Every cop that I’ve dealt with in this town is a fascist. Oppressive.
I don’t take the duties of a law enforcement officer lightly. My paternal grandfather was a police chief in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, for 28 years. I come from a law abiding family. I’ve never been arrested, man. Not even for possession.
When starting this blog, however, I promised to tell the truth about myself and about this city that I love so dearly.
The Myrtle Beach police stopped me three times within two-and-a-half years as I walked to the beach in the early morning. For what? I was walking a straight line along the side of the road around 6 a.m. I wasn’t even singing.
Twice, a small spotlight was shone in my face and I was asked for identification. The third instance was a stop-and-go check by the officer. He asked me what I was doing. I told him. That was that. Auf wiedersehen, Wiener Schnitzel.
Some so-called friends told me that the officers were just doing their jobs. Maybe. But I told them that they wouldn’t feel that way if they had been stopped three times in a span of 30 months. They couldn’t have understood my point of view. The only place they walk is to the refrigerator.
Late last summer, I was involved in an incident that you wouldn’t believe unless you had been there. A neighboring landlord (aka “Little Pete” Bunyan) cut down a fig tree on the property that I rented. Ripe figs were dropping onto a city easement between my apartment and his four rentals. Little Pete fancied the easement as his property.
That jerk cut the fig tree down to within two feet of the ground. It was a bummer, man. The figs were ripe and so sweet. They were my breakfast; I needed the fiber.
I called Little Pete out, raising my voice when doing so, relentlessly challenging him about his manhood. HE called the police. I never raised my voice after the officers arrived. I asked one of them — a smug, thirtyish-looking reactionary — if he wanted to see the tree in question. The cop had the audacity to tell me, “I don’t care about the tree.” His only concern was to end the dispute.
At that point, I looked Little Pete in the eye and asked him — in a fairly calm manner — what it was about city easements that he didn’t understand. The second cop threatened to handcuff me. The whole argument was “silly,” he yelled.
Cuff me? For what? I asked a question. I never threatened anyone. This fascist cop — he looked like Benito Mussolini — was clearly bullied in high school. Maybe he was bitter because he was going bald.
I backed down and apologized to the cops before they put me in the hoosegow. As I walked into my apartment, I noticed that Little Pete, Benito and his dweeb of a partner were huddled in front of the adjoining property and staring at me. Benito had his arms folded in front of him. He gave me a Mussolini sneer. I couldn’t resist. I stared right back at him, folded my arms in front of me, grimaced and went inside. Just because I was bereaved didn’t make me a sap.
For the record, the day after the incident, Little Pete had landscapers trim up his property. Limbs and clippings were piled on that very easement. Coincidence. No way. That twit left his tree trash there for two months.
The beach bum is all about personal freedom. Live and let live. Long ago, I wrote a newspaper column after being stopped at a roadblock at one in the morning. I was held up for fifteen minutes. Three, flashlight-wielding cops inspected my car as if they were looking for dust mites. Their search was oppressive. It wasn’t until after the stop that I felt like drinking — a White Russian or two or six.
The point I made in my column was that cops aren’t hired to suppress individual freedom. We’re talking taxpayer money here. Cops work for the government. The man, in the parlance of our times.
There was yet another Myrtle Beach confrontation, but I won’t go there because it involved a female cop who looked like a Bulgarian weightlifter. A male weightlifter.
Please, let me know what you think about my rant. I’ve been wrong before. Once.
Say, is that a target on my back? So be it. The beach bum abides.