Don't make me chase you!

There has been a lot of discussion about police take-down tactics in South Florida over the past week or so, ever since a group of police officers was caught on tape allegedly roughing up a suspect who had led the cops on a long, dangerous car chase.

The chase started when the cops tried to pull this guy over, 'cause his car was similar to one they thought had been used in a crime. Turned out later he wasn't involved in the other crime. At the end of the chase the suspect bailed from his car, ran to a nearby strip of grass and literally dove to the ground face down, before the officers set upon him. Later the suspect, who was recently released from prison, said he fled, because he was driving on a suspended license.

Debate has ranged from the cops being justified to the cops being accused of brutality, since the guy was already face down and spread-eagle when they started to "subdue" him. I've been sort of on the fence. That was until I saw a kid and his mom in a "standoff" outside my barbershop Wednesday morning, and a real time analogy unfolded before my eyes.

I was actually sitting on a bench in the shop in downtown Miami, waiting to get my hair cut, when I noticed just outside the door of the shop a woman speaking in warning tones to a young boy - I'd say either her son, nephew, or someone she was babysitting. I'm thinking son, though.

Anyway, the kid couldn't have been more than 4-years-old. And who knows how old the mom was? What I do know was she kept telling him to come to her, but she didn't have the speed or athletic prowess to make him comply.

First it was "come here, please." When he declined and scooted further away from her, mom graduated to "come here." When Junior still didn't listen, mom took a quick step toward him and reached out. Junior sidestepped her hand and laughed. Mom didn't. She then moved on to "get over here" through gritted teeth. Junior danced just out of arm's reach and laughed some more. Then she said it. Mom raised her voice and snapped "get your narrow behind over here!" And that's when Junior stopped.

His facial expression changed. It hovered somewhere between I still think this is funny, 'cause she can't catch me, to I still think this is funny..., but I may just have pushed her too far.

Finally, as Junior contemplated his situation - and I mean you could see the gears turning and his face screwing up as he weighed his options - mom saw her chance and she lunged and got that little...angel by the collar! She gave him a shake - just stern, nothing abusive, in my humble opinion - and then proceeded to give him a hardcore tongue-lashing as she dragged him down the sidewalk and into a store. Memories of Homer Simpson chasing son Bart and yelling "Why you little!" followed by a soothing "I'm not gonna hurt you boy!" flashed through my mind.

I will never condone police brutality. I've been scared half to death before by a couple of cops who hassled me for no good reason. And I don't know - the cops involved in this chase may have a history of overdoing it with suspects. But in that moment in the barbershop, after thinking about the number of times my mom, huffing and puffing, scolded me "boy, don't make me chase you," I sort of felt for the cops involved in this particular pursuit.

Seriously, I would not make a good police officer, because if I told someone to "freeze!" or to pull over and they didn't listen and they made me break a sweat and chase them and stress my bum knee, I'm gonna be pissed off when I catch up to them. I ain't saying I'd beat 'em. But I'm admitting I'd want to.

Yeah, yeah. I know cops are public officials and therefore held to higher standards and expected to keep their tempers in check. But humans are humans.

And without justifying the alleged roughing up, don't forget this situation would never have happened if the guy had just pulled over and stopped when he was first told to. Of course, he chose not to stop, because he knew he shouldn't have been driving in the first place.

What gives?

First, I have a bragging point to make: Getting off of the freeway this morning on the way to the Miami Herald to start work, I saw the usual panhandler at the bottom of the ramp. There's a traffic signal there, so often he paces, hitting up the cars that are waiting to exit.

A couple of months ago, I speculated that the panhandlers - I won't call 'em homeless, 'cause for all I know they live in nicer homes than mine - "worked" the freeway ramps in shifts. I was only half joking, 'cause depending on the time of day you exited or entered the freeway there was a different crew.

Well, this morning I'm waiting at the red light at the bottom of the ramp, and the usual guy is there. I catch movement out the corner of my eye and turn in time to see another grown man running up, out of breath, holding a big paper cup, like a fast food cup, or as I like to call 'em change-collecting cups. When he got about three feet from the corner, he looked up and pulled up short. He had seen the regular guy. They look at one another and exchange friendly smiles. The runner says to the regular "Oh, my bad. I didn't know you were 'working' this side. I'll be working over here." He gestures to the on-ramp about 20 yards away and strolls that direction.

I was right. They do work in organized shifts.

Second, there was some computer trouble at the paper this morning, apparently not affecting all computers, but definitely mine. So, since I have a story to finish writing by tomorrow morning I did the expedient thing. I grabbed my laptop and headed to the nearest place as dusty and stodgy as a newsroom: the local public library.

