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Of late, I've read suggestions that the police should be encouraged to punish suspects as soon as they're in custody. That is, once you have somebody down, kick him just to be sure he gets punished because those bleeding-heart courts might let the miscreant go.
That puts a tremendous responsibility on the police, one that they aren't able to discharge properly. Back in 1970 or '71 -- memory pales -- my friend Hal was the lead guitarist of Blue Steele, a rock 'n' roll band. Hal lived in Greeley, and like most musicians of that era, his hair cascaded over his shoulders.
I saw him at a party one evening. His face was cut and bruised, and I asked whether the band's agent had somehow booked the band into a cowboy bar. That seemed like the only possible explanation for Hal's condition.
No. It was the Denver police.
We pressed him for details.
My wife and I wanted a water bed, and I saw an ad in one of the Denver papers where a guy was selling one real cheap. So I called him, and we agreed to meet the next morning
I drove down to Denver, found the guy's apartment, and we made the deal. But he had to drain the water bed before I could take it, that takes a while. We just sat there in his apartment, not having much to say to each other, and then he suggested we go get a sandwich somewhere, and we could take his car, since my van's hard to drive in traffic.
I jumped in with him, and everything went fine for a few blocks. Then he eased through a stop sign, with a cop behind us. The lights went on. Instead of pulling over, this guy turns into a maniac. He guns it and leaves rubber when he roars away.
He lost that cop after two or three two-wheel turns, but the cops have radios. So we're in this big high-speed chase.
Cops are coming after us from every which way, and this guy is totally crazy. He said something about his license being suspended. I'm scared to death. I tried to reach for his keys, but he backhands me, and hey, when somebody is driving 90 through a city, you want his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road.
But I was sure I was dead. About all I could do was buckle my seat belt and holler, hoping he'd stop somewhere so I could jump out.
I don't know how long it lasted. Seemed like hours. Finally, he takes a corner too fast and we roll into a parked car, me screaming all the way. He totals his car, and I'm knocked cold.
When I came to, there are four or five cops jerking me out of the car. I tumble down to the ground, and they start kicking the s--t out of me and pounding me with their night sticks. I kept trying to say that I was just a passenger with this madman, but the cops were mad as hell, and they weren't about to listen. Once they got me banged up and bleeding, they rolled me over and cuffed me, then hauled me to the Denver jail and booked me.
Someone mentioned that he had seen something about that high-speed chase on TV, and that the broadcast had mentioned only one arrest.
After things settled down,
Hal continued, the
cops talked to a some witnesses. They all said that I was
screaming and waving out the window and that it was obvious
that I wasn't enjoying the high-speed chase at all.
So the cops show up with this paper to sign, where
they'd let me out if I'd agree to waive my right to sue for
false arrest or for any injuries they'd given me.
Several of us said he shouldn't have signed it.
Maybe not. But I just wanted to get out of there and
go home. And after I signed, they were pretty decent. Even
gave me a ride back to the guy's apartment. The timing was
perfect. When I get there, the bed was draining its last
gallon. I loaded it into my van and went home.
Hal was philosophical about his adventure wherein a totally innocent party, someone who was more endangered than anyone else by this high-speed chase, got on the receiving end of some impromptu police punishment. I think it explains why appearances can be deceiving, and why punishment is best left to the courts, when all the relevant facts can be brought forward.
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