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| The was a poster people could color for a $2 donation. Designed by my brother, with some ides from me, it hung in The Peace Museum in Chicago until 1994. |
During the entire
Spring of 1991 I was very into both finishing my degree at DePaul and being a
stay-at-home parent to Cassidy. I was doing very well with my internship
position, I even helped to organize a large scale fund-raising concert for both
The Earth Network and The Peace Museum as a demonstration event to protest the
first Iraqi War. It was held at Chicago's legendary Riveria Theater and we
called the event “Give Peace A Dance”.
I was furious about the lack
of credit and appreciation I felt I was getting from The Earth Network's
founder, Howie. He treated me poorly, he was rude and demanding and although I
did like him for his accomplishments, when he went back on a promise to pay me
a stipend, I took revenge. I forged a check for $150 on The Earth Network's
bank account.
I found a job with a
small video production company that produced mostly wedding videos but did some
high school graduations, small company meetings and one public access
commercial. I started by just shooting the events but quickly worked my way
into the position of editor. I put in long hours for a relatively low pay so I
could help build the business up on the promise of being a partner with the
company owner. In six months, through many of my Val Productions contacts, I
brought some larger, more lucrative projects into the company.
After the company's
annual holiday party, after everybody in the company realized there was no
holiday bonus check that year, despite our phenomenal growth and progress, none
of us got anything, not even a cheap gift card! In January the owner and his
wife left for a 3 week cruise and put a young guy, 22 years old, the first (and
most popular) wedding DJ that worked for the company since the start, in
charge. The kid was clueless when we realized they left on the cruise without
leaving paychecks for anyone. I called a meeting of all the employees, except
the kid in charge, I tried to organize a strike, a work stoppage to get better
pay and some other benefits. It backfired on me and I again lost it and did something
without even thinking. I made a shore-to-ship call to the owner and told him I
needed to be paid immediately so he told me to write myself a check for
whatever I needed. I did, I wrote a small check for $150, I needed to pay the
daycare center where Cassidy stayed during the week. I continued working while
they were gone but I started to contact all of the biggest clients to inform
them I was soon leaving the company but will be happy to work with them at my
new company. That also backfired on me and the owner got wind of it as soon as
he returned. I resigned and he said he understood and accepted both my apology
and resignation. I walked away believing we were all square.
Susan, Cass and I took
a last minute trip to New Orleans to rescue her sister, Michelle. Susan's
sister was leaving her husband, my old friend, Dean Sold, after an abusive
encounter. Michelle returned to Libertyville and lived with us. She slept in
our bedroom with Susan so I set up a room for myself in the basement. I started
to think about freelancing as an editor but less than a week after we returned
from New Orleans, in the dark of a February evening, the police knocked upon
our door. They arrested me on the spot, in front of my wife and child. I spent
the night in jail and the next day, before a judge, I was charged with
embezzlement by my former employer. He accused me of forging the check that he
authorized me to write, but at that point, I just needed a lawyer. I was
released on a $1,000 bond, at home Susan was livid and unforgiving, so she
suggested we start couples therapy. My state of mind was on a fast downward
spiral, I felt so useless, so incompetent and simply no self-confidence
whatsoever, I was broken. I took a job as a clerk of a 24 hour gas station then
hired a criminal attorney for my pending case. I worked a lot of hours during
the six weeks before the court date but once I was in front of the judge, the
charges were reduced to a misdemeanor, I was charged with “improper business
practices” and got both a $1,000 fine and had to serve 100 hours of community
service.
A couple weeks later, I
was working alone on the over-night shift at the gas station, I got robbed at
gunpoint. The guy pointed a gun in my face, yelled to open the cash drawer and
then locked me in a storage closet in the back of the store. I waited for a
while because I didn’t know if the bad guys were gone and then I started
yelling for help. After a ½ hour I started to panic really badly and began
kicking the walls and door of the storage closet until it finally fell off and
I was free. I stumbled over the debris and opened the back room door when there
was a Lake County Sheriff’s officer coming into the front of the store with his
gun drawn. I yelled for help and he pointed the gun at me and told me to put my
hands where he can see them. I literally about shit in my pants. I did it and
he walked slowly towards me, asking me who I was. I explained I was the clerk,
I was the victim and we were just robbed by one or two guys at gun point. He
said something into his radio, still pointing the gun at me, when a second and
third cop came into the store. I kept explaining what had happened and after
the first cop patted me down, I lowered my arms and again told the whole story.
