Forgive And Forget?: October 20, 2006

I decided to call Officer Marshall back about the message he had left the previous day. He made no mention of our prior conversation and just started to ask me a few questions. He asked if I was still working near the airport, but said he couldn’t remember the name of the company. Well, I hadn’t mentioned this to any officers lately, so this told me that he still was keeping information on me from when we last encountered each other in 2003. I told Officer Marshall that I had recently quit my job to return to school. He asked what my school schedule was and I just said that it was pretty irregular.

He then said that if I would give him specific information about my habits, that he would pass this on to the officers who patrol my neighborhood and it would make it easier for them to know when to watch my property. I just gave him a description of my car, saying that if it’s gone, then I probably am also, then I repeated that my schedule is pretty irregular. He then asked that I notify him if I am away from my house for an extended period of time.

At the end of our conversation, Officer Marshall did something truly bizarre. He said “Now you’ve been working with Officers Powell, Kissinger and Monroe on some things, right?” So he mentions the officers that I had felt like I might be building some rapport with and let’s me know that he is aware of my dealings with them. I wonder what that’s about. I suppose that after several years of lying to and ignoring me, burying information related to what is going on here, laughing at me over having my home fire-bombed, and suggesting that I was the cause of the problem, a reasonable explanation is that Marshall suddenly decided to actually start acting like a police officer and help out.

Seriously, this was really bothersome. The same idiotic cop who had recently shown me that he was aligned with the drug dealers is now asking me questions about my schedule and personal habits. Although Officer Marshall did call one other time and left a message, I didn’t return it. As far as I’m concerned, Officer Marshall is a criminal and if he ever shows up on my property, I’ll be calling 911. It’s just really unfortunate that so many FWPD officers still take their orders from this prick.

I wonder if those officers realize that they realize they are working for a criminal, and I wonder if Officer Marshall has as much disregard for these officer’s safety as he does for the citizens here. I know that I gave a lot of information to Marshall back in 2003, and even offered to let FWPD install cameras on my properety. But apparently he never felt it necessary to mention this to anyone else. Sure seems like the cops out on the street, the ones who’s asses are actually in harms way, would have benefited from knowing that they had an ally here. I guess that Officer Marshall just got busy and forgot to mention this to anyone though.

UPCOMING POSTS

Friday: Thank God For The Fourth Estate - A Local Newspaper’s Perspective

Monday: The Tide Begins To Turn

Negotiating With The Enemy: October 19, 2006

I knew that I couldn’t continue sleeping in one hour increments indefinitely. Either some type of agreement would have to be reached, or I would eventually have no choice but to leave. I thought back about my observations of Carl over the years here and realized that he is actually quite pragmatic. Carl also seems like a fairly intelligent person, so I decided to just explain my position and see how he would respond to it. As Carl and I were still laughing about what had just happened, I asked him if we could step aside and speak privately for a minute. Our conversation follows. My words are in blue, Carl’s words are in red.

I’m not saying that I condone what you’re doing, but I can at least appreciate the fact that you do it relatively low-key, from your own house, rather than from my front yard. These young guys stand out here all night and day; yelling, throwing trash, trying to intimidate people that live here, and openly flashing their money and their merchandise. It seems to me that jack-asses like that, who just make a lot of noise, would be as offensive to you as they are to me.

These kids need to quiet down, and quit causing trouble.

If I accept what they’re doing against me, I might as well just put a collar around my neck, hand them the leash, and say “Here, I’m your bitch.”

People need to just respect each other.

At that point, I walked over and spray-painted over the rude message I had put on the side of my house (DRUG DEALERS SUCK DICK), then went back over to finish speaking with Carl.

These guys all talk about how they’re fearless and not afraid to die, but they never say or do anything against me unless there’s several of them, or they’re hidden. I think the fact that I not only stayed, but aggressively defended my property for the past few days should show everyone that I’m not afraid, and that there’ll be a high cost for pushing me out of my house.

I’ll talk to the other guys.

It will probably take a bullet to the head to force me out against my will. I’m sure there’s enough of you to do that, if you wanted to, but I might get lucky and hurt someone in the process. But that’s stupid to even think about that. I don’t care about what you’ve got going on, I just need people to respect me and my property.

I’ll work on it.

Carl and I then shook hands and parted ways. I am sure that after what I said he either figured I was pretty damned determined, or just totally crazy. Later that afternoon, I observed Carl speaking with a large group of the younger guys down at the corner of Pontiac and Warsaw. I assumed he was either telling them to calm their activities around my house, or he was making plans to finish me off. Only time would tell.

I had effectively offered Carl a deal here. By acknowledging that his people had the capability to hurt or even to kill me, I made it clear to him that I was being realistic in my assumptions. And by stating “I don’t care about what you’ve got going on, I just need people to respect me and my property,” I had made it clear that I was not going to be over zealous in my expectations for this neighborhood. All I wanted was a little bit of peace for my home, and my statements to Carl showed that I was willing to do what was necessary to get this. In exchange, I was pretty much stating that I would turn a blind eye to what was going on in the rest of the neighborhood.

Over the past couple of years since Carl and I spoke about this, I have given a lot of thought to our conversation. I have observed Carl well enough to know that he has good standing in the cartel, and he often seems to span the divide between the different clicks around here. I have no idea how high Carl actually ranks, but if he doesn’t run things then I am at least certain that he is close with whoever does. So I went directly to the top here and pitched a very basic business offer. Whether they chose to fight me or accommodate me, it would cost them something. I hoped to convince Carl that the former would be more expensive than the latter.

It is ironic that I had tried for ten years to establish this same type of direct communication with FWPD, but they had completely failed to perform their duties in this regard. Granted, there are some officers who are very intelligent and who communicate well with the residents here. But there is no other way to summarize FWPD as a whole than to say that that department is run by people who are either idiots, cowards or criminals. The evidence speaks for itself, and my experience here shows that the Fort Wayne crack mafia is more accessible than the police, and dealing with them is usually more productive than dealing with the police.


UPCOMING POSTS

WEDNESDAY: Forgive And Forget?

FRIDAY: Thank God For The Fourth Estate - A Local Newspaper’s Perspective

Something To Laugh About: October 19, 2006

In the morning, Officer Marshall called my house and left a message saying “Say, Mr. Marx, this is Officer Marshall with the FWPD I just wanted to speak with you for a moment about the situation at your home. I need to get some more information from you. Could you call me back at 427-xxxx?

