Felony Arrest #2 Part 1

December 7, 1975

It’s about 8:45 on Sunday morning in Long Beach California. I’m driving down Cherry Street, on my way to a Sunday morning early mass softball league game.

What happened next, happened so fast that at first, I couldn’t believe it was real. One minute I’m the only car on Cherry Street and the next I’m surrounded by angry policemen pointing guns at me. The first thing I saw was a cop car behind me with his lights on. He’s screaming at me, over a loudspeaker to stop my car. As I start to pull over, two more of them came from the opposing lanes and skidded to a stop in front of me, blocking my way. Before I know it, there are at least 4 or 5 of them.

It very quickly became obvious that this wasn’t going to be a routine traffic stop. My first clue, was that the police were all hiding behind their cars, pointing pistols and shotguns at me! One of them is screaming at me to exit my vehicle and to walk backwards towards him. I do so for several steps, and he then tells me to get on my knees, and then to lay face down in the street. Just about the time I lay down, several of them jumped on me. I was already laying pretty darn flat, and the several knee drops that were inflicted on me didn’t help me get any closer to the ground. I don’t remember ever getting manhandled any worse than these guys did to me.

I eventually end up handcuffed and ordered to get up. Have you ever seen the TV show "cops," or the end of a police chase on TV? If so, you’ve probably seen how a cop or two “helps” the suspect get up by lifting up on his wrists and arms that are already behind his back. Well, let me tell you from experience, it hurts like a bitch when they do that. When they lift up on your wrists, your body wants to face plant into the ground. I don’t know if it’s judo, or just physics. Either way, the cops are in total control at this point.

Now I’m roughly shoved up against one of their cars and searched. It didn’t take very long you see, because after all, I was wearing a baseball uniform, and it only had one pocket.

After the search is over, I’m propelled into the back of a police car. I’m not too happy about it, because nobody told me to duck my head, or put their hand on the back of my head to guide me into the car. They just pushed me and allowed my head to slam into the door frame. Once I’m in the car, one of the cops bends over and says, “oh yeah, watch your head” and then slams the door. It only took a few seconds for the blood to start running down my forehead, and into my eyes. And of course I can’t do anything about it, because my hands are cuffed behind me.

Of course, I’m totally pissed at this point. I’ve had my face pushed into the street, I’m bleeding from the head, and the handcuffs are killing my wrists. Now I'm watching them tear my car apart. Not that there was much to tear apart. It was a old VW, and all that was in it was my baseball glove, my cleats, and a bowling ball and shoes. My car wouldn’t lock, so one of the cops told me I’d have to take the stuff with me to jail, because my car was going to be towed. I told them to take the glove, but I'd rather have the bowling ball stolen, than to check it in at the jail.  I mean seriously, how embassasing would that be? 

All this time nobody is telling me what's going on. I asked about 10 times and the answers ranged from, “you know what’s happening,” to “don’t play dumb, asshole,” or to just “shut the fuck up!”  Finally, somebody comes up to the car door and tells me I’m being arrested for armed robbery, and reads me my rights.

Armed robbery? What the hell? I’m on my way to a friggin soft ball game. I’m wearing a uniform. I’m not drunk, I’m not high, I don’t have an open container, and don't I have any drugs. Nothing!!! All I could think of was to tell them that they had the wrong guy, because I haven’t robbed anybody. The same guy asked me for permission to send somebody to search my house. I asked him if they would get a search warrant anyway, if I said no. He said they would. So I said no. My girl friend was asleep there, and there just might be some things in there I’d rather they not discover, if you know what I mean…

Eventually, I’m driven to the downtown police station on Ocean Boulevard.  On the way, we were driving by the baseball field where I was going to play. I asked the cop who was driving, if he could drive slowly by the field and honk his horn, so maybe my friends would see me and try to find out what had happened. Much to my surprise, he did it. Now maybe somebody would come and get me, when this all got straightened out, or they could post bail, or whatever it took.

The rest of the short drive was pretty uneventful. When we got there the squad car went down a ramp, and parked by a door at the back of the building. He walked me through a door, and up to a small counter that was set in an opening in a large chain link cage. The policeman behind the fence looked at the one checking me in and said, “Is this the nigger?” My cop didn’t say anything, but I did. I told him I didn’t do anything. He just started laughing and said “that’s what everybody who walks through that door says, nigger!”

