as well to show how long it is. The alley is highlighted in red.
The Month in Review: March 2008 - Part 2 of 4
Saturday, March 22
(14:00) I was traveling south on Fairfield Avenue, just south of Jefferson Boulevard, when I encountered this car wreck. All I saw was the single car in the yards, so I don’t know if other vehicles were involved. Luckily it was daytime, so my piece-of-shoot camera worked. Kind of early in the day to be smoking!
(14:00) I was traveling south on Fairfield Avenue, just south of Jefferson Boulevard, when I encountered this car wreck. All I saw was the single car in the yards, so I don’t know if other vehicles were involved. Luckily it was daytime, so my piece-of-shoot camera worked. Kind of early in the day to be smoking!
The Month in Review: March 2008 - Part 3 of 4
Friday, March 28
(02:00) I heard a series of gunshots that came from the east. I could not tell the exact distance, but I’m certain it was at least a few blocks away. Since it was not in my immediate area, I didn’t call FWPD. Instead, I stepped outside to watch and listen. Shortly afterwards, I heard sirens to the north-east. But they sounded farther away than the gunshots did.
A few minutes later, I started walking to my truck when a patrol car approached from the south. The car slowed as it approached the intersection. I was thinking he might be patrolling because of the shots fired, so I waved to get his attention. I was just going to let him know that I had been outside for the last ten minutes and the area had been totally clear. Then, I looked to my left and saw an approaching vehicle traveling the wrong direction. This car blew past the patrol car and floored it, heading south on Warsaw Street. The patrol car u-turned and pursued. I went in and immediately turned on the scanner, and they had already crossed Rudisill. A minute later, the car had crashed into the guard rail that blocks the southern end of Warsaw Street.
I drove to the area and asked the first officer I encountered if I could proceed to the scene to take some photos. He asked that I not do so because the suspect had fled on foot and they were searching the area for him. I went back home and heard the scanner report that the car had been stolen. I do not know if they caught the suspect. I have included a satellite map of the area and several photographs which were taken the following day.
The photo below shows how hard the car impacted the rail. The steel post was pulled from the ground and the rail moved forward about five or six feet.
(02:00) I heard a series of gunshots that came from the east. I could not tell the exact distance, but I’m certain it was at least a few blocks away. Since it was not in my immediate area, I didn’t call FWPD. Instead, I stepped outside to watch and listen. Shortly afterwards, I heard sirens to the north-east. But they sounded farther away than the gunshots did.
A few minutes later, I started walking to my truck when a patrol car approached from the south. The car slowed as it approached the intersection. I was thinking he might be patrolling because of the shots fired, so I waved to get his attention. I was just going to let him know that I had been outside for the last ten minutes and the area had been totally clear. Then, I looked to my left and saw an approaching vehicle traveling the wrong direction. This car blew past the patrol car and floored it, heading south on Warsaw Street. The patrol car u-turned and pursued. I went in and immediately turned on the scanner, and they had already crossed Rudisill. A minute later, the car had crashed into the guard rail that blocks the southern end of Warsaw Street.
I drove to the area and asked the first officer I encountered if I could proceed to the scene to take some photos. He asked that I not do so because the suspect had fled on foot and they were searching the area for him. I went back home and heard the scanner report that the car had been stolen. I do not know if they caught the suspect. I have included a satellite map of the area and several photographs which were taken the following day.
The photo below shows how hard the car impacted the rail. The steel post was pulled from the ground and the rail moved forward about five or six feet.
The second photo (below) shows that the other end of the rail moved forward at least eight feet. If you look carefully, you will see the small tree that I planted in the post hole to show the distance. It looks like he actually opened up the way so that a vehicle can easily travel through that grass strip to access Decatur Road. That means I have a direct path from my house to Scott’s Supermarket now, thanks to Mr. Crackhead.
Evidently, this guy was not the first to attempt to bulldoze this guardrail, as there is evidence (below) of other cars having been there before.
Actually, it looks like some of those guys decided to stay around and lived there for a while! (photo below)
COST ANALYSIS: The Maplecrest Road extension project is estimated to cost $55 million for 1.5 miles. That figures to Almost $7,000 per foot. It looks like this guy moved the rail forward about 8 feet. And we could just cut open the tires that are being dumped here and lay them down as traction strips on the grass leading to Decatur Road. That’s probably a total distance of over a hundred and fifty feet. Applying the “Maplecrest standard,” this road extension project would cost over a million dollars! And yet, these guys are doing the work while juiced up on a twenty dollar rock. It just goes to show that if you have enough crack-heads and enough stolen vehicles, they will get the job done! Perhaps we should be subsidizing their habits like some of the European countries do.
The Month in Review: March 2008 - Part 4 of 4
Sunday, March 30
(20:00) Five FWPD cars had two vehicles pulled over on U.S. 24 West, about a mile to the west of Homestead Road. There is a BP gas station where they were stopped. This was only 2 ¼ miles from the Whitley county line, and I wasn‘t even sure if it was in the city limits. I asked the girl at the BP station if this location was inside Fort Wayne city limits. Her response “Yeah, we’re in Allen County.”
I took a couple photos, which my P.O.S. camera mangled. The police arrested at least two guys and were searching the vehicles when I left. I still don’t know if this area is inside Fort Wayne city limits, as all my maps are too dated. But thanks to that bright girl at the gas station, I do know for sure that it is inside the city of Allen County.
(20:00) Five FWPD cars had two vehicles pulled over on U.S. 24 West, about a mile to the west of Homestead Road. There is a BP gas station where they were stopped. This was only 2 ¼ miles from the Whitley county line, and I wasn‘t even sure if it was in the city limits. I asked the girl at the BP station if this location was inside Fort Wayne city limits. Her response “Yeah, we’re in Allen County.”
I took a couple photos, which my P.O.S. camera mangled. The police arrested at least two guys and were searching the vehicles when I left. I still don’t know if this area is inside Fort Wayne city limits, as all my maps are too dated. But thanks to that bright girl at the gas station, I do know for sure that it is inside the city of Allen County.
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