A couple drug dealers had been standing on the corner in front of my house for the past hour or so. I watched them intermittantly to make sure they weren't coming on my property. At 3:00, a patrol car passed by my house as one of these guys was standing there. This particular guy is only seventeen or eighteen and he is "known" by the police. Sometimes it seems that FWPD thinks it's okay to sell drugs on the corner of Warsaw and Suttenfield, as this cop didn't even bother slowing down to stare as he passed by.
Just after this officer passed by, I looked back at the corner and didn't see anyone there. Maybe he was actually scared away by the presence of the officer. So I looked from another angle and saw that there were two of them there now, both setting on my wall that is marked with several no trespassing signs (I even posted one in Spanish - just in case). So I went out on the front porch, hopped the rail onto the ground and landed on the sidewalk right in front of them saying "What the fuck are you doing here on my property? Get the fuck off my wall now."
Ike and Jesse both immediately jumped up and moved to the sidewalk, ignoring me and acting as though nothing was going on. Just then, Jesse turned to me and said "Look, you made your point, you don't got to keep yelling us." Well, since I have asked, pleaded and demanded numerous times that both of these individuals stay off my property, and since they are THE reason that I had to put up the no-trespassing signs, then evidently my point has not been made. So I added "You're drug dealers god damnit, and I don't want you on my property!"
Jesse said "You don't have to keep yelling at us, I'll take this house down." Now I took that as a threat to my life, so I walked inside to call 911. As I was about to dial the final number, I changed my mind. It seems as if the police department is quite ineffective on these matters, so why should I waste my time calling them. I had my gun now, and I was on my property, so if Jesse wants to take my house down, I'll handle the situation myself.
Ike and Jesse had moved across the street now, so I went back out to work in the yard. About ten minutes later, I heard Ike say "Let's go, they're sending someone out now." I just assumed they were referring to a drug customer as they began walking towards one of their houses. A few minutes later, I heard one of my neighbors saying "I think he's around back", so I started walking to the front to see if he was talking about me. A police officer stepped off my front porch and greeted me, asking if ev erything was okay. My response was "Yeah, everythings fine." He checked my address, then asked if I had called 911.
Evidently I must have accidently hit that one twice by mistake before I hung up the phone. Realizing what had happened, I knew that I had to offer the officer some explanation. I said "I'm sorry, I meant to hang up before the call went through because I changed my mind." He asked why I had called and I told him one of the drug dealers said he was going to "take down my house", and I took that as a threat. As I was calling to report this, I realized that since I now had my gun and I was on my own property, I could just take care of it myself. The officer simply said okay, and walked back to his motorcycle and drove away.
By the way, Jesse is the one who was trying to buy a gun in front of my house last month. I didn't bother mentioning this to the police because they have already made it clear that they don't consider eighteen year old drug dealers purchasing illegal weapons to be a problem.
Gee, I sure wish Paul Helmke was still Mayor here. By ordering me (a law-abiding citizen) to not have a gun in my own home, this entire problem would be solved. I mean it's only logical to assume that once I give up my gun, then the criminals will follow suit and turn theirs in also.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Beginning of a Bad Year: January 2006
Welcome to 2006: The Year the Drug Dealers Tried to Kill Me
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit here. I mean it’s not like they put a gun to my head or drove by and shot my house full of holes. In fact, what they did in October of 2006 actually caused hardly any physical damage to my property. They probably just meant it as a silly joke. After all, it was only a couple weeks before Halloween. And I’m sure the fact that it had been raining earlier in the day fit right into their calculations. They purposely waited for a night that my porch would be very wet, so that the fire bombs would not cause much damage. They probably just meant it as a friendly warning, and really intended to cause no real harm. - Yeah, right!
I’d really pissed off the drug dealers this time. I had (tried to) work with the police to affect the problems here. Not only that, but I made sure that the entire neighborhood (including the drug dealers) knew what I was up to. This was too much for them. One of them (Sheldon) was standing across the street from his grandmother’s house when I approached. As I was speaking with his grandmother about the situation he said “Oh no, now he’s going too far” to his friends. I found out later that evening what he meant by that. Had I been asleep and therefore not immediately put out the fire, I really doubt if any of these guys would have came and knocked on my door saying “We’re sorry, we just meant to scare you, we didn’t really want to kill you.
No, the fact of the matter is that these guys purposely did something very dangerous. It is just a comedy of errors (only one of the three bottles actually hit it’s mark) that neither myself or my home sustained significant damage. So is it fair to call this attempted murder? Well, given that the FWPD or FWFD seems to have never really investigated this particular incident after that night, I would say that they must think it to be much more trivial than attempted murder. Or perhaps they just see attempted murder itself as something trivial (depending upon what area of the city it occurs in). But if you ask me, I tend to think that throwing three firebombs at a house when you know that someone is inside it definitely qualifies as attempted murder.
So why, you might be wondering, did I start my post about January 2006 with something that did not occur until October? To illustrate the point that there are some experiences that one can not pretend have never occurred. I have mentioned before that my intent is to tell this story as it occurred. And describing my thoughts about the events here is as much a part of the story as the events themselves. And therein lies the problem. I’ve made mention before that it is difficult at times for me to remember with absolute clarity what my frame of mind was at the time that some of these events were unfolding. And that is simply because my current frame of mind interferes with this.
Imagine for a minute that you’re a lawyer. You are prosecuting a case against a man that you believe has raped and murdered a young girl. Perhaps the most damning evidence against him is the fact that he was previously convicted of this same crime, even using the same M.O. But he was only sixteen at the time, so his juvenile record is not allowed to be brought into the current case. So there you are, desperately wanting to tell the jury what you are not allowed to say.
I think this describes my situation to some degree. There was a time when I did not think that it is very possible that at least a few FWPD officers are actually dealing drugs in this town. And there was a time when I did not think that the majority of the officers who run FWPD are incompetent and unconcerned about the citizens they claim to be serving and protecting. But that was a long time ago, and I really can’t totally grasp that frame of mind now because I know the truth. I can no more pretend that a lot of FWPD officers are not complete jackasses and/or criminals than that lawyer can pretend not to know that the man on trial has a record.
So when I tell one of my old stories, I should be telling it from the frame of mind I was in at the time it occurred. But I’m no lawyer. I neither want nor am able to completely erect that wall. The results of this are exemplified by some of the comments left on earlier posts. When I made an offhand comment about some officers being corrupt, this was questioned, and rightly so, because I had yet to give enough examples of why I had come to this conclusion. It was is if the lawyer had said “I know this man has murdered before, but I can’t talk about it.” Of course a prudent juror would then be inclined to dismiss such a charge simply because it’s validity can not be checked.
So, the point I am trying to make here is that there are certain experiences which have permanently affected the way I view my world. I can not act as though there are not several people carrying guns and badges in this town that are actually menaces to society. I can not pretend that someone never tried to burn my house down. I can never again look at a hammer, a screwdriver, or just about any tool, and not contemplate how it might be used as a weapon. And I can not act as though I do not know that sometimes truly innocent people get trapped in the bullshit here.
If you have followed this story closely so far, you have caught glimpses of some of the seminal events here; being shouted at and threatened with arrest simply for requesting to be allowed to drive away from my own home; having a high ranking officer bullshit me for three months, pretending as though he intended to help me then asking incredulously what I wanted from him; having many other officers simply ignore my calls; watching the drug dealers act out violently; being ignore by officers as I am trying to give them information about a crime that has just occurred.
Some of my previous posts may have seemed to jump to conclusions. And this is because I was splicing the details of the past events with my current frame of mind. I am trying to fill in the gaps for you by recalling as many of the important events here. I want you to understand how my way of thinking has evolved to it’s current state. This next story is one such event.
Being Set Up by FWPD?
One afternoon in early January I was walking from my house to my truck. As I approached the vehicle, a man got out of the car that was parked in front of it and turned towards me. I had never seen this man before, and it seemed as though he had been waiting there for me, so as he began walking towards me, I braced myself for what might occur. As he began casually asking about my truck, and whether I would consider selling it, it became apparent that he posed no threat. So we stood there talking for a moment about the truck and my house.
Suddenly, two patrol cars whipped around the corner and parked behind and beside my truck. Officers Black and Seward jumped out and shouted “What are you guys doing down here?” as they rushed upon us. My answer was pretty straight forward - “I live here (pointing at house). I’m just going to my truck (pointing at truck).” Officer Black demanded to see my documents then retorted “Do you know Sheldon? (A local drug-dealer)” Just as I responded that I did know Sheldon, he came walking out of the alley behind my house. Officer Black called Sheldon over to where we were standing.
Officer Black than asked me “How do you know Sheldon?”, as he placed Sheldon against my truck door and began searching him. I simply replied “Sheldon spends a lot of time standing on the corner in front of my home.” Now I didn’t come right out and say that Sheldon was a drug dealer, but the implication was clearly there. And Officer Seward picked up on this implication as he sharply asked me “Well, have you ever tried to do anything about that?”
Okay, my gut response was a desire to just say “Fuck You!” to Officer Seward. Here I have been trying to work with FWPD and against the drug dealers for years, and now this stupid fucking cop is going to imply that I am part of the problem - as if there was something more I should have been doing about it. This would not have been a prudent course of action for two reasons though. First, I think Officer Seward was new to FWPD, so it’s possible he didn’t really know what was going on. But the fact that shouting this obscenity would probably qualify as “Assaulting an Officer” was probably the greatest deterrent to my being outright belligerent.
But it pissed me off, and I had to say something. My response was “Yes, I talked with your boss, Officer Marshall, about the problem. He told me I should just mind my own business. If they’re on my property, I can tell them to leave. If they’re on the sidewalk or in the street, it’s your jurisdiction and I should just leave it to you. So if you’ve got a problem with these guys standing on the corner, I suggest you speak with your supervisor about it, because that’s where the problem is at.” Officer Seward gritted his teeth and looked as though he was trying hard not to shout an obscenity (or pummel me).
Officer Black seemed to sense that the situation was becoming a bit tense, so he broke into it with some light humor. “Man, Sheldon, you really should learn to wipe. That’s some serious skid marks you’ve got going on there” he said as he was trying hard to keep Sheldon’s oversized underwear from falling down as he was being searched. It worked, everyone laughed (except for Sheldon), and the officers seemed to decide at that point to back off of me. As these cops were leaving, Officer Black said to me in a slightly apologetic tone “We just thought you were some Crackhead down here buying drugs.”
He didn’t actually apologize for running up on me, shouting at me, and demanding to see my documents. He did not apologize for wasting fifteen minutes of my time as I had to wait till he finished processing Sheldon beside my truck. He did not apologize for Officer Seward’s inappropriate implication that I am somehow responsible for the drug scourge here. And best of all, after I had pointed out that I too considered the drug dealing here to be a problem, Officer Black offered no suggestions for how I might effectively address this problem. All things considered though, I suppose this was pretty fair treatment from a FWPD officer. After all, he could have just shot me or planted some drugs on me to save face, so I guess that receiving a quasi-apology should really be seen as a huge victory.
Now, what I’ve said so far regarding this matter should be enough to scare the hell out of anybody. I live in a neighborhood where the police frequently accost people for absolutely no reason, then incorrectly imply that they are somehow the cause of the illegal drug activity here, then just walk away with a quick “Whoops, my bad, dude” thrown out as a condolence. Yet at the same time they often seem to give the true criminals a free pass. There are reasons why even many law-abiding citizens want absolutely nothing to do with the police, and this is one of them.
So, assume that this was simply a mistake. Assume that after years of speaking with numerous high ranking officers including Deputy Chief Nancy Becher, PBA President Jeff Burkholder, Vice & Narcotics Detective John Greenle; Drug tip Hot-line manager Joe Musi, Investigative Support Division Manager Karl Niblick, and Detective Lynn Wetmore (***), that the leaders of FWPD either had no clue that I was trying to help them with their crime problem here, or they just didn’t care enough to pass this information on to the patrol officers who work blow them. So either they’re total fucking idiots who don’t have a clue, or they simply don’t give a damn about the citizens they work for or the officers who rank below them and count on them for guidance and support. Either way, the fact that a patrol officer in this area could mistake me for a drug dealer points to some type of problem at FWPD.
