Читать книгу LIFE AFTER RUSSIAN ROULETTE: REDEMPTION - Michael Kaminski - Страница 8

Baltimore City selectively enforced an ordinance in Western: No loitering within fifty feet of a bar or other establishment that sold alcohol. When we wanted to increase our arrest statistics for the month, this law was a legal shield to get the numbers up. However, it had to be done right. We could not just arrest someone because he or she was standing near the door. That would appear to be harassment.

While our union representatives were negotiating for bargaining rights, a decent pay wage and the right to have union representation, we wanted to show justification for our demands.

The summer heat of June was not only causing steam to rise from the city streets, it created a lot of fervor within many police officers. Tensions rose throughout the districts creating a perfect storm that was building in strength toward a civil war within the ranks of the department.

On one seemingly quiet Saturday afternoon, a couple sector patrol cops decided to enforce the No Loitering law. However, to be fair and play by the rules of the game, the target was given proper notice of the violation and an opportunity to move from the establishment within a reasonable amount of time.

Most intersections had regulated crosswalk signals allowing pedestrians to safely cross the street. These cops selected a bar near one of the busy intersections near Pennsylvania and West North Avenues.

The situation began routinely enough. A young man walked out of the establishment and stopped for a brief moment to talk with another person. As the curtain of this drama rose on my post, I stood nearby to observe the situation. I knew what was going to happen. Yet, I could not envision the small riot that was about to erupt. Tempers, temperatures and emotions have a tendency to flare up at a lower boiling point in the heat.

Two police officers from the patrol car stopped in front of the bar, got out of their vehicle and approached the man before he could walk away. The game had begun.

“Don’t you see the sign on the wall?” One of the officers asked the man in a professional, but authoritative tone of voice. “Are you aware of the city ordinance about no loitering within fifty feet of an establishment that serves alcohol?”

“Yes, officer,” the man replied, respectfully.

“Then why are you standing here?” the officer asked. “You are violating the law.”

I had witnessed this scene before, but this time was different. Maybe my perception of what was happening was different that day. Maybe I was more concerned about the man and not about the black and white letters of the law.

I thought about how I would feel if I were the man being challenged by the police. After all, I was an alcoholic. I stood outside many bars for longer periods of time, drunk, and no police officer ever approached me, or confronted me. In fact, we did exactly what he was doing many times when we were off duty.

After acknowledging that he knew the law and apologized, with respect to the uniform, the man walked away. This began the systematic chain of events that escalated and intensified rapidly in a brief time.

As the young man stood at the intersection, he waited for the green light. When the signal changed to Walk, the man began to cross the street. Now one of the police officers stopped him and entered into a conversation. Eventually the signal changed to Do Not Walk.

When the police officer saw the signal change, he said, “You can go now.” The man began to cross the street without paying attention to the signal but listening to the police officer.

“Hey, you can’t cross now,” the officer yelled. “The signal says ‘Do No Walk.’ Can’t you read? You could be arrested for jaywalking. That’s illegal, you know.”

The man stepped back onto the sidewalk and waited for the light to turn green again. When he had the Walk signal, he began to cross the street.

Once again, the police officer stopped the man and began a meaningless conversation. Finally, when the signal changed to Do Not Walk again, the officer said he could go.

Again, the young man began to cross the street, unaware of the signal change. For a second time, the police officer yelled at him for crossing without paying attention to the signal. Now the man was becoming very agitated and slightly angry. Nevertheless, this was the intended purpose of the game. This drama continued with the same scene repeating over and over. Now, the game got serious.

As I watched the situation from a distance, a crowd gathered around the intersection. People came out of the bar to see what was happening outside. Some became more vocal and began to yell at the police. I knew this was the scenario the police wanted to create. The goal of the game was to incite the crowd.

As the crowd grew larger and louder, the officers called for assistance. That was my invitation to the party. Other units arrived because this was the only game going on at the time. Western was quiet.

The crowd increased and the situation cultivated. Then, factor in alcohol on a hot summer day; the potential was there to cause an explosion of emotions. All games have an element of risk involved.

When the situation developed to the level where the police wanted it to be, we waited for the right signal. A comment from someone in the crowd about police harassment was just enough spark to ignite the fuse and cause the arrests to begin.

The original reason for this incident did not matter now. The man who tried to do the right thing by obeying the police was not important. We were now in the middle of a very disorderly group of people who began to take out their frustrations of all police on us.

We arrested anyone who yelled obscenities and threats toward the police. More back-up units arrived. By the time the situation was under control, we had more than thirty arrests for disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace. We increased our statistics.

We achieved our goal, which was to show the city government what could happen if a strike would be called and police protection would be limited. In reality, this was an indication of what would actually take place in a couple weeks.