Eventually, when the corporate big wigs got there, after the cops had done
their crime scene investigation thing, I was sent home. The next day I got a
phone call from a detective handling the investigation and he asked me to come
into the station in Waukegan to give an official report and maybe sit with a
sketch artist. I readily complied and made an appointment for 1 that afternoon.
I was there for several hours, until past 7 in the evening, I gave my account
of the incident as clearly and concisely as possible. I wrote in detail everything
I could possibly remember and then I repeated it, several more times. Finally
they brought in the sketch artist, I spent another hour or so with this man,
tried to describe the rough looking white, maybe Italian or maybe Hispanic guy,
stocky build, fat neck but all I could really remember was the barrel of that
gun he pointed at me. I was finally allowed to go home but they asked me to
return on the next day, about the same time.
The next morning I
called the detectives and canceled because of child care issues. I took Cassidy
out for the day, when I got home around six in the evening, there were several
messages from the detectives. I didn’t return the calls, I planned on doing it
the next day but about three hours later, once Cassidy was in bed and I had
retired to my subterranean refuge in the basement, the two detectives showed up
at my house. I stepped outside in my sweatpants, slippers, t-shirt and flannel
jacket while Susan watched from the window. The detectives asked me to
accompany them to the station for more questioning. I felt I had no choice,
even though they were not arresting me, I felt pressured to go with them. I
agreed and started to step towards the door, I was going to let Susan know what
was happening but one of the cops grabbed my arm tightly, the skinnier cop met
Susan at the door. I rode in the back seat of the police car, un-cuffed and
made to feel casually at ease by the small talk the cops made on the way to the
station. We got to the station at about half past nine and they again asked me,
over and over, how exactly this happened.
They videotaped this interview, they
took turns explaining the situation to me because, it seems, there was no
security footage of this event. The video recording machine had run out of tape
just minutes before the incident was supposed to have happened and then
continues again, when the cops arrive and I emerge from the back room. This was
very suspicious and after another three hours of interrogation, they told me if
I just admitted it, just said I staged the whole thing and took the $600
myself, this would all go away and I could get back home again. I shrugged and
again denied having anything to do with the matter other than being the victim
but, if it gets me out of there right now, yeah sure, whatever…I did it.
“So
you staged the entire robbery?” asked one detective with a fat face, bushy
mustache and beady little dark eyes, “You took the money?”
“Did you have an
accomplice?” asked the second cop, the one with a long, thin face and sandy
blond hair that looked like plastic, “Where’s the money now?”
“I think I need to talk
to a lawyer…” it suddenly dawned on me, I said and did something very stupid so
I decided to simply shut up, “I am evoking my Miranda Rights.”
“But you haven’t been
charged with anything, son…” the fat faced cop said, “You saying you did this
and now you need to lawyer up?”
“If I haven’t been
charged, am I free to leave?” I asked as I started to stand up, “It’s past
midnight.”
“Not quite, boy…” the
fat face cop put his thick beefy fingers on my shoulder, “We can hold you
awhile before charging you.”
“If you just agree to
this, make a confession without getting your lawyer involved now, it will look
better to the prosecutor.” the plastic hair cop explained as he pushed a pad of
paper and pen towards me, “Just do this now, Mr. Chalmers, and you’ll be home
before lunch tomorrow!”
“I need to call my
wife.”
“Is she your lawyer?”
fat face asked and snorted, “Otherwise you’re wasting your one phone call!”
“But I didn’t do this,
really…” I protested and again tried to stand up before fat face and his beefy
fingers slammed back in my seat again, “I want my attorney!”
“Fine, you play that
way…” said fat face as he pulled out his handcuffs and swung me around, pulling
my arms together and shackling them behind my back, “We play this way!”
“Look, Mr. Chalmers,
you already have a recent conviction with this court…” the plastic hair cop
opened his file on me, “Your best bet is to just cooperate with us now.”
“He can sweat it out
for the next 3 days!” said fat face as he yanked my wrists by the cuffs,
“C’mon, let’s get this over, I want to go home.”
“No, wait…” I pulled
back and nearly screamed, “Fine, I fucking did it and now take these goddamn
cuffs off of me!”
“Yeah?” said fat face
as he stuck his bushy mustache next to my ear, “Swear?”