But what if this particular event wasn’t an accident? What if Officers Black and Seward knew exactly who I was? What if their superiors actually had apprised them of the situation, explaining the role that I played here, and had instructed them to engage me? Could it have been their intention to set me up, or at least to scare me into realizing how easily something like this could happen to me here? Perhaps they hoped to force me to come to my senses and just leave.
Now this might sound like quite a leap of logic here, but consider the following facts as well. I have frequently witnessed Sheldon selling drugs to passing motorists. And I have frequently seen the cops who were hiding in the alleys and watching this go after the car, not Sheldon. There is no way that Sheldon did not know the cops were watching him. These guys have a communication network that ensures that all the “connected” people on the block always know such information.
So Sheldon sells drugs to somebody while he knows the police are watching him. Then the police nab the drug buyer. Seriously, what does that tell you? I have also had two other people in this neighborhood tell me that Sheldon is a FWPD snitch. Even if there were no truth to these rumors, do you really think they’d let him go on breathing if they thought he was ratting out other dealers? But if Sheldon’s assignment was simply to work off his debt by setting up strangers, then he might be tolerated.
Sheldon was finally arrested in 2007 for selling drugs here. Some might think this eliminates the possibility that he was a C.I. Obviously, if he was arrested, he does not enjoy their (FWPD) protection. But when someone is collared by the police, their offer of being a C.I. does not necessarily entail a totally free pass. Suppose they busted him with enough to put him away for several years, then make him an offer to substantially reduce that if he cooperates with them. Of course I am merely speculating here, as I have no hard evidence to support this. There is, however, the curious fact that Sheldon served less than a year for his crime and is today back here selling drugs in front of my home. But hey, I’m sure that’s just a coincidence.
Persistent Little Buggers
About a week after the police questioned me by my truck that day, I returned home from work one evening to see several police cars driving through the neighborhood. One of my neighbors informed me that there had been a lot of shooting a few hours earlier and that the police had then kicked in the door of a house a half block from here. As I was standing out front speaking with my neighbor, Officer Black turned the corner and stopped. I asked what was going on and he replied “Your buddy, Sheldon, got shot in the ass.”
Over the next few days I learned more of what had transpired. Apparently there had been a cross-street shooting between two drug dealers. Sheldon and one of his cousins had both been found shot inside their grandmother’s house. Sheldon was hit in the buttocks and the girl was slightly grazed on her head. The shooter had holed up in a house across the street until the police drug him out. Ironically, I believe that this was the drug house run by Carl, who was Sheldon’s uncle. So while blood may be thicker than water, it is evidently not stronger than the allure of crack cocaine. They’ll even try to kill their own relatives over this shit.
And this makes me wonder whether Sheldon is typical of most drug dealers. He’s been shot, and he’s been sent to jail for it, but to this day he still sells drugs here. Is there really no way to discourage this activity? Perhaps I should just go and hand out guns to all the drug dealers here one night. I’ll leave the neighborhood for a few days and when I return, half of them will have killed themselves - death by playercide.
_________________________
*** I have listed the real names of the above mentioned officers here to illustrate that it is not just low level players that I was communicating with. In addition to these high ranking officers and the two DEA agents, I had also spoken with numerous patrol officers over the years. These officers are listed according to the positions they held at the time I communicated with them (to the best of my recollection).
To be fair, I should mention that I never actually spoke with Officer Niblick. Upon the recommendation of another officer, I left a message with him stating that I would be willing to allow FWPD to use my house for surveillance against the drug dealers. Evidently he never received this message, as I am still waiting for that returned call.
Also, my communication prior to this event with Detective Wetmore had nothing to do with the drug problems here. She merely came to my house to conduct a personal interview when I was applying to become a FWPD officer. One might think though that she just might have mentioned to some of her fellow officers that a person living at crack-central station was trying to become a cop! Who knows, maybe that's why I didn't get hired.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit here. I mean it’s not like they put a gun to my head or drove by and shot my house full of holes. In fact, what they did in October of 2006 actually caused hardly any physical damage to my property. They probably just meant it as a silly joke. After all, it was only a couple weeks before Halloween. And I’m sure the fact that it had been raining earlier in the day fit right into their calculations. They purposely waited for a night that my porch would be very wet, so that the fire bombs would not cause much damage. They probably just meant it as a friendly warning, and really intended to cause no real harm. - Yeah, right!
I’d really pissed off the drug dealers this time. I had (tried to) work with the police to affect the problems here. Not only that, but I made sure that the entire neighborhood (including the drug dealers) knew what I was up to. This was too much for them. One of them (Sheldon) was standing across the street from his grandmother’s house when I approached. As I was speaking with his grandmother about the situation he said “Oh no, now he’s going too far” to his friends. I found out later that evening what he meant by that. Had I been asleep and therefore not immediately put out the fire, I really doubt if any of these guys would have came and knocked on my door saying “We’re sorry, we just meant to scare you, we didn’t really want to kill you.
No, the fact of the matter is that these guys purposely did something very dangerous. It is just a comedy of errors (only one of the three bottles actually hit it’s mark) that neither myself or my home sustained significant damage. So is it fair to call this attempted murder? Well, given that the FWPD or FWFD seems to have never really investigated this particular incident after that night, I would say that they must think it to be much more trivial than attempted murder. Or perhaps they just see attempted murder itself as something trivial (depending upon what area of the city it occurs in). But if you ask me, I tend to think that throwing three firebombs at a house when you know that someone is inside it definitely qualifies as attempted murder.
So why, you might be wondering, did I start my post about January 2006 with something that did not occur until October? To illustrate the point that there are some experiences that one can not pretend have never occurred. I have mentioned before that my intent is to tell this story as it occurred. And describing my thoughts about the events here is as much a part of the story as the events themselves. And therein lies the problem. I’ve made mention before that it is difficult at times for me to remember with absolute clarity what my frame of mind was at the time that some of these events were unfolding. And that is simply because my current frame of mind interferes with this.
Imagine for a minute that you’re a lawyer. You are prosecuting a case against a man that you believe has raped and murdered a young girl. Perhaps the most damning evidence against him is the fact that he was previously convicted of this same crime, even using the same M.O. But he was only sixteen at the time, so his juvenile record is not allowed to be brought into the current case. So there you are, desperately wanting to tell the jury what you are not allowed to say.
I think this describes my situation to some degree. There was a time when I did not think that it is very possible that at least a few FWPD officers are actually dealing drugs in this town. And there was a time when I did not think that the majority of the officers who run FWPD are incompetent and unconcerned about the citizens they claim to be serving and protecting. But that was a long time ago, and I really can’t totally grasp that frame of mind now because I know the truth. I can no more pretend that a lot of FWPD officers are not complete jackasses and/or criminals than that lawyer can pretend not to know that the man on trial has a record.
So when I tell one of my old stories, I should be telling it from the frame of mind I was in at the time it occurred. But I’m no lawyer. I neither want nor am able to completely erect that wall. The results of this are exemplified by some of the comments left on earlier posts. When I made an offhand comment about some officers being corrupt, this was questioned, and rightly so, because I had yet to give enough examples of why I had come to this conclusion. It was is if the lawyer had said “I know this man has murdered before, but I can’t talk about it.” Of course a prudent juror would then be inclined to dismiss such a charge simply because it’s validity can not be checked.
So, the point I am trying to make here is that there are certain experiences which have permanently affected the way I view my world. I can not act as though there are not several people carrying guns and badges in this town that are actually menaces to society. I can not pretend that someone never tried to burn my house down. I can never again look at a hammer, a screwdriver, or just about any tool, and not contemplate how it might be used as a weapon. And I can not act as though I do not know that sometimes truly innocent people get trapped in the bullshit here.
If you have followed this story closely so far, you have caught glimpses of some of the seminal events here; being shouted at and threatened with arrest simply for requesting to be allowed to drive away from my own home; having a high ranking officer bullshit me for three months, pretending as though he intended to help me then asking incredulously what I wanted from him; having many other officers simply ignore my calls; watching the drug dealers act out violently; being ignore by officers as I am trying to give them information about a crime that has just occurred.
Some of my previous posts may have seemed to jump to conclusions. And this is because I was splicing the details of the past events with my current frame of mind. I am trying to fill in the gaps for you by recalling as many of the important events here. I want you to understand how my way of thinking has evolved to it’s current state. This next story is one such event.
Being Set Up by FWPD?
One afternoon in early January I was walking from my house to my truck. As I approached the vehicle, a man got out of the car that was parked in front of it and turned towards me. I had never seen this man before, and it seemed as though he had been waiting there for me, so as he began walking towards me, I braced myself for what might occur. As he began casually asking about my truck, and whether I would consider selling it, it became apparent that he posed no threat. So we stood there talking for a moment about the truck and my house.
Suddenly, two patrol cars whipped around the corner and parked behind and beside my truck. Officers Black and Seward jumped out and shouted “What are you guys doing down here?” as they rushed upon us. My answer was pretty straight forward - “I live here (pointing at house). I’m just going to my truck (pointing at truck).” Officer Black demanded to see my documents then retorted “Do you know Sheldon? (A local drug-dealer)” Just as I responded that I did know Sheldon, he came walking out of the alley behind my house. Officer Black called Sheldon over to where we were standing.
Officer Black than asked me “How do you know Sheldon?”, as he placed Sheldon against my truck door and began searching him. I simply replied “Sheldon spends a lot of time standing on the corner in front of my home.” Now I didn’t come right out and say that Sheldon was a drug dealer, but the implication was clearly there. And Officer Seward picked up on this implication as he sharply asked me “Well, have you ever tried to do anything about that?”
Okay, my gut response was a desire to just say “Fuck You!” to Officer Seward. Here I have been trying to work with FWPD and against the drug dealers for years, and now this stupid fucking cop is going to imply that I am part of the problem - as if there was something more I should have been doing about it. This would not have been a prudent course of action for two reasons though. First, I think Officer Seward was new to FWPD, so it’s possible he didn’t really know what was going on. But the fact that shouting this obscenity would probably qualify as “Assaulting an Officer” was probably the greatest deterrent to my being outright belligerent.
But it pissed me off, and I had to say something. My response was “Yes, I talked with your boss, Officer Marshall, about the problem. He told me I should just mind my own business. If they’re on my property, I can tell them to leave. If they’re on the sidewalk or in the street, it’s your jurisdiction and I should just leave it to you. So if you’ve got a problem with these guys standing on the corner, I suggest you speak with your supervisor about it, because that’s where the problem is at.” Officer Seward gritted his teeth and looked as though he was trying hard not to shout an obscenity (or pummel me).
Officer Black seemed to sense that the situation was becoming a bit tense, so he broke into it with some light humor. “Man, Sheldon, you really should learn to wipe. That’s some serious skid marks you’ve got going on there” he said as he was trying hard to keep Sheldon’s oversized underwear from falling down as he was being searched. It worked, everyone laughed (except for Sheldon), and the officers seemed to decide at that point to back off of me. As these cops were leaving, Officer Black said to me in a slightly apologetic tone “We just thought you were some Crackhead down here buying drugs.”
He didn’t actually apologize for running up on me, shouting at me, and demanding to see my documents. He did not apologize for wasting fifteen minutes of my time as I had to wait till he finished processing Sheldon beside my truck. He did not apologize for Officer Seward’s inappropriate implication that I am somehow responsible for the drug scourge here. And best of all, after I had pointed out that I too considered the drug dealing here to be a problem, Officer Black offered no suggestions for how I might effectively address this problem. All things considered though, I suppose this was pretty fair treatment from a FWPD officer. After all, he could have just shot me or planted some drugs on me to save face, so I guess that receiving a quasi-apology should really be seen as a huge victory.
Now, what I’ve said so far regarding this matter should be enough to scare the hell out of anybody. I live in a neighborhood where the police frequently accost people for absolutely no reason, then incorrectly imply that they are somehow the cause of the illegal drug activity here, then just walk away with a quick “Whoops, my bad, dude” thrown out as a condolence. Yet at the same time they often seem to give the true criminals a free pass. There are reasons why even many law-abiding citizens want absolutely nothing to do with the police, and this is one of them.
