I was just sent this by a friend of mine and thought that you might enjoy it here. He's got a gift for words, much moreso than I. He wrote this up as a bit of an excercise after the troubling event described herein, and he's offered to let me hand it around to see what people think of it.
I don't know if this is exactly the time or moreover the place to be posting this, but I figure I will and see how you like it and how it goes.
If it's too far off topic and the moderators want to close it, well, that's fine by me and I can't argue. All I can do is tell you that while artfully written, every last word of it is true.
I know because I was there, right next to him.
Edit: Formatting.
I don't know if this is exactly the time or moreover the place to be posting this, but I figure I will and see how you like it and how it goes.
If it's too far off topic and the moderators want to close it, well, that's fine by me and I can't argue. All I can do is tell you that while artfully written, every last word of it is true.
I know because I was there, right next to him.
This is a story about my pal and me, and this happened not far from my home in suburbian America, but I saw in this story a parallel to the experiences of Arlo Guthrie, as related in song and story, and so I've written it down, just as it happened, in two part harmony.
My pal was feelin' mighty down, so I invited him over, thinkin' as it seemed reasonable that feelin' that down rests easier on the spirit with good company, so I invited him over and, in the habit of my kind, I thought perhaps a long walk out through the woods couldn't hardly do a spirit any harm at a time like that, and so bein' as how there were no objections to the idea, it bein' just him and me there, I took up my keys and my walkin' stick, and we went outside, and he took up his walkin' stick, it havin' been outside at the time.
Now, I want you to understand that my pal is at times a very fashion-conscious individual, and likes to color-coordinate his accessories, so this walkin' stick was of course painted over to match his coat, his pants, and his shoes. Now, there is a second thing I want you to understand about my pal, is that at these same times he is at times also very down... so on this downer of an evenin', my friend's coat, and pants, and shoes, and walkin' stick were black.
So we were out walkin' on down the road, not so much in the road, as off to the side of the road, under some trees, and along we come up to this car parked off to the side of the road. And we stroll amiably along, me with my walkin' stick, and my pal with his walkin' stick, and suddenly where the turn signals should have been on this car, it starts flashin' a strobelight white. Now, I knew it was gettin' dark out, what with it bein' 8 o'clock on a March evenin', so this car turnin' its lights on seemed natural enough, but just as I was thinkin' this, there in the dark behind the flashin' strobelights, behind his vehicle, actin' mighty frightened, was an unknown man pointin' a gun at us, and yellin' for us to get down on the ground.
Now, I got a confession to make here, folks. I frowned. I frowned at that suspected officer of the law, because I don't very much like having guns pointed at me, or bein' yelled orders at, but demeanin' as it was, all I could think of was my pal, who was out here takin' a walk with me because I suggested it, and if I resist this gun-pointin', unbalanced, unnamed, unknown man in any way, I knew my pal wouldn't leave me to fight alone, and I would just be heartbroken if I got him gunned down because I couldn't show a little humility.
And so, I swallowed my pride, and frown and all, I got down on the ground, and when this unnamed man told me to spread 'em, well, I spread 'em. I left my arm over my walkin' stick, in case it should happen that our deaths may become imminent, but I was fairly convinced by this time that I was in fact dealing with a good honest man of law, doin' his god-bless'd best to serve and protect us from our personal liberties, and when he started talkin' into his radio about havin' apprehended two suspicious white males, I knew I had the situation sussed, so when he paused in his talkin' to yell at me to put my face down on the ground an' close my eyes, I did, and while I had his attention I asked that man lurkin' in the shadows behind the strobe lights and orderin' me not to look at him, I asked that frightened, prideful man in the most humble, courteous voice I could, "Officer, may I ask what we are suspected of?" And he took a moment out from his busy schedule of talkin' on his radio to say to me, "Shut up, we'll talk when the others get here." And bein' as how he probably still had a gun and seemed positively terrified of what I might learn by talkin' with him or lookin' at him, I held my tongue and kept my nose pressed into the grass.