That’s really unbelievable. This idiot laughs at me, tells me I am the problem here, and refuses to allow me to speak with a real police officer to convey my information. Then the next day he calls back as if nothing ever happened. I kind of suspected he was simply trying to goad me into saying or doing something stupid at that point, and I almost certainly would have if I had answered the phone that day, so I decided to cool off before I called back.

In the early afternoon, I was standing along the side of my house talking with a neighbor when Officer Rice pulled up. He was just checking on the situation and letting me know that they (FWPD) would be heavily patrolling the area for a while. As we were talking, an unmarked police car pulled along side Officer Rice. As these two cops were parked right at the main intersection of cracktown, something really comical occurred.

A car pulled out of Suttenfield (heading the wrong direction) and sped north on Warsaw. Officer Rice’s jaw dropped open and he just looked at me and said “Yeah, I better check on this.” Officer Rice and the other vehicle had this car stopped before it was a block away, and they were quickly joined by several other police vehicles.

Apparently, this guy had stopped to buy some drugs just down the block. When he got his fix, he grabbed the money back out of the dealer’s hand and sped away. It was just coincidence that two police officers happened to be parked right where he came out and they were even conveniently facing in the right direction. But that’s not the really funny part.

Soon there were dozens of officers on the scene, barely a half block away from my house, and the corners here filled very quickly with curious people. On the southwest corner, in front of my house, there were only three people; myself, Carl (a drug dealer) and Vern (an elderly, retired gentleman). As we were standing there watching, a short, fat, Hispanic lady walked past and I really didn’t even pay much attention to her at first. Suddenly, Vern jumped back and shouted “What? No, get away from me,” in response to something this lady had apparently said to him.

I then watched in bemusement as this lady tugged at Carl’s arm and asked “You got something?” She offered him the money in her hand and Carl just looked at me and Vern as though he really couldn’t believe what she was doing. Carl just pointed towards the massive group of police officers and stepped away from her. She actually looked at me for a minute, but walked away without saying anything more. This lady then stepped across the street and appeared to be making inquiries to the people standing there. Eventually, one of these guys walked down the block with her to (presumably) conduct their drug transaction.

After the disbelief over what we witnessed wore off, Vern, Carl and I all three busted out laughing at the same time. Vern said she had asked him first, and that was why he jumped back and shouted at her. Vern had a gold necklace around his neck that day and I pointed to it and said “You know Carl, he does look like a player with that gold around his neck. This humorous break in the tense atmosphere provided an opportunity for Carl and I to talk. That conversation will be the subject of my next post.


NEXT POST: Negotiating With The Enemy

Allen County Sheriff Abdicates Responsibility: October 18, 2006

After being taunted by Officer Marshall, I was at a momentary loss for ideas of what to do next. If it had been a low ranking officer who behaved this way, I would have called the FWPD front desk and explained the situation. But Officer Marshall is a top ranking officer, so this really didn’t seem like a practical option. I won’t mention all the thoughts that ran through my head, but I’m sure you can imagine what my state of mind must have been like at that moment.

So after running through several of the options in my mind, and coming to the conclusion that most of them would probably get me into a lot of trouble, I simply decided to call the police. No, I did not call the useless pricks at Creighton Street this time. I called the Allen County Sheriff’s Department. Officer Blaine answered my call there as I explained the situation and asked if there was anything his department could do to help me.

Officer Blaine first responded with a bunch of B.S. about “Respecting jurisdictional boundaries,” seeming to imply that ACSD had no authority here. When I pressed him on this, he finally did admit that they do have the authority, but that they generally prefer to leave incorporated areas to the city police departments. Officer Blaine suggested that I contact FWPD Internal Affairs to resolve the issue.

At this point, I explained to Officer Blaine that Officer Marshall was a top ranking officer with FWPD. I stated that, due to Marshall’s position, I did not feel that I could rely on FWPD to protect me and my property and requested that the county begin patrolling this neighborhood. I also reiterated that there were drug dealers still loitering about my property this morning, just a few hours after they had tried to burn my house down. Again, I asked if there was anything they could do to help. He simply said that he’d speak with someone in his department and get back with me. I’m still waiting for that call.

So at that point, the situation could be summarized in the following manner; Drug dealers try to burn my house down. Fort Wayne Police Department responds to this by telling me to quit causing problems here. In response to this I request that the Allen County Sheriff’s department act to protect me and my property. They tell me there’s nothing they can (or rather, will) do, and that I am stuck with the asshats at Creighton Street. Again, this is one of those points where I would really like to hear how others would respond to such a situation. Here’s what I did though.

About an hour after speaking with ACSD, I looked out the window and saw four drug dealers leaning against the fence around my back yard. Daniel and Sheldon were among this group and I highly suspected both of them as being the ones who threw the fire-bombs at my house. I was going to call FWPD front desk and report this just to check their response. But I knew from past experience that these guys would most likely be gone by the time the police arrived. I decided to take a picture of them first, but by the time I found the camera they were gone.

I went out on the front porch, camera in hand, to see if the group had moved to the corner. They were all gone, but then Kent came walking down the sidewalk towards my house. As I turned and snapped a couple photos of him walking past my house he just said casually “That’s not necessary. I’ll give you a picture if you want one.” At this point, I suppose that I was intent on provoking a response, so I held up the newspaper I had in my hand and said “But my picture of you has today’s newspaper in it. That proves you were here today, and that’s what I needed.”

Of course, I was talking total bullshit here. First of all, it’s very likely that the newspaper would have been unreadable in my photo. But even if it was, it’s not as if my showing that he was walking down the sidewalk would really prove anything malicious about his behavior. But my attitude alone was enough to provoke him as he then said “You better watch yourself. You don’t know who you’re messing with.” At that point, I called the police and reported this as a threat.

I really didn’t expect the police to be able to do anything even if they wanted to. My only intent here was to test FWPD’s reaction. By this time I knew Officer Marshall was either actively working against me or at least not working for me. But I had a hard time believing that this was truly the policy of FWPD as a whole rather than just one (or a few) derelict officer(s). But I had to find out for sure. If either the person answering the phone or the responding officers had acted in a similar fashion as Officer Marshall did, then that would mean the department, rather than just one or a few individuals, was against me. If this were the case, then I wouldn’t stand a chance.

