but not yet.
Soon enough, though. The wind's rising and the sky's getting quite dark.
Just a bit ago, I was walking up the hill on 17th, getting to Jackson. To my right, there was a cop on a motorcycle, cruising slowly up to a stop sign. The vibe I got was pretty relaxed. Still, a cop.
And ever since I sat in front of a TV watching thugs with guns and badges beat civil rights marchers, and ever since I got caught up on the losing side in a police riot in Chicago in 1968, and later got myself thrown to the ground and handcuffed (more than once), when I see a cop my first response is to assess possible risks.
But at the Dayton Voice in the 1990s, I had a very different, and somewhat sustained, experience of a different sort of cop--Lt. David Sherrer. Constantly in trouble during his career with the Dayton police department, Sherrer came to the Voice in '97 or '98 with a story about how the department was persecuting him for criticizing other cops who didn't follow procedure, and brutalized people on the street. Sherrer was also detailed in his criticisms of the way the department dealt with African-American officers in general.
Early in our collaboration, I told Sherrer that I didn't trust police very much and had my doubts about him. Suck it up, he responded. After all, he observed, he was in a postion where he had to trust a white newspaper publisher.
David was pretty much always angry. There didn't seem to be much happiness in his life. He's gone now; here's his obituary, which tells quite a lot about his difficulties with his employer and the troubles in his life generally.
So, there was the cop on the bike. He looked around at the stop sign and roll through. He looked at me and nodded. I waved a hand and laughed. He was still a cop, and he looked pleased to be one, but it didn't look like he was full of the power of his position, he just looked like he felt pretty good on a warm day, looked as though something like joy pulsed through him. A feeling that David Sherer didn't have very often.