And so we waited, me lyin' face down on the ground with my walkin' stick under one arm, my pal lyin' face down on the ground, and his walkin' stick, sittin' out there in the full light of our unnamed officer's headlights, and our unnamed officer standin' behind his car in the shadows and talkin' on his official police radio band, and havin' a comfortable easy time of waitin' for his backup to arrive while threatenin' me and my pal with a schroedinger gun that may or may not be pointed at us at any given time, just standin' there waitin' for the other fine upstanding officers of the law to come and rescue him from two pedestrians with walkin' sticks.
And sure enough, not five minutes had passed on that cold evenin' with our faces pressed into the grass, before a total of two additional police cars arrived, with in excess of five additional police officers, all here to see that the full extent of the law was carried out upon this situation. The investigation began with my pal an' me both bein' ordered to put our wrists one by one on our back, so's we could be handcuffed without a fuss. Now, sure enough, with all these dutiful officers standin' close at hand, my strategy was no longer flexible, and there was only gonna be one way out of this situation currently bein' investigated, so I put my wrists one by one up on my back, and was handcuffed, right over my black cotton kid gloves, that matched my pal's coat, pants, shoes, and walkin' stick. And then, friends, I was searched. Patted down, every pocket discovered, from my keys to my chapstick and breath mints to my unmentionables, uncomfortables, and unspeakables, and there wasn't even no part of me that went uninvestigated. But I knew these fine officers were just doing their job, reacting to trying times by going above and beyond the call of constitutional duty, but even so I admit to you, friends, that I frowned again, as I felt his hands go up under my coat and grope at my chest.
And while he was so gropin' me, this officer interrogated me about the contents of each one of my pockets. "Keys. Chapstick. Breathmints. ID's in there." "Nothing that's gonna bite me, in there?" "Just a wallet. Pencils and pens." And on I listed my whatnots and et ceteras, until at last this officer of the law was satisfied that I was not goin' to be threatenin' anybody's life out here tonight, and so he ordered me to sit up, and bein' handcuffed, these fine polite officers realized I was going to have difficulty sittin' up, so they took hold of my arms and helped me up, real gently, so I could see who I was talkin' to, and that my personal belongings had as a courtesy been scattered on the ground in plain sight and there wasn't nothin' they had taken, but it was bein' made clear that they could not take the chance of a handcuffed suspect usin' a mechanical point five millimeter graphite pencil against them, with malice aforethought...
So the officers proceeded to question us further, and lookin' around, I saw my pal was handcuffed and sittin' up too, as I knew he would be, police officers bein' the thorough, hardworkin' men and women they are. So an officer asked us what we were doing out here, and I explained to the officer that the two of us were out for a walk, this bein' the explanation for our walkin' sticks, so the police officer asked us whether we lived near here, and I replied that I did, and the officer doin' the questionin', bein' the thorough hardworkin' gentleman he is, asked me where I lived, and I told him where, and he asked me to name the development, and, friends, I wasn't gonna hold out on him after all that, so I named the development. Then he asked me where we was goin', and I stuck to my story, informin' this fine officer of the law as cooperatively as any citizen might, that we were out for a walk, headin' down that way a ways, because I like the woods. But he didn't ask my my address, or the names of the trees I was headed for, bein' as my pal and me were havin' our IDs checked by the computer in one of the police cars, while we were bein' interrogated, so as to save time for the police officers involved, so he had enough to doublecheck my honesty, and that seemed to satisfy him, and so while he was tryin' to think of what would be good smalltalk to have with two handcuffed people sitting on the grass by the side of the road at 8:00 on a March evenin', I decided that this would be an opportune moment to try one of my own questions, so I asked this police officer in my humblest and most courteous voice, "Officer, seein' as how it's been demonstrated that I'm unarmed, do you suppose I could get these handcuffs taken off?" If this went over well I'd see about getting my pal's handcuffs off, too, but the officer didn't like my question very much. He didn't shine his flashlight in my face or nothin', but he informed me very seriously that I just needed to wait until they were finished running a check on my ID with their official police computer, and I was just to relax for the moment until this situation was cleared up.
