Cop & I

The Cop and I

Grew up white in 1950’s America, in a world which never was and never will be again.

In that world ‘peace’ was defined as absence of “the War”. Prosperity defined as having a home in St. Louis, Missouri; where they had “the best school system in the State”. And, the policeman was the man you could always count on if lost or had a problem.

The closest I came to being ‘hassled by the cops’ was about age 14. A bunch of us were walking home from playing baseball (come to think of it, a couple of us were carrying bats). A police car pulled up and an officer said he wanted to talk to us. 

There had been some crime by a boy about our age. Actually, in the eighteen years we lived in that neighborhood I only heard of two crimes: One robbery-murder and this kid-vandalism thing.

Where were we going? Where did we live? Where were we last night? Stuff like that.

For whatever reason I drew an absolute blank on where I was last night. This effectively meant I was the only one of group in whom the good officer had much interest. I did know my address, phone number, and my parent’s name; just not what I did last night. [I had to go with my sister to her music lesson – apparently not something paramount in the mind of a 14-year old boy.]

And that was it. To this day I do not know whether my parents were called; or even if they ever caught the vandal. Surely there could have been more to the story.

     What if it hadn’t been the 50’s, when America was so ‘great’?

     What if it hadn’t been north St. Louis when crime was rare?

     What if my parents had taught me the police were the enemy?

     What if I was lone black boy with a bat in the year of our Lord two-thousand-twenty?

Life is what it is, your part of the story is the part you know.