Race bait

Dateline 2005:
I was pulled over at a police checkpoint around 2am one night. I was on my way home to New Jersey to my family. It was set right before entering the Lincoln Tunnel. I was told to park behind other cars in front of a mobile unit while licenses were checked. I saw several cars in front of me leave as they pulled off back into the tunnel, but I was held in place. Finally an officer came to the passenger side window and told me to get out of the car.
“Is there a problem, officer?”
“Get out of the car NOW, sir.”
I got out and was handcuffed from behind. I kept asking, “What’s wrong?” “Why are you arresting me?” The cop said, “Shut up, sir.”

He brought me into the unit and I was put in a tiny cell with several other drivers. There was nowhere to sit so we all stood up.

After about an hour another officer came over to me and said, “You live in Brooklyn?” I said, “No – Morristown, New Jersey (where I lived at the time)." He murmured, “It’ll be better for you if you tell the truth.” I said I was.

He walked away. I stood in the cell for the next 3 hours while some others who had been arrested were released until there were only a handful of us. Finally, the cell door was opened. I was exhausted. I had been standing all night – and still cuffed. We were moved to a paddy wagon and driven to a precinct. Inside the back of the pitch-black wagon, we were chained together.

I was processed at the station – I have no record – and was thumb printed and photographed. We were then separated, to be placed in cells. Then the same cop from earlier asked me again – “Do you live in Brooklyn?” I said “No”.
“All right, then.”
I was taken down a long hallway past several cells, where I could hear men sleeping. I was brought all the way to the end of a row and put into a dark cell. I could see someone else was there. I had never been arrested or in jail before. I sat on the bottom bunk and never laid down. I had to go to the bathroom (there was a tiny toilet) but held it all night. The other figure in the room and I never spoke a word.

The next morning, I was hauled out and again put in another paddy wagon - this time chained at the ankles with several other men. We traveled through downtown Manhattan. So strange to see people going to work as if it were any other day. 

And I still didn’t know what I was there for.

I was brought into a courthouse and placed into a holding cell with about 30 other people. I was told by someone there that we were waiting to talk to a judge about our case. (the police never gave me this information though I asked several times).
After waiting all day, my name was finally called. I was brought before the judge. I was asked pointedly: “Are you Keith Brown, who resides at so & so Brooklyn?” I said, “No, your honor.”

“You fit the description of a Keith Brown who is accused of several bicycle thefts in Brooklyn.” 

They had a name and a description – African American, around my age and height, and an address –but that was all. No picture, no social security number. No known record.

It wasn’t enough to hold me any longer, but they scheduled a court date at a later time where I would have to defend myself and have my arrest wiped from the record. Which I did, with the help of an expensive lawyer.
No apologies from NYPD were forthcoming. I remember walking out on to the street after the ordeal disheveled, tired, and dispirited. 

But not really sure how to feel – except the angriest I’d ever been.

I am Curious Yellow...

The Leopard had an experience like this: I grew up in a pretty diverse neighborhood at the time in Stapleton, Staten Island. My friends were pretty mixed – Latin, Asian & white. We were the only black family, though.

One of my little friends had a large above ground pool in his backyard. I’d barely noticed it until a bunch of us kids were piddling around one hot summer day and someone said, “Jimmy’s pool is up!” Before I knew it, most of the kids had scattered to run home to get their trunks and towels. We were all so excited for some reason. I remember running home to tell my younger sister. When I got there, she was home watching TV and I remember how she beamed behind me as I asked my mom if we could join the gang.

We dressed as quickly as we could and ran in bare feet around the block to Jimmy’s house. As we got closer, we could hear some of the other neighborhood kids already there, splashing and laughing.

As we approached, leaning against the front gate to Jimmy’s house was his 7 year old sister, mouth stained red from a cherry lollipop stuck her mouth. As we started to pass her, she said, “You can’t go in the pool”. My sister and I looked at each other. “Why?”

“Because you’re colored.”

We were completely perplexed. We both ran back crying and told my mother. She grabbed both our wrists and dragged us back to Jimmy’s house. Jimmy’s younger sister was still standing in the yard in her yellow bathing suit.

“Let me speak to your mother! My mom said. Go get her.” When Jimmy mother’s came down, my mother told her in no uncertain terms she had no intention of allowing her kids to play with us anymore. Furthermore, she said, she had no need “For them to associate with people like you.” She said this forcefully without raising her voice or using profanity (she's a church-going woman).

Jimmy’s mother was nonplussed and apologized profusely, saying she never said anything of the kind to her daughter (I now think it was her father or one of  Jimmy’s older brothers). When we got home, she forbid us to play with them.

Whenever I saw Jimmy from then on, I would just stare at a distance, not sure how I felt.

Bleeker Street Nigger Incident

On an overcast day a few weeks ago, The Leopard had a soul-shaking experience. I was walking down Bleeker Street in West Village of New York, when I passed by what appeared to be a middle-aged bearded homeless man. We met eyes for a second, and a few steps later, he yelled at me

 “Hey, Nigger”!

Startled, I turned around, and yelled back as loud as I could, F**K Y*U!! Then he said, “F**k You, nigger”!  It was at that moment that I almost lost control. Looking around I spotted an aluminum chair there, because we were standing in front of a restaurant. I went to grab it. Burning hot, I said, “You want your f**king head bashed in?” Not really thinking I would actually do it.  He said, “No”.  He was quiet for a moment. I turned to walk away again and he said, inexplicably:
“You don’t like being a nigger?”

In fury, I turned right around started to quickly walk towards him and screamed, “No, I don’t like ugly ass mother f••kers like you!” I must have looked crazed, because he threw up his hands, shielding himself, thinking I was going to hit him. But I turned away, still shaking.

Never thought I’d have to experience anything like that again in this day and age. It's still all true.