"Now, officer, I hope you understand," I said in my humblest and most courteous voice, "I'm havin' a difficult time relaxin', under the circumstance, but I'm doin' my best not to resist." And that seemed good enough for this fine officer of the law, because he didn't shout any further orders at me or wave any guns, bein' as how civilized this nameless officer was. Over behind the car with the flashin' strobe lights, which now had its police lights lit up on the roof as well, our apprehendin' officer was bein' questioned in turn, and his interrogation had a positively more conversational tone, so agreeable as to put an officer at ease. He was explainin' all civilly and amicably to his commandin' officer that he had mistaken my pal's walkin' stick for a shotgun, bein' as how it was black, and how he had been carryin' it slung out to the side tucked up under his arm and all, and this struck our apprehendin' officer as sufficient probable cause to treat us as armed and dangerous enemies of the state, and his commandin' officer found this very reasonable, what with circumstances bein' what they were, and no mention was made of the fact that carryin' a shotgun openly was perfectly legal at that particular time and place, as long as you didn't go around threatenin' anybody with it. And folks, even as I write these words, I am certain that these two officers are writing their own words, in the form of very pleasant and civil reports on the whole situation, so I'll try and keep my own report as pleasant and civil as I can, for the benefit of the doubt of these fine upstandin' officers who will remain unnamed, bein' as how our apprehendin' officer seemed so terribly afraid of my humble and courteous gaze, and I didn't want to startle the poor fella, so I mainly kept my eyes on the officers askin' me the questions and never did get around to readin' anybody's badges, or countin' precisely how many officers there were, on the grounds that the most pressin' matter on my mind was gettin' this situation cleared up as fast as possible, and apologizin' to my pal, who by this time could only be feeling even more down than ever.
While these officers were waitin' for our official police computer ID searches to complete so they could take off our handcuffs with a clean conscience, our questionin' officer asked us whether we had any warrants out for our arrest, or crimes on record, testin' to see if we'd lie to him or tell him something the search didn't turn up, but me and my pal, we had no outstanding crimes that hadn't been duly accounted for and filed, even if you include the traffic accident I once found myself in after turnin' on a flashin' red arrow, but that's not what I'm here to talk to you about...
So we told the officer that we didn't have any warrants out for our arrest, and they checked their official police computer search results, and it turned out that we wasn't lyin' to the police officer, and were, in fact, two law-permissive citizens with full documentation and no outstandin' warrants, and no doubt they discovered that I do live in the development I named, and that the walkin' sticks were, in fact, walkin' sticks, and thus reassured not to fear us, the officers told us to stand up and turn around. Now, I knew what was going to happen next, and I figured him takin' the handcuffs off me would
get this over with faster than me takin' the handcuffs off and handin' them to him, and my pal had evidently reached the same conclusion, and in short order we had our hands free and most of the contents of our pockets returned to us. I picked up my walkin' stick, and then I picked up my pal's walkin' stick, and I told the police officers that the black object in my hands was still a walkin' stick, just in case they'd forgotten in all the hubbub, and they agreed that it was as I handed it back to my pal.