So, assume that this was simply a mistake. Assume that after years of speaking with numerous high ranking officers including Deputy Chief Nancy Becher, PBA President Jeff Burkholder, Vice & Narcotics Detective John Greenle; Drug tip Hot-line manager Joe Musi, Investigative Support Division Manager Karl Niblick, and Detective Lynn Wetmore (***), that the leaders of FWPD either had no clue that I was trying to help them with their crime problem here, or they just didn’t care enough to pass this information on to the patrol officers who work blow them. So either they’re total fucking idiots who don’t have a clue, or they simply don’t give a damn about the citizens they work for or the officers who rank below them and count on them for guidance and support. Either way, the fact that a patrol officer in this area could mistake me for a drug dealer points to some type of problem at FWPD.
But what if this particular event wasn’t an accident? What if Officers Black and Seward knew exactly who I was? What if their superiors actually had apprised them of the situation, explaining the role that I played here, and had instructed them to engage me? Could it have been their intention to set me up, or at least to scare me into realizing how easily something like this could happen to me here? Perhaps they hoped to force me to come to my senses and just leave.
Now this might sound like quite a leap of logic here, but consider the following facts as well. I have frequently witnessed Sheldon selling drugs to passing motorists. And I have frequently seen the cops who were hiding in the alleys and watching this go after the car, not Sheldon. There is no way that Sheldon did not know the cops were watching him. These guys have a communication network that ensures that all the “connected” people on the block always know such information.
So Sheldon sells drugs to somebody while he knows the police are watching him. Then the police nab the drug buyer. Seriously, what does that tell you? I have also had two other people in this neighborhood tell me that Sheldon is a FWPD snitch. Even if there were no truth to these rumors, do you really think they’d let him go on breathing if they thought he was ratting out other dealers? But if Sheldon’s assignment was simply to work off his debt by setting up strangers, then he might be tolerated.
Sheldon was finally arrested in 2007 for selling drugs here. Some might think this eliminates the possibility that he was a C.I. Obviously, if he was arrested, he does not enjoy their (FWPD) protection. But when someone is collared by the police, their offer of being a C.I. does not necessarily entail a totally free pass. Suppose they busted him with enough to put him away for several years, then make him an offer to substantially reduce that if he cooperates with them. Of course I am merely speculating here, as I have no hard evidence to support this. There is, however, the curious fact that Sheldon served less than a year for his crime and is today back here selling drugs in front of my home. But hey, I’m sure that’s just a coincidence.
Persistent Little Buggers
About a week after the police questioned me by my truck that day, I returned home from work one evening to see several police cars driving through the neighborhood. One of my neighbors informed me that there had been a lot of shooting a few hours earlier and that the police had then kicked in the door of a house a half block from here. As I was standing out front speaking with my neighbor, Officer Black turned the corner and stopped. I asked what was going on and he replied “Your buddy, Sheldon, got shot in the ass.”
Over the next few days I learned more of what had transpired. Apparently there had been a cross-street shooting between two drug dealers. Sheldon and one of his cousins had both been found shot inside their grandmother’s house. Sheldon was hit in the buttocks and the girl was slightly grazed on her head. The shooter had holed up in a house across the street until the police drug him out. Ironically, I believe that this was the drug house run by Carl, who was Sheldon’s uncle. So while blood may be thicker than water, it is evidently not stronger than the allure of crack cocaine. They’ll even try to kill their own relatives over this shit.
And this makes me wonder whether Sheldon is typical of most drug dealers. He’s been shot, and he’s been sent to jail for it, but to this day he still sells drugs here. Is there really no way to discourage this activity? Perhaps I should just go and hand out guns to all the drug dealers here one night. I’ll leave the neighborhood for a few days and when I return, half of them will have killed themselves - death by playercide.
_________________________
*** I have listed the real names of the above mentioned officers here to illustrate that it is not just low level players that I was communicating with. In addition to these high ranking officers and the two DEA agents, I had also spoken with numerous patrol officers over the years. These officers are listed according to the positions they held at the time I communicated with them (to the best of my recollection).
To be fair, I should mention that I never actually spoke with Officer Niblick. Upon the recommendation of another officer, I left a message with him stating that I would be willing to allow FWPD to use my house for surveillance against the drug dealers. Evidently he never received this message, as I am still waiting for that returned call.
Also, my communication prior to this event with Detective Wetmore had nothing to do with the drug problems here. She merely came to my house to conduct a personal interview when I was applying to become a FWPD officer. One might think though that she just might have mentioned to some of her fellow officers that a person living at crack-central station was trying to become a cop! Who knows, maybe that's why I didn't get hired.
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Years of Living Indifferently: 2004 & 2005
If you recall, I ended 2003 with the realization that not even the top ranks of FWPD had any interest in addressing the problems here. Certainly, the police did take action here, but their refusal to honestly engage those people who they were sworn to protect really meant it was nothing more than a charade. It was just something to put in their records to “prove” that they were addressing the problem. I was on my own, which necessarily tempered the way that I dealt with the drug dealing activities here. It didn’t make sense to confront these guys saying “If you don’t quiet down, I’ll call the police”, when both they and I knew this threat meant nothing. It was just me (and a few good neighbors), left to our own devices. There was no law!
Sure, I could come out and sit on my porch anytime the guys were selling drugs there, staring at them until they decided to leave, but at what price? These guys don’t have jobs. All they do is stand around here all day. Given that they had the capability for constant surveillance, it wasn’t too difficult for them to figure out my habits. It really wouldn’t be that difficult for them to have vandalized my house while I was at work, knowing exactly what time I would return home and knowing that large groups of people loitering around my home and on my property did not seem to concern the police. So I acted practically. I did what I had to do, and no more.
As I would round the corner while driving home, and see people gathering their belongings from my front yard and starting to walk away, I would actually slow down a bit. They sell drugs from my home while I’m away - that was the fact of the matter and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop them. So why get in an argument over nothing. By giving them a few extra seconds to vacate, I avoided a pointless argument with them.
Of course, they would often engage in these activities while I was at home also. All I could do then is try and watch until one of them actually stepped onto my property, then go outside and ask them to move. Of course, they usually complied, moving back to the sidewalk or the grass median. And of course, I had already been told by FWPD that I have no authority over this area, even though I am responsible for maintaining it.
I ignored them as much as I could, and confronted them only when I absolutely had to. It wasn’t so much the fear as the fatigue from knowing that even if I won an argument, it would mean nothing a few minutes later. It was like trying to hold back a flood with my bare hands. So from 2003 until early in 2006, I maintained a policy of active disengagement. I really didn’t keep a journal during this period either. The only reason I had kept notes on what was going on here was because I assumed that FWPD would be interested in this information. When that proved to not be the case, I gave up.
I have a few stories from that period to tell though. Like the early years, they are somewhat vague on the exact dates, times and other details. But they are still useful in helping to show what was going on here, and my reaction to it. Some of these events I have mentioned already in my comments here or on other blogs. I have included them now, just to put them in a chronological context.
I Didn’t See Nuthin’
I was setting on my back porch late one evening during the summer of 2004 when a man walked down the alley past one of the most active drug houses in the neighborhood. A patrol car passing by must have seen him because it stopped right in front of the house. An officer got out and followed the man around the side of the house. They circled the house three times, the officer apparently following the man. After the third time, the officer appeared, but the other man never did. I didn’t hear a gunshot, so I assume he slipped away.
As I watched what was going on, I realized that what this officer was doing was quite dangerous. He was alone there, and he had no idea who else might be inside that house or in the area. I thought about waving at the officer to get his attention and let him know what I saw. However, based upon my previous experiences, I figured that it was best to interact as little as possible with the police.
It truly is sad to think that I had gone from a person who would actively try to help the police, to one who would simply watch such an event unfold without saying a word. But this is what FWPD had told me they want from the residents here. Publicly they proclaim that they want the public’s input and they brag about their community oriented programs. But actions speak much louder than words, and their actions had clearly told me “Just shut up and stay out of our way!”
One Good Cop
I try to be fair. I believe that I only portray the police as jack-asses when they have actually acted as such. I really do like it when I see something that allows me to portray them in a positive light.
One afternoon, I heard a commotion from the east side of my house. I looked out to see an officer standing beside his car and trying to speak with two kids who were arguing with each other. They were surrounded by several other kids who all seemed to have something to say. The situation was a bit chaotic, and it was obvious that the officer was uncomfortable. I don’t think any of these kids intended their actions to be seen as hostile towards the officer, but the size and the noise of the crowd was making it seem that way. Perhaps this was a rookie officer, or maybe it was only because he was alone there that he seemed to be losing control of the situation.
At this point a second officer (Foster) arrived. The first thing he did was to remove his sunglasses as he approached the group and made his way to the other officer. After being briefed by the first officer, the other one turned to the arguing pair and said “I need to hear both of you explain this to me, but I can only listen to one at a time.” He then turned to the crowd and asked them to quiet down so he could hear these two speak.
They were arguing over a bicycle. Both agreed that “A” had originally owned the bike, and that “B” now had it in his possession. “A” claimed it was stolen, while “B” claimed it was bought. “B” further claimed that he had made improvements to the bike, so even if he returned it, “A” should still pay him back for this. After listening to both their stories, he said “If you two can’t come to an agreement on this, then I’ll have to impound the bike until one of you can prove ownership. Why don’t you talk it over and see if you can come to an agreement.” He asked the crowd to keep quiet, so he could fully understand what their friends had to say. It appeared that they came to an agreement after a few minutes of talking.
The actions of Officer Foster here impressed me for several reasons. First of all, I think he realized right off that although the crowd was very large and very noisy, they were not acting with hostility. I think this point is often missed by some officers, especially in neighborhoods such as mine where circumstances can easily bring out the passionate side of people. I think his removing his sunglasses was an instinctive response to his assessment of the situation. You keep the shades on when you are in robo-cop mode, when you intend to speak to the people present, rather than with them. It probably allowed him to be seen as less aggressive by the crowd, and helps to explain why they were receptive to what he said.
The manner in which he spoke to the crowd showed good communication skills also. The message he sent was “In order to help your friends solve the problem, I need to hear them. And in order to hear them, I need you all to keep quiet.” Rather than being order by the police to shut up, the unruly crowd was being asked to help their friends. Finally, after allowing both parties to state their case, he presented to them an obvious fact that they some how seemed to have overlooked. This little problem would end a lot better for both of you if you can find some amicable agreement between yourselves.
So basically, Officer Foster served as a mediator. He convinced the crowd that the best thing they could do for their friends would be to quiet down and let them talk it over. Then he convinced the pair that they were really their own best solution to this problem. He completely turned around a situation that appeared as though it was getting out of hand. This officer exhibited the type of tactful communication and other skills that sometimes seems to be missing by some officers. Where other officers actually aggravate the problem, Officer Foster worked to alleviate it.
Shots Fired
One afternoon during the summer of 2005, I was awoken from a daytime nap to the sound of gunshots outside. It sounded like they came from SW of my house. I went outside and observed Carl and another man running out of alley. They were running from the direction of Thomas’ house towards Carl’s. It seemed to me that there was a bit of animosity between the various members of these two drug houses, so I assumed that Carl had been the target of this shooting.
I was standing on the sidewalk, on the side of my house, when the first officer arrived on the scene. The officer parked at the entrance to the alley, jumped out of the car, and seemed to be frantically trying to decide in which direction to move. I waved to get his attention and said “Officer, it sounded like two or three shots, coming from that direction,” as I pointed. The officer moved towards me in a very aggressive manner shouting “Was it two or three shots?” I said “I don’t know, I was sleeping and it woke me up. It sounded like two or three.”
This cop just stood and stared blankly at me for a moment. It was obvious that his adrenaline was pumping hard, and I regretted opening my mouth as soon as I saw his reaction. I really need to learn to do like everyone else here does - just leave the area or go inside the house when the cops arrive. Because I was not wearing shoes or a shirt at the time, I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he just thought I was a wondering crack-head. I didn’t say anything else as he stared at me long enough to decide not to come and slam me to the ground. After he drove down the alley, I just went back inside the house. Sure, I’ll go outside when people are shooting guns here. But when the crazy cops arrive, it’s definitely time to retreat to the house.
Of course, I never did get the opportunity to tell this officer about the two men I saw running from the alley. And the police wonder why no one talks to them!
Fire One Up
Later that same summer, I heard commotion in front of my house one evening and went outside to observe. I was standing in front of my house when a man on a bicycle rode quickly past and almost hit me. He was coming from the direction of Thomas’ house, and at first glance I actually thought it was Thomas. It wasn’t him, but he looked enough like him that he had to be one of his relatives. I saw a crowd gathering in the area of Thomas’ house, so I began walking in that direction. When I saw heavy smoke coming from the area I began returning to my house to call 911, but then I heard the approaching sirens. I walked down there and saw that the house across the alley from Thomas was burning on the second floor. It appeared as though something had probably been thrown through the window from outside the house.
