“Words of Peace in a World of Hate” original title
I
have dealt with an extreme form of prejudice while growing up in the 70’s and
being mullatto in a white home. I received hate from both blacks and whites. I
often had to fight and was tormented with racial slurs by bullies and groups of
one race or the other. My father did his best to ordain a higher ideal in me,
that of peace. I did my best to be friends with people. The cultures’ of N.W.
Washington D.C. were struggling to understand and acclimate to equal rights for
races. I being a mullatto person in this time of strife was the target of
tension, and it was easily aimed at me.
None
of this could truly ready me for a traumatic event, which I would have to
experience, spurned by hate and delivered by the police. It was January 13th,
1990 when the most terrifying event of my life occurred taking the life I had
built with it. I was living with my children’s mother; furthermore, she was in
her 38th week carrying David our first. She had a doctor’s
appointment that day. I got a friend to take her because I had to go to work
until late. I received a call as I was leaving work stating that she had been
admitted to the Holy
Cross Hospital .
My first response was one of shock. I went to a bar with my co-workers. After
ordering a bucket of ponies and drinking one, my good-natured sense returned. I
jumped on my Suzuki 850G motorcycle, and took off like a bat out of hell for
home. It was just past midnight, and light flurries had begun dusting the road.
My intentions were to pack a baby bag and head for the hospital, to be with
Sara. I never made it. I was pulled over by the Montgomery County Police for
crossing the double yellow line. The officers began running sobriety tests, and
searching me for weapons. Their goal was to get into my pockets. I stood on my
rights to refuse search. They said they were calling for dogs, and walked a few
feet away to speak in subdued tones. In truth they were coordinating the attack
that would soon ensue. One officer stood behind me and the other stood in front
of me. I told the officer I was going to move my hands’ from my leather pockets
to my pants pockets because they were cold. I slowly pulled my hands out of my
leather showing them opened-wide to the officers and then placed them in my
pants pockets. The officer asked, “What I just put in my pocket?” knowing full
well that I had done nothing of the such. He began forcing his way into my
pocket. I resisted. As a pipe hit the ground that the officer had forced from
my pocket I said “Fuck it you got me.” Suddenly the onslaught began. The first
blow I received was devastating, opening a gash in my head. I lay down on the
ground spread-eagle thinking that the officers thought I was fighting them.
This was the beginning not the end. The officers John Dalbora and E Greene beat
me with systematic brutality. One used an eighteen inch steel flashlight and
the other a lead filled flack-jack. They yelled and screamed curses and racial
insults while striking blow after blow. I screamed and screamed, finally calling
on God to stop them. Blow after blow continued. I covered my head like I had
seen others do on T.V. documentaries to ward off the blows. They hit me harder
continuing on my arms and down my back. Blow after blow continued. I thought I
was going to die. I began a wrestling maneuver that would put me back on my
feet, so I could escape or fight. I told my self if one more blow hits me I
will stand up. In God’s wisdom he stopped them then. They would have killed me
if I stood up. You see the beating had half crippled me in its ferocity. I was
blind in one eye from the blood that covered the right side of my face and
dripped freely of my face creating a pool where I rested my head on the frozen
ground. I remember the cuffs biting into my wrists so tight I had loss of
circulation and bruises for two weeks. The officers dragged me to the side of
the road, throwing me in the dirt. I was cold and wet. I had pissed my pants
during the beating. I still don’t remember doing it. I saw a white Bronco and
in my terror I called out to them, “HELP; HELP!” The person looked down at me
through the passenger window; the driver was motioned by the cop to move on.
Other officers showed, about twenty or so, and the sergeant. One came over to
inspect me closer and finish going through my pockets. Dalbora and Greene were
busy, for Greene had broken his pinky finger in the fever of my beating. He
caught it in between the flashlight and my head. I was face down the officer
picked me up and said with disgust, “God damb! You pissed your self.”
I
replied with vehemence, “What do you expect? They tried to kill me!” Thinking I
was safe because other officers were present. He dropped me and said “Shut up!”
and stepped on the back of my head grinding my face into the frozen dirt
smashing my lips and nose. Finally the ambulance arrived. I tried to speak to
them as they drove me to the hospital. They didn’t respond; they just continued
to dress my wounds silently. I was taken to Shady Grove
Hospital . I received
thirteen stitches to my head and a sling for my right arm, for the bruises on
my head, arms, face, shoulders, and back there was the Tylenol I was given. I
called Sara from the E.R. she was furious at me. She decided shortly after that
when our son was born she would go back home to her parents. My body, spirit,
and heart were broken. I became a recluse eventually giving in to mental
illness and the ever present threat of violence that the local police never let
me forget whether I was at home, work, or just driving down the street. I lost
my job of four years and then my home. My mental health continued to take heavy
tolls as my sickness was not addressed. I moved home thirty miles away, and
lived in hiding for the next three years.
I
now live in a place and a world where race is seen more for their true
attributes then the stereotypes that I grew up with. I will never stop fighting
for my rights, no matter what the cost. The experience, long past, still
influences me today. I have done my best to recover from the pain, fear, and anger
this has bled into my life. Wounds that are deep may heal, yet scars are there
for life. I hold Jesus close so I can hear his words of wisdom, love, and
comfort. I find my father’s words of peace still rule my beliefs.
“THOR”
This story; I have written it many times.
ReplyDeleteI tell of all the cops, 20 or so many cars.
In many ways. Some I continued, the cops banging the cell door all night. The threats. the violence never stopped. I had a wood bench. I was so swollen suffering from a concussion. My whole body hurt, I was terrified but the beating was so violent, so long, the pain so great I kept passing out, Until they would kick the door and scream at me.. all night.
Then a Black officer pulled me out before review by custody official.
I was all wrapped up in bandages and he started telling me to be quiet about the police, the beating, and just sit there and get released. he sat behind me when the official called me in. I sat down, He never looked at me but for the sec I walked through the door.
He let me out.
I called Lenny, my black friend. He said he would meet me. He did not want to come to the station. I walked for a while. my paper work said. Assault Police Officer, Resisting Arrest, DUI, Possession of a pipe, and an 1/8 of Marijuana & Crossing the double yellow line.
The Assault on Police Officer was because E. Green broke his pinky while beating me in the head. That is why all the police showed. They all wanted a look at me. every time I got pulled over for the next 5 years until I left every Cop would see in bold letters "Assaults Officers" when they ran my name. I was at gun point and would always get the maximum and added tickets in every stop. Cops would just profile me, being I lived in a White neighborhood were I grew up, run my plate and roll on my car guns drawn, Same with the bike. "Turn the bike off. Drop the keys on the ground get off your bike and on your knees, hands behind your head. Stand by the bike, with your hands on it, do not move. head on the car hands behind your back. I'll get your wallet. I spent so many nights in Jail with my bike on the road, tickets galore.
ReplyDeleteFreddie Grad, Michael Brown, time Changing. #PeaceUP
ReplyDeletehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUfJ0hO3tio