[ Home | Meetings & Events | Links | Application | Message Board | Contact Us ]
outrage...
That’s the way it was, growing up on the streets of the Big City. Too much time, too many kids, an awful lot of opportunity for trouble. and that was before we even had cars!
I really did believe that I was being persecuted. After all, I never did anything! It was always the "other guys" who started all the trouble. I was just a poor innocent bystander! I finally figured out why they were chasing me. They chased me because I was running!
In Brooklyn, kids would yell "chickey-chickey, the cops!", but where I lived, it was "cheese-it". I have no idea of the origin of those phrases, but I do know that I always ran. Seemed like almost every day, somewhere, we would be running from the local constable. Even though I "didn’t do nothin’!"
The amazing thing is that we never got caught! Well, almost never. I started to grow accustomed to those trips to the local precinct house and began to know it intimately. Can’t say I got to know the police officers personally, but it seemed whenever I was there, someone would say to me "Hey, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you!"
Like I said though "I never did..." oh, you know the rest. Well, truth be told, it was all petty kid stuff, mostly irresponsible but sometimes dangerous. (Ignorance is bliss.) The most exciting aspect was always the cars that were abandoned not far from my house. This seemingly endless supply of "toys" helped build my mechanical skills and knowledge. For me, it was "finders keepers" but I would find out that society had a much different viewpoint on it.
This all became apparent after I turned sixteen. What I didn’t realize was that now I could be arrested! You know; detained, jailed, incarcerated! This experience opened my eyes. Hey, these guys are serious! Handcuffs and chains, spending the night sleeping on a board locked-up in "Fort Apache" and then waiting all day in a cell with 20 other criminals at the "Tombs" in Manhattan for arraignment could get a young man’s attention! Still, I was a slow learner. Didn’t see the bigger picture. I thought it was lucky to have been arrested on the weekend so I didn’t have to miss school.
I was within months of getting my drivers license but was confused when my probation officer asked me to drive his car to diagnose a problem. "I don’t have my license yet…" "No problem" he answered in his Jamaican accent, as he lead me to a ’66 Firebird loaded down with every gewgaw known to man. Here I was, driving illegally next to the courthouse in the South Bronx, and I thought, "I hope this car isn’t stolen!" I think I was beginning to see the difference between right and wrong. The problem with his car was easily identified and he was so happy he said he would recommend that the charges be dropped.
The upshot of all these mixed messages and experiences was that my fear of police began to grow out of control. I wasn’t sure if I was paranoid, or if I thought someone was out to get me! That diagnosis would come later. Of course, when this fear manifested itself in front of the authorities, their only conclusion could be "This guy must be up to something!"
I was constantly pulled over and questioned. Always the wise guy, I would give them a hard time, which didn’t help anything. I started driving a Volkswagon because I thought nobody would bother me. This did not help and I was harassed even more! It seemed something was always wrong — inspection, lights, tires, or lack of bumpers, and I was an easy target.
I figured the best way to alleviate this fear was to become a police officer. That never happened, of course. I couldn’t pass the psychological exam!
I grew older and began to learn something from these experiences. I realized that I was constantly pulled over because I was there. I got a full time job to get me off the streets and realized that if you only drive during rush hour, the cops are too busy to hassle you!
Now, when I’m cruising in my roadster and a cop is looking at me as if he’s itching to write me up, I take off my baseball cap and give him a good look at my (now) bald head. This works every time. "Oh, he’s just an old man. I guess he can’t possibly be causing anybody any trouble."
