Which story is better?
I had dropped off my pet at a vet near our transit police headquarters. As I was walking out back to my car I noticed a young big black man running across a schoolyard playground. He hit the chain-link fence, climbed over and ran down the street.
Two other police came up and said, “Get him! Get him!” So I went dashing down the street.
But then I realized, “Ah, I don’t see him.”
Two women hanging out their window said, “He went down there, officer.”
There was a door in the side of the street. I just go in there, walking into the dark until I came out the other side into a series of back yards. Then I began running and jump over fence after fence. I finally come to the last yard where the building rounds the bend into an L. I go running in.
There I see this poor suspect towering over me, but huffing like he was going to have a heart attack. I am just standing there as cool, as non-winded as possible. I had run track in school.
Here I am confronted with him. And I hadn’t had that much practice and I wasn’t really that tough. I’d never have made it in the regular police force. I just wasn’t that aggressive. But all I had to do was say, “OK, you’re under arrest, turn around, put your hands on your head, walk to the wall.”
And he just did everything I said. I didn’t even touch him. He was so astonished that I would show up. He was just so exhausted. After I had put him in cuffs, my two partners showed up.
Then things got interesting. I was the only white person there–black suspect, two black transit police officers.
And they were beside themselves, saying, “Hold him up. Let me hit him!” He had apparently assaulted one of our female officers on her way to work. So here I am, protecting this suspect. Once I had my suspect arrested, I lost all my anger. I thought they were pathetic at that point, because they were defenseless. You had done the worst thing you could do, which was to take away their liberty. I never understood the temptation to beat them further. Even though in the pursuit I’d be agitated, angry.
I’ll never forget that incident. People often say it’s the whites beating the blacks. But here it was two blacks wanted to beat a black suspect. And I was saying, “No, he’s mine. Back off!”
As a district attorney I was babysitting a death penalty murder case for a while. A high-powered guy–that’s a dangerous criminal brought in as a witness–came in to say some BS testimony. He’s in handcuffs.
When he got off the witness stand he goes, hauls off and slugs the baliff, cold-cocks him, knocks him about ten feet in the air, knocks his tooth out. This high-powered guy has no control.
The defendant is sitting at the other end of counsel table while this is all going on, saying to me, “I’m going to kill you.” That I took seriously. It was very cold, and left me fearful, in a state of disbelief. This guy is a cold-blooded killer.
The irony is he’s free and living with the attorneys in their house. They’re writing books together.