This article is sort of an offshoot of Ted Rall's Go On, Admit It – You Really Don't Like the Police, Either posted on the Information Clearing House website today. Ted inspired the idea in relation to the significance of my own encounters with cops in the US. Most agents can be treacherous game-players and my advice is to never speak to one without an attorney present, but this is more about your average everyday type of police encounter. The experience can be memorable enough to influence every future brush with the law. I suppose, at least for the moment, that I'm tired of writing about the MBI of past and MBI cases, though there is much more to say and eventually I'll get back to it.
My first unforgettable encounter with cops in the US took place in Jackson County, Oklahoma, in Altus, in 1989. Not long after I gave birth to my son, his father and I decided to move to this place from the adult playground of Miami and buy a house. Houses were, and probably still are, cheap out there, and we found a rock house on five acres outside of town. It was a change indeed. As time wore on, Robert (my son's father – now deceased) and I were at each others throats and I moved out, renting a house in Altus. I was working on Altus Air Force Base with the Youth Center. I had worked in the Youth Center on a base in Germany previously, so getting the job was easy. The area has few jobs that don't involve farm or ranch work, so I was lucky.
At the last minute my babysitter cancelled on me and I took Robert's mother up on her offer to watch our son, Alex, any time. When I returned to pick-up Alex at 11pm – we had a skate night at the Youth Center – I found Robert there, and he was trashed on tequila. He started arguing that he had the right to keep Alex too and I wasn't going anywhere with him. I attempted to pick-up my two year-old son and get out of there, but a fight ensued. Robert managed to get Alex away from me and strap him into the car seat. We tussled on the ground, but he was over 6' tall and bigger than I was and was able to toss me off, jump in his truck, and speed off. My first instinct was to chase him, and I did so for a mile or so, but he was drunk and driving the truck into ditches and all over the road. In a state of fear that my son could be injured, I drove to my little rented house and called the Jackson County Sheriff's Office. That was the first and last time that I would ever call the cops on a man. It was an error in judgment on my part, to say the least.
It was about 20 minutes after I made the police report when a deputy called me to state that I could come to the sheriff's office and pick-up my son. Another deputy had located Robert when his truck ran out of gas and he walked down a highway carrying Alex, and they were on the way to the sheriff's office. Relieved, I ran out the door and sped to the place. I was greeted by a typical Oklahoma cop that told me to have a seat; my son would be there shortly. As the time approached 30 minutes I became alarmed, so I asked the cop where my son was. The conversation that followed:
"Is that his father that's got him?"
"Yes, he is Alex's father."
"Well then this here is a civil matter. You need to go to court. His father can keep him if he wants to unless a judge says otherwise."
"Why did you call me down here to pick him up? Why did you take the report to begin with? Never mind – I'll take care of it by myself."
The next thing I knew, this cop (big guy) is throwing me on the floor and yelling: "You're under arrest!" He's actually removing my shoelaces while I'm on the floor and telling a deputy to take my picture. They stand me up forcibly and snap a Polaroid pic. All of this happens in less than two minutes.
I ask him what I'm being arrested for, and his response is: "Obstruction of Justice," so then I ask what he's talking about, and this deputy states that when I said I'd take care of it myself, he took it as a threat towards Robert. I demand my phone call. He states: "Dial whoever you want. No one can help you anyway." I dial my father in Florida and tell him that this cop made-up a charge, Robert has Alex and has threatened to take him to Mexico, and I need out of there now. My father asked how much the bond was, so I turned to the cop and asked, and he responded that "obstruction of justice is a non-bondable offense and there is no bond." I repeat this to dad, but add "this good-ole-boy says". The cop rips the phone-line from its wall connection in a fit of anger.
I am forcibly taken to a jail cell where I paced frantically for close to three solid days and nights. At the time I had no clue as to what was going on while I paced in the cell, freaking-out as I considered that I might never see my child again. I later found out that my boss at the Youth Center and several fellow employees had come to the jail demanding to see me and demanding that I be given a bond. They were literally tossed out the door and told that if they stepped foot in the place again they'd also be arrested. Several high-ranking officers from Altus AFB called the jail to question the situation, but each was hung-up on. My father also received nothing but hang-ups when he called the sheriff's office.
By day three (a Monday) my father had managed to find the Jackson County Sheriff's home telephone number, finally reached him, and let him know that if I was not released and he didn't hear from me from outside the jail within 1 hour, he'd be on the very next flight out to Oklahoma City with an intended destination of the U.S. Attorney's Office. All I knew is that the guard (a nice, mild man) unlocked the cell in somewhat of a panic, whispering that he didn't know what was going on, but that they were releasing me right then and I had to call my father right away. These people practically shoved me out the door.
A judge dismissed the case and berated the arresting officer at a hearing held the following week. That judge just kept repeating: "I do not even believe this," with a shocked look on his face. I'll note that my son's father didn't even have a valid driver's license at the time, was wanted on a felony fugitive warrant from Texas, and was drunk and driving with no insurance. Why do you think I moved out?
My father died in 1998. If he had been alive for my mess that began in late 2001, the MBI would never have made it as far as they did with the case. My dad spent his life working for the US government and had connections that went as high as the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The perps from MBI should rejoice that my father wasn't around to deal with each one of them.
And I never dialed a cop again, except in two situations in which I saw it as most intelligent to call the police and get a report number to cover my ass if future problems resulted from escort-related situations. To call for help is the equivalent of a bad joke for me. Dad always told me that cops are not there to help – they are there to arrest – arresting people is their job, and I'd better not ever speak to one in relation to my business if questioned. Dad was right. Of course I did get my son back the same day that I was released, and all by myself.
Next: More Police Encounters
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