Since this act of arson took place directly across from Thomas’ house, and since his relative on the bicycle was quickly fleeing the area immediately after it occurred, I just assumed maybe he was connected somehow. Naturally, I approached the first officer I saw and reported what I saw. I just I told him I thought the guy on the bicycle looked like One of Thomas’ brothers (I have been told that FWPD knows everyone in this family very well). The cop just stared at me for a moment, then walked away without saying a word. I remained in the area, thinking that officer or another would want to question me, but none did.
There were several fire engines and at least ten police cars on the scene. Although it was obvious what the firemen were doing, I can’t really figure out why all the cops were there. After all, I had just told them who probably started the fire, and they just walked me off. So if they weren’t trying to solve the crime, just what the hell were they doing? Just bored I guess, or maybe the doughnut shop was closed!
Just when I think I’ve seen everything this neighborhood has to offer, something like this occurs. I just wonder, do they train these guys to act like idiots, or do they just pick those with the lowest scores on their tests to ensure that they will act like morons? A few days later, I was talking with a local landlord here about this incident. He said “The guy could have a can of gasoline in his hands, and you could have a picture of him, and they (police) still wouldn’t do anything. Most of them just don’t care.” What a sad commentary on FWPD. And Rusty York wonders why nobody talks to the cops!
Driving While Armed
I have mentioned this story previously on some of my comments here and on others blogs. I think it was sometime during the summer or fall of 2005. Although this did not occur near my home, it was in a similar type of neighborhood. I’ll just give a brief review of what happened, because it relates to my next story.
I was driving along the street one night when saw a police car parked on the side of the road. There were two officers inside, and no lights were on. As I said, this neighborhood is similar to my own, so it did not surprise me to see a cop just parked and watching the area. I slowed down a bit as I approached the police car, and the driver did something very strange just as I was passing him. He shined his million megawatt spotlight right in my face. What an asshole!
I stopped my car and began backing up to ask the officer what the fuck his problem was (of course I planned to frame the question more tactfully than that). Then I decide this was probably not a good idea, so I just drove forward again. The prick did a u-turn and pulled me over then. He asked why I backed up on him and I answered that I was going to come back and ask why he tried to blind me with his light. He gave some lame-ass excuse about looking at a couple of guys who were walking on the sidewalk (I guess he was concentrating so hard on them that he just failed to notice the car right in front of his face!), then he accused me of being high.
After a few minutes of jerking off back in his car, he realized he had nothing on me. But as he was about to let me leave, for some strange reason he turned and asked if I had a gun in my car. Well, there’s no reason to lie, especially when I hadn’t done anything wrong. I told him that I had a gun, and offered to show him my permit to carry it. Instead, he entered and searched my car without my permission. He stated that since I had declared I was carrying a gun, then he had the right to examine it. What a prick! He had no business asking this question in the first place.
As he was about to leave the second time he turned and asked me if I had any drugs in my car. I thought about saying “Gee, don’t you think you would have found them when you just searched my car?” Instead, I just replied with a smirk “Nope, no drugs, just me and my gun.” Well, he didn’t shoot me or even drag me out of the car and beat me, but I’m certain I did not make a new friend that night.
The Keystone Cops
A couple nights after the event just mentioned above I had just arrived here when a patrol car passed slowly in front of my house. He was traveling the wrong direction on a one way street, and his headlights were off. I was getting some things out of my car when a second patrol car passed by in the same manner as the first one. I then noticed a third patrol car approaching very slowly from the south. It was starting to appear as though I was the subject of their adoration. I wondered if maybe this was the same cop from the previous night. Maybe he had so much fun the night before that he decided to just drop by and ask me again if I had a gun or drugs. Not wanting to beat around the bush, I turned and waved at this officer as he slowly passed by.
During the next few minutes I saw at least one other patrol car and two unmarked police vehicles pass by. I walked to my front yard and just watched as they slowly canvassed the area. Since none of them had stopped yet, I was beginning to assume they were there for some other reason. As I stood in the front yard, I looked to the south and saw a car slowly edging out of the alley with it’s headlights off. Naturally I assumed it was another police vehicle.
Suddenly this car shot out of the alley, heading north, then turned west in front of my house and sped away. The driver looked to be about eighteen years old, so I really don’t think he was a cop. Suddenly, police cars came roaring to the corner and turned in every direction except - you guessed it, west! I could not believe this. Most likely, this car was who they had been searching for and not one of those six or more cops managed to follow him away from there. I was standing just a few feet from the intersection as they passed by. I could see their faces, so it is difficult to imagine that they didn’t see me standing there.
Now under normal circumstances, you might expect a person who had just witnessed such an event to wave at one of these officers and point them in the right direction. But this neighborhood ain’t normal, and neither is this police force. Therefore I simply stood and watched as several police cars continued driving past my house, apparently looking for someone who had already left the area.
As I stood there laughing about the situation, wondering how so many individual officers could be that stupid at once, a thought occurred to me. Perhaps this event was staged and intended to test me. For years the police keep telling me to just shut up, but I still insisted on bothering them with such trifling information as who is shooting people and who is trying to burn houses down. But here I finally proved myself. I could have easily gotten their attention. I could have described the car, the driver, and which direction he headed in. But if I continued pestering them with useful information such as this, then they could not continue to proclaim that the reason crime is rampant here is because nobody will cooperate with the police.
By actually trying to engage them, I was taking away FWPD’s favorite lame excuse. And without this crutch to lean on, it would become apparent just how feeble they really were. By trying to be a part of the solution (talking with them), I was actually a part of the problem (creating the expectation that they would actually do something with this information). So, using this backward logic, the way to get on FWPD’s good side is to become a part of the problem. By just watching without saying anything, I had become one of “those” people the ones who never speak with the police. And the police just love us, because we are the excuse that allows them to constantly underperform.
The Alley is not a Throughway!
I used to have a favorite way of driving home from the west side of town. I would get on Taylor Street from Jefferson and continue east. Just after crossing Fairfield, Taylor street dumps into Williams Street. A half-mile further east, Williams Street ends at Lafayette Street. But it really ends there in name only, because an alley extends forward from right in front of it. And if you take this alley another block east, it dumps you out on Warsaw Street, only a few blocks north of my home. So there you have it, virtually a straight line from west Jefferson to my front door. Who wouldn’t love this? Well, the police of course.
I was driving this route home one night late in 2005. Just as I was about to exit the alley, a patrol car passed in front of me. He slowed to the point that he nearly stopped, and I was pretty certain he was checking me out in the process. As I began driving towards my house, this cop circled the block and came up behind to pull me over. After checking my documents, the reason he stated for pulling me over was “I had seen you driving through the alley.” I told him I know what goes on in this neighborhood, so I understood his suspicions. I then asked if it was actually illegal to drive through the alley or just suspicious because of the activities in this area.
The officer's response was “It is a violation of Indiana Code to use an alley as a throughway.” I asked the officer exactly what that meant and he explained “Unless you live there or you are visiting someone who lives on that alley, then you are not supposed to be driving through it.” I actually had no idea that was the way the law worked on this matter, and I am certain I never would have found this out if it had been most any other area of town that I was driving in.
Now don’t get me wrong. I had no problem with this cop stopping me. He was quick, he was polite, and he was enforcing the law. And I actually don’t have a problem with this law or it’s geographically selective enforcement. Any person who spends much time in this neighborhood knows of the heavy drug activities here. And a lot of the traffic related to this does pass through the alleys. I see this as a useful tool to help the police shake up the crack-heads. And if I have to waste a few minutes with this type of B.S. once in a while, then that is a price I am willing to pay to help keep things a little more orderly here.
What I do wonder though is why the police are so lax on other B.S. laws here. There are many other laws that are usually not strictly enforced, but I think should be applied more stringently here. Let’s see, jay-walking, littering, noise pollution, trespassing on other people’s property. Oh yeah, there is that one little law about standing on the corner selling crack cocaine that so often seems to be overlooked here. I don’t know, call me crazy, but if the police are going to stop me for driving through an alley, then I think they should stop these guys from selling drugs from my property or on the sidewalk in front of my home also.
Sure, I could come out and sit on my porch anytime the guys were selling drugs there, staring at them until they decided to leave, but at what price? These guys don’t have jobs. All they do is stand around here all day. Given that they had the capability for constant surveillance, it wasn’t too difficult for them to figure out my habits. It really wouldn’t be that difficult for them to have vandalized my house while I was at work, knowing exactly what time I would return home and knowing that large groups of people loitering around my home and on my property did not seem to concern the police. So I acted practically. I did what I had to do, and no more.
As I would round the corner while driving home, and see people gathering their belongings from my front yard and starting to walk away, I would actually slow down a bit. They sell drugs from my home while I’m away - that was the fact of the matter and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop them. So why get in an argument over nothing. By giving them a few extra seconds to vacate, I avoided a pointless argument with them.
Of course, they would often engage in these activities while I was at home also. All I could do then is try and watch until one of them actually stepped onto my property, then go outside and ask them to move. Of course, they usually complied, moving back to the sidewalk or the grass median. And of course, I had already been told by FWPD that I have no authority over this area, even though I am responsible for maintaining it.
I ignored them as much as I could, and confronted them only when I absolutely had to. It wasn’t so much the fear as the fatigue from knowing that even if I won an argument, it would mean nothing a few minutes later. It was like trying to hold back a flood with my bare hands. So from 2003 until early in 2006, I maintained a policy of active disengagement. I really didn’t keep a journal during this period either. The only reason I had kept notes on what was going on here was because I assumed that FWPD would be interested in this information. When that proved to not be the case, I gave up.
I have a few stories from that period to tell though. Like the early years, they are somewhat vague on the exact dates, times and other details. But they are still useful in helping to show what was going on here, and my reaction to it. Some of these events I have mentioned already in my comments here or on other blogs. I have included them now, just to put them in a chronological context.
I Didn’t See Nuthin’
I was setting on my back porch late one evening during the summer of 2004 when a man walked down the alley past one of the most active drug houses in the neighborhood. A patrol car passing by must have seen him because it stopped right in front of the house. An officer got out and followed the man around the side of the house. They circled the house three times, the officer apparently following the man. After the third time, the officer appeared, but the other man never did. I didn’t hear a gunshot, so I assume he slipped away.
As I watched what was going on, I realized that what this officer was doing was quite dangerous. He was alone there, and he had no idea who else might be inside that house or in the area. I thought about waving at the officer to get his attention and let him know what I saw. However, based upon my previous experiences, I figured that it was best to interact as little as possible with the police.
It truly is sad to think that I had gone from a person who would actively try to help the police, to one who would simply watch such an event unfold without saying a word. But this is what FWPD had told me they want from the residents here. Publicly they proclaim that they want the public’s input and they brag about their community oriented programs. But actions speak much louder than words, and their actions had clearly told me “Just shut up and stay out of our way!”
One Good Cop
I try to be fair. I believe that I only portray the police as jack-asses when they have actually acted as such. I really do like it when I see something that allows me to portray them in a positive light.
One afternoon, I heard a commotion from the east side of my house. I looked out to see an officer standing beside his car and trying to speak with two kids who were arguing with each other. They were surrounded by several other kids who all seemed to have something to say. The situation was a bit chaotic, and it was obvious that the officer was uncomfortable. I don’t think any of these kids intended their actions to be seen as hostile towards the officer, but the size and the noise of the crowd was making it seem that way. Perhaps this was a rookie officer, or maybe it was only because he was alone there that he seemed to be losing control of the situation.
At this point a second officer (Foster) arrived. The first thing he did was to remove his sunglasses as he approached the group and made his way to the other officer. After being briefed by the first officer, the other one turned to the arguing pair and said “I need to hear both of you explain this to me, but I can only listen to one at a time.” He then turned to the crowd and asked them to quiet down so he could hear these two speak.
They were arguing over a bicycle. Both agreed that “A” had originally owned the bike, and that “B” now had it in his possession. “A” claimed it was stolen, while “B” claimed it was bought. “B” further claimed that he had made improvements to the bike, so even if he returned it, “A” should still pay him back for this. After listening to both their stories, he said “If you two can’t come to an agreement on this, then I’ll have to impound the bike until one of you can prove ownership. Why don’t you talk it over and see if you can come to an agreement.” He asked the crowd to keep quiet, so he could fully understand what their friends had to say. It appeared that they came to an agreement after a few minutes of talking.