The officers arrived shortly and questioned Kent. In their report, it stated that Kent said I had insinuated that he was responsible for the attack on my house the previous night, but this is inaccurate. What I said was “I’m tired of people standing around my house selling dope.” When he responded to this angrily, I said “Some motherfuckers tried to burn my house down last night. Was that you? Are you the one that tried to kill me?” So you see, there really was no accusation here, only a polite inquiry. Anyway, Kent stated as his alibi that he was in school at the time of the attack, even though it took place around 11:00 in the evening.

Note: The above incident occurred in October of 2006, when Jim Herman was still the Allen County Sheriff.

NEXT POST: Something To Laugh About

A Desperate Situation Becomes Worse: October 18, 2006

By the next morning, it became apparent that the battle had just begun. Every time I stepped outside of the house, there were people in all directions who would glare at me and sometimes throw menacing comments my way. I heard Sheldon down the block shout “Yeah, Phil got a Glock.” I guess he just wanted me to know he knew what was going on. Another guy shouted “Phil can suck my dick,” in reference to the sign I had painted on the side of my house. I knew it would be a while before things settled down, so I sent an e-mail to my professors at IPFW letting them know I would not be attending class for at least the next week. I was actually scheduled to take a test for my international business class that morning, but that really didn’t seem like a good idea.

At around 11:00 in the morning, I looked out the back door and saw a couple guys park their truck down the street from my house. They walked up the sidewalk to my back yard and started pointing at the back of my house. It became obvious from their gestures that they were discussing what had happened the night before. Finally, one of these guys threw his hat on the ground and stomped on it. He became very animated as he threw his arms about and paced along the sidewalk. It was obvious that he was pissed, the only question was why.

I assumed one of two possibilities fit this scenario. My first thought was that he was the one who had ordered the attack, and he was upset that it hadn’t been successful. In hindsight, I think there is a better explanation though. He was older, and I’ve mentioned before how the older guys here seem more pragmatic. I think the most likely explanation was that some of the young guys had acted impulsively, and this guy was upset at the results. As a result, the area was now crawling with police - and that is bad for business.

Looking back now, I realize how much better things would have been if I simply stepped outside to speak with him about the matter. As you will see in the next few posts, it is my direct conversations with the drug dealers here that often seem to have the best effect (not counting last night). Instead, I just did what any normal person would do when they see a suspicious person lurking around their back yard the day after their home was fire-bombed. I wrote down the license plate number of the truck and called the police. At the time, I really thought it would be better for me to talk to the police and to let them talk to the criminals. After my phone call, I began to wonder if they were one in the same.

On the previous night, Officer Albright had given me a phone number to call if I needed to speak to FWPD about the situation here. The person answering the phone this morning did not give a name at first, and I actually did not recognize the voice of Officer Marshall. I started to report the activities of the two guys out back when Officer Marshall interrupted me. He laughed and then went on to suggest that I, rather than the drug dealers, was the problem here. Below is a transcript of our conversation. Officer Marshall’s words are in red , and mine are in blue.

South East Command.

My name is Phil Marx. I live on East Suttenfield Street. Last night my home was fire-bombed…

Oh, Mr. Marx, this is Officer Marshall. It sounds like you’re getting things stirred up there, maybe you should settle down.

Excuse me?

I just think it’s getting a little noisy over there, Perhaps you should just try to calm down.

You think I should calm down? My home was attacked because I asked drug dealers to quit selling from my front yard. What exactly would calming down entail, giving them a key to my house?

Well, I’m just worried about your safety.

Officer Marshall, I’m calling to give relevant information about the crime that occurred last night, and you’re taunting me?

We just don’t want to see you get hurt.

I don’t believe you. I don’t think you give a damn about my safety. I don’t think you care whether I live or die. I think you just want your job to be easy, and you’re mad that I’m making you work for it. I don’t consider you to be a Police Officer. I’d like to speak with someone else.

Mr. Marx, I’ll do everything I can to protect you.

Officer Marshall, I’d like to speak with another officer.

You can tell me anything you’d like.

I don’t feel comfortable speaking with you. May I please speak with another officer?

I can take care of that for you.

After the third time that Marshall refused to allow me to speak with a legitimate police officer, I simply hung up the phone. It was apparent now that this was in fact a two-front war that I was fighting. Officer Marshall’s words could be seen as nothing other than a threat - an attempt to convince me that I would not be enjoying the protection of the police department here.

Before I go on to explain my reaction to this, I would like to hear from others. What would you do if you found yourself in this situation? The drug dealers who I had been struggling against for ten years had just tried to burn down my house (while I was in it). Then, the people that I am paying and who have sworn an oath to protect me just laugh and tell me I should quit stirring up trouble. I should remind you that Officer Marshall is not a low ranking officer. He is a member of FWPD Command Staff.


