Speaking Of Everything…

It may not be racial profiling; but being arrested in your own home is more than a little suspect.

July 24th, 2009 by Larry Bellinger Posted in Current Events, News, Politics, Race

If you have ever been dealt with in a condescending way by an “authority figure” you can probably understand how Prof. Henry Louis “Skip” Gates felt when he was arrested at his home in Cambridge, Mass., last week.

President Obama, in response to a question from Chicago reporter Lynn Sweet, gave an honest answer as a black man born and raised in America. Once the cop knew Gates was in his own home, I don’t care if Gates was a total asshole about the situation; for the cop to arrest him for basically having an “attitude” in his own house sends a message to every black man in this country, and it isn’t a good one.

For those who will say, “look how the black officers are backing up Sgt. Crowley”; the arresting officer in this matter, I say, “Big damn deal!” If you lived in New York City a few years back it was well understood that all black cops are “Blue.” But as a white cop said to my friend, the late Fordham Law Professor Abraham Abramovsky, while we were out on the town one night – we were stopped in Chinatown because Abe had a beer in his hand while I was driving – “The only thing worse than a skel is a Guardian!

I’m happy President Obama said what he said, for now the nation is talking about this in earnest. He is a really smart guy and he will take his remark (maybe saying stupid WAS a proper description of the officer’s action;, but it was like throwing red meat to the hungry media) and turn it into a positive.

I have had many interactions with police officers over my fifty-one years. Most were cordial and professional. Others? Not so much…

One particularly ugly experience took place in Amityville, NY in 1989. I was standing in a parking lot of a shopping center on Merrick Road talking with a blonde young woman named Debbie who was proudly showing me her boyfriend/fiancés new pick-up truck.

Out of the blue, what seemed like the entire Amityville Village PD rolled up at a high rate of speed from several directions and did a “jump-out.” Next thing I knew I was spread eagle on her truck. I was searched and questioned by four officers while two others questioned Debbie. I could hear what they were asking her, “What are doing here? Why are you with him? Why are you shaking? Why are you acting scared?”

They asked me why I was talking to this girl, why was I in the parking lot and what was I doing at this shopping center. I calmly replied, ”She’s a friend. We were just inside this salon where she works and where I just got a manicure. Her boss is a friend of mine. We came out to see her new truck.”

At that point their pressure began to subside and I was asked to produce ID. I gave them my driver’s license and my work ID that declared I was an Assistant to the Town Supervisor. The lead cop said to the rest, “There’s nothing here!” and without a word of explanation they got into their cars and left. Meanwhile, traffic on Merrick Rd, (a main thoroughfare in the village), had come to a halt and I was the center of attraction.

I was frightened, humiliated and even though I was really pissed; I was sure to keep my emotions in check. That was something that had been drilled into me by my parents since I was old enough to leave the house alone.

I wanted to know what had just happened and why, so I got into my car and drove to Amityville PD headquarters. The desk sergeant, I forget who he was, but he knew my dad, explained there had been an anonymous phone call claiming there was drug deal in progress in that parking lot. I asked, “Do I look like a “drug dealer?” He shook his head.

In those days there was the stereotyped look folks associated with dealers and on that day, my look sure as hell didn’t match. I had on a grey chalk stripe suit, salmon shirt, (with white collar and cuffs), a red striped tie and red braces. He apologized by saying, “C’mon, Larry. You know how it is.”

Yeah, I knew how it was.

A few years earlier in the state of Texas a young man named Lennell Geter had been sentenced to life imprisonment in a chain of events that started with an anonymous tip.

Geter spent 16 months in jail and was eventually released in the wake of questions raised by friends and co-workers; which led to this 60 Minutes segment. 

I accepted the Sgt’s personal apology because it was sincere, he also made it clear the department would NEVER apologize and I also knew that to be true.

A couple years later a NY State trooper stopped my wife’s car in 1991 knowing full well she was a District Court Judge for he had just pulled us over the night before.

Someone had broken a headlight on my car during a campaign event in Babylon Village and a couple nights later, I was stopped on the Southern State Parkway.

I told the cop my registration and insurance info were in the trunk, (where my dad always carried his), and explained that I was going to reach down, unlatch the trunk, then get out of the car to retrieve the information. The cop wanted to know where we were coming from and I told him; “A Democratic party fundraiser for my wife at the LI Marriott. She’s a Judge for the Second District Court.” The cop was totally unimpressed and asked, “Did you drink tonight?” I replied, “No officer.”

“Not one drink?”

“Not one!”

By this time I had handed over the information and waited while the cop’s partner called in the information. Meanwhile, the judge committed a cardinal sin when it comes to traffic stops. She stepped out of the car and demanded to know what was the problem. The cop put his hand on his weapon and barked, “Get the hell back in the car!” To which she replied, “Excuse me?”

After a tense moment I said, “Babe! Get back in the car! I got this!”

She got back in the car. I looked at the angry cop, spread my hands  and gave him a ‘Whaddya gonna do?’ look and said, with a chuckle: “Women!” I told him my mechanic had ordered the parts for the repair and I would have the problem fixed by Saturday.

The next evening the same cop pulled us over in the same location. My wife had picked me up from Town hall, so she was driving. He called a back up patrol car to block our vehicle in on the shoulder. He then proceeded to explain in very condescending tone why he was giving her the ticket and how she should proceed to pay or dispute the same.

It would be an understatement to say that my wife was steamed. Part of her duties on the bench was to handle traffic court and there were many true tales of other judges (white males, since she was the first and – at the time only – black woman on the bench in all of Long Island), who had been stopped for driving erratically and when identified as drunk, they AND their cars were driven home.

I could probably spend close to an hour reciting tales of abuse at the hands of police officers where I had to “cheese” my way through the encounters, but I am sure every brother could do the same. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t relate an example of a totally unprofessional incident that took place back in 1990.

I was pulled over on Sunrise Highway in Lindenhurst, NY for exceeding the speed limit by a Suffolk County police officer.

My mother-in-law had just spent an entire meal at a restaurant expounding on what a good guy my wife’s ex-husband was and how I had done such a rotten thing by marrying my new bride. This conversation took place a week after the wedding and my wife’s mom was STILL at our house. I had finally had enough of the old bat and told her she was heading back to DC.

That brings us to the traffic stop. I had heard enough of her nonsense at breakfast and angrily said, “Let’s go!” I paid the tab and hustled my wife and her mom into my car and set off for the LIRR station in Amityville. There we would catch a train into Penn Station and place her mom on an Amtrak to DC. Driving at nearly 80 mph, I was pulled over near Bay Shore by a white Suffolk County cop.

I produced my license, registration and proof of insurance for the officer and when he asked if I knew how fast I had been going, I replied, “Close to 80!” The cop was taken aback but I continued.

“Officer, I have been married five days and I am taking my (I jerked my thumb toward the backseat where she was seated), mother-in-law to the Amityville train station so she can go home to Washington; and I don’t want to miss the next train!”

The cop looked into the backseat at my mother-in-law and then he looked back at me. His expression said it all. “You poor bastard!” was written across his face. He put his pad back on his hip and said, “Follow me” and headed back to his car.

He pulled out into traffic, flipped on his lights and siren and I followed him to the train station going about 80 mph.

The officer’s act was totally unprofessional; for I certainly deserved a big ticket for my violation. But, lord! Did he ever show compassion for a poor soul and for that, I have always been grateful.