On Childhood Juggling,Kid Working Out and Me and Eminem’s Mom

When I was a young boy there were not three like objects in my house. There were not three of the same balls  in my house. And my Mom was tight with finances for toys (she didn’t have any when she was a kid; her mother gruffly said “Whaddya need that for” when my mother as a kid heartbreakingly, she said,asked for some paper dolls). So as she went so did we go,toy deprived. I bet Em’s mom at least  bought his ass some Hot Wheels — come clean out my fucked up closet son.


But I was an avid,serious juggler in training doing 3 objects in the advanced Shower Style (I didn’t know better)

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Rather than in the meant for beginners Cascade Style

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I would juggle oranges and when the skin split I’d put electrical tape on them and put them back in the fridge and be yelled at steadily; what! wasting food glorious food and they were yiddishkeit racists so mommy (as we pathetically mistakenly called her) didn’t bother guilt tripping us on starving shvatza children in Africa.


I also loved working out and the 2+2=4 simplicity of achievement of it. You do it hard it rewards you hard no matter who you are what you do if you’re liked or not talented or not a good boy or not cool or not popular or not friendless.


As Dianne Wiest said of childhood ballet, I liked the “escape from uncertainty” of it.  


Of course I had no weights to lift
so I’d go into my sister’s room when she wasn’t there and in her full length mirror hanging on the door I would watch myself lifting, curling volumes of her World Book Encyclopedia set. Each night I would take a different volume to bed to read.


Shlemiel shlimazl blaring from the TV as my disconsonant soundtrack in the hellish 80s  I was Spartan despite it all holed up on 2 Ethel Court 11798 off of Bagatelle Road (get the  maps up boys) technically once Wyandanch but changed to the fake great manor born Wuthering, sorry, Wheatley, Heights.

On Police Misconduct, an NYPD precinct with extraordinarily high civilian complaint statistics (the 75th), and when you once get wrongly cuffed for six hours to a precinct bench and you once get wrongly assaulted by a police officer in a precinct, there isn’t, wasn’t, a damn thing I could do about it So I wrote this

On Police  Misconduct, an NYPD precinct with extraordinarily high civilian complaint statistics (the 75th), and when you once get wrongly  cuffed for six hours to a precinct bench and you once get wrongly assaulted by a police officer in a precinct, there isn’t, wasn’t, a damn thing I could do about it  So I wrote this

Attached in this post below are screen shots from the NYPD’s Civilian Complaint Review Board 2015 annual report

In the report they list every single NYPD precinct in New York City and the number of complaints that have been lodged against each precinct. Here they cite a five year total 2011-2015

Most precincts have 200,300,400 complaints; 500 in a rougher precinct. Two particularly dangerous crime ridden areas in the Bronx patrolled by the 44th and the 40th precincts have 700 complaints. And that’s it, a complete picture of crime and community police relations in the city.

But there’s one glaringly how the hell can this be allowed tolerated (italics mine but they should  be yours and the NYPD’s) exception.

The  75th police precinct of East New York Brooklyn. For that same period it had a number absurdly higher than any other place– 1,344 complaints — you hear, one precinct in one community had 1,344 complaints lodged against it. Almost double the number of those two for real rough precincts in the Bronx .

I know I might be beating a dead horse, I’ve written and reported on East New York a lot.

But what the hell NYPD, CCRB- Garner, chokeholds, stop and frisk  are legitimate  and important issues  bit in some ways they’re individual isolated of a time. This is endemic, its been like this  in East New York since CCRB stats were being  compiled. No sarcasm, but where’s your white paper on this, your New York Lawyers for The Public Interest led civil suit on this, even a damn mention on your website that’s chock full of every imaginable statistical minutiae — a 1,344 complaints against cops in one community.

Commanding Officer of the 75th Michael Lipetri seems like a decent and honorable leader  (as much as you can tell from a twitter account) and the 75th is a hard hard precinct to work.

But sincerely how the heck do you look in the eye  of a decent East New York resident and rationally justifiably explain without apology  1,344 complaints when,say, Murray Hill where my girl lived has 260 complaints for the same period. People don’t  have a right to live like this (on a side note when I was reporting in East New York I could’ve filed legitimate CCRB complaints on different police officers maybe  12 times).