Next Post: Allen County Sheriff Abdicates Responsibility

The Night I (Almost?) Went Crazy: October 17-18, 2006

Long ago, I got used to the fact that someone shooting at my house might become a real possibility here. And given that I had so many confrontations this summer, it was looking like an even greater possibility that such an occurrence might happen soon. I suppose, in hindsight, there might have been something Freudian about the letter I had distributed earlier in the day. It might sound crazy to say that I wanted to be attacked, but deep down I probably knew it would come eventually, so why wait?
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When I heard the leaves rustling on my back porch that evening, this is exactly what I was thinking. It sounded like more than just the wind, so I grabbed my gun and turned off the inside light before peeking through the hole in the curtain. As soon as I saw the flames, I went outside to see that one of the fire-bombs had hit it’s mark and was beginning to burn on my back porch. As I was trying to douse this fire, Arlen came over and stomped out the flames burning in my back yard from the second one. It actually took a few minutes before I even realized there was a third one burning in the front yard.
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I’ve owned a gun since 1998, and have carried it on me pretty regularly since 2003, but this was the first time I had ever left the house with my weapon drawn. I firmly believe in the mantra that you should only draw your weapon if you’re prepared to use it, and I was. If any one of the people I had been having problems with had been in sight at that time, I think there is a high probability that my gun would have been fired.
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It had been raining all day long, so the fire never really took hold. FWFD arrived within a few minutes and hosed down the back porch to finish off the fire. FWPD began arriving almost immediately after this. By this point, I had tucked my gun back in my waistband, but it was still exposed. When the first officer arrived at my back yard I rushed towards him shouting about what had happened. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking as I rushed, shouting, at a uniformed officer with a gun tucked in my waistband. I suppose the adrenaline was just pumping too fast at that time. Anyway, I give Officer Albright a lot of credit for how he dealt with me that night.
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I am certain he would have been justified if he just slammed me down on the ground, or worse, as a necessary precaution for his own safety. Instead, he just raised the palm of his hand to meet my thrusting chest. He calmly stated “I’ll just hold this for our safety until we clear the scene,” as he reached down to pull the gun from my waistband. I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t still holding the gun in my hand at the time or I might have ended up getting shot by the police.
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I will also give several other officers on the scene credit for their demeanor towards me that night. As you can imagine, given that drug dealers had just tried to burn my home down because I wouldn’t set back and allow them to sell from my property, I was pretty upset. I don’t recall exactly what I said that night, but I know I was shouting a lot, and cussing a lot. Not a single officer that night asked, or ordered, me to settle down. If they had, I’m quite certain that my response would have landed me in jail.
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As the police were about to leave, Officer Albright asked me where I would be staying that night. When I answered that I would be staying here, he looked surprised and asked if I really thought that was a good idea. I responded by saying “If I leave tonight, I will no longer own this house. When I come back in the morning there will be drug dealers setting on my front porch asking what I am doing here. I really don’t think I have any choice but to stay here tonight.” Officer Albright told me that his officers would be frequently patrolling the area that night and he gave me a number where I could reach him directly if I had any problems or questions.
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During the next several hours, I did some things that could easily be described as brave, stupid, reckless or crazy, depending upon one’s perspective. It started out innocently enough. I was just setting outside watching over the area when I decided to pick up some of the trash in the front lawn. As I made my way to the side of the house, the five-gallon bucket I was carrying quickly became full. As I thought more about the fact that most of this trash was left here by the drug dealers, and that the police really don’t seem to pay attention to them loitering and trespassing here, I walked out into the middle of the street and dumped the bucket.
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For the next ten minutes or so, I walked all about my property picking up trash - and tossing it out into the street. I figured it would be rather difficult for the police to just drive by and miss that! I actually hadn’t stopped to look at what mess I was making as I continued tossing trash into the street. Then, a patrol car came through and stopped. I turned to the officer and he had a shocked look on his face as he asked “Who did this?”
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When I told him I did it, and why, he was actually pretty understanding. If he wanted to be a prick about it, he could have given me a ticket for littering. And judging by the extent of the mess I had made he probably could have made a case for charging me with obstructing traffic. Instead he just said in a very casual tone “You do realize you can’t leave this in the street?” Okay, I was being an ass (justifiably so, I might add) and this officer responded to me by being direct but polite. That was enough to take the edge off my anger towards the police that night. I told the officer I would have the mess cleaned up before dawn and he drove away.
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Now, here comes the really crazy part. I started walking around the neighborhood - every street and every alley in the immediate area. I was playing my harmonica as I strolled about, and every time I would pass by a house where someone I had words with in the past lived at, I played the harmonica as loud as I could. I really was looking for a fight at that moment, and If I had run into one of the drug dealers at that time it is almost certain that we would have exchanged gun-fire.
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At one point, I was a block away from my house, on Taber Street, when a car came creeping up behind me very slowly. There were at least two people inside it. After it passed me, it pulled over on the side of the street where I was walking. I continued walking, and shortly after I passed it, the passenger door cracked open a bit. I stopped about fifty feet from the car and just waited. I did not have my gun drawn, but my hand was on it. No one got out of the car and the door closed. It remained parked there at least until I was out of sight. In hindsight, I now realize just how crazy my behavior that night might have seemed. It’s very possible that the people in that car were just pulling up to their own house but feared stepping out of the car because of the crazy looking guy lurking about on the sidewalk.
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The best rationale that I can provide for my seemingly reckless behavior that night is that it was the drug dealers who had brought the fight to me, and had made it clear that they would allow me no way of avoiding this short of an unconditional surrender of my home to them. So if a fight was the ultimate end to all this, what better time for it than now, when I was so pumped up. If I had been shot that night, I really don’t think I would have felt any pain. The adrenaline was pumping fast enough to cover that. Bulletproof? - No, but pretty damn close.
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When I got back to the house, I pulled out a can of spray paint and walked to the side of my house. In letters about a foot tall I wrote “DRUG DEALERS SUCK DICK.” I didn’t even realize it at the time, but the gang colors here are red. By complete chance, I happened to have used blue paint for my message, thus making the sign even more provocative. Around three in the morning, another patrol car came through and stopped. Again, a shocked look and the question “Who did this?”
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When I answered that I did it myself, it took a few seconds to register, but the officer then gave me a big grin. Both he and the driver stepped out of the car and walked over to examine my artwork. One of the officers began calling others and within a few minutes the street was blocked with about ten patrol cars. They were laughing hysterically and one pulled out his camera phone and started to take a picture. He paused and turned towards me to ask if I minded him doing this.
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I really don’t think I could have stopped him if I wanted to, but it was nice of him to ask. I just requested that if he included this in his report that he make sure and mention that my sign went up after the house was fire-bombed. I was afraid if it appeared to be in the opposite order, it would incorrectly look like I had been the provocateur. At that point, several officers began snapping pictures and I am really surprised that none appear to have ever been posted anywhere on-line.
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After they got done laughing and taking pictures, one of the officers suggested that maybe this sign wasn’t such a good idea. I responded that since the drug dealers had made it clear that they would kill me if they got the chance, I really didn’t see any need to restrain myself. They would not respect me, and I did not plan to simply surrender. He then threw back at me something that I had said earlier in the evening. - “What about these old folks here. You said yourself that they are very friendly towards you and have helped you with a lot of problems before. Don’t you think that when those old ladies look out in the morning and see this profanity that they’ll be shocked and offended?”
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This officer was actually being pretty damn sensible with his advice. No matter how bad things are, they can always become worse - and this message could very likely have been the means for that to happen. Unfortunately, by this time I was both exhausted and still very pissed. I just told the officer I would consider removing the message later. I finally laid down to rest around five in the morning. The message on the side of the house remained at that time.
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I moved my sleeping bag to an area of the house that was away from the exterior walls. I was surrounded by my Glock, my shotgun, my flashlight and a few other necessities. Both guns were loaded and ready to fire because, as unsafe as that might seam, I really felt there was a good chance that someone would either drive by and shoot at my house or perhaps even try to kick in the door. Before I laid down to sleep, I unscrewed the light bulbs that were controlled by the switches near the doors. Needless to say, I slept with my boots on that night.
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I set my alarm to go off in one hour. When it went off, I went outside and circled the house a couple of times. I continued this limited sleeping pattern throughout the night/morning. I was pretty stressed out and if I had ended up getting into a confrontation with anybody at that time, I am fairly certain I would have ended up either in jail or dead as a result. Luckily, it remained quiet here for the next several hours.
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Next Post: A Desperate Situation Becomes Worse
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Taking It To The Street: October 17, 2006