“Well, it’s true in my case and why are you calling me that?” I asked. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but never that. I’m totally white. So he wasn’t really insulting me at all. I didn’t get it!

“Don’t give me any lip, you fucking hippy, you’re in enough trouble as it is!” Okay, I get this one. It hit right on the mark. I hadn’t had a hair cut in a few years, so okay, I get it. But I still didn’t feel insulted.          (part two tomorrow...)

Felony Arrest #1 Part 2

My Roommates Bev and Darlene, promised me a “just out of jail surprise” when I got home. Later that same evening, they cooked me a homemade dinner. To be truthful, I’m not sure if the meal was as good as the one I had the night before in jail (and that one was terrible). They were in a very good mood and were happy that I was home.  Or maybe, they were happy to know that I would be around to pay my third of the rent.

I didn’t sleep well at all in jail the night before, so I called it a night and headed for my room. My water bed* was going to be so comfortable, compared to spending the night on a cot. I climbed in, covered up, and jumped out the bed as quickly as I could in total horror! Something alive was in my bed. I must have screamed like a school girl, because my roommates came bursting through the door laughing.

I pulled back the covers to discover a bunch of old sprouted potatoes between the sheets, at the foot of the bed. When they said they had a surprise for me, I thought they were talking about the dinner…

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* That’s right people! It was a water bed, centered on a large Persian rug, with a tapestry for a bedspread. There was an incense burner, black light, and a bong on the “brick and board” stereo and book shelf.  A couple of bean bag chairs in one corner and a “spool table” for a night stand. There were several fluorescent (hence the black light) posters on the walls; Grateful Dead, Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, and “war is not healthy for children and other living things…” My room was full of the standard, long hair, pot-head accoutrements of the era. If IKEA had been around in those days, I wonder if they’d have that set-up in one of their little display rooms?

Felony Arrest #1 Part 1

Those of you who know me, or have followed my blog for awhile, will not be very surprised by the next several posts.  I've never hid the fact that I've lived an "interesting" life, and have had more than a few 'brushes with the law" in my youth.  Following my self imposed policy of "full-disclosure" is important to me.
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July 10, 1972

One particularly warm summer night, my friend Charlie and I were cruising around in his ‘67 VW. I guess you could say we were up to no good, but all we were really doing, was trying to stay cool. A hot summer night, windows down, we’ve all done it.

As luck would have it, bad luck, we found ourselves in the lovely little town of Hawaiian Gardens. The only thing tropical, or resort like about this place was the name. Not a total ghetto, but you sure had to keep your wits about you while there. Rents were cheap and a lot of people lived there for that reason alone. Some friends of ours lived there.

My memory usually doesn’t fail me when it comes to past events, but I’m a little blurry on this one. We may have just been going there to visit, or we may have been there to conduct a little business.  It could have been either one, or both.

Anyway, our friends lived in a small apartment building, and we had just pulled into the parking lot in front of the place, when we were bathed in spotlights and blinking colored lights from an LA County Sheriff’s patrol car. Oh crap!

“Get your hands where I can see them! “
“Driver, get out of the car!”
“Passenger, get out of the car!”
Etc, etc, etc. We’ve all seen it enough times on television. I won’t bore you.

They split us up, frisked us, handcuffed us, and grilled us. Apparently, they “saw” us smoking a joint while driving. We weren’t. They “saw” us get rid of the joint when we saw them. We didn’t. Within a few minutes it became crystal clear to us both, that we were in fact guilty of something. It wasn’t what they accused us of though; we were guilty of simply driving through their beat with long hair!

I can only speak to what was going through my own mind at this point.  We weren’t high, we hadn’t been smoking a joint, and we had no drugs in the car. Of course we made no mention at all, relating to why we were there, and what we were doing. They didn’t like that very much.

I thought we were screwed because in those days any amount of drugs found on you was a felony. Ten pounds of pot, or a roach, it didn’t matter. There was nothing there, but we both knew they were gonna find something anyway.

And they did… It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Believe me, there is no way Charlie was going to lose track of anything in his car. Not only did he value his stash too much, his car was always spotless.