The actions of Officer Foster here impressed me for several reasons. First of all, I think he realized right off that although the crowd was very large and very noisy, they were not acting with hostility. I think this point is often missed by some officers, especially in neighborhoods such as mine where circumstances can easily bring out the passionate side of people. I think his removing his sunglasses was an instinctive response to his assessment of the situation. You keep the shades on when you are in robo-cop mode, when you intend to speak to the people present, rather than with them. It probably allowed him to be seen as less aggressive by the crowd, and helps to explain why they were receptive to what he said.
The manner in which he spoke to the crowd showed good communication skills also. The message he sent was “In order to help your friends solve the problem, I need to hear them. And in order to hear them, I need you all to keep quiet.” Rather than being order by the police to shut up, the unruly crowd was being asked to help their friends. Finally, after allowing both parties to state their case, he presented to them an obvious fact that they some how seemed to have overlooked. This little problem would end a lot better for both of you if you can find some amicable agreement between yourselves.
So basically, Officer Foster served as a mediator. He convinced the crowd that the best thing they could do for their friends would be to quiet down and let them talk it over. Then he convinced the pair that they were really their own best solution to this problem. He completely turned around a situation that appeared as though it was getting out of hand. This officer exhibited the type of tactful communication and other skills that sometimes seems to be missing by some officers. Where other officers actually aggravate the problem, Officer Foster worked to alleviate it.
Shots Fired
One afternoon during the summer of 2005, I was awoken from a daytime nap to the sound of gunshots outside. It sounded like they came from SW of my house. I went outside and observed Carl and another man running out of alley. They were running from the direction of Thomas’ house towards Carl’s. It seemed to me that there was a bit of animosity between the various members of these two drug houses, so I assumed that Carl had been the target of this shooting.
I was standing on the sidewalk, on the side of my house, when the first officer arrived on the scene. The officer parked at the entrance to the alley, jumped out of the car, and seemed to be frantically trying to decide in which direction to move. I waved to get his attention and said “Officer, it sounded like two or three shots, coming from that direction,” as I pointed. The officer moved towards me in a very aggressive manner shouting “Was it two or three shots?” I said “I don’t know, I was sleeping and it woke me up. It sounded like two or three.”
This cop just stood and stared blankly at me for a moment. It was obvious that his adrenaline was pumping hard, and I regretted opening my mouth as soon as I saw his reaction. I really need to learn to do like everyone else here does - just leave the area or go inside the house when the cops arrive. Because I was not wearing shoes or a shirt at the time, I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he just thought I was a wondering crack-head. I didn’t say anything else as he stared at me long enough to decide not to come and slam me to the ground. After he drove down the alley, I just went back inside the house. Sure, I’ll go outside when people are shooting guns here. But when the crazy cops arrive, it’s definitely time to retreat to the house.
Of course, I never did get the opportunity to tell this officer about the two men I saw running from the alley. And the police wonder why no one talks to them!
Fire One Up
Later that same summer, I heard commotion in front of my house one evening and went outside to observe. I was standing in front of my house when a man on a bicycle rode quickly past and almost hit me. He was coming from the direction of Thomas’ house, and at first glance I actually thought it was Thomas. It wasn’t him, but he looked enough like him that he had to be one of his relatives. I saw a crowd gathering in the area of Thomas’ house, so I began walking in that direction. When I saw heavy smoke coming from the area I began returning to my house to call 911, but then I heard the approaching sirens. I walked down there and saw that the house across the alley from Thomas was burning on the second floor. It appeared as though something had probably been thrown through the window from outside the house.
Since this act of arson took place directly across from Thomas’ house, and since his relative on the bicycle was quickly fleeing the area immediately after it occurred, I just assumed maybe he was connected somehow. Naturally, I approached the first officer I saw and reported what I saw. I just I told him I thought the guy on the bicycle looked like One of Thomas’ brothers (I have been told that FWPD knows everyone in this family very well). The cop just stared at me for a moment, then walked away without saying a word. I remained in the area, thinking that officer or another would want to question me, but none did.
There were several fire engines and at least ten police cars on the scene. Although it was obvious what the firemen were doing, I can’t really figure out why all the cops were there. After all, I had just told them who probably started the fire, and they just walked me off. So if they weren’t trying to solve the crime, just what the hell were they doing? Just bored I guess, or maybe the doughnut shop was closed!
Just when I think I’ve seen everything this neighborhood has to offer, something like this occurs. I just wonder, do they train these guys to act like idiots, or do they just pick those with the lowest scores on their tests to ensure that they will act like morons? A few days later, I was talking with a local landlord here about this incident. He said “The guy could have a can of gasoline in his hands, and you could have a picture of him, and they (police) still wouldn’t do anything. Most of them just don’t care.” What a sad commentary on FWPD. And Rusty York wonders why nobody talks to the cops!
Driving While Armed
I have mentioned this story previously on some of my comments here and on others blogs. I think it was sometime during the summer or fall of 2005. Although this did not occur near my home, it was in a similar type of neighborhood. I’ll just give a brief review of what happened, because it relates to my next story.
I was driving along the street one night when saw a police car parked on the side of the road. There were two officers inside, and no lights were on. As I said, this neighborhood is similar to my own, so it did not surprise me to see a cop just parked and watching the area. I slowed down a bit as I approached the police car, and the driver did something very strange just as I was passing him. He shined his million megawatt spotlight right in my face. What an asshole!
I stopped my car and began backing up to ask the officer what the fuck his problem was (of course I planned to frame the question more tactfully than that). Then I decide this was probably not a good idea, so I just drove forward again. The prick did a u-turn and pulled me over then. He asked why I backed up on him and I answered that I was going to come back and ask why he tried to blind me with his light. He gave some lame-ass excuse about looking at a couple of guys who were walking on the sidewalk (I guess he was concentrating so hard on them that he just failed to notice the car right in front of his face!), then he accused me of being high.
After a few minutes of jerking off back in his car, he realized he had nothing on me. But as he was about to let me leave, for some strange reason he turned and asked if I had a gun in my car. Well, there’s no reason to lie, especially when I hadn’t done anything wrong. I told him that I had a gun, and offered to show him my permit to carry it. Instead, he entered and searched my car without my permission. He stated that since I had declared I was carrying a gun, then he had the right to examine it. What a prick! He had no business asking this question in the first place.
As he was about to leave the second time he turned and asked me if I had any drugs in my car. I thought about saying “Gee, don’t you think you would have found them when you just searched my car?” Instead, I just replied with a smirk “Nope, no drugs, just me and my gun.” Well, he didn’t shoot me or even drag me out of the car and beat me, but I’m certain I did not make a new friend that night.
The Keystone Cops
A couple nights after the event just mentioned above I had just arrived here when a patrol car passed slowly in front of my house. He was traveling the wrong direction on a one way street, and his headlights were off. I was getting some things out of my car when a second patrol car passed by in the same manner as the first one. I then noticed a third patrol car approaching very slowly from the south. It was starting to appear as though I was the subject of their adoration. I wondered if maybe this was the same cop from the previous night. Maybe he had so much fun the night before that he decided to just drop by and ask me again if I had a gun or drugs. Not wanting to beat around the bush, I turned and waved at this officer as he slowly passed by.
During the next few minutes I saw at least one other patrol car and two unmarked police vehicles pass by. I walked to my front yard and just watched as they slowly canvassed the area. Since none of them had stopped yet, I was beginning to assume they were there for some other reason. As I stood in the front yard, I looked to the south and saw a car slowly edging out of the alley with it’s headlights off. Naturally I assumed it was another police vehicle.
Suddenly this car shot out of the alley, heading north, then turned west in front of my house and sped away. The driver looked to be about eighteen years old, so I really don’t think he was a cop. Suddenly, police cars came roaring to the corner and turned in every direction except - you guessed it, west! I could not believe this. Most likely, this car was who they had been searching for and not one of those six or more cops managed to follow him away from there. I was standing just a few feet from the intersection as they passed by. I could see their faces, so it is difficult to imagine that they didn’t see me standing there.
Now under normal circumstances, you might expect a person who had just witnessed such an event to wave at one of these officers and point them in the right direction. But this neighborhood ain’t normal, and neither is this police force. Therefore I simply stood and watched as several police cars continued driving past my house, apparently looking for someone who had already left the area.
As I stood there laughing about the situation, wondering how so many individual officers could be that stupid at once, a thought occurred to me. Perhaps this event was staged and intended to test me. For years the police keep telling me to just shut up, but I still insisted on bothering them with such trifling information as who is shooting people and who is trying to burn houses down. But here I finally proved myself. I could have easily gotten their attention. I could have described the car, the driver, and which direction he headed in. But if I continued pestering them with useful information such as this, then they could not continue to proclaim that the reason crime is rampant here is because nobody will cooperate with the police.
By actually trying to engage them, I was taking away FWPD’s favorite lame excuse. And without this crutch to lean on, it would become apparent just how feeble they really were. By trying to be a part of the solution (talking with them), I was actually a part of the problem (creating the expectation that they would actually do something with this information). So, using this backward logic, the way to get on FWPD’s good side is to become a part of the problem. By just watching without saying anything, I had become one of “those” people the ones who never speak with the police. And the police just love us, because we are the excuse that allows them to constantly underperform.
The Alley is not a Throughway!
I used to have a favorite way of driving home from the west side of town. I would get on Taylor Street from Jefferson and continue east. Just after crossing Fairfield, Taylor street dumps into Williams Street. A half-mile further east, Williams Street ends at Lafayette Street. But it really ends there in name only, because an alley extends forward from right in front of it. And if you take this alley another block east, it dumps you out on Warsaw Street, only a few blocks north of my home. So there you have it, virtually a straight line from west Jefferson to my front door. Who wouldn’t love this? Well, the police of course.
I was driving this route home one night late in 2005. Just as I was about to exit the alley, a patrol car passed in front of me. He slowed to the point that he nearly stopped, and I was pretty certain he was checking me out in the process. As I began driving towards my house, this cop circled the block and came up behind to pull me over. After checking my documents, the reason he stated for pulling me over was “I had seen you driving through the alley.” I told him I know what goes on in this neighborhood, so I understood his suspicions. I then asked if it was actually illegal to drive through the alley or just suspicious because of the activities in this area.
The officer's response was “It is a violation of Indiana Code to use an alley as a throughway.” I asked the officer exactly what that meant and he explained “Unless you live there or you are visiting someone who lives on that alley, then you are not supposed to be driving through it.” I actually had no idea that was the way the law worked on this matter, and I am certain I never would have found this out if it had been most any other area of town that I was driving in.
Now don’t get me wrong. I had no problem with this cop stopping me. He was quick, he was polite, and he was enforcing the law. And I actually don’t have a problem with this law or it’s geographically selective enforcement. Any person who spends much time in this neighborhood knows of the heavy drug activities here. And a lot of the traffic related to this does pass through the alleys. I see this as a useful tool to help the police shake up the crack-heads. And if I have to waste a few minutes with this type of B.S. once in a while, then that is a price I am willing to pay to help keep things a little more orderly here.
What I do wonder though is why the police are so lax on other B.S. laws here. There are many other laws that are usually not strictly enforced, but I think should be applied more stringently here. Let’s see, jay-walking, littering, noise pollution, trespassing on other people’s property. Oh yeah, there is that one little law about standing on the corner selling crack cocaine that so often seems to be overlooked here. I don’t know, call me crazy, but if the police are going to stop me for driving through an alley, then I think they should stop these guys from selling drugs from my property or on the sidewalk in front of my home also.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Getting Back to the Past
Before I continue with the story here, I want to say a couple things. First, I realize that my blogging activity has been rather inconsistent lately. There are many reasons for this, some having to do with what is going on here, and for other reasons as well. Since some of you might be wondering what has happened to me during these long intermissions, I want to state two things related to this. First, if something “bad” does happen to me, I am sure the many local bloggers that I know will hear of it and will report on it. So, unless you hear otherwise, you should just assume that I have not been shot by somebody. Also, although I hope this blog will eventually have served its purpose and no longer be necessary, I will not just let it fade away. When I make my last post, I will announce it as such, and give my final analysis on the situation here. So, in the absence of such a post, you should assume there is still more to come.