“Yes, whatever…” I
twisted in the cuffs and my arms bent back, “I confess!”
“Let him go…” said the
plastic hair cop as he again slid the pad of paper and pen towards me, “Write
it down, all of it, as best you can, in your own words and then sign it.”
“Okay…” fat face
released my wrists and my arms dangled with painful soreness. I sat down on the
hard chair, under those fluorescent lights that burnt on me like a brutal white
sun, I was sweating and scared. I picked up the pen and started just writing
some kind of account about how I had staged the tape to end and then while it
was rewinding, I made it appear the store was ransacked and then locked myself
(somehow) in the storage closet. It wasn’t the truth, it wasn’t what happened
and I did not take that money or have anything to do with that crime. When I
was done with this page of lies, just before I signed it, I scribbled all over
it, threw the pen across the room and then sat back and asked, “Now what?”
“Now you’re fucking
going to jail!” fat face laughed, “You’ll go before a judge in the morning.”
“I thought I could go
home?” I was confused, I was crying, I was lost, “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, well the judge
will set a bond and court date,” the plastic hair cop explained as he gathered
the papers in my file, “If you can make bond, then you will be released until
your court date. If you can’t make bond, then you stay in jail until that court
date, understand?”
“How much is the bond?”
I asked, “When’s the court date?”
“The judge will
determine that in the morning, Mr. Chalmers…” the plastic hair cop smiled a
plastic smile and while offering me his hand to shake, he said, “Thank you.”
The holding cell was a
large octagonal room with windows all around it and looked like a huge fishbowl
of humans, I swam through my emotions alone in a corner while other inmates
went in and out, all night long. There was one long bench, about 18 inches wide,
made of steel, bolted to the walls going around six of the eight walls, it was
a hard blue ribbon that I tried to sleep upon but couldn’t so I sat, laid down,
paced the room and every once in awhile, when a cop would put in another inmate
or let some lucky bastard out, I asked for a phone call, for a conversation
with the detectives, for something to eat but all my requests went ignored. In
the morning, when I was expecting to be taken to court, they came for all the
inmates but the deputy couldn’t find my name on the docket so they left me
there in lock-up. The morning dragged on, I again asked to speak to one of the
detectives, but I was still being ignored. At lunchtime an old timer, a deputy
who looked like a kindly old man, brought me a tray of food and bottle of
water. I was very respectful and calm with him as he set the tray next to me, I
asked him if he'd please contact one of the detectives that locked me up
because I want to cooperate now, I’m ready to talk to them, “I’ve learned my
lesson,” I explained, “I will do what it takes to get out of here.”
“Yeah, but did you do
it?” asked the old deputy and he wiped off the stainless steel sink and toilet
fixtures anchored to the wall in the far corner of the eight walled room, “They
do this to you because they don’t want to do their jobs!”
“But, how do I get out
of this place?” I was feeling a sense of panic, my voice cracked, high pitched
and on the verge of tears, “I can’t take it in here anymore!”
“I always say just tell
the truth, it will set you free!” the old deputy chuckled and then came over to
the tray and picked it up, “You gonna eat that?”
“What is it?” I looked
at the sandwich as I picked up the apple, “Peanut Butter?”
“Yep.”
“No thanks…” I sat back
against the wall and took a bite of the small apple, “I like apples.”
“You know, if I was
you…” the old deputy took the tray away and as he opened the large security
door, he turned back to me and winked with a slight grin, “I’d stick to the
truth, that’s your best bet.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and
actually felt a little better. Not long after the old timer left, when I had
finished the apple and I was still all alone in the holding cell, I laid back
on the blue steel ribbon bench and dozed off to sleep. I woke up hours later,
it was night time and I was no longer alone in the cell. There were a couple of
other guys, one of them a big biker dude with a long beard who made eye contact
and simply nodded at me when I sat up. The other guy was a very drunk Mexican
who was mumbling in Spanish and drooling on himself. I stood up and stretched,
walked around the room until I could see the wall clock in the deputy’s
dispatch center. It was 8:45 and I turned to the biker dude and asked, “Is it
morning or night?”
“Night, dude.” The
biker shrugged, “How long you been in here?”
“Since last night.” I
walked back and forth, my legs were stiff and my back was aching, as I arched
back slightly I started to lose my balance but the biker dude was quick to
steady me, “Whoa, thanks!”
“You okay, brother?” he
patted my shoulder and smiled a half toothless smile, “You want me to get
help?”