And then, folks, our apprehendin' officer did a very civilized thing. He apologized to us. He hastened to explain why he had reacted as he did, how we looked suspicious walkin' in the shadow of the trees, and my pal holdin' his walkin' stick as if it were a shotgun, and I explained in turn that we were walkin' in the shadows because we were tryin' to keep out of the traffic, and bein' as how there were no lights on that stretch of road except the ones on cars, our fine civilized officers conceded graciously to us that there was nothing at all wrong with a pedestrian wanting to stay out of the traffic, and that likewise my pal couldn't hardly be arrested for how he carries his walkin' stick, and our apprehendin' officer apologized to us again for good measure, and soon enough our ID cards were returned to us. Sensin' that the matter was drawin' to a close, I asked those officers in my humblest and most courteous voice if this meant we were free to go, and to my relief this turned out to be the case. Adieus and other pleasantries were exchanged politely, and the officer generously wished us a better evening than we'd been having so far, and so my pal and I started on down the road in the direction I'd told the police officers we were headed, so as not to cause any more suspicion in the courageous hearts of these respectable lawmen.
And, friends, my pal and I had not even yet reached the next intersection, when a piercin' whistle brought us to a stop, and we turned around, and saw that the police officers, with the guns they weren't wavin' at us, and the automobiles they weren't chasin' us in, wanted us to come back for some reason. And friends, once again I frowned at a representative of the state, and bein' as how this is as accurate a report as I can make it, I cannot fairly conceal any measure of resistance on my part. I frowned at the nameless officer that wanted to talk to us, and in my humblest, most courteous voice, I asked, "Is something wrong?"
And this fine, upstandin', civilized police man gave my pal back his pocket knife.
Now, we went back to walkin' away, with our walkin' sticks and whatnots and et ceteras and my pal's pocket knife, and the police officers didn't stop us again, but my pal decided, not very much further on, that he didn't much feel up to bein' out on a walk anymore, and me havin' apologized for getting him into this situation, however unintentionally, there was no objection to this suggestion either. So the two of us, with gloom in our hearts and walkin' sticks in our hands, turned around and walked home.
But gloom isn't what I'm here to tell you about tonight. I'm here to tell you about this poem I've written, and about what the poem is about, because I realize that this fine civilized nation has such upstanding, eager enforcers of the law in many places throughout its fine fifty red white and blue states, and any of you may know someone in a similar situation, or you may BE in a similar situation, and IF you find yourself in a similar situation, it may just help you keep your zen if you think of it like this.
Alas, ye little fearful man, protect your little name.
Do the things you can to us, to keep us cowed and tame.
Once you've got your probable cause,
You're no longer bound by search & seizure laws!
So frisk us with your lawman paws,
And you won't take no blame.
Fear may sell your leader glory,
Buy him votes and win victory,
Doin' the cuff without arrestin' rag.
Harrassin' them, and he's harrassin' us,
And if money talks, it's sayin' that in him we should trust,
Cause he's doin' the cuff without arrestin' rag.
So, cuff enough, cuff and run us in,
Ask where we're goin' and where we been, and more,
Doin' the cuff without arrestin' rag.
But folks ain't all a solid mass, as you may learn someday.
The tighter we're gripped, the more we start to slip and hide away.
War's been made in our time, for less.
Even our movies remind us of this,
The country is cracking inside of this fist,
And it's gonna break that way.
So hide your name, hide behind your car,
Can't turn you in if we don't know who you are,
That's doin' the cuff without arrestin' rag – it really was a drag!
Threaten us, bully us, anything goes,
We're all loyal - or not, but hope that nobody knows,
Cause you're doin' the cuff without arrestin' rag.
So, take our stuff, cuff and run us in,
Tell yourself you'd do it all agin, and how,
Doin' the cuff without arrestin' rag.
For you are a victim, in your role, of someone else's campaign.
The fear can drive you outta control, and all for the boss's gain.
I know your fear, I've thought of you.
Maybe you should try and see it my way, too!
But if you've got nothing better to do
Than bind us in your chains,
Then, bind us in your chains.
Epilogue - This poem is public domain, folks. It happened, out in public, and all unnamed persons here named have thus also given up all rights, song, movie, dramatic retelling, or campfire story, of the events hereby investigated. Feel free to put it on the guitar and pass it around to anyone agreeable, but please don't try to copyright the work for financial gain. This one's for all of us.
Edit: Formatting.