The second subject I want to cover concerns my frequent switching between posting about current events and posting about stories from the past. Initially, I only intended to tell the story in chronological order from the beginning . But things have often gotten too intense here at times not to blog about the present circumstances. Often, I have used this as a means of applying pressure against FWPD, to try and convince them to take stronger action here. I have said before that I am certain that someone within FWPD is getting wind of my blog. Whether they are reading it themselves, or some other reader is speaking to them about what I am saying, I am convinced that some of FWPD’s recent actions here are in direct response to the sentiments I have expressed on this blog.
As should be apparent to any regular reader by now, my feelings towards FWPD range from immense respect to utter contempt at times. Of course, the problems here are ultimately driven by those who commit the crimes, but it can not be denied that FWPD’s treatment of those criminals, as well as of law-abiding citizens, greatly exacerbates the problem at times. Although I do expect better than what FWPD has offered in the past in this regard, I do not expect perfection.
The members of FWPD will always make some mistakes, simply because they’re human. And in a high crime area such as my neighborhood, those mistakes will probably be greater than in other areas. Generally speaking, I consider myself to be an understanding and forgiving person, and if my treatment of FWPD here indicates otherwise, that is merely a reflection upon how great their transgressions have been at times. I do not want to nit-pick and constantly harp on FWPD. I really want nothing more than to sit back and let them do their job, as they have often requested of me.
For the time being, I am going to go back to retelling stories from the past. My lack of commentary on the current actions of FWPD should not be taken to indicate that they have achieved perfection, only that I feel their current actions are reasonably appropriate for the circumstances here. And while some of these past stories might seem very unflattering towards FWPD, keep in mind that this is the old FWPD I am talking about, the way things used to be.
Finally, some of you might be wondering why I still feel it is necessary to blog about the past, if I am reasonably content with the present situation. There are two reasons for this. First, during my twelve years here I have seen great fluctuations in both the drug dealing activities as well as the behavior of FWPD. In short, there is no reason to assume that today’s current situation will hold. There are still some important changes which need to be made before a long-term positive impact can be assured. Continuing this blog with stories of the past seems like a rational way to keep readers interested enough so that I will have somebody to hear me if things do turn worse again.
The second reason I’ll continue concerns something I have alluded to on this blog as well as my comments on other’s blogs, but which I have not clearly defined and explained. It is something that goes far beyond my particular circumstances, and it is something that I think most regular bloggers will feel some affinity towards when I do explain it. Although I am not going to cover this issue in depth at this time, as a prelude I would ask you to contemplate the following questions.
Why haven’t you heard of my story before you read it on my blog? Why were none of you aware that within a two block square of town there have been at least; three acts of arson; two murders (I’m certain the number on this is higher, but these are the only two I can recall at this time); a person who was doused with gasoline, set on fire, then stabbed in the head (And no, this is not one of the murders, because this guy actually survived); numerous rapes and robberies, and an unimaginable number of shootings? Why did you not realize that FWPD has allowed an open-air drug market to operate here for at least fifteen years ?
Well, I’ll just let those questions rumble about in your mind for a while. Feel free to give your own answers to these questions, and eventually I will give my own explanation. In the mean time, I’ve got a story to tell.
The second subject I want to cover concerns my frequent switching between posting about current events and posting about stories from the past. Initially, I only intended to tell the story in chronological order from the beginning . But things have often gotten too intense here at times not to blog about the present circumstances. Often, I have used this as a means of applying pressure against FWPD, to try and convince them to take stronger action here. I have said before that I am certain that someone within FWPD is getting wind of my blog. Whether they are reading it themselves, or some other reader is speaking to them about what I am saying, I am convinced that some of FWPD’s recent actions here are in direct response to the sentiments I have expressed on this blog.
As should be apparent to any regular reader by now, my feelings towards FWPD range from immense respect to utter contempt at times. Of course, the problems here are ultimately driven by those who commit the crimes, but it can not be denied that FWPD’s treatment of those criminals, as well as of law-abiding citizens, greatly exacerbates the problem at times. Although I do expect better than what FWPD has offered in the past in this regard, I do not expect perfection.
The members of FWPD will always make some mistakes, simply because they’re human. And in a high crime area such as my neighborhood, those mistakes will probably be greater than in other areas. Generally speaking, I consider myself to be an understanding and forgiving person, and if my treatment of FWPD here indicates otherwise, that is merely a reflection upon how great their transgressions have been at times. I do not want to nit-pick and constantly harp on FWPD. I really want nothing more than to sit back and let them do their job, as they have often requested of me.
For the time being, I am going to go back to retelling stories from the past. My lack of commentary on the current actions of FWPD should not be taken to indicate that they have achieved perfection, only that I feel their current actions are reasonably appropriate for the circumstances here. And while some of these past stories might seem very unflattering towards FWPD, keep in mind that this is the old FWPD I am talking about, the way things used to be.
Finally, some of you might be wondering why I still feel it is necessary to blog about the past, if I am reasonably content with the present situation. There are two reasons for this. First, during my twelve years here I have seen great fluctuations in both the drug dealing activities as well as the behavior of FWPD. In short, there is no reason to assume that today’s current situation will hold. There are still some important changes which need to be made before a long-term positive impact can be assured. Continuing this blog with stories of the past seems like a rational way to keep readers interested enough so that I will have somebody to hear me if things do turn worse again.
The second reason I’ll continue concerns something I have alluded to on this blog as well as my comments on other’s blogs, but which I have not clearly defined and explained. It is something that goes far beyond my particular circumstances, and it is something that I think most regular bloggers will feel some affinity towards when I do explain it. Although I am not going to cover this issue in depth at this time, as a prelude I would ask you to contemplate the following questions.
Why haven’t you heard of my story before you read it on my blog? Why were none of you aware that within a two block square of town there have been at least; three acts of arson; two murders (I’m certain the number on this is higher, but these are the only two I can recall at this time); a person who was doused with gasoline, set on fire, then stabbed in the head (And no, this is not one of the murders, because this guy actually survived); numerous rapes and robberies, and an unimaginable number of shootings? Why did you not realize that FWPD has allowed an open-air drug market to operate here for at least fifteen years ?
Well, I’ll just let those questions rumble about in your mind for a while. Feel free to give your own answers to these questions, and eventually I will give my own explanation. In the mean time, I’ve got a story to tell.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Recent Events
You never really know what you’ll get here on any given day. There are times when the dealers seem to be everywhere, and not a cop in sight. Then there are days when the police come through here like an army; several cars patrolling for very long durations. Then there are the days where everything is quiet; no cops, no dealers, no drama. It’s days like those that actually seem very strange. You keep looking over your shoulder expecting to see something, but it remains unnaturally quiet.
It is the erratic nature of the activities here that makes blogging a bit difficult at times. I have to get in a certain frame of mind and find my focus to write, but that’s difficult to do when the subject being studied (my neighborhood) keeps morphing. As soon as I write “All is quiet,” I hear gunshots right outside of my house. And when I write something that indicates I do not feel FWPD is doing enough to address the problems here, they come through in force and quiet things down for a while. Oh well, as confusing as my story might seem at times, just be glad you’re reading my blog. If you were talking to me in person, you’d probably think I’d lost my mind completely.
Here are just a few interesting things that have occurred in the past couple of weeks. In spite of these noteworthy disturbances (there are a few others as well), things have still been relatively calm. As I said before, my chief concern is for my personal safety and for my property. The drugs might bother me, but that alone is something I can live with.
Wednesday, May 21
Very few of the dealers here seem to have their own vehicles, but they have no problem getting a ride when they need it. There are a lot of cars that make regular stops at the corners and they’re not here to buy drugs. This is part of the support network for the dealers. They bring them food, and shuttle them to another location when things get too hot. These cars often drive the wrong direction on the one-way street, they drive erratically, and by providing support to the dealers, they make themselves a general nuisance.
About 8:30 in the evening, I noticed that two patrol cars had one of these vehicles stopped about a half block south of my house. One of the regular dealers and two of his girlfriends were inside. It looked like the officers issued a citation to the driver of the car for something. I have no idea what this was about, and it might have only been a warning, but it’s always good to see nuisance people (whether on foot or wheels) being stopped by the police.
Of course these people always claim they are being harassed, saying they weren’t doing anything wrong, but I think the police usually figure out who is dealing (or closely associated with the dealers), and pay special attention to them. It does seem like it takes them a while to figure it out sometimes, but once they do, they begin to act on it.
Thursday, May 22
Several officers were gathered about half a block to the south of my house for a while. I noticed that Officer Jefferson was among them. It is always good to see cops around here, but it’s even better when a member of the Command Staff is among them. It shows people like me that they (FWPD) are taking the problems here seriously. And the dealers know that the higher the rank of the officer, the more they need to quiet down.
Thursday, May 29
An unmarked police car was parked about a half block to the west of my house in the morning. I watched until a uniformed officer walked out from between two houses while speaking with the lady who had recently moved in there. She walked to the sidewalk and began pointing frantically at several houses on both sides of the street. I’m guessing she was complaining about neighbors playing their music too loud (while selling crack!), but I couldn’t here what was being said Of course, several people besides myself witnessed this and were already talking among themselves. I expect that by that evening, the entire neighborhood knew about it. I hope she has a gun (and a fire extinguisher).
Later in the evening, I was setting on my couch watching the TV with my back door wide open (I have a latched screen door). Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a police officer enter my back yard and begin to move the trash cans around. I opened the screen door and asked if I could help him with something. He asked me if I had just seen a guy with a yellow shirt run through my yard. I told him I had not, but that someone had just cut through the empty lot behind a minute before and ran into the alley.
Friday, May 30
I stopped to talk with a friend who was doing some work on his house. The lady who was speaking with the cop the day before came out to talk with him. Suddenly, she turned to me and said “Hey, you need to know about this. There’s this guy that walks around here with a uniform like he’s checking the meters, but he’s really buying drugs. They’re all drug dealers here.” Then she began pointing at all the houses. Okay, at least now I know for sure what she had said to the cop the day before.
I had never met her before, and she seemed a little stressed out, so I carefully tried to explain the unusual situation here. I was attempting to advise her to use caution about how she acts and what she says, pointing out that everyone had seen her talking with the police the previous day. I also explained that I didn’t like what was going on either, so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think I was just trying to get her to keep quiet. Well, she didn’t take my advice very well. She started screaming that she doesn’t need me to tell her what to do. She also stated that she doesn’t own a gun, doesn’t need a gun, and can kick anybody’s ass (even though no one asked her about any of this).
The old guy I was trying to talk with grabbed at his hair and looked like he was about to have a heart attack. The crazy lady was still screaming as I walked back to my truck. This same lady had told another neighbor a few days earlier that the Fort Wayne police are Nazis. As I was driving away, Officer Jefferson (a member of the FWPD Command Staff) pulled up beside my house. He parked there for a few minutes speaking with a couple of guys who were walking around.
At 8:45 that evening, I was inside the house and heard what sounded like about six gun shots being fired just to the east of my house. I ran outside and saw a man casually cutting through the empty lot across the street from me. What was odd about this is that is the area where the shots sounded as though they came from. The fact that he was acting so casual actually made him look suspicious. I walked to the corner and watched him as he continued walking away. He kept looking over his shoulder at me, but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t worried though because his gun was empty (or at least nearly empty), while mine still had fifteen bullets in it.
My neighbor called to me and told me that she had seen a blue truck speeding from the area, so she assumed it was involved in the shooting. A few minutes later, a police car came through and I waved him down. I asked if he was here responding to a call of shots fired, and he said yes. I told him what I had seen, and gave a description and direction of travel for the person I had seen. I didn’t get a chance to mention the blue truck, as the officer quickly drove off before allowing me to give this information. Several police cars patrolled the are for the next twenty minutes or so. I did not see any officers stop to check the ground where the shots appeared to have been fired.
Saturday, May 31
About four in the morning, I noticed a police car parked in front of my house. I stepped outside and observed from the porch. They had stopped Tricia for walking in the street and after talking to her for a minute, they let her go with a reminder to use the sidewalk. After the officers left, Tricia asked if she could use my phone. Tricia’s not a bad person. She’s usually drunk, and frequently high on something stronger, but she’s always done right by me, so I let her use the phone.