Was it wrong? Was it unjust? Was it justified? Was it unethical? Right or wrong, this event reflected the attitude in Baltimore City at the time. Society, in general, would disapprove of our behavior and tactics. But then society, in general, did not want to live in Western.

As the days of June turned into weeks, increased rumors of a police strike created a cloud over Western. Our entire squad, except for Sergeant Florey and Glenn Russo, were still probationary police officers with less than a year on the force. If we chose to strike, we faced the possibility of immediate termination. To rebel against the city government would be a very serious violation of probation and our sworn duty to protect and serve the people of Baltimore. However, unofficially, we were informed also that if we did not honor any strike action or a picket line, there would be no backup for us on the street.

The Wild West became more open in its unorthodox enforcement of the law. As I walked Pennsylvania and West North Avenues on night shift, I heard enlarged numbers of transmissions of arrests being made and transported to the station: “En route to the Wild West with one animal.” “Out at the Wild West with another animal.”

Each district station had its own courtroom, judge, states attorney and public defender. Court was officially in session Monday through Friday during the day. At times, the courtroom looked like a carnival. We called it active aggressive enforcement.

Every Friday night, the police held night court, but not with a real judge, state attorney or public defender. These roles were played by police officers. One cop would wear the robe of a judge and take the bench. Patrol car officers arrested the people for minor violations who were brought before the night judge. Usually the charges were drunk and disorderly, disturbing the peace or disorderly conduct. Nothing serious.

The judge sentenced the arrested individuals to forty-eight hours in the holding cell. Then they were released on Sunday night and the charges were dismissed.

It was a win-win game. No one in our foot patrol squad played the game but it was fun to watch. We got people off the streets. The people who were arrested were happy because charges were dismissed with no permanent record. Legal? Ethical? Effective?

As the hot days of June neared an end, the reality of a potential police walkout and strike gained more momentum. A civil war that could possibly divide brother and sister police officers was now more than just a lot of rumors.

Our squad was on dayshift rotation the last week of June. Dayshift was always more quiet in contrast to night patrol. This week seemed exceptionally uneventful. At roll call, we did not discuss the rumors, but the threat of a future decision remained in our minds.

Each of us knew that if, and when, the time came to make a choice it would be a personal decision. We knew we wrestled with our conscience. Do we do the right thing from a professional point of view or fight for a cause we believed in and leave the city with limited protection? It would come down to an individual moral decision and each of us would be responsible, personally.

On dayshift, there were no informal squad meetings after work with a couple cases of beer. There were no philosophical discussions on whether a police strike was right or wrong, ethical or legal. Mostly, we just kept our thoughts to ourselves.

The last day of our dayshift rotation was an exceptionally quiet Saturday. As I walked West North Avenue, I thought about how much I had adapted to life on the streets of the district. I developed a couple good contacts and informants. I became very familiar with what was going on in my post.

Travis Davis and I met at the intersection of Pennsylvania and West North Avenues and we both agreed that we were bored and needed to create some excitement to pass the time.

“There is a crap game going on at the Oxford Tavern,” I urged Davis. “Let’s break it up and mess up their day.”

“They’re only gambling,” Davis replied. “We need to make it more exciting. It’s on your post. What do you want to do?”

“OK. Let’s make it a man with a gun call from an anonymous tip,” I suggested. “It will give us something to do for awhile.”

We walked to a pay phone outside the Oxford Tavern and I called the police department.

“There is a man with a gun in the Oxford Tavern at 1741 West North Avenue,” I told the person who took the call and then I hung up the phone.

“Possible man with a gun at the Oxford Tavern, 1741 West North Avenue. Any unit in the area respond,” the call from the crackled voice of the dispatcher.

Davis and I called in to notify we were responding. The Oxford Tavern was just a quiet neighborhood bar and I knew a lot of the regulars. Although I had never harassed anyone before in the establishment, I always knew there was some form of gambling in the back room. And with the impending strike looking more imminent everyday, this appeared to be a good opportunity to close it down.

As Travis Davis and I entered the front door, all eyes focused on us.

“We have a call that there is a man with a gun in here,” I informed the people at the bar. “Please remain seated and everything will be OK.”

Davis cancelled any other assistance and backup. We calmly walked to the back room and opened the door. We found what we were looking for – a dice game going on. We stood everyone up and searched each person as if we were looking for a gun. We would have been surprised if we actually found one.

Davis and I then gave the players and the owner a win-win decision. We would not charge or arrest anyone for illegal gambling but we would confiscate the money and evidence. Of course, they agreed. I wrote up the incident report as unfounded. Davis and I split the money. Plus, I acquired a new informant.

The Oxford Tavern incident was my last official act as a police officer in Western. In a way, it was symbolic of the cop I became. When you cross over the line, when wrong becomes right, then you begin to walk a very dangerous path.