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Aug. 18th, 2002
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I hadn’t thought about the Rock Against Reagan arrests in a long time but right after posting that last entry I was reminded of another forgotten moment. Walking down 13th Street yesterday, I waited for the light to change at South Van Ness. A police van pulled up next to me. Whoever was in the back was banging hard on the metal walls of the van. The two young cops in front were laughing. The light changed and they sped off quickly, then hit the brakes. Then they driver hit the gas again and swerved wildly in their lane. I watched them drive away toward Bryant Street.
At 5 AM , back in 1984, when the police transferred me from The Hall of Justice to Juvenile Hall, they put six of us in the back of the police van. With handcuffed wrists and a smooth, seamless interior we fell hard against the metal sides and floor as the police stopped short and swerved their way through the deserted streets. Finally, we braced against each other, half on one metal bench he other half on a lump on the van floor.
When we finally arrived at Juvey one of those generically mustached cops asked, "Did you enjoy the ride?"
"Not as much as seeing your head on a stake", mumbled the finally-down-from-tripping, mohawked punk I had spent the last few hours with. Only I heard him though. At intake they knew him by name and said, "Sorry to see you again. This is you third time in 6 months. You’re going to be here awhile." The took him off separately and left me to wait for my parents.
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At 5 AM , back in 1984, when the police transferred me from The Hall of Justice to Juvenile Hall, they put six of us in the back of the police van. With handcuffed wrists and a smooth, seamless interior we fell hard against the metal sides and floor as the police stopped short and swerved their way through the deserted streets. Finally, we braced against each other, half on one metal bench he other half on a lump on the van floor.
When we finally arrived at Juvey one of those generically mustached cops asked, "Did you enjoy the ride?"
"Not as much as seeing your head on a stake", mumbled the finally-down-from-tripping, mohawked punk I had spent the last few hours with. Only I heard him though. At intake they knew him by name and said, "Sorry to see you again. This is you third time in 6 months. You’re going to be here awhile." The took him off separately and left me to wait for my parents.
ˇ