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.
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*** 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.