JUNE 2006

The next few posts will recall select events that occurred here during 2006. As you read these, keep in mind that by this point in time, the summary message that I had received from FWPD was to just shut the hell up and quit bothering them. Basically, I was left on my own. The few events that I recall here are only a small sampling of the almost constant provocations from the drug dealers that I had to endure. Often I simply ignored them because I didn’t have the time or energy to devote to the problem.

Working thirteen hours in a factory that is over a hundred degrees has a way of sapping ones energy. And knowing that after only a few hours of rest it will be time to do it again the next day really weakens ones fighting spirit. These guys were using my front yard as cover for their drug selling - I knew it, my neighbors knew it, and FWPD knew it. And although I did receive a lot of help from many of my neighbors on this, FWPD refused to engage me on my repeated requests for help.

So I did what I had to do, which was to simply ignore it most of the time. Driving up to my home or walking out my front door and seeing people flee from my front yard was a constant sight. And if they quickly left, I usually said nothing. It was those times where they lingered - sometimes ignoring me, other times staring at me - as if to send the message “How dare you think you can stop us from selling drugs in your front yard.” - that I had to respond. A failure to do so would be tantamount to accepting an eviction from my own home. Below is one such example, and it can help you to understand the stress that is created by living here.

I am almost ashamed to admit it, but often I would adjust my behavior to avoid such confrontations. The guys here are very aware of their surroundings, and they notice any vehicle (mine, police, customer, etc.) as soon as it turns the corner a block or two away. I would usually drive in from the north side, thus allowing them more time to see me before I arrived at the house. And I would also approach slowly, thus giving them more time to pick up their belongings and clear out.

I would never go out of the house without peeking out a window first, and this often affected my behavior as well. There were many times that I purposely exited through the back door, just to avoid a confrontation with the people out front. And sometimes I would even postpone going out to get my mail or newspaper for the same reason. I had to confront people occassionally, just to keep from being pushed out of my home, but the unpredictable nature of such confrontations meant I had to be careful about choosing my fights. If I went out and argued with every drug dealer that stops in front of my house for a few minutes I would never get any rest.

I qualified the word shame above with “almost” though because I am quite certain that just about any person that has endured as much as I have here would bend a bit at times, if not be wholly broken. I have made enough stands and taken enough risks here over the years to convince myself or any reasonable person that my lack of action at times was not due to a lack of courage, but rather as an acquiescence to undeniable realities.

As I was returning home one day in early June, there was a group of four people slowly moving out of my yard as I pulled up to the house. I was tired as hell, after just having gotten off work, and this coupled with the fact that they seemed to be leaving the area led me to decide it would be best to just ignore it this time. Then, as I stopped to check the mail, one of them started to come back into my yard but turned around as soon as he saw I was still there.

I walked around to the side of the house where three of the guys were still standing and addressed Daniel, the one who had come back. I said “Look, I’ve asked you several times not to be in my yard. You need to stay off my property, whether I’m here or not.” Daniel just blew me off with an “Oh, my bad” as he started to walk away to join the others who were now walking away from my house. At this point Thomas started shouting at me from across the street. He had been with the group originally, but was now starting to get in his car across the street.

Thomas shouted “Man, Fuck you. You can’t do anything. He’s on the sidewalk.” My immediate reply was “Fuck you, Thomas. He was in my yard and I told him to stay out. You all need to stay the fuck off of my property.” As Thomas and I shouted back and forth for a minute, his friends continued to walk away. I expect this is partly what convinced him to finally get in his car and speed away.

I went inside for a minute, then came back out to make sure they had not returned to my yard. I started to walk around to check the side of my house when a car came speeding towards me. Thomas’ sister was driving and as it turned the corner, Thomas leaned out of the window and pretended to be shooting at me. I walked out into the street and shouted at them as they drove away, but they did not return. Now my adrenaline was fully pumping, and I felt compelled to stay outside a while to watch and see what might happen next.

At the time, I was in fight mode, and by the time I calmed down enough to speak without shouting, the immediate matter had been resolved. By that point, calling the police seemed like a waste of time. I could tell them Thomas’ full name and his address, as well as the fact that he sells drugs from my yard when I am not at home, but they wouldn’t do anything with that information. Of course, shortly after this event occurred, I was chastised by a police officer for not reporting it.

He gave me that famous FWPD line about “How can we do anything if you don’t tell us what’s going on?” My gut response was to ask "Why should I tell you what’s going on when you won’t do anything?" Instead, I simply told the officer that in the future I would call to report what was happening here. I used to call FWPD. I used to give them information and even offer to allow them to place cameras on my property to monitor the drug activities. I only stopped doing this when so many asshole cops proved to me that they simply did not give a damn.