Monday, July 25, 2005

Damned No Matter What They Do

 

Police officers in London will have a tough time now. They chased down a fellow from Brazil. When he tripped, some officers fell on top of him and held him down, while another shot him dead.

I was on-the-air reporting the breaking news from London the morning it happened. The first piece of tape from an eyewitness bothered me. The witness had said exactly what happened, that the man looked scared, and he appeared to stumble, then the officers were on top of him, and then there were shots.

I even remarked on-the-air that police had better hope that man had some connection to the terror bombings, or it would be a remarkably bad time for them.

It turns out to be the worst possible circumstance- an innocent man who happened to live in a building that was being watched. He was from Brazil, and had nothing to do with the Islamic Terrorists.

Police didn’t know that. They only knew that there was a man from a suspect address heading toward the subway. He was wearing a coat. And he ran when police tried to stop him.

Did he think police were armed robbers? Maybe even terrorists who wanted a hostage? We may never know for sure. The bullets from the police ended his life. Why?

I don’t know. But we have to remember that anti-terror police squads have to be right one-hundred percent of the time. They have to stop all threats, or else hundreds could be killed. They had reason to believe this man was on his way to do harm. Officers probably thought the best way to stop it was to end his life with a slug to his brain, before he had a chance to trigger any explosive.

Look at the incident from their eyes, and in that moment. They had just seen four dud bombs fizzle on the subway in what was meant as an encore of the July 7th blasts. Forensic experts had probably picked through the wreckage and found out that kind of detonator was used, and how it was triggered.

Their only thought was to stop that young man before there could be more carnage. In their mind, there was no time to ask for identification or anything else.

Years ago when I was a street reporter in Atlanta there was a problem with armed robberies in the mid-town area. The police put up bold lettered posters warning everyone that when challenged, they were to put their hands up, and do not turn around or they would be shot to death. A few were shot to death before robberies tapered off in the area. I remember seeing one bandit sprawled on the pavement with paper money all around him.

Maybe London should at least invest in some signs that tell people (in several languages) that armed police are patroling, and when challenged, they are to stop and follow instructions for their own safety.

That young Brazilian made a fatal error for whatever reason. Police acted with deadly force, and if someone can’t see why they did, they’re whistling through the graveyard. As I said, the protectors have to be right 100% of the time. The thugs have to get through only once.

Whatever is said or done now, it’s too late to save that kid’s life…. or the lives of the 54 other people who were shredded to bits by verminous cowards who in some twisted, wierd way, believe they are striking out for some kind of cause.

Posted by Dave Foulk at 00:22:44 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Thursday, July 21, 2005

The Creaking And Groaning Of An Old Typist

I apologize to those who have checked the blog and found that I haven’t made an entry in a while. My doggone left hand seems to have forgotten that ugly injection it got only a year ago, and by the time evening rolls around I can only type a couple of lines without having to re-arrange a recalcitrant digit.

For those who have never had a shot in a finger or wrist joint, I refer you to the many Tom And Jerry Cartoons where ‘ol Tom the cat would get his paw smashed by Jerry the mouse. Tom’s paw would swell up about ten times its normal size and you would hear “boing boing boing” as it pulsated much to the cat’s horror. That is what a cortisone shot feels like in your hand.

There used to be a time when I could type at a blistering hundred words a minute for hours at a time. There also used to be a time when I had hair, didn’t need extra-wide shoes, and my real teeth had a two-thirds majority over the fake ones. Things change.

But would we want it any other way? What if there was a medical procedure that would allow us to stay young forever? How scary. After all, would you want to have children when you are 60. You could attend their high school graduation in a hearse.

If everybody looked young and we were in public, how would we know who to cast that all-knowing “look at those young idiots” to another person our age. Going to the drug store would be boring. We wouldn’t be able to buy pills by the scoop, like we used to buy candy in the Sears and Robuck store.

How would doctors afford those nice cars if all of us stayed disgustingly healthy?

If we were all young forever, there would be no people from Ohio left to drive slow in the left lane of the interstate.

And Tenncare would be so well off with all of us healthy and young, it would be called Ninecare

Posted by Dave Foulk at 01:03:55 | Permalink | Comments (1) »