The assholes planted it in his car! By the way they acted; you’d have thought they just uncovered the Hope Diamond. This was not good. We all know there's a big difference between something like armed robbery, and simple possession. But not back then there wasn’t and they treated you the same. I can’t say all cops were as zealous as these two were, but a lot of them were.

So Charlie and I are sitting handcuffed in the back of the Sheriff’s car watching a tow truck take his car away. Not a good thing to see. We’re taken to the Lakewood Sheriff’s Station and booked for “Felony Possession of Marijuana.”  Again, you’d think we just killed somebody; we’re stripped, “searched” again, and put in individual cells so we can’t talk to each other. This was the first time I’d spent the night in jail, and I really didn’t like it at all. They didn’t treat us very nicely. Oh well…

I asked if I was going to be allowed to make a phone call. They said I could, but if it wasn’t local, I’d have to call collect. If nobody answered, I was shit out of luck! Nice guys! I called my two roommates (Bev and Darlene) and told them what had happened, and I’d talk to them the following day (more on that later).

About noon the following day, a Sheriff came to my cell and told me I just made bail. I found that interesting because, although I’d been booked, there couldn’t have been any bail set yet. Anyway, the guy walked me over to a desk, had me sign something, and escorted me out of the jail and into the lobby.

Much to my surprise, Charlie was already in the lobby with his folks. They were all waiting for me. Good news, bad news… I had been released without charges, because what they “found” wasn’t actually in my possession, nor was it my car. Unfortunately, it was Charlie’s car, and they were in fact going to press charges against him. That really sucked! He was tried, found guilty, and did some time for it. Actually, what he did the time for, was NOTHING….

Amazing how things turn out. If this had happened today, the amount of pot they found in his car would have resulted in a misdemeanor, if anything at all. The people didn’t change, the laws did. In my mind, they changed for the good. At least on the subject of possession of marijuana, for personal use they did… Just my opinion though…

Many years since I’ve had anything to worry about relating to that subject anyway!

Most Feared Thing Not Involving a Phobia

The thing I fear most, is losing my memories, my mind, and being forgotten. I feel fine, but something is different.

Words, names, places, and people, are disappearing. Everything is harder to find, it's slowly slipping away.  I know it's a normal part of aging, but either way, it still scares the hell out of me. Words, arguments, discussions, and stories, that's who I am. Without my own history, in my own mind, I'll have nothing.

I'm frantic about getting it all down in writing and hope I don't run out of time. I feel that I've lost a lot of my "life" stories already and I don’t know where to find them.

I've always felt that you never really die until people forget about you.  I'm not afraid of death, I'm really not afraid of it at all.  I'm afraid that I'll be forgoten.

Five Day Mail Delivery

I usually try to stay away from commenting on current events, but sometimes I just can't...

If you’ve been watching the news, or reading your local rag, you are probably aware that the U.S. Postal Service is contemplating stopping Saturday mail delivery. They’ve been talking about it for years, but in our current economic situation, it may become a huge money saving reality.

Seriously, what’s the big deal?  There is only one group of people who lobby against the change in a major way.  That group is the elderly. Of course, they don't do it themselves, but they have plenty of interest groups representing them, with AARP being the largest.

Of course you're probably thinking there is no way that AARP has that much clout in American politics.  Well, think again. There are about 300 million people in the U.S.  Of  those people, over 40 million belong to AARP.  Most members of the Senate and House of Representatives, belong to the same age demographic!

Now I'm all for "senior rights" and things like that, but Saturday delivery?  Keep in mind that most of the mail that lands in your mailbox is bulk (junk) mail.

The elderly value opening a piece of "junk" mail, as much as they value a visit from an old friend! Many old timers not only read it, they respond to it, and obey what it says as if it were a court order. To them, a day without mail, is like a day without friends. 

Many "elderly" people, including some related to me, don't understand that if the postage on an envelope is “bulk rate,” you are not required to respond in any way. You are not required to open a new credit card. You are not required to donate money to every organization begging for it. And last but not least, you are not required to sign up to receive “collectibles” of anything, on a bi-whatever basis. Truth be told, if something is advertised as collectible, it isn’t, and it never will be.

In closing, what do you receive in the mail that is so important, that you must have it on Saturday, rather than Monday? With very few exceptions, the answer is nothing!

