Injustice For The Sake Of Justice
I was raised in a middle-class neighborhood named Perry Hall. It was a suburb of Baltimore City. My childhood years became riddled with trouble. Yes, I was certainly an angry child. What else would anyone sane expect of me, at my young age, when I was forced to live in a totally dysfunctional atmosphere? I knew during these years I lacked proper educational skills. It was apparent that I was consistent in taking a bad situation and making it worse. There was no love lost between my mother and me. And, there was absolute hatred between my older brother, Allan, and myself. I had always loved my father, but he wasn’t around very much. And, who could have blamed him? As I grew deeper and deeper into my troubled teen years my dad’s health was declining. There wasn’t much he could do for me, and vice versa.
I somehow managed to graduate both high school and Marine Corps boot camp. The truth of the matter is, both were by default. Surprisingly, both my mother and father came to both graduations. I heard my senior drill instructor tell my father that I was as tough as nails, but that he envisioned a long road of trouble for me and the Marine Corps. I didn’t wait long to prove the drill instructor right. As soon as my parents and I arrived back in Baltimore, I disappeared with my hoodlum friends for a significant period of time. I also figured since my parents had two cars, I would steal one of them. I was quickly back to my old ways. Smoking, drinking, chasing girls, etc... After three weeks, I finally returned home with the car because I was broke. My parents told me to leave and not come back until I straightened up.
I stayed the rest of my leave period with my hoodlum friends, the Walters family. But, during my last week of leave, I actually met a very nice girl named Virginia Williams. She was slightly on the heavy side, but had a beautiful face. She also had a great set of standards and morals built within her. No doubt, she had very good parenting. I found this very odd simply because Virginia was from the “white slums”. Prior to departing Baltimore, for my first Marine duty station, Virginia gave me her address and asked if I would keep in touch with her. I stated that I would, but in reality, I had no intention of doing so. I didn’t want a lassie that wasn’t going to put out. I was quickly becoming adapted to the typical way of life for a marine grunt.
Jacksonville, North Carolina was a normal military town. The locals hated us. But, they sure loved to have their town packed with pawn shops, bars, liquor stores, and cheap-looking, ugly women who were expensive. I got taken to the hoop moneywise just like most other young marines did. The Jacksonville police were just as dirty and corrupt as the cheap bar girls we frequented. On one night, out of many, I was drunk at one of their bars. The barfly I was with offered to take me home with her for $40.00. Did I ever make a mistake when I accepted her offer! She lived on what we called, “the wrong side of the tracks”. This area was off-limits to all military personnel. We, as Marines were well briefed on this. I grabbed a taxi and proceeded with this girl to her place. Even though I was intoxicated, I knew once the taxi had crossed the tracks, I was messing up, big-time.
Several minutes later, the taxi pulls up to an old broken down single wide trailer that was nestled in a deep wooded area. I begin to get concerned. My instincts were right. The girl and I are now walking towards the front door of this crappy-looking swamp house. I had been told of many robberies committed on young marines in this area. Some had been severely beaten and left to die out in the marsh and swamp areas. I walked through the front door of her trailer and saw a large man, 6’5” and a good 300 lbs. His words to me were, “You think you’re coming in here boy to screw my old lady?” I replied, “No, sir.” The big redneck said, “Then, you better get your punk city-slicking ass out of here, boy!” As I left out the front door I heard the girl and the big redneck yelling and screaming at each other. I was just standing a short distance up the dirt road from their trailer. I didn’t have a clue on how to get out of this area. I was nervous to remain where I was, and it scared me to walk in the pitch dark anywhere in this “marine-hating” redneck neighborhood. I then saw the Jacksonville police come to their trailer.
I figured I had a better chance of surviving with the police than any other possible way out of here. I began to walk back to the trailer. Both police officers from the squad car were now inside the trailer. I walked up to the front door and lightly knocked on it. One of the police officers walked over to the door and asked me, “What’re you doing here, boy?” I had just started to say to the officer, “But officer…”, when the door flew open and hit me. I was knocked to the ground. The officer then came and stood over me. He then sprayed me in the face with pepper spray, three times. I was blinded. My face was burning. My nose and eyes were profusely running liquids. I still attempted to stand up. I couldn’t see at all, as someone hit me in the side of my head with a considerable amount of impact. It knocked me to the ground, once again. I raised myself to only as high as my hands and knees. I heard this country twang speak again. It sounded like the police officer. “You ready to leave yet, boy? I responded, “Up yours, you punk-ass pig.” I got kicked hard in my rib area. This time it laid me out flat on the ground. But, once again, moments later, I got back up to hands and knees. I was now crawling, hoping it was in the direction of the dirt road, and not the trailer. I crawled approximately 50 yards when I hear this car pull up alongside of me. I hear the same country twang. I just know it is that lousy cop again. I then hear him speaking to his partner, “Should we leave this city-slicking jarhead here? Or, should we take this candy-ass marine back to town?” His partner said, “Load the boy in the back of the car.”
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