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Crack On Credit: October 14-16, 2006

The following day, Saturday, I looked out my front window to see Sherrod standing on the sidewalk. He was not on my property at that time, so I just watched for a while. He had something in his hands and was shuffling them like a deck of cards. I could tell they weren’t cards, but didn’t know exactly what they were. Then, a man came up to buy crack from him. In lieu of payment, this man handed Sherrod his driver’s license as collateral. I would estimate that Sherrod had five or six different licenses in his hands at that time.


By this point I was more amused than angry or concerned. Heck, I’m a student of economics, and here I was getting a real life lesson in the black-market economy. If I pay close enough attention to what is going on here, I might become as famous as the guy who studied the use of cigarettes for money in the POW camps. But then Sherrod had to go and ruin all the fun. I still have no idea why in the hell he did this, but he reached over and placed a single license on the edge of my front porch, then walked away.


I immediately went out to retrieve the card. My gut instinct was telling me to cut it up, then put the pieces on the sidewalk. I also considered just keeping it inside the house and waiting to see if Sherrod, or anyone else, would come to ask about it. But I realized that idea might backfire and if I was caught by the police with someone else’s license it would probably get me in trouble. So I called the police.


It seemed so trivial, calling the police because a man had placed someone’s license on my porch, but if I don’t report this stuff then FWPD could simply continue to deny that it was even happening. As I was explaining things to the officers, Sherrod turned the corner a block away and started walking back this way. I pointed him out and the officer walked over and met him a half block from my house. Sherrod just laughed as the officers were talking to him and pointing at me. After a few minutes they let him go. I couldn’t see, but I wonder if they just went ahead and gave the license back to him, even though it was not his own.


Well, quietly talking with the police wasn’t working. Posting seven no trespassing signs wasn’t working. And lighting up the corner like the blazing sun wasn’t working. I finally decided it was time to stop being subtle. The following Monday (October 16) I made a 2’ x 4’ sign and posted it on the side of my house. Included on the sign was a copy of the letter I had sent to Chief York. By the time I took this picture of the sign, it had sustained some water damage, but I thought it looked pretty good when I first put it up.

Okay, Except for that one spelling error, it looked good!

Free Clothes - Better Check The Pockets: October 10-13, 2006

I had been watching a group of people on the corner and sometimes in my yard for a couple hours in the evening. This was only a few hours after Chief York had been out here to investigate the neighborhood himself. I was trying to be patient with FWPD. Even if they really were trying to address the problems here, I still realized that it would take time to make a plan for countering these activities. I took York’s appearance here as a positive sign from FWPD, so I decided to give them a break tonight. I would just go out and talk to the guys out front myself.

I decided to shake things up a bit by going out the back door. I was going to walk between the houses and surprise them. Doing this, I would most likely have actually caught them when they were still in my yard, which would make their claims of “We’re just standing on the sidewalk” void. I opened the door and looked down to see something lying on my back porch. I turned the light on and realized that it was a very large pear of sweat pants. I picked them up and tossed them inside the house.

I walked out the back again, but the light had alerted the guys that I was coming and they were already a half block away when I got to the front yard. Lying in my grass was a black leather jacket. I picked it up and started to take it inside the house too. Then, realizing that it could easily have drugs inside the pockets, I just stuffed it inside the trash can instead. The trash was already setting out at the curb, so I figured I couldn’t be blamed for what might be inside of the jacket.

I got in the car and started heading to meet some friends, a bit late already because of the laundry problem. It was ten in the evening, and I was going to a local bar. I knew it would probably be pretty late by the time I got home. This was similar to what had happened in 2003, when my house was broken into, and I really didn’t want a repeat of that. These guys had seen me leave, and they probably figured then that the yard (or anything else they wanted) was theirs for a while. I had almost arrived at my destination when I decided to turn around.

I came back to the house, expecting to see the group back there. The way I felt at that moment, if any of them had been in my yard then, I probably would have drove right across the sidewalk and parked in my front yard next to them. But when I got to the house, it was quiet. I drove the block a couple times just to see if anyone was lurking about, but it was all clear. Now I was getting even more pissed. I was almost an hour late by this time, and I still didn’t feel comfortable leaving my house. And a big part of this discomfort was because I knew that if those guys did come back, and the police happened to drive by, they probably wouldn’t even give them a second look.

So this time, instead of driving to meet my friends, I drove to the police station on East Creighton Ave. I really felt like just going inside and cussing out the first person I encountered. I was really getting tired of all these overpaid pricks with badges, pretending that they were serving the public, when in actuality they just don’t seem to give a damn. But I also knew that my first contact would probably not even be a police officer. In fact, it would probably be a white-haired little old lady.

So I waited till I calmed down a bit. As I went inside, I had a copy of the letter that I had recently sent to Chief York. I was going to try and be as civil as possible but basically, I intended to demand that FWPD respond to my complaint. Anything would suffice at that point - yes, no, we didn’t know about this problem, we don’t have the manpower to deal with it, fuck you - anything that is except the silence of a non-response, which seems to be FWPD’s basic M.O.

When I got to the front desk, I saw something that truly amazed me - a uniformed police officer. I explained the situation to him including the letter, Chief York’s appearance here earlier in the day, and the guys who were still selling drugs in my front yard and leaving their clothes there. I held up the letter to the window as I was speaking and he asked to see it. Officer Marcy actually acted quite professional that night. He didn’t get angry at my agitated behavior, and he truly seemed to sympathize with my situation. He asked if he could have the letter and as I handed it to him he looked me straight in the eye and said “I will personally see that Vice and Narcotics gets this in the morning.”

As my blood pressure was lowering to the point where I could begin to see clearly and think rationally again, I realized that Officer Marcy looked familiar. I would not bet my life on it, but I think he might have been the plainclothes officer I saw back in 2003 when Bernie was caught hiding his gun in my bushes. I didn’t mention this to him, as I thought that might make him nervous if I was right. And besides, FWPD still refuses to release a copy of this report to me, so officially he was never really here.