“No, I’m cool…” I sat
down, “Just fucking exhausted!”
“What you in for?” I
always wanted somebody to ask me that and this dude did, “Or, I mean, it don’t
matter if you don’t want to…”
“No, it’s cool.” I
smiled, “It’s bullshit, I was working at a gas station and I got robbed but
because there’s no video footage of the incident, they think I’m lying and that
I staged the whole thing. It’s fucking retarded!”
“Fucking pigs, man…” he
nodded and added, “So did they charge you with it?”
“Not yet.” I felt
obliged to ask in kind, “Why are you in here?”
“I got pinched for
having some weed on me…” he shook his big bear like head, “They stopped me
because my headlight was out, search the car and find a quarter bag under the
seat and bingo, here I is!”
“Fucking shit, man…” I
agreed, “Fucking pigs.”
“Yeah, well it ain’t
the first time…” the biker dude stood up and walked towards the security door
then turned back to me, “I’ll be out soon enough too. My old lady is making my
bail now.”
“My old lady doesn’t
know I’m here, I mean, she does, but they won’t let me call her or anything…” I
too stood up and walked around while the very drunk Mexican fellow continued
mumbling in Spanish and drooling in a corner, “I’m getting really pissed!”
“Yeah, that’s
bullshit.” The biker dude smiled and looked at me, “Here they come now, see ya,
bud…good luck!”
“Thanks…” I started to
walk over to the security door as it opened and the deputy called for the biker
dude, I asked the deputy, “Any word on my situation?”
“Who are you?” the
deputy asked with a confused look on his face, “What you here for?”
“Chalmers…my name is
Chalmers.” I was going to explain my situation but the biker dude interrupted
me, “I am being held…”
“For bullshit, man,
this guy shouldn’t be here!” the biker gave me a thumbs up as the deputy pushed
him away and shut the door, “Stay strong, man!”
“What about me?” I
shouted as the large door made a spine tingling hollow slam and lock shut,
“Chalmers? What about me, Chalmers?!?”
“Quando para mucho, me
amor…” the very drunk Mexican slurred in Spanish as I kicked the door hard and
went to sit down again, “Too bad, gringo.”
Several more hours
passed, the very drunk Mexican was passed out and started to snore. He also
pissed himself as he lay curled on the floor across from me. I paced like a
caged Lion, looking at that wall clock and counting the minutes like painful
hours. I had finally sat down, closed my eyes in consideration of sleep because
it was going on 11 in the evening on the second night of being locked up when
the big security door suddenly clanked open and I startled awake! A detective
looking cop, wearing a crumpled gray business suit, his tie pulled loose and
his top collar unbuttoned, walked into the cell as I stood up. The cop,
somewhere past 40 with shades of silver in the temples of his wavy dark hair,
was holding a file folder in one hand as he reached to shake my hand with the
other as he introduced himself, “Mr. Chalmers, I am Sgt. Bill Wilson, I want to
thank you for cooperating in this investigation…” he looked at the very drunk
piss soaked Mexican, “You are free to go, sir.”
“Excuse me?” I took
back my hand, not sure I actually understood what he was telling me, “I can go,
as in leave, right here, right now, and that's that and it's all over?”
Astonished, I huffed, “I just can go now?”
“Yes, sir.” The man
barely looked me in the face let alone in the eyes, “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” I was
appalled, angry, pissed off, I demanded, “What the fuck is going on, why have
not be given a phone call or seen a judge or lawyer or anything? What’s all
this about?”
“Evidently, sir, there
was another robbery of a gas station this evening…” the cop glanced inside his
file folder and started to turn away from me, “In Waukegan, the exact same type
of thing as your incident, they locked the kid in the back room closet, just
like with you.”
“So what, that’s it, I
just go?” I followed the cop to the processing office, “No further
investigation or anything?”
“We will need to get an
official statement from you,” the cop handed the deputy clerk a slip of paper
and the deputy clerk went to get my belongings. The tired looking cop turned to
me, “Somebody will contact you for that, but in the meanwhile, sir, we again
thank you for your cooperation in this matter, good-night.”
