I'm Thankful I Wasn't in Ferguson, Missouri

The year was 2002. It was the last day of the year. I had a stray day of vacation left to burn, to either use or lose. My plan was to sleep in a bit late, get ready and head over to our building in Louisville to putter about unhurriedly before treating myself to a leisurely lunch. No particular project was in need of completion. We had plans for the evening, so what time I spent at the building promised to be relatively brief. The last thing my wife said as I left was to make certain I made the deposit at the bank, so it would be caught in the final accounting for the year.

I arrived at the building around 10:00 AM, checked a few things and headed down to the basement. Today, the basement is mostly populated by artists and tradesmen. At that time, it was occupied by some guys making concrete countertops. They were dirty, undependable, careless, and prone to accidents. The perfect tenant, you might say. But, I was sure, their chronic irritation would be less so on this day since they had recently given notice of moving in a couple months, and since I had the leisurely day planned out already. I wasn't going to let it bother me anyhow. While chatting with the concrete company's owner, one of yutziest of his yutzes dislodged a sprinkler head. Glad that I was there for that near catastrophe, I calmly walked over to the main shutoff valve for the sprinkler system to avoid the inevitable watery chaos.

Apparently, as I moved the huge valve to shut off the water, I must have also disengaged a key component of my logic or cognitive system. Had I not just discussed with the maintenance man where I worked how to drain the system and reset it? A piece of cake, and a minor delay, nothing else. I was still intent on having a couple brews with my long-anticipated lunchtime leisure, but I also didn't want to pay an exorbitant bill to the sprinkler company if I didn't have to. So I set about on a series of Rube Goldberg innovations designed to avoid calling the sprinkler company. Each segment of the plan was daft, and doomed in its own way. Each failure placed my leisurely lunch a bit farther out of reach. As the water continued to flow out the drain I accepted that I was having to reschedule, now for a late-leisurely lunch. (I think I might even have had a special cigar in reserve to enhance the relaxing mood I knew was just around the corner)

Inevitably, I called the sprinkler company to shut the water off and reset the system. Hours ticked away. A check was written. A leisurely lunch eluded me. A woman's voice gently chided me to do just one thing before I headed home--MAKE THAT BANK DEPOSIT BEFORE THE YEAR MELTS AWAY. That gentle reminder seeped into my brain at about twelve minutes before the bank was to close, and the bank was about ten minutes away.

I ran out the door, jumped in the car and was making great time until some annoying red and blue flashing lights invaded my rear view mirror. I stopped the car, threw the door open and stormed back to the guy in the offensively illuminated car. He scolded me, and told me to go get back in my car and await his return, as he checked my license plate to verify the car's rightful owner. (I always travel with a blood pressure gauge and as I awaited his return to my car door I amused myself by seeing how high I could get the numbers to climb.)

When the cop returned to my car door, he said, "let's start this over." It turned out he didn't like the sight of a man in a black coat, with anger in his eyes, charging toward his car. He said he felt threatened and wondered if he was going to see his little three year old girl that night. I know I'm a gentle soul. I don't own a gun. I meant the cop no harm. But I was truly and fully pissed off, and he was not helping matters by going on about running stop signs and not wearing seat belts. I allowed as how I might have been a bit overwrought, and the tension somewhat abated. He chuckled and said, "You know, you almost got a taste of my Mag Light." I contemplated how the loss of my front teeth in such an incident might further jaundice my perception of the police.

As this article highlights, the Louisville police force around that very time was not doing its utmost to promote good community relations.

And now these dozen years later, incident piles on incident of police shooting, beating, singling out black men. The ones who make the news, maybe didn't get a chance, or at least not the same chance I got, to chill, and "start this over." I still have my teeth, but many of the black men who run up against the law taste the Mag Light, or feel the sting of a billy club. Some police forces are like mini-armies. Local police forces have armed up with surplus gear shed by our foreign military adventures.

I don't have any answers on how to reduce police over-reaction. Being a cop is a job I know I couldn't and wouldn't do. But, I have a pretty good idea that the day I had planned on having a leisurely year-end lunch might have worked out much differently if I were black.