She called four different numbers, all of which were either busy or disconnected. She asked me to dial the last number for her, and it was also disconnected. She said something that implied that I had somehow set my phone up so that it would not be able to call out. She said she doesn’t hate me for it though, so I guess we’re still good. This causes me to wonder if smoking crack makes people crazy, or if crazy people are just drawn to smoking crack. I guess this is a chicken/egg type of philosophical question. Which came first, the crack addiction or the paranoia?
Later in the day, I looked out a window and saw that someone was setting on my wall. I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t recognize either of the two guys standing on the sidewalk next to him. I waited a few minutes and checked again and he was still setting there and was now counting his money. Only one other guy was now standing there beside him. I went out the back door and unwound my garden hose when my neighbor came over and asked what I was doing. I told him that when I turn the corner, anyone who’s setting on my property is going to get soaked.
I jumped around the corner and immediately aimed where the guy had been setting. I was on auto pilot at this point, and I really don’t think I would have been able to stop quick enough even if a police officer happened to be there at the moment. Ike jumped up quickly and I just continued spraying the flower bed. Neither Ike or the other guy said anything, but just stared at me. I turned to Ike and said “Sorry about that. I just came out to water my flowers. I didn’t expect to see anybody setting there.”
Ike’s response wasn’t belligerent, but it wasn’t apologetic either. He simply said “Man, I just get tired standing here all day.” I swear, sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at what I see and here from these guys. I responded “Look, you’re a drug dealer, I’m not. There is no reason for you ever to be on my property. I don’t owe you a chair to set on.” He just turned away and walked back to the corner with the other guy.
Later in the afternoon, a few people were talking about the shooting last night. Two of the dealers were walking through the grass, and appeared to be searching the ground. I’m sure that if they found any empty shell casings lying there that they would have turned them into the police.
Sunday, June 1
A little after midnight, I heard a loud banging on the side of my house. It sounded like someone was kicking my porch. I went to the back porch and saw a car parked right beside my house (facing the wrong direction). There were two people inside the car, and two guys standing beside it talking with them. One of the guys glanced at me for a split second, but my presence really didn’t seem to faze them too much. No one said anything, and they were all just staring at each other for a minute.
As the two guys began walking away, they kicked the car door again, and it was only then that I realized what was going on. I thought I was witnessing a drug buy, but it appeared as though it was a robbery instead. Either way, I didn’t feel compelled to call the police. Regardless of what was going on, they would have probably been long gone by the time any officers arrived. But even if it was a robbery, these guys weren’t innocent victims. There was a reason they were driving around here in the middle of the night and pulling over to talk to people they didn’t know. The way I figure, if some of the dealers are stupid enough to rob their customers, that’s actually good for me as it means at least those two jack-asses probably won’t be back.
After the two guys walked through the empty lot behind my house and into the alley, the driver of the car got out and began searching his pockets. I figured he was hoping he had a twenty stashed somewhere so he could still get his fix, but he was looking for something else. He looked inside the car and said to his passenger “Dude, they took our car keys.” He got back in the car and must have found the keys (probably in the ignition, dumb-ass) because he started the car. As they began driving away, I heard the driver say “Let’s call the police, they took us to that house.”
So Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum drive a few yards to the south, then stop and park in the middle of the road. My first thought was that they were actually stupid enough to call the police and tell them that they had just been robbed by a crack dealer (no officer, I wasn’t at the crack-house to buy crack, I swear). But then I realized that they might have finally spotted me standing on my back porch and were contemplating coming back to ask me if I had any dope to sell them. After setting for nearly five minutes, they turned and drove down the alley heading in the same direction as the guys who had robbed them just walked. I stayed out there for a while, thinking I might hear gunshots or see someone running or driving out of the alley, but that was the end of it apparently.
It is the erratic nature of the activities here that makes blogging a bit difficult at times. I have to get in a certain frame of mind and find my focus to write, but that’s difficult to do when the subject being studied (my neighborhood) keeps morphing. As soon as I write “All is quiet,” I hear gunshots right outside of my house. And when I write something that indicates I do not feel FWPD is doing enough to address the problems here, they come through in force and quiet things down for a while. Oh well, as confusing as my story might seem at times, just be glad you’re reading my blog. If you were talking to me in person, you’d probably think I’d lost my mind completely.
Here are just a few interesting things that have occurred in the past couple of weeks. In spite of these noteworthy disturbances (there are a few others as well), things have still been relatively calm. As I said before, my chief concern is for my personal safety and for my property. The drugs might bother me, but that alone is something I can live with.
Wednesday, May 21
Very few of the dealers here seem to have their own vehicles, but they have no problem getting a ride when they need it. There are a lot of cars that make regular stops at the corners and they’re not here to buy drugs. This is part of the support network for the dealers. They bring them food, and shuttle them to another location when things get too hot. These cars often drive the wrong direction on the one-way street, they drive erratically, and by providing support to the dealers, they make themselves a general nuisance.
About 8:30 in the evening, I noticed that two patrol cars had one of these vehicles stopped about a half block south of my house. One of the regular dealers and two of his girlfriends were inside. It looked like the officers issued a citation to the driver of the car for something. I have no idea what this was about, and it might have only been a warning, but it’s always good to see nuisance people (whether on foot or wheels) being stopped by the police.
Of course these people always claim they are being harassed, saying they weren’t doing anything wrong, but I think the police usually figure out who is dealing (or closely associated with the dealers), and pay special attention to them. It does seem like it takes them a while to figure it out sometimes, but once they do, they begin to act on it.
Thursday, May 22
Several officers were gathered about half a block to the south of my house for a while. I noticed that Officer Jefferson was among them. It is always good to see cops around here, but it’s even better when a member of the Command Staff is among them. It shows people like me that they (FWPD) are taking the problems here seriously. And the dealers know that the higher the rank of the officer, the more they need to quiet down.
Thursday, May 29
An unmarked police car was parked about a half block to the west of my house in the morning. I watched until a uniformed officer walked out from between two houses while speaking with the lady who had recently moved in there. She walked to the sidewalk and began pointing frantically at several houses on both sides of the street. I’m guessing she was complaining about neighbors playing their music too loud (while selling crack!), but I couldn’t here what was being said Of course, several people besides myself witnessed this and were already talking among themselves. I expect that by that evening, the entire neighborhood knew about it. I hope she has a gun (and a fire extinguisher).
Later in the evening, I was setting on my couch watching the TV with my back door wide open (I have a latched screen door). Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a police officer enter my back yard and begin to move the trash cans around. I opened the screen door and asked if I could help him with something. He asked me if I had just seen a guy with a yellow shirt run through my yard. I told him I had not, but that someone had just cut through the empty lot behind a minute before and ran into the alley.
Friday, May 30
I stopped to talk with a friend who was doing some work on his house. The lady who was speaking with the cop the day before came out to talk with him. Suddenly, she turned to me and said “Hey, you need to know about this. There’s this guy that walks around here with a uniform like he’s checking the meters, but he’s really buying drugs. They’re all drug dealers here.” Then she began pointing at all the houses. Okay, at least now I know for sure what she had said to the cop the day before.
I had never met her before, and she seemed a little stressed out, so I carefully tried to explain the unusual situation here. I was attempting to advise her to use caution about how she acts and what she says, pointing out that everyone had seen her talking with the police the previous day. I also explained that I didn’t like what was going on either, so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think I was just trying to get her to keep quiet. Well, she didn’t take my advice very well. She started screaming that she doesn’t need me to tell her what to do. She also stated that she doesn’t own a gun, doesn’t need a gun, and can kick anybody’s ass (even though no one asked her about any of this).
The old guy I was trying to talk with grabbed at his hair and looked like he was about to have a heart attack. The crazy lady was still screaming as I walked back to my truck. This same lady had told another neighbor a few days earlier that the Fort Wayne police are Nazis. As I was driving away, Officer Jefferson (a member of the FWPD Command Staff) pulled up beside my house. He parked there for a few minutes speaking with a couple of guys who were walking around.
At 8:45 that evening, I was inside the house and heard what sounded like about six gun shots being fired just to the east of my house. I ran outside and saw a man casually cutting through the empty lot across the street from me. What was odd about this is that is the area where the shots sounded as though they came from. The fact that he was acting so casual actually made him look suspicious. I walked to the corner and watched him as he continued walking away. He kept looking over his shoulder at me, but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t worried though because his gun was empty (or at least nearly empty), while mine still had fifteen bullets in it.
My neighbor called to me and told me that she had seen a blue truck speeding from the area, so she assumed it was involved in the shooting. A few minutes later, a police car came through and I waved him down. I asked if he was here responding to a call of shots fired, and he said yes. I told him what I had seen, and gave a description and direction of travel for the person I had seen. I didn’t get a chance to mention the blue truck, as the officer quickly drove off before allowing me to give this information. Several police cars patrolled the are for the next twenty minutes or so. I did not see any officers stop to check the ground where the shots appeared to have been fired.
Saturday, May 31
About four in the morning, I noticed a police car parked in front of my house. I stepped outside and observed from the porch. They had stopped Tricia for walking in the street and after talking to her for a minute, they let her go with a reminder to use the sidewalk. After the officers left, Tricia asked if she could use my phone. Tricia’s not a bad person. She’s usually drunk, and frequently high on something stronger, but she’s always done right by me, so I let her use the phone.
She called four different numbers, all of which were either busy or disconnected. She asked me to dial the last number for her, and it was also disconnected. She said something that implied that I had somehow set my phone up so that it would not be able to call out. She said she doesn’t hate me for it though, so I guess we’re still good. This causes me to wonder if smoking crack makes people crazy, or if crazy people are just drawn to smoking crack. I guess this is a chicken/egg type of philosophical question. Which came first, the crack addiction or the paranoia?
Later in the day, I looked out a window and saw that someone was setting on my wall. I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t recognize either of the two guys standing on the sidewalk next to him. I waited a few minutes and checked again and he was still setting there and was now counting his money. Only one other guy was now standing there beside him. I went out the back door and unwound my garden hose when my neighbor came over and asked what I was doing. I told him that when I turn the corner, anyone who’s setting on my property is going to get soaked.
I jumped around the corner and immediately aimed where the guy had been setting. I was on auto pilot at this point, and I really don’t think I would have been able to stop quick enough even if a police officer happened to be there at the moment. Ike jumped up quickly and I just continued spraying the flower bed. Neither Ike or the other guy said anything, but just stared at me. I turned to Ike and said “Sorry about that. I just came out to water my flowers. I didn’t expect to see anybody setting there.”
Ike’s response wasn’t belligerent, but it wasn’t apologetic either. He simply said “Man, I just get tired standing here all day.” I swear, sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at what I see and here from these guys. I responded “Look, you’re a drug dealer, I’m not. There is no reason for you ever to be on my property. I don’t owe you a chair to set on.” He just turned away and walked back to the corner with the other guy.
Later in the afternoon, a few people were talking about the shooting last night. Two of the dealers were walking through the grass, and appeared to be searching the ground. I’m sure that if they found any empty shell casings lying there that they would have turned them into the police.
Sunday, June 1
A little after midnight, I heard a loud banging on the side of my house. It sounded like someone was kicking my porch. I went to the back porch and saw a car parked right beside my house (facing the wrong direction). There were two people inside the car, and two guys standing beside it talking with them. One of the guys glanced at me for a split second, but my presence really didn’t seem to faze them too much. No one said anything, and they were all just staring at each other for a minute.
As the two guys began walking away, they kicked the car door again, and it was only then that I realized what was going on. I thought I was witnessing a drug buy, but it appeared as though it was a robbery instead. Either way, I didn’t feel compelled to call the police. Regardless of what was going on, they would have probably been long gone by the time any officers arrived. But even if it was a robbery, these guys weren’t innocent victims. There was a reason they were driving around here in the middle of the night and pulling over to talk to people they didn’t know. The way I figure, if some of the dealers are stupid enough to rob their customers, that’s actually good for me as it means at least those two jack-asses probably won’t be back.
After the two guys walked through the empty lot behind my house and into the alley, the driver of the car got out and began searching his pockets. I figured he was hoping he had a twenty stashed somewhere so he could still get his fix, but he was looking for something else. He looked inside the car and said to his passenger “Dude, they took our car keys.” He got back in the car and must have found the keys (probably in the ignition, dumb-ass) because he started the car. As they began driving away, I heard the driver say “Let’s call the police, they took us to that house.”
So Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum drive a few yards to the south, then stop and park in the middle of the road. My first thought was that they were actually stupid enough to call the police and tell them that they had just been robbed by a crack dealer (no officer, I wasn’t at the crack-house to buy crack, I swear). But then I realized that they might have finally spotted me standing on my back porch and were contemplating coming back to ask me if I had any dope to sell them. After setting for nearly five minutes, they turned and drove down the alley heading in the same direction as the guys who had robbed them just walked. I stayed out there for a while, thinking I might hear gunshots or see someone running or driving out of the alley, but that was the end of it apparently.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Siege Mentality
I’ve never experienced military combat, but I think there are some similarities between that and my situation here. I have already written a few times about the stress that living in this area can create. Everything may be quiet for hours, days or even weeks; then suddenly something erupts out of nowhere. When you have too much information coming at you too fast, it is difficult to process. Not only that, but it changes your frame of mind in ways that often last long after the excitement has subsided.
I think a natural reaction to a stressful situation is to overcompensate for one’s failings during the event. The human mind has limits. It can only process so much information at a time. Yet when our mental capacity proves inadequate for a situation, we still wonder why. Although it might have actually been impossible to see, hear and understand the barrage of information that was being thrown at us, we still blame ourselves.
Why didn’t we notice the man before he pulled a gun? Why did we just assume that the lump in the belly of that woman was an unborn child, instead of a bomb? We might ask ourselves many such questions which all have the same answer - because it didn’t seem like it mattered at the time. And although this is a fully adequate answer, we are still often unable to accept it.
We may have been robbed, attacked, or perhaps one of our comrades fell. And if we had just been more aware of our surroundings, perhaps the tragedy could have been avoided. We become committed to preventing such a lapse of awareness to ever take place again. Now we notice everything. We can recognize who is approaching from the distinct sound of their footsteps. We notice any oddities about the way a person walks or stands which might reveal that they are carrying a weapon. We notice the license plate number on a car, even tough it seems to mean nothing at the time, because we know if we wait until it does mean something it might then be too late.
We look around a lot more than we used to, which can really bug people when you are speaking with them. Sometimes we look people in the eye more intensely, and sometimes we just give them that wide gaze. This bugs them too, because they think they’re being ignored. The truth is, we are actually giving our full attention to them - in every detail. I think the technical term for what I am describing is called post traumatic stress disorder. In layman’s term, you can simply say “That man is bugged out.”
I’ll give an example of how this process works. Last night, I encountered a police officer in my neighborhood. This was a random event, and I had no idea ahead of time that I would be faced with this particular officer. Although this was the first time (that I can recall) that I have interacted with this officer, it was not the first time I had observed him. The circumstances under which I had seen this officer before were as follows.
On Tuesday, May 13, 2008, at approximately 10:00 in the evening, this officer was present with about eight to ten others who were arresting a person a block to the north of my house. The person had been pepper-sprayed and was setting on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back for at least five minutes. He was screaming that his eyes were burning. One of the officers told him not to rub his eyes and that he’d get some water to rinse them after they got him locked up.
On the previous day (May 12) this officer walked into the King Gyro’s restaurant downtown in the afternoon, where I was eating my lunch. He ordered a sandwich (cheeseburger, I think). He asked for no mustard or pickle on his sandwich, but then changed his mind and said mustard and pickle were okay. He grabbed a few napkins from the holder on the counter in the front window while he was waiting on his food, then took his order to go.
So what does all this mean? Does this cheeseburger have something to do with what is going on here in my neighborhood? Probably not. But it does illustrate an important point. The intensity of what is going on here is such that I have taken to noticing even minute details about anything concerning cops and criminals.
I know the names of many of the dealers, and their relationships to each other. I know where some of them hang out when they’re not standing on the corners here. Hell, I even no where one of them goes to get his teeth cleaned! I see their names in the paper, and I remember it. I notice which cops they are friendly with and which of the other dealers they argue with.
I know many of the officers by the numbers on their car, if not their names also. I know what shift they work (morning, afternoon, evening), and I know the schedule (which days they work) for some of them. I know where some of them live and can tell you which officers have trained some of the new officers. I know this might make me sound like some sort of stalker at first, but that’s really not the case. I note what is going on here because it is important to do so. The other details (such as where people live or their eating habits) just filter in subconsciously.
I would bet good money that if you put an Iraqi, an Iranian and a Syrian in a room together, the average American could probably not distinguish between them. But if an American military veteran who has served in Iraq were to walk into the BP gas station downtown he would almost immediately know that those guys are from Iraq. And after a couple minutes with them, it’s possible he’d be able to tell you which religious sect they belong to and what city they are from. Maybe it’s their accent, or perhaps their style of clothing, but there is some mannerism that might seem imperceptible to most, that simply screams out at these people. And this happens because they have been in a situation where they were forced to focus intently upon details that most people would simply ignore.
My situation is similar to this. I rarely pass a police car (no matter where I’m at in town) without noticing the officer inside and/or the identifying number on it. And the behavior of and interplay between the dealers (their alliances, their arguments, and other habits), is noticed also. And I do this because I have to. When I look back over my earlier journal entries I am constantly berating myself for leaving out important information, even though there was no justification for noting such details at the time. So now I just try to notice everything. I store this often useless information away for later, when a small portion of it might actually prove useful.
I met a U.S. Marine at a bar one night and we talked and drank together for a while. You could sense the tension in his voice as he talked about searching people and cars at checkpoints. It was obvious that his experiences there were something he had brought home, and would probably remain with him for quite some time. After listening to me talk about my situation here for a while, this man told me that it sounds like I suffer from post traumatic stress syndrome - and I guess he’d know.
So, do I suffer from PTSD? Well, the situation here has certainly been stressful at times, although the usage of the word traumatic might be exaggerated for many of the events. But it is the words “post” and “disorder” that I take exception with. If someone accidentally bumps into that Marine at the bar, and he reacts by laying them flat on the floor and putting a knife to their throat before he is even fully aware of what happened, then he probably does have a disorder, and it probably is related to traumatic and stressful experiences from his past. But if that Marine is still in Iraq, and somebody bumps into him, it might not be fair to characterize that same reaction as a disorder. Especially when that reaction might save his or someone else’s life.
I am still living the experience here. A week or two of relative calm can not overpower the fact that the people who tried to burn my house down less than two years ago (while I was in it) are probably among those who still sell drugs in front of my home today. As strange as it might seem for me to be studying the situation as intensely as I do, the fact of the matter is that I am still in the zone. I don’t think it would be fair to characterize my situation as a disorder until after the stress has passed. Until then, It’s simply doing what has to be done.
I think a natural reaction to a stressful situation is to overcompensate for one’s failings during the event. The human mind has limits. It can only process so much information at a time. Yet when our mental capacity proves inadequate for a situation, we still wonder why. Although it might have actually been impossible to see, hear and understand the barrage of information that was being thrown at us, we still blame ourselves.
Why didn’t we notice the man before he pulled a gun? Why did we just assume that the lump in the belly of that woman was an unborn child, instead of a bomb? We might ask ourselves many such questions which all have the same answer - because it didn’t seem like it mattered at the time. And although this is a fully adequate answer, we are still often unable to accept it.
We may have been robbed, attacked, or perhaps one of our comrades fell. And if we had just been more aware of our surroundings, perhaps the tragedy could have been avoided. We become committed to preventing such a lapse of awareness to ever take place again. Now we notice everything. We can recognize who is approaching from the distinct sound of their footsteps. We notice any oddities about the way a person walks or stands which might reveal that they are carrying a weapon. We notice the license plate number on a car, even tough it seems to mean nothing at the time, because we know if we wait until it does mean something it might then be too late.
We look around a lot more than we used to, which can really bug people when you are speaking with them. Sometimes we look people in the eye more intensely, and sometimes we just give them that wide gaze. This bugs them too, because they think they’re being ignored. The truth is, we are actually giving our full attention to them - in every detail. I think the technical term for what I am describing is called post traumatic stress disorder. In layman’s term, you can simply say “That man is bugged out.”
I’ll give an example of how this process works. Last night, I encountered a police officer in my neighborhood. This was a random event, and I had no idea ahead of time that I would be faced with this particular officer. Although this was the first time (that I can recall) that I have interacted with this officer, it was not the first time I had observed him. The circumstances under which I had seen this officer before were as follows.
On Tuesday, May 13, 2008, at approximately 10:00 in the evening, this officer was present with about eight to ten others who were arresting a person a block to the north of my house. The person had been pepper-sprayed and was setting on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back for at least five minutes. He was screaming that his eyes were burning. One of the officers told him not to rub his eyes and that he’d get some water to rinse them after they got him locked up.
On the previous day (May 12) this officer walked into the King Gyro’s restaurant downtown in the afternoon, where I was eating my lunch. He ordered a sandwich (cheeseburger, I think). He asked for no mustard or pickle on his sandwich, but then changed his mind and said mustard and pickle were okay. He grabbed a few napkins from the holder on the counter in the front window while he was waiting on his food, then took his order to go.
So what does all this mean? Does this cheeseburger have something to do with what is going on here in my neighborhood? Probably not. But it does illustrate an important point. The intensity of what is going on here is such that I have taken to noticing even minute details about anything concerning cops and criminals.
I know the names of many of the dealers, and their relationships to each other. I know where some of them hang out when they’re not standing on the corners here. Hell, I even no where one of them goes to get his teeth cleaned! I see their names in the paper, and I remember it. I notice which cops they are friendly with and which of the other dealers they argue with.
I know many of the officers by the numbers on their car, if not their names also. I know what shift they work (morning, afternoon, evening), and I know the schedule (which days they work) for some of them. I know where some of them live and can tell you which officers have trained some of the new officers. I know this might make me sound like some sort of stalker at first, but that’s really not the case. I note what is going on here because it is important to do so. The other details (such as where people live or their eating habits) just filter in subconsciously.
I would bet good money that if you put an Iraqi, an Iranian and a Syrian in a room together, the average American could probably not distinguish between them. But if an American military veteran who has served in Iraq were to walk into the BP gas station downtown he would almost immediately know that those guys are from Iraq. And after a couple minutes with them, it’s possible he’d be able to tell you which religious sect they belong to and what city they are from. Maybe it’s their accent, or perhaps their style of clothing, but there is some mannerism that might seem imperceptible to most, that simply screams out at these people. And this happens because they have been in a situation where they were forced to focus intently upon details that most people would simply ignore.
My situation is similar to this. I rarely pass a police car (no matter where I’m at in town) without noticing the officer inside and/or the identifying number on it. And the behavior of and interplay between the dealers (their alliances, their arguments, and other habits), is noticed also. And I do this because I have to. When I look back over my earlier journal entries I am constantly berating myself for leaving out important information, even though there was no justification for noting such details at the time. So now I just try to notice everything. I store this often useless information away for later, when a small portion of it might actually prove useful.
I met a U.S. Marine at a bar one night and we talked and drank together for a while. You could sense the tension in his voice as he talked about searching people and cars at checkpoints. It was obvious that his experiences there were something he had brought home, and would probably remain with him for quite some time. After listening to me talk about my situation here for a while, this man told me that it sounds like I suffer from post traumatic stress syndrome - and I guess he’d know.
So, do I suffer from PTSD? Well, the situation here has certainly been stressful at times, although the usage of the word traumatic might be exaggerated for many of the events. But it is the words “post” and “disorder” that I take exception with. If someone accidentally bumps into that Marine at the bar, and he reacts by laying them flat on the floor and putting a knife to their throat before he is even fully aware of what happened, then he probably does have a disorder, and it probably is related to traumatic and stressful experiences from his past. But if that Marine is still in Iraq, and somebody bumps into him, it might not be fair to characterize that same reaction as a disorder. Especially when that reaction might save his or someone else’s life.
I am still living the experience here. A week or two of relative calm can not overpower the fact that the people who tried to burn my house down less than two years ago (while I was in it) are probably among those who still sell drugs in front of my home today. As strange as it might seem for me to be studying the situation as intensely as I do, the fact of the matter is that I am still in the zone. I don’t think it would be fair to characterize my situation as a disorder until after the stress has passed. Until then, It’s simply doing what has to be done.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
I'll Be Back!
Sorry for the lack of recent posts, but I've been busy. I'll be back to blogging again sometime this weekend.
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