EXPERIENCING THE 'REAL WORLD'

Wow! It is an exceptionally beautiful Morning. Incredibly bright Sun; I let the chickens out earlier than usual for this time of year, because it was so bright. I knew they would be eager to get out. It is cool. I didn't look at the thermometer when I first got up, but it is only 42.6 F. I bet it was down in the thirties at dawn.

I am going to continue with some life sketches today, then I think, I will go back to my usual blogging. Who knows? These life sketches are difficult to write or contemplating writing them is difficult. I am not sure why. I am convinced I have forgiven everyone involved, perhaps I haven't let go of all my feelings. I do wish the past, to be past, and remain past.

The period Spring 1952 to Spring 1954 was a time of relative quiet in my life. It was a period of maturation and growth. I learned how to work. That is work a regular job, do well and get paid for it. My first real job after leaving High School was working in a knitting mill. I oiled knitting machines and repaired them. The machine operators were women on piece work and they required me to be efficient and timely. When a needle broke, and a run started in the cloth roll, it had to be repaired quickly or the operator would lose out on some money. I don't know how it worked exactly, I assume the operator had a pay reduction when the cloth was not usable. Anyway, I did very well and the operators were happy with me.

I was able to save a little money and buy my brother's 1947 Plymouth convertible when he was drafted into the army.

I planned to join the Air Force before the Korean War GI bill ran out in January 1955. I figured I would join sometime in the Summer of 1954, I wanted to go to college and I didn't want there to be any glitches. I quit my job in June of 1954 in order to go on a canoe prior to joining the service.

That Summer was a world changer for me. I even witnessed a complete solar eclipse. However, it was two other events that stand out in my mind. One sounds and was very positive; the other appears to be very negative, but it wasn't, it was very positive also, but certainly not on the surface.

The first event was a canoe trip in the Boundary Waters. We were probably gone only a week, but it was life changing. I went with my Uncle and Aunt and two family friends. I must be missing someone, we had two canoes, I am sure there were six of us. I can't really describe what happened in that one week that was so powerful. I saw my first Bald Eagle [they were endangered then] when we rounded a bend in the river and he/she flew off from the top of a White Pine, it was magnificent. I saw a beaver slap it's tail before diving to escape the canoes invading his territory. I caught a walleye and northern just casting off shore at one of our canoe landings. We had long portages, one was nearly a mile, there were poles braced between trees at rest stops, so one didn't have to put the canoe down. We could put the bow over the pole and rest the stern on the ground. There were only two of us who could handle the canoes. It was a valuable experience to be so indispensable.

My legs got so bitten up by black flies that they swelled up and looked like posts. I didn't mind. I was having the time of my life. I discovered something about myself. Perhaps I discovered I was a man.

I came home from that canoe trip fully energized. There was a carnival playing in town when we got home. I went. I met a friend from school that I hadn't seen since then. We hit it off and so began a Summer of celebration before joining the service. It was a good Summer. I experienced the social life and fun loving companionship that I missed during my academic debacle.

But there was an incident that wasn't so much fun. One Evening a friend came over to the house. He rode his bike, a Harley. We decided to go down to our hang out in N.E. Minneapolis about two miles away. I went in my car and he followed. I was driving down Central Avenue when he pulled up beside me and, but his bike in neutral and revved up the engine. It was loud. A policemen, on foot, walked out in the middle of the street and waved us down. My friend was in front by then and he pulled over first. The policemen told him to get off his bike and then walked over to my car. As he was approaching me my friend jumped on his bike and took off.

What happened next was bizarre. Remember, I had done nothing illegal, immoral or disturbing. I was merely driving down the road when my friend decided to create some cacophony with his motorcycle.

The policemen went to the callbox on a light post [they had them in those days] and called for help. A squad car arrived with three officers. They placed me in the back between two of them and two rode in the front. As we were driving one of them began to harangue me with every insult imaginable. He said if we were not such chickenshits we would race out at the speedway, at some point I heard enough and said “bull shit”. Immediately, the two officers in the back pinned my arms down and the one in the front turned around and started beating on me, saying, “I dare you to swear at a policeman.” It was as if they choreographed it in advance.

When we arrived at the local station he said, “If you don't get that look off your face your going to fall down the stairs before Morning.” I don't know what kind of look I had. My only awareness was some kind of stoicism. Strangely enough I don't remember being afraid. I was taken to the downtown jail in the Morning and placed in the drunk tank.

I think it was the next day I went to court. The arresting officer stated I was racing down Central Avenue in a reckless manner. At least that is what I think he said, nothing he said was true. I made an erroneous calculation. I assumed a person with a perfect driving record and no prior contact with the police, who was a middle class person from the suburbs, would just get a slap on the rest. So I plead guilty. The judge didn't even look up, he said “One hundred dollars or ten days.” That was an important lesson in jurisprudence.

Well, they tossed me back in the drunk tank. My parents were on vacation. I don't know if I would have called them anyway. I figured it was my thing. I had to deal with it. They left me in the drunk tank for three more days, I think they thought someone would come and pay my fine. I don't think it was usual for someone to go to the workhouse for a traffic fine.

I did go to the workhouse for the remainder of the sentence. My parents did come home and my Father came to see me. He thought, we might as well save the hundred dollars, since I only had five more days to serve. Perhaps he thought I needed to learn a lesson. His best friend was a policeman on our local force. He contacted the arresting officer and they filled his head with their version of the truth. So my Father probably thought he had a bad apple on his hands. I never tried to correct their idea of what happened.

I know this seemed like a bad experience, it wasn't. At first I was stoic, then I was a cultural anthropologist on a lark. I was well read so I knew something about life in the 'real world' but this was fascinating. I met a man in the drunk tank who had ulcers on his legs that looked like they went down to the bone. He said they were wine sores. These people were so open and honest and willing to share their life stories. In the workhouse I met many very interesting people; intelligent and articulate people. Men of wisdom. I don't remember focusing on how they got there. Did I ask, I don't remember. I never again doubted the richness of a person's intelligence or humanity because they found themselves, as part of what we think, as the flotsam and jetsam of humanity.

I never would have believed it, when someone said, “I was completely innocent”. We all think, “Well, he must have had something to do with it.” Having something to do with it doesn't mean the person is guilty. I am sure I called the experience to me. I got so much positive out of it. And I was nineteen, after all, a nineteen year old who was discovering himself. I wasn't going to be pushed around.

I never would have known the extent of police brutality if I hadn't experienced it myself. I have often thought, “If they treat a white, middle class kid from the suburbs this way, how will they treat someone from a ghetto?”

There were several social forces that had to do with my experience. There was a sudden fear of young people. Movies such as “The Blackboard Jungle” and “Rebel Without a Cause” came out about that time. Society felt it had to crack down on the youth. It was a period that lasted several years. I would like to bring it up in a different context sometime.

I never knew this experience affected how my extended family saw me, it probably didn't a great deal. Remember the friend on the motorcycle? I never saw him again. I found out after forty plus years, that he went back to the house, and told a family member that we were racing and I don't know what else. Is that how he dealt with his feelings for leaving me in the lurch? I don't know? I would have done the same thing if I could have. The officer must not have gotten his license number as he was never apprehended. It was interesting how I found out he bad mouthed me [if that is what he did]. That is a story for another time.

I think this is the end of my life sketches for now.

Love and Peace, Gregg