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.