INNOCENT FOOTSTEPS

Original Author
root
Original Body

by by Ka Ponda

My body had convinced my mind that a hot meal and a peaceful
environment would soothe the exhaustion caused by the rigor of the grueling
day. The aroma from a nearby restaurant titillated my palate as my feet
labored down the red, brick path. Suddenly, out of a recess, the sound
of a distressed voice pierced my left ear. Inhaling my cigarette, I paused
to listen to its cry. It was the impassioned plea of a man asking if someone
could help him through the maze of people on the bustling downtown San
Francisco street. Before I could reply, the thunder of a menacing voice
pierced my right ear, "Vacate the premises immediately!!"

I was perplexed as to why the men in blue had directed the glower of
their bigotry at my, for no apparent reason. I then asked, "Why must I
vacate, since I just stopped?"

"Because there is no loitering here" they yelled back to me.

The person for whom I had stopped revived his courage, grumbled some
inaudible gibberish and departed like a bandit. The wind chased the ruddy
ashes of the cigarette to the edge of my lips as the nicotine particles
slowly tumbled to claim their place amid the other debris on the street.
After a quick dialogue of barbs, I tossed the butt of the spent cigarette
and thought it wise to move along. 

"Why are you giving me a ticket?" I asked, incredulously.

Using the ticket as his dagger, the man in blue retorted with a wry
expression, "For littering, have a nice day!"

1997

The morning hinted of
a nice day.

It was the kind of magic in the air that only a crisp day in late December
could produce. I deposited my paycheck and withdrew funds from the bank
and started on my way to work. As I walked east on Golden Gate Street in
the direction of Stockton Street, I stopped to talk with a former co-worker,
Ronnie Eagles. We talked in front of the building out of which Mr. Eagles
had still been employed.

As we talked, a voice blared, "Hey John, are you still on parole?" It
sounded like the hue and cry directed toward an habitual criminal or some
low-life individual and not a civilized person attempting to communicate
with another person.

We turned to see a haggardly,
bleary-eyed person sitting in an automobile staring straight into my eyes,
seething for an answer to his question,. I calmly informed the person that
my name was not John and I had never gone to prison. He then demanded that
I come to his car and show him some identification. He had not shown me
anything representative of an official of the law, nor was he in a San Francisco
Police Department uniform. Since I had just come from the bank, I had no
intention of opening my wallet to a person inside a car behind the steering
wheel with the motor running. As Mr. Eagles and I stood, the two men stormed
out of the car in a frenzy and barreled toward me. I had never seen these
two men in my entire life and was baffled that they pretended to have known
me and wondered about their intent. Once again, I reiterated to them, "My
name is not John, and I have never in my life been in prison." 

One of the two men flashed a badge as he aggressively moved towards
me. When I saw his badge I realized that I had been arbitrarily singled
out for harassment and that my rights, guaranteed by the Fourth Amendment
to the Constitution, had been violently trampled upon by these two agents
of the law. I asked Mr. Eagles to walk inside the office building and get
the staff attorney, Judy Appel. Mr. Eagles returned with a video camera
and documented the incident. He stopped recording and went inside, again,
to get the director, Paul Boden.

The two officers handcuffed and crammed me into the front seat of their
small car while Messrs. Boden and Eagles were coming out. The car was not
designed to transport a six-foot person in handcuffs as I was in a contorted
position during the trip.

At the police station, I was asked to be seated on a metal bench while
still wearing handcuffs. I informed them that I had a bad knee due to an
operation for torn anterior cruciate ligaments and that it was aggravated
by the position in which I had been during the trip in the small car. They
forcibly shoved me onto the metal bench and then began jeering me as though
I had been brought in for some heinous crime. The sergeant, who had no
knowledge of what had happened or why I was there, chimed in with a ludicrous,
stereotypical comment that he was going to send me back to prison, as though
I had already been in prison. 

After they had checked my records, they removed the handcuffs from my
wrists and released me. I called my employer, J. Boragine & Associates,
and explained what had happened and that I was in no physical condition
to report to work. I went to the emergency room at San Francisco General
Hospital on Saturday, December 20th, and was provided with treatment.

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