On a larger  side note I got yanked off a Port Authority bus by a group of police officers on some false charge of making a 911 call to endanger East New York police. I was handcuffed to a bench for six hours. When I went back to that precinct a week later as the desk sergeant instructed me in a phone conversation, an officer there whose badge number and name I will never forget – – how do I say this properly — degraded me, taunted me, confiscated destroyed my property, had me on my knees, lies to me, then assaulted the hell out of me hard —  in his precinct right there in Port Authority  with 12 other cops there  who witnessed it.  I’m laying there crumpled on the ground and I said to  him why the hell did you do that? He said because I hit him first. Since I’m not dead or doing  a 2 year bid in Dannemora Correctional, you he and I know that that’s a straight up ugly lie, and coming from a police officer it’s essentially a damn false criminal charge. And God help the defendant who gets this officer on the stand testifying against him.*

I called 911, EMS, Internal Affairs, Port Authority Integrity Unit, CCRB, reported it to another precinct trying to file assault charges – no one ever got back to me, nothing at all happened.  Call the Port Authority Integrity Unit (their version of Internal Affairs) anytime and it just  rings and rings, no one ever answers, they don’t even have voice mail.  I had to leave my complaint with a secretary in administration.

So this heavyweight Port Authority officer got to play UFC with me sending me flying 6 feet thorough the air into a concrete wall (though maybe play UFC is not quite right, when I looked up at him as he was standing over me after the assault his whole body was visibly shaking).

I hope he’s sorry, maybe PTSD, he served  in the military in combat, but at my worst I sometimes imagine he tells the story over beers laughing about what he did to that fucken reporter. No macho on this but if I ever somehow impossibly heard him doing this word is just about bond please  put money on my commissary books because I would proudly do 2 years on the gate on the count in the dayroom etc for that kind of violation.

Seriously these 75th Precinct numbers are too exceptional; something is very wrong at that precinct and command should do something otherwise you’ll have more Michael Dowds running your streets  hurting people, communities, and tarnishing the image of good cops.

 

QUEENS and STATEN ISLAND 

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MANHATTAN

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BROOKLYN

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BRONX

capture_1468544409603~2*On not naming this officer, I know this is not strongly defensible or consistent with how I operate as a journalist  but I can’t bring myself to fuck with him that way, something he would probably do, low-grade coward snitch to hurt or to ruin a man without giving him a chance.   And it’s for a similar reason I went down to the precinct when the sergeant told me to over the phone.  I knew I was walking into a lions den, the desk Sergeant was being obnoxious, game playing hostile. But I went because I hate the idea of being afraid or having to watch myself or call a lawyer to fight in the shadows; not confront them man to man when I did absolutely nothing wrong and they acted so immoraly.  That cop wouldn’t have done it, and I don’t want to be that kind of man.  In fact in between throwing a folder of my papers across the room screaming in my face and body slamming me he told me maybe three times “Get the fuck out of here, call a lawyer.”

But I may be wrong about this, if I had an emergency and to call 911 meant this officer would show up I would just quote NWA and handle it myself. He either learned his lesson after coming close to being burnt (after this happened I raised hell to him and every other cop in the precinct, to 911, to EMS who responded while I was in the precinct (first it was get the fuck out, after the assault they wouldn’t let me leave  even though I said I wanted to repeatedly) called my wife, a lawyer and told her what happened gave the officer’s badge number and spelled out his name all in front of him, them; strong loud and emphatically. Or the cop doesn’t give a damn about a kevin heldman and doesn’t belong on the streets with a gun and extraordinary powers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Memoir: The Old School Rehab; shaved heads, digging your own grave outside, young men forced to wear diapers, donkey costumes, eat baby food, and sit for weeks motionless on a wooden chair with no back

They went quite crazy back then in the name of reforming us; the other aspect of the war on drugs.
kevandbro2

Photo: Me at 17 with my buddy, the armed robber, dust patient bisexual, martial arts expert from Hollis, Queens

It was the early 1980s in NYC, around the birth of hip hop and these rehabs (TCs) were a world of prison culture, living in Bronx tenements, sleeping with one eye open, 125th Street in Harlem, Pitkin Avenue in East New York, Brooklyn, dusties detoxing on cranberry juice, the cooker, razor blades in mouths, Nicky Barnes, fresh waves, Five Percenters, Mighty Whiteys from Queens, speedballs, the hole stroll, spades, playing the corner slap boxing, wild like reform school, excessively rigid as a skinner box mixed with super Orwellian behaviorism (forced to constantly inform on each other to staff) — all to treat us misfits, gangstas and burnouts in army jackets and work-boots messing with girls