Three days later, on Friday, I re-installed my set of outdoor lights. This was the 100’ cord that had a bright bulb every 10’. I just wanted to make sure everybody, including the police, could read my no-trespassing signs.

For The Record: October 5-10, 2006

On Thursday, October 5, I sent my letter to FWPD Chief York. A copy of it is attached at the end of this post. The following Tuesday (October 10), I received the receipt acknowledging that the letter had been received. A few hours after that, I saw something that truly surprised me.
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I had noticed for a while that Officer Rice was becoming a regular fixture in this neighborhood. He not only responded to calls here, but would often park for five to ten minutes just to observe what was going on. The alley behind my house was one of his favorite spots. On this particular day, he had been parked there for a while. I looked away for a few minutes, then when I checked again he had pulled out of the alley a bit and was getting out and walking towards a car that was parked along the side of the street.
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As is common here, more officers quickly showed up. A second patrol car arrived on the scene from the south and parked on the opposite side of the street. A few minutes later another police vehicle arrived from the north. It had no markings, but I could see the FWPD emblem on the plate. An officer wearing blue jeans, a brown leather jacket, and glasses got out and conferred with the other officers. It was Chief York.
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I’m not sure exactly what was going on there, but it looked like Chief York was just observing as the officers pulled two men out of the car and began searching it. The police ended up arresting the passenger in this car, and they also had the car towed away. The driver, however, was released and immediately walked across the street to join a group standing in front of Carl’s drug house. It’s interesting to note that while the driver was a black male, the arrested passenger was a white male. This fact alone means it is more than likely that he was not a regular player here. And if the driver was setting someone up for the police, better a stranger than a friend.
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If there were drugs found in the car, it’s hard to understand how the police could arrest the passenger and not the driver. And it is most likely, because of were he went to after the police let him go, that he was connected to the drug activities here. Maybe the passenger had something on his person, or maybe he had an active warrant. Then again, it’s possible that the driver was working for the police. Maybe he picked that particular time and spot to sell drugs to the passenger just so the police could pick him up.
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This is just one of the many things I have witnessed here over the years that leave a lot of questions unanswered. And I’m sure a guy in my position, being just a lowly tax-paying citizen, will probably never have most of them answered. But I did feel like I got one answer to something important that day. I had only seen Chief York here one other time, and that was related to an arson/attempted homicide.
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His appearance here that day for something that appeared so trivial, and just after having received my letter, led me to believe that he was actually being responsive to my plea for help. I suspect, after reading my letter, he probably told certain officers in this area to call him when something was happening so he could come and see for himself just what exactly was going on here. I certainly don’t expect the Chief of Police to personally respond to every call here, but the fact that he came out himself that one time did make me feel good and boosted my confidence in the entire department. Unfortunately this feeling wouldn’t last long.
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By the way, to this day I have still never received a formal acknowledgement from FWPD that they even received this letter, let alone what they intended to do to support it. Even though I showed them what it should look like, this still allows FWPD to bury their head in the sand and claim that such a thing as a no-trespass order does not exist.

A Novel Idea: September 2006

I came home from work and saw a small plastic baggie setting on the steps of my front porch. I started to walk past it when I realized it had something in it. I looked closer and realized it was pot, although just a very small amount. I just brushed it aside and started to go on inside the house. I had just finished a twelve hour shift at the factory and I really didn’t have the energy to deal with this bullshit. Then Arlen called to me and motioned for me to come to him.

I walked over to his porch and he said “I got something to tell you. Those boys are using your yard while your gone again.” I told him what was in the baggie that I had brushed aside and asked him what he thought I could do about it. His first suggestion was to shoot them. We talked for a few minutes about why this really wouldn’t be a good idea. His next suggestion was to call the police, and we both agreed that this would probably have no impact on the problem.

I was about to walk away when Arlen told me that he sometimes sees them taking my chairs off the porch and setting on them on the sidewalk. I told him I could tell things had been moved around sometimes. I joked that I was lucky, I suppose, that they at least had the courtesy to return them when they were done. Then Arlen mentioned that they sometimes stash their drugs in my mailbox while setting on my porch.

At this point I could easily go off on another tirade about how FWPD seems to ignore the illegal activities here, but I’ve done that numerous times already. I’ll just give the short version and say that it is amazing that after so many years of trying to communicate with the police about what is going on here, and ask for their help, they still allow these guys to set on chairs on the public sidewalk and set on my porch while selling their drugs. It’s really difficult to believe that the criminals here would act so brazenly if they weren’t being sanctioned by at least certain members of FWPD.

After talking with Arlen for a while, I decided that I’d go ahead and call FWPD to report what I had found. I needed to get stuff like this on record in case I came out to get the mail one afternoon and ended up unknowingly holding a bag of crack or post. At this point, almost all the only cops I had met were a bunch of assholes. Hell, they’d probably love to pin a bogus drug charge on me because it would make their job so much easier without me here to complain about what was going on.

Officer Powell was the first to arrive at my house and he recognized what was in the bag even before he reached down to pick it up. I told him I wanted a report filed for this and I wanted to get a copy of it. I felt this was necessary because by this point I was convinced that a lot of what FWPD does here does not go on the record. As Officer Powell was waiting for a control number, we spoke about the situation here.

Officer Powell seemed genuinely concerned as I told him what I knew about what was constantly happening on and near my property, but he really didn’t have any useful advice to offer. Of course he said I should call whenever I see something going on, but what about what happens when I am not here. Is there no way to notify FWPD that drug dealers are using my home as a front for their activities, other then to tell the officers one-by-one as I happen to meet them?

I brought up the subject of a no-trespass order and Officer Powell didn’t seem to understand what I was saying. I stated it as clearly as possible. I explained that I think a lot of officers just drive past these guys because they assume they live here. In a high crime area such as this, there should be a way for a resident to officially notify FWPD that drug dealers are frequently trespassing on their property. With this notification, the police would then be able to question people here without suffering charges of harassment. Officer Powell agreed that this sounded like a good idea, but had no idea how to implement it.