I found a good seat in a corner with a set of four chairs and a center table. I plugged in, whipped out my notes, and started writing. Within 30 minutes I was surrounded on three sides by presumably homeless guys. Immediately they became disruptive. They didn't aim anything directly at me. But they engaged in loud, boisterous conversation, they kicked off shoes and lounged as if they were at home, they slurped loudly from cans and bottles, they whipped out loaves of bread and deli meats and began slapping sandwiches together and passing them around. Leaving bits of food and huge bread rinds all over the place. And they were swearing a lot...with small children walking by.

I tried to ignore and keep writing. Apparently another patron, less patient than me, found a cop on the premises and asked her to do something.

Know what she did? Approached the quad, where the four of "us" sat and proceeded to scold "us" for being too noisy and asked "us," very nearly pleaded with "us" to be a little quieter. Not a word about the food. Not a word about the shoeless lounging. Not a word about the general disruptive behavior. Nothing.

I'm no elitist. Never have been. But if you can't get quiet time in a library, then it's time to put these cats out on their behinds. It's nothing against homelessness. It's not pretending homelessness isn't a problem. This is about making grown folks behave in public. And what the hell good is a cop who isn't gonna police that behavior? She could've told these guys to pipe down or else. I've seen folks get disorderly conduct tickets for giving cross looks to police officers in public. This didn't warrant a warning, at least?

The drama ended when the officer walked away all smiley as if she'd just accomplished something. What did the guy directly across from me say? "I'll bet it was that guy at that table over there who said something. Bet he wouldn't say anything if we smacked him in his mouth."

Yeah, that's gonna generate my sympathy.

Neighborhood Associations

I am recovering tonight from having attended a 'hood association meeting last evening.

I'm serious. It's something I never would have done as a single guy - 'cause I lived in a downtown apartment building and really didn't give a crap who my neighbors were or how they behaved, as long as it wasn't criminally dangerous and didn't disturb me when I was at home.

But now, married, kid on the way, etc., I'm thinking peace and quiet and property values. And so, Mrs. B does not have to twist my arm very hard to get me to attend these meetings. Still, I hate them.

When I attend, I am Jekyll. I try to sit and listen quietly and not frown too much and keep my arms uncrossed, 'cause I know that's a gesture that suggests tension and defensiveness. But my Hyde, the reporter in me, inevitably fights his way out. And I find myself biting my lip and my tongue and anything else that will prevent me from speaking up and scoffing at some bad excuse for weak city services or booing some piss poor explanation to why police need to study speeders, before actually arresting them.

I know the association means well. I know the police and code enforcement officers who attend the meetings mean well. The fact is, in the two years since we bought a home in this neighborhood they've done a lot to keep the triflin' among us in line...except for the guy who owns the place next to me. He needs a good kick in the coin purse. And my 12.5 boots are aching to "serve the community."

But anyway, last night at the meeting, one of the police officers pissed me off so badly I was bouncing off the wall.

I live in a neighborhood in flux, a mix of single family homes occupied by middle- (me) and upper middle-class (not me) couples and families - some blue collar, some white collar, and condos and apartment buildings of various quality, most occupied by singles...of various quality. It's in a good location though. Huge condo towers are going up that even if ugly, in my opinion, will push property values up at a slightly faster pace. We walk the four blocks from our house to the heart of downtown all the time, for dinners, drinks, tunes, etc. There's a beautiful park in the heart of downtown, a couple of art galleries, and so on, and so forth. I'm told that 10 years ago, long before we moved to Florida anyone with good sense avoided downtown in my city, 'cause it was like nighttime in the movie Omega Man: only the creepies came out at night. Addicts, dealers, pimps, and hos (real hos, not college basketball players as imagined by talk radio show hosts). And it wasn't a pretty scene. Well, things have changed. Downtown is a thriving nightlife zone, w/high end restaurants, lots of traffic, nice places, nice people, etc.

The addicts and hos though? Some of 'em are still around, mostly bothering people who live on the other end of our neighborhood. There were people at the association meeting who live on the other end who said prostitutes have approached them on the sidewalk. Addicts have wandered into their yards. I see the occasional addict and ho when they stray south and are on their way somewhere (I have no idea where). But luckily I haven't had to plant my boot on the behind of anyone who didn't belong in my front yard or anyone skulking around my block. I realize this is South Florida, and hos - real, professional hos - are everywhere. But c'mom! Would some politician propose a hozone already, perhaps somewhere near all the hotels where conventions take place?

