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This is one of those times in my life when I wish to hell my father were alive. I have written about him many times before in this column. Brave cop with 35 commendations for bravery. Devoted cop who spent many off-duty hours updating his index card file of drug offenders to help him better do his job during his seven years as a detective in the narcotics squad.
A good cop who hated the police internal investigations unit and the restraints put on cops trying to do their job, but also a good cop who hated bad cops. Hated the ones who allowed themselves to go to fat and couldn’t chase a suspect down a street without fearing a heart attack. Or those cops who took bribes or even hung around diners just for the free cup of coffee. I wonder now, as I look at an old black and white photo of him in uniform, standing outside of his district station, what he would have thought of the recent events in Ferguson, Mo.
Dad would first off have cautioned me that I was not inside that grand jury room to hear all the testimony. And I would’ve responded by saying that if, as the saying goes, a competent prosecutor can get a grand jury to “indict a ham sandwich,” why was it that the St. Louis County prosecuting attorney (Bob McCulloch) couldn’t get one to indict this police officer? Dad likely would have again cautioned me on rushing to judgment. He probably would have pointed out all the conflicting eye witness testimony. I would have pointed out that McCulloch should not have been the prosecutor in the first place. Too close to the police department, according to some media reports. His father was a cop killed in the line of duty, I would add. Dad would have smiled and looked at me, and said, “Your father was a cop. Are you saying that you couldn’t be unbiased in this case?”
At this point in the imaginary conversation, I might have shown a bit of frustration, and Dad, ever tolerant of our often differing social views, would’ve reached out to me. He’d admit that if this prosecutor really wanted an indictment, he went about it in a very peculiar way. He laid out all the evidence before the grand jury, not just the prosecution side. And he left it up to the grand jury to figure out on which charge to indict.
Why do you think that was, I would ask Dad? Likely, he would answer, because the prosecutor didn’t want the onus on him if the grand jury did decide to indict. He was friends with the police, and he wanted to remain friends with them. That would seem to me a reason he should’ve recused himself from the case, I remark. And really, why does this prosecutor, McCulloch, announce the verdict later that night at a point when the largest number of protestors have gathered? Was he looking for the protestors to riot as cover for the grand jury’s decision? Dad wouldn’t have actually admitted that I scored a point, but I would sense an advantage, so I would continue.
Here’s some other reasons the prosecutor wouldn’t want an indictment. A lengthy trial keeps the pot boiling. An indictment ticks off the cops. Had their friend McCulloch betrayed them? An indictment puts not just one cop on trial, but the entire system of justice in Ferguson on trial. All that dirty laundry of racial grievances would’ve been aired. That just wasn’t going to happen on this prosecutor’s watch.
Dad likely would’ve switched the emphasis on the case here. Doesn’t excuse the rioting and the looting. Burning down the town where you live. Giving Al Sharpton a chance to mug in front of the TV cameras again. Shutting down highways in faraway places where the protestors don’t even know the facts, but made up their minds about the case. Context, Dad, I would’ve exclaimed. Minorities are tired of getting screwed by blind justice, but even I’m not justifying the likes of opportunists like Sharpton. Thanks for that, Dad would answer with a sarcastic edge he didn’t employ often.
Here’s what I think Dad would say. I wouldn’t want this guy (Officer Darren) Wilson on my police force. By his own words, he seems the panicky type. Has to resort to trying to draw his weapon when he’s attacked in the car? Brown is supposed to be coming at him from a distance and he believes that he has to discharge his weapon 12 times and hit him seven times to stop him? Called him a “demon,” I interrupt. Yeah, Dad says, like he was facing the Frankenstein monster with the bullets bouncing off him.
Didn’t Wilson say the guy challenged his manhood, Dad asks? I mention the vernacular for female private parts Brown is supposed to have used. Dad — I would’ve cracked the guy over the head with a nightstick right there and taken him in.
Would the cop have been found guilty by a jury? Who knows? But an indictment, hell, I could’ve gotten an indictment and I’m not a lawyer, Dad adds. I’ll tell you one thing, he says in conclusion, I’d never let that kind of cop anywhere near a weapon again. What a police force!
And keep him off TV, too.
Contact the South Philly Review at editor@southphillyreview.com.
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