The Fare You Pay For Being

You can burst through time

Wielding your anger like a weapon
Or live your life in quiet desperation
Either way, it’s the price you pay
Now you just play out the string
Better luck next time
I know you didn’t ask for the pain
It’s the fare you pay for being



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Time After Time You Still Call

The anger you've held for so many years
The sadness you've stuffed behind thousands of tears
You’re still letting your mother control you today
She's not thinking of you, she has nothing to say

You still wait for her to call you a good boy

Her approval is a phantom that you’ll never see

You still look to her for love and affection

But she cannot give you what she cannot be

You’re wasting your time, you’ve much to enjoy
Either forgive her or leave her behind
She won’t approve, whatever your choice
Have your feelings; give peace to your mind


You’ve done a great deal, much to be proud of
Her blessings aren’t needed at all
She hasn’t helped you, she only hurt you
Yet time after time you still call

It’s a hard thing to do, to write off your mother

But really, what have you to lose?

For under the mad there’s a childhood of sadness

Right or happy? Happy is what you must choose

Clowns, Hallways, and Deep Water Phobias

photo source wikipedia

photo owner unknown

Everybody is afraid of something, right? I’m not talking about things like death, judgment day, guns, bullies, speaking in public, or a thousand other things. I’m also not talking about the multitude of (you fill in the blank) “phobias” that are out there. Now that I think about it, there just might be a “phobia” type prefix relating to the three things that are on my mind. I’ll be right back after a quick visit to Google.  (theme from Jeopardy playing softy in the background, while I look)
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DOH!  Another fine example of me not knowing what the hell I’m talking about.

Coulrophobia: An abnormal or exaggerated fear of clowns or mimes.

Bathophobia: People suffering from this phobia may fear deeply dimensioned volumes, like long, dark hallways, wells, deep pools, or lakes.

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Coulrophobia:
Let’s start with clowns. Do not "bring in the clowns." I hate clowns! I’m afraid of clowns! I don’t think clowns are funny at the circus, and I don’t think clowns are funny at a birthday party.  I don’t think clowns are funny at any time. Clowns are inherently evil.

Most children and adults love, or at least like clowns, but there are some of us who don’t. There are some of us who cringe at the mere thought of one. The garish face paint, those ridiculous shoes, and that fake evil smile. Smiling at me, mocking me…

There have been plenty of movies released featuring an evil clown as the primary character. Even “Chucko the clown” scared the heck out of me when I was young. Chucko was one of the hottest things on “kid’s” TV, back in the day. This should clearly indicate to you the depth of my feelings.   Now you're mocking me...

Hallway Bathophobia:
I don’t know how many pictures of long hallways, I've taken through the years. But it’s been a truckload.  I can’t explain exactly why they scare me.  But I do know that when I look towards the far end of a long hallway, I sometimes feel like I’m looking down, instead of straight ahead. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem using hallways, I just have a slight case of the willies, when I do so alone. What’s at the other end of the hallway? What’s coming down the hallway towards me? Is the hallway getting longer? Am I going to "fall into" the hallway? Am I getting even crazier?

Depth Bathophobia:
I’m certainly not afraid of baths, boats, or being in the water. I’m a good swimmer; I’ve surfed and done a lot of scuba diving. I can tread water forever! But If I can’t touch the bottom of whatever I’m swimming in, I sometimes get this eerie feeling, that something is going to come up from the depths and brush my foot, touch my foot, bite my foot, or grab my foot. And then it is going to pull me under. I get the same sensation when sitting on a surfboard, floating on the surface, feet down in scuba gear, or treading water in my own damn swimming pool.

I don’t know if it’s going to be a hand that grabs me, a tentacle, a set of jaws, or the frigging creature from the black lagoon. Have you ever jumped off a boat in the middle of the ocean, or a lake, to swim, cool off, or take a pee “check the prop?”  I've done those things many times, but I usually feel ill at ease when I do so, especially when I'm the only one in the water.

We are lucky enough to have our own backyard pool. We spend a lot of time in and around it, during nice weather. I like to sit on a basketball when in the water. When doing so, all but my head and shoulders are under water. I’m pretty good at keeping my balance on it, and it’s very relaxing. Right up until the time that I get that feeling…