Anyway, during last night's meeting the neighborhood resource officer stands up to reassure folks, and tell them that he's sorry but there's really nothing officers can do about the hos unless officers catch the hos in the act with Johns. After all, the sidewalks are public, right? And there's due process through the law. You can't just yank a ho off the sidewalk for doing the stroll back and forth, right? This is the argument the resource officer makes. It just wouldn't be right to roust people for just "hanging out" and walking around.

If that had been my first association meeting, I might have bought that line. But it wasn't my first. And I didn't just fall off the back of the yam wagon. Neither did Mrs. B. She quickly pointed out something curious. Less than five blocks from our neighborhood, on the other side of a major thoroughfare, is an upscale neighborhood. If our 'hood is middle class, this 'hood across the street ranges from waaaay upper middle class to seriously upscale. The homes over there go for anywhere from $500,000 to several million dollars each.

But here's the curious thing: they have no hos strollin' their side of the street. I swear. We walk our dog in our 'hood and their hood. We drive through and past their 'hood on the way to the beach, a mile or so from our house. We drive through and past their 'hood on the way to nights out or to the grocery. No hos.

What gives?

The stupid side of me says there must be an invisible force field up around our 'hood that compels the hos like ghosts trapped in a haunted house to wander the streets of my neighborhood...for the rest of their lives. And if they stray even 10 feet outside the boundaries of my 'hood their 8-inch pumps and sequined skorts will burst into flames and the hos will turn to dust.

The cynical side of me says that the cop was being disingenuous. Could it be that people in the upscale 'hood who pay more property taxes a few blocks away put their collective foot down and told the cops to get rid of the hos? And could it be the police complied and chased the hos out?

C'mon, hos just stroll our neighborhood, but have no interest at all in walking much wider streets, with much brighter lights, and slightly more lush lawns just a few blocks away? Right.

And yet, the association did nothing. But what could it do - demand the same ho-control plan the folks in the upscale 'hood have? Progress is happening. But that cop - very nice guy - was full of...disillusionment.

Sidewalks are public? Fine. As a "favor" to my northern neighbors, I'm gonna spend the rest of the weekend placing directional signs on every corner in the northern part of my 'hood pointing Southeast and bearing written instructions to the hos on where to find the most comfortable, easy-on-the-bunions sidewalks to stroll in the upscale 'hood.

Now, if you'll excuse me I'm gonna take a non-ho stroll to my kitchen, where I plan to retrieve a can of James-brand champagne and toast the great tradition of suspects' rights, while working on my great American novel.

From the RV park on the Burnettiquette World Tour

What's goin' on, folks? Kidding, I'm not really at an RV park. Not that there's anything wrong with 'em.

Sorry, I don't have any pearls of wisdom to share tonight. I'm still recovering from car lag, suffered during my temporary escape from Miami a couple of days ago.

I'm just chillaxin' right now in beautiful central North Carolina, along with Burnettiquette Wife and Burnettiquette Dog and Burnettiquette Mom.

Here's an inexplicably fuzzy image of Burnettiquette Dog and me during a stroll this afternoon.




A few quick hits:

• Deep-fried Couey, comin' right up - Justice will apparently be served in the Jessica Lunsford murder case.
• I smell a conspiracy - Why can't Sanjaya Malakar, the kid with the flowing locks and trickling voice, be voted off of American Idol? If it was a contest to star in a Paul Mitchell commercial, he'd win hands down. But a singing contest? Tsk, tsk.
• I saw the funniest thing driving up here the other day - a sign, when I pulled over for fuel, pointing to Astronaut High School, in Titusville, Fla. I don't know why it cracked me up, but I immediately thought of a training ground for diaper wearers and that terrible Disney flick Sky High. How do I know it's terrible? 'Cause I watched it on cable during a night of intense boredom a few months ago.
• Haven't seen any wannabe Slim Shadies here in NC so far. I know they're around. But thank you Jebus, I haven't bumped into 'em.
• A preview - coming up next week, an interview w/ actor-comedian-director Nick Cannon in my regular Monday Q&A column, and a profile in Tuesday's paper of a very unique cardiologist. I'll provide links.
• Officer Friendly is a real person - Remember in elementary school, the local police department would send a patrol officer by your classroom once a year to talk about his job? I remember - back before guns in school were used by angry children to shoot cool kids, bullies, and teachers - that Ofcr. Friendly would fire a blank round from his service weapon at the ceiling. Seriously. Did they do that in anyone else's school? Anyway, one of my constant gripes is that people don't complain about in-your-face bad behavior in their neighborhoods for two reasons: they're too timid or intimidated by the perpetrators, or they don't believe calling the police will do any good. So before I left town for NC I heard and observed a disturbance (bordering on fist fight) in the street, so I called 911. In theory, the operator asked me all the right questions, but I felt like she was rude and dismissive. Ultimately, no police officer ever showed up to try to calm the situation. My instinct told me to suck it up and deal with it 'cause my call to 911 probably wasn't that important anyway. Fortunately, however, righteous indignation got the better of me. And I fired off an email to a command-level officer at my local PD, 'cause something didn't feel right about the fact that no cop ever showed up. To my pleasant surprise he took my complaint seriously, and actually forwarded it to the commander of the PD's communications division, who opened an investigation. He found the tape of my 911 call, and what do you know? Not only was my complaint legit - not that I ever had any doubts - but it turns out the 911 operator never actually sent my complaint to dispatchers. She basically listened to me...or not, hung up the phone and moved on, without actually filing a report on the incident I observed. So no officer was ever given word to check on the fight. Tsk tsk. That operator's lucky no one was hurt...that we know of. The domino effect has been the operator is being investigated, the people involved in the fight are being scrutinized by police. So if they fart too loudly it's gonna draw attention. And their landlord is being put in check for harboring rowdy tenants. So while I hate whiners who whine for the sake of hearing themselves, I strongly encourage you to speak up if you see stupidity or criminal behavior or some combination of both. And if the people who should care don't appear to, put them in check too. Again, as long as we let people slide for bad behavior or shirk their good-behavior responsibilities, the numbnuts win.