Evidently no one else knew how to implement it either because Officer Powell went back to his car and spent the next ten minutes speaking with someone on his radio about this. While this was going on, Officer Rogers pulled up and parked beside him. You might recall that he was the cop who tried to blame me for not doing enough to fight the drug activities here earlier in the year. I couldn’t hear all of their conversation, but I did hear when Officer Rogers looked my way and asked “Why doesn’t he just put up a no trespassing sign?” What a novel idea, I wonder why I never thought of that.

A no-trespassing sign alone is meaningless if the police aren’t clued in to what it means or if they‘re not on board with helping to enforce it. I could have a hundred signs up and the police might still assume that the drug dealers out front lived here and had put them up themselves. The police are always more reluctant to question someone when they are at a house that looks like it is occupied, rather than on the street or standing in an empty lot. So for these drug dealers, standing on my property really was safer for them than standing on the sidewalk. I would need more than just a sign to change this. I would need actual communication between myself and FWPD.

Officer Rogers left and Officer Powell came back to my porch to speak with me. Up to this point, I wasn‘t even sure if such a thing as a no-trespass order even existed. I had suggested the concept to Officer Marshall back in 2003, but it was he who called it by that name. He promised to get this form for me, but he failed to follow through on it. Every time since then that I’ve mentioned this to another officer I get a crazy look as if they’re wondering just what the hell a no-trespass order is. Officer Powell’s instructions to me seemed to clear up the confusion though. This is, verbatim, what he said after he got done talking on the radio. “Okay, I spoke with my dispatch, and they said what you need to do is go to the front desk at the police station on Creighton and request a no-trespass order for your home. They’ll take care of you.”

Officer Powell then said that I needed to put up a no-trespassing sign on my property also. He said this was for legal reasons because if they searched someone on my property they could claim they were not warned to stay off. This was looking pretty good now. I found another cop who seemed to give a damn and didn’t have his head up his ass. I was going to put up a sign to notify the dealers to stay away, and FWPD was going to respond to these signs by notifying their officers that they should question or search people that they find on my property.

Two days later I stopped at FWPD headquarters. I walked up to the window and told the lady there I needed to get a no-trespass order for my home. She had no idea what I was talking about. She called two other ladies over and I explained the situation to them. They called a man out and after the four of them conferred for a few minutes they gave me a name and number to call. Great, more bureaucracy in action. I was told to go to the station, but once there I was told to go home and make a call. But at least I was one step closer to finally getting that order in place.

The next morning I called the number and said I needed to get a no-trespass order. The person I spoke with had no idea what I was talking about. After I explained exactly what it was I needed, she said “I don’t even know why they’d send you to me for something like that. This is the property room.”

Okay, this is just comical now. I went in to request a no-trespassing order. That would be a legal document that authorizes the police to question people on my property. And I asked for this specifically because I was instructed to do so by an FWPD officer. Yet the people at the front desk had no idea what I was talking about so they sent me to the property room. The best sense I can make of this is that they thought I was looking for a no-trespassing sign, which of course can be purchased at any hardware store for a buck.

At this point I basically pleaded with the woman I was speaking with. I explained how bad things were at my house, and the problems I was having in communicating with FWPD. I asked if there was anything she could suggest that might help. She put me on hold for a few minutes then came back and said she had just explained my problem to an officer and here is what he said I needed to do. “You should draw up your own no-trespassing order, authorizing our officers to question people on your property, and send it to Chief York. Give him a little background information about what is going on there so he will be able to understand what the problem is. Make sure and sign this paper and send it by certified mail.”

I had to give this some thought now. I needed to figure out a way to explain the situation here concisely. I had to say enough so that Chief York would understand me, but not so much that it would be burdensome to understand. I knew it would take a while before I could get to this. But there was something I did first. A few days later, I tacked up seven no-trespassing signs on my house and shed.

Note: I remind the reader that I am using pseudonyms to identify the people in this story. While these names may at times coincide with real persons, such as Officer Rogers here, that is merely a coincidence. I have assigned the names here randomly.

The Milkshake Man: August 2006

There are a lot of the guys here who’s names I never get to know. If they’re around long enough, I can usually pick up at least their street name. And if they actually live here, then I probably know their legal name as well. But they rotate a lot, and every summer there seems to be a new group that joins the club. I need to have some way of referencing these unknowns in my journal, so a long time ago I adopted the convention of naming them JD-1, JD-2, JD-3, etc.

It is really fun when I finally figure out the name of one of these John Does. I have to scan through my journal and try to find anytime their name appears and change it. I’ve also found that the JD terminology is not the best because I sometimes get them confused. Sometimes there is a memorable event that allows me to give them a unique nickname. This is preferable because, whenever I see this name in my report, I immediately can recall who it is that I am referring to.

There’s one guy here that I first encountered four years ago. I still refer to him as “Kroger” because of the time I ran into him at the Southgate Kroger store and we had an interesting exchange of words. There’s another guy that I used to refer to as “Shovel”, until I figured out his real name. Then there’s the guy who I affectionately refer to as the “Milkshake Man”, and here’s the story of how that came to be. I’ll refer to him now as Howard.

I don’t recall having seen Howard here before the summer of 2006. I never had any words with him because he was usually pretty low key. I never once saw him standing in my yard or tossing trash down. Yeah, he stood on the corner a lot, and I’m fairly certain he was selling drugs, but like I’ve said before I don’t have the time or energy to go after every dealer, so I just focus on the most obnoxious.

But this August afternoon was a bit different. Howard first made his presence known to me when he parked along the side of my house and started blasting his car stereo. This is actually unusual here because most of the dealers are on foot. For the next half hour or so, I watched as Howard sold drugs from the corner. He was occasionally joined by others but he stayed the entire time. When I saw him throw his food wrapper in my grass, I got really pissed.

I debated for a minute whether I should call the police, but decided to take care of it myself. When I walked outside, I was unsure of what I would say or do. I wasn’t even sure who all was out there at the time because I had a few blind spots. Mainly, I just wanted to make my presence known, and see what kind of reaction I got. So I walked out front and down the side of the house where Howard was now standing alone.

As I walked past him he said “What’s up?” with a pleasant tone. I didn’t respond and kept walking. When I got to my back porch, I saw a nearly full milkshake cup that was setting on the edge of my back porch. I stared at it for a moment thinking that I might turn around and ask Howard if it was his. At this point though, something clicked inside my head. As I thought about all the times I had asked the drug dealers not to set themselves or their stuff on my property, and all the times they said okay, and all the times they continued to do it again, I got even more pissed.