“Good night?” I was
aghast, after all that bullshit, two days in a holding cell without any contact
with anyone, they simply thank me and wish me a good fucking night?!? I
gathered my ring and watch, my wallet with $8 and my flannel, sneering at the
deputy clerk as I turn to walk out of the building, “Fucking goddamn pigs!”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
This excerpt from “My BiPolar Reality; How Life Goes On…” is
the scene before last week’s post, from near the end of the second chapter “Without
Love In The Dream” and I am sharing it this week because I have been thinking a
lot about how law enforcement works in our country. In the episode I shared, I
was not in a good state of mind, it was easy for these cops to twist and turn
me around and I honestly did, for more than a minute, think about making up
some kind of crime so I could get out there; luckily I didn’t, but I wonder how
many others are in jail because of the way the cops, prosecution and public
perception of them put them there…for example, I read an article last week
about a guy in Minnesota who stopped for a broken tail-light, but because of a
prior arrest for a small amount of cannabis, when the cops searched his car and
found some pills containing a “suspicious” white powder in them, they charged
him with felony drug trafficking charges. He said the pills were vitamins, but
the cops and prosecutors did not test the substance and instead offered the guy
a plea agreement, which he refused, based on his innocence. After spending 34
days in jail the prosecutors sent the substance to a lab which concluded it
was, in fact, simply vitamins. The guy lost his job, he was labeled as again
being a criminal and all the court said was, “Sorry for your troubles.”
Another
story that bothered me was about a guy, young guy 24 years old, who was a very
small time marijuana dealer, moving less than a quarter pound a month, so that
he could cover the expense of providing for his wife and new born child. He had
a day job, but made less than $12/hour, life is expensive, even for the basics
and so he was slinging a little weed to his friends. He was arrested and sent
to a maximum security prison for 10 years…ten fucking years doing hard time
because he was putting diapers on his baby? I flipped the page and read another
article, this one about a white collar criminal who admitted to bilking
millions of dollars from the pensions funds of thousands of people, ruining the
life savings of hard working families, who filed a complaint about the “unlivable
conditions” in the minimum security prison in Florida where he still had almost
4 years left on a 7 year sentence.
The “unlivable conditions” of the complaint?
The mosquito netting around the outdoor recreation area was inadequate and he
won!
I have had many encounters with cops that went differently,
most of them favorable and few of them were confrontational, especially when I
was manic, I had no fear whatsoever. No fear of anything, driven by RAGE and
ANGER, I did not fear death, let alone cops, laws and authority. Gratefully
parts of that version of me remains alive now. I don’t fear cops, I have in
fact learned a lot about the law and have more than once successfully gotten
myself out of traffic tickets by pleading not guilty and then questioning the
cop more closely. I have made cops so angry they start yelling, turning their
face reds in a “peer jury” incident (a way cops can penalize kids without
taking them to the actual court system in Cook County, Illinois). Before
leaving Palatine, there was a party which got out of control in another
neighborhood. My son did stop by that party looking for someone, but didn’t
stay because it was literally the night before we were moving. I know because I
both dropped him and turned around to pick his up before I got back home.
Evidently the party got out of control, things were broken and stolen and when
the local cops came knocking on our door because several kids said our son was
the one who organized the party (he wasn’t, but he was moving so they all
blamed him). The cops wanted to search our son’s room for evidence and I told
the young cop he did not have enough probably cause based solely on hearsay and
no search warrant in hand, but that if he thought he had something, he should “…either
put up or shut up but either way get the fuck off my property now!”
 |
| A new television program... |
In the end, I guess “You Better Call Saul…” is the best
idea, call a lawyer.
Proper legal representation is also a basic right and one
very much worth utilizing. I hope to one day pass the bar, it’s a goal I have
on my “bucket list” and when I do, I plan on using my new skills for the
liberation of our country, but I’ll go into that idea in another blog someday
in the future. For here and now, I wanted to shed a little light on the “legal”
and “justice” systems and point out my own experience in learning how very
different they are; the story of course continues in “My BiPolar Reality; How
Life Goes On…” and without giving you a spoiler, I’ll just say all’s well that
ends well and hell yeah…it’s another great fucking day to be alive! 
Thanks for reading me, I hope you enjoyed and if you’d like to show your support, please consider buying a copy of my book.
Available at
www.dphilipchalmers.net,
you get an autographed copy and a limited edition special gift; or shop for it on-line, ask for it at your favorite bookseller or send me an e-mail, I’ll send you one myself!
As always, I do hope you take care and always be well!
Peace,
d’Philip
San Joaquin Valley
Republic of California
23 February 2015