OK, I'm done. I'm gonna suck some fresh mountainish air and get some sleep. I'll post again tomorrow and, I swear, start catching up on my visits to your blogs.

Peace and hair grease till tomorrow.

Can't Bite My Tongue

I have a confession to make. I am stubborn. There are times I'd rather bite my tongue than speak up and give "an enemy" a chance to say "I told you so!"

This is one of those times, but I can't bite my tongue. Wouldn't be right. Recently, I took to task another South Florida Blogger, for making what I felt were broad generalizations about black people. He scolded "the" black community, as though we were all of one mind and one voice, for focusing on the wrong issue in a recent series of fatal police shootings (of five suspects - four black, one white) in Fort Lauderdale. He said that instead of berating police, the families and friends of the suspects should look inside and ask how their young men ended up in face-offs with police, while: driving a car-jacked vehicle, carrying weapons, and allegedly ramming cars and nearly striking officers.

The funny thing is no one asked me my opinion. And that's the problem with broad generalizations. People with differing opinions count for nothing, because they're cast in giant groups, rather than as individuals.

But let's move beyond that. I think the guy I scolded had the right idea, even if he was wrong in how he addressed people.

You want to investigate the police shootings - as is being done now by state and federal authorities, go ahead. There's nothing wrong with a check and balance system to make sure that all the i's were dotted and t's crossed and that these shootings were righteous.

But let's also at least ask how most of these men ended up going down self-destructive paths long before the shootings. One man had a record of drug and assault violations. Had anyone close to him who is lamenting the shootings now encouraged him recently to clean his life up? I'm not saying they didn't. I'm just asking. But I dare anyone to tell me with a straight face that if he had gone down a different path when he was younger he still would have ended up in a stolen, car-jacked vehicle with police in his face. Anything's possible. But the odds are high he wouldn't have been in that situation.

It's not the PC thing to say, but if you don't ride around in cars that have been jacked your chances of ending up in a deadly conflict with police are much lower. If you don't refuse to drop the weapon - that you probably shouldn't be carrying in the first place - your chances of ending up in a deadly conflict with police are much lower. If you place your car in park, rather than continuing to drive after after officers tell you to stop, your chances of ending up in a deadly conflict with police are much lower.

I'm not suggesting anyone deserved to be shot. That's nuts. I'm just saying these guys' troubles did not start with being shot. It's about time people acknowledge that the path we choose (or get put on, or are led down) when we're young can lead to dire consequences later in life.

Here's my attempt at logic: When I was younger, the adults in my life - and not just my parents, for those people who didn't have one or both parents - would have beaten me like I stole something if I...stole something, robbed someone, etc. They would've beaten me like Orphan Annie if they'd found out I had even considered that stuff. Fast-forward to today. Because I was effectively discouraged from criminal behavior when I was younger, the odds are high that I'm gonna try to avoid it today.

This isn't a black thing. It's a home training thing. A personal responsibility thing. A choices thing.

Investigate the shootings. If they were dirty, then make the cops pay. And if they were clean then put that energy into steering impressionable boys in the right direction before they grow up and become troubled or troublesome men.