I am pretty certain that if I had said anything to Howard or he had said anything to me at that moment it probably would have turned into a physical confrontation because of the anger building up inside me. I needed a release, so I palmed the cup and sent it flying out into the street. I wasn’t really aiming, and the cup missed the front bumper of Howard’s car by only about a foot. I turned to walk back to the front of the house and as I passed Howard I said “What’s up?”

I stood in my front yard for a minute and watched as Howard walked over to look at his car. He appeared to be checking to see if any of the milkshake had gotten on it. I was seriously expecting him to come at me, the only question was whether he would have a weapon. Instead, he hopped in the car and tore up the pavement driving away.

I sat out front for the next half hour or so because I was expecting Howard to come back with a friend or two. I contemplated calling the police, but I really didn’t see the point in doing so. I had no information other than to tell them that “some guy” was probably pissed at me because I tossed his milkshake. And if he did happen to return to the area, he would have seen any police on the scene and turned before he got to my house. I haven’t seen Howard here since that happened. But whenever I see a milkshake cup (especially a Zesto’s shake), it immediately conjures up an image of him in my mind.

Please Don’t Wake The Sleeping Crackhead: July 2006

I went outside one morning and discovered Gordon in my front yard. His jacket was spread out and he was lying on it with his eyes closed. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or just sleeping so I walked over and called his name. As he slowly got up, it became apparent that he was pretty high. Without saying a word, he started to wander away. When I asked him to take his jacket with him he seemed a bit bothered by my request.

For the next hour Gordon came and went, frequently selling drugs to people all the while. He was staying off my property, and I was busy working on my house, so I just tried to ignore him as best I could. This was made difficult however as he kept mumbling incoherently and loudly. It was difficult to tell whether he was speaking to me or just to himself, so again, I tried to ignore him.

At one point he started rambling on about how his head hurt. The way he was hollering, I expected to see blood as I turned towards him. Instead, he was holding his hands over his ears and saying “Man, why do you have to make all that noise? Can’t you work somewhere else?” I put down my tools, walked over to him, and explained that if he thought that I was going to schedule my home-improvement projects around his drug-dealing activities, that he was very mistaken. He apologized and said I had misunderstood him. He continued coming and going from the area for the next hour, but with no further complaints about my noise.

My phone rang, so I stepped inside for about five minutes. I had a lot of tools out, but they seemed pretty safe being on my porch, and the front door was left standing open. When I came back outside and got back to work, I discovered that my circular saw was missing. Things were pretty messy out there, and if it had been something smaller like a tape measure or box cutter I would have just assumed I had misplaced it. But it’s hard to lose a circular saw, and the cord that it had been plugged into was still there, so obviously it had been swiped. And I had a pretty good idea who took it.

I called the police to report this. I seriously didn’t expect them to find or even to look for my saw. But by this point I had decided that I needed to make sure that things were being documented. In the past, most of the times that I had called the police here or otherwise been involved with them I didn’t ask for a copy of their report. But as time went on I realized that without obtaining a police report on a particular incident, I had no way of knowing what was being said by FWPD or even if reports were actually filed. So I gave the information, asked for the officer's name and the report number, and went back to work.

A few minutes later, Brian walked over and asked what the police were doing here. Brian is one of the older guys here. Although he was probably a major player back in the day, his business activities here are very rare and very quiet. I’ve always gotten along well with him after the time he told me that some kids were trying to climb into my house through a window I’d left open. I explained to Brian what had happened and who I suspected of taking the saw. I told Brian that I was getting tired of what was going on here and that I am going to start calling the police more frequently if the problems persist.

A couple hours later, I was still working out front when I noticed a patrol car had stopped in the middle of the street beside my house. Just then, Carl came walking towards me, carrying my saw. He said he had found it in the empty lot behind my house and heard that I had lost a saw. For a brief moment, I almost responded angrily towards Carl. My saw had been stolen and he now had it in his hands. But I quickly realized there was a more likely explanation than that Carl had stolen my saw.

When I refer to Carl and some of the others here as businessmen rather than just drug dealers, this might seem odd to some people. This terminology might seem to imbue them with more dignity than is deserved. But my choice of wording has absolutely nothing to do with the righteousness of their activities. There is a significant difference between the guys who seem to want to make trouble here, and guys like Carl who make more money with less hassle. My calling these guys businessmen is no different than referring to someone as a professional thief. You can be good at what you do, even if what you do is bad.

Stealing an old saw that is only worth about twenty bucks, and getting the police called out for it, is not a good business strategy. But resolving the problem is. It’s possible that Carl actually did just happen to find the saw lying around. But I think it’s more likely that he had heard from Brian what I said about calling the police. And it’s likely that he didn’t have much trouble finding who took the saw and where it was at.

My statement that day to the guys here was that I had called the police because of the stolen saw, not because of the crackhead who had been wondering around the block all day. And they responded by getting my saw returned to me. I thanked Carl and shook his hand, then went over to the police officer who was watching the entire time. I explained to him that I didn’t think Carl had taken the saw and I was satisfied now that it had been returned. I didn’t have the control number for the report on me, but I told this officer that Officer Kissinger had filed it. I asked that he mention to Officer Kissinger that the saw had been recovered so that he could amend his report.

When I think back on this day, I still laugh a bit. I don’t think the patrol car was in sight when Carl began approaching my house with the stolen saw. And by the time it caught up to him he had nowhere to go other than to continue on towards me. If I had acted on my initial impulse, I would have shouted at Carl and accused him of being a thief. And of course him holding the saw with the police officer as a witness would make his explanation of “I just found it” seem pretty lame.

I think that Carl and I both gained a good understanding of each other that day. We certainly have some significant differences between us: he’s a drug dealer and I’m not. But I think we have something in common in our style. One could debate the morality or the intelligence of deciding to be a drug dealer, but without knowing all the circumstances that led Carl to this it really is meaningless. But knowing the position Carl is currently in, and his current options, I would generally characterize his behavior as very rational.

For reasons that are unknown to me, Carl has decided to sell drugs, but he tries to do so in a sensible fashion. Not only does he not purposely try to offend the residents here, as many of the dealers do, but he actually works to maintain cordial relations or solve disagreements between the two groups. My assessment of Carl as being a rational actor was what led to an interesting conversation between the two of us later in the year. And I believe Carl’s own assessment of my rational behavior was what convinced him to help smooth over a very serious rift between myself and some of the other dealers here.