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.


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