Park memories - beyond the obvious

Here we have an average looking neighborhood park, Essex Circle Park. Notice the curb is painted red. The red curb has story behind it, a history of violence, narcotics, and other normal teen/young adult debauchery.


I was on a police squad that this park was within our jurisdictional patrol responsibilities. In the late 1970's, it became a problem. Calls for service were increasing each month, at and around the surrounding neighborhood. Calls from citizens fed up with teenagers run-amok. After school the park filled up. The trees on the left were smaller then, and it wasn't uncommon for me to find baggies of dope in the lower branches or around the roots covered in a feeble attempt of hiding with grass & dirt. I'd find young adults nearby and usually find the associated paraphernalia on them. I made it a point to patrol this park often during my shift in an attempt to curb the events that cause the neighbors to call and complain. (I arrested one guy three times in one week there once, but that's another story.) Plus, these calls were a nuisance to us. We'd have to leave Winchells' Donuts sometimes to respond here. :-)


Our squad was given the task of cleaning up the neighborhood and see how we can lessen the calls for service. Since most of the dopers, burglars, low lifes we found at the park lived elsewhere, I came up with the idea to paint the curb red....no parking. We passed on our request to the City Public Works Dept who obliged us fairly quickly. (a week or two at the most as I recall) Viola! It worked. Calls for service went down to "normal" for a residential neighborhood.


One of my hardest one-on-one arrests was with a guy in Essex Cir Park. I saw a guy in the center of the park with several bags of dope on the grass in front of him, he was laying them out as if taking inventory, and then methodically putting them inside his coat pockets. He saw me as I approached and tried grabbing it all at once and avoid me. He knew I was there but he didn't respond to my verbal commands, as if he ignored me, I'd go away. I kept trying to get him into handcuffs, keeping him on the ground, (me on top of him, he on his stomach) and he kept trying to hit me, get away from me and throw his dope away all at the same time. (he was so high, he was in another world) When he pulled out the hunting knife, it got serious. I used my baton on him, but it didn't phase him, but I did get the knife away and tossed it out of reach. We both struggled until I got cuffs on him...but hands in front of him. I was winded and thankful I got cuffs on him, drug him over to my car, stood on his cuffed hands and reached into the car and grabbed the radio mike. (I'd driven over the curb and onto the grass between others knowing if I got out an walked to him from the street, he'd run and I hated foot pursuits.) After help arrived, three of us got his hand behind his back with cuffs, the proper way. He was high on PCP. No wonder my hits didn't hurt him.

As an added note, while I was on the ground with this guy, a park local walked over and calmly laid down on his side, resting his head on his hand, elbow in the grass and watched. I called him by name and asked him for a little help. I knew he wouldn't but was desperate. After the three of us got my bad guy in the patrol car I turned to Chuck Z, (one of the cops who helped) and said to arrest him...referring to the doper who laid down and watched. Charge: failure to assist an officer - under the Posse commitatus statute(sp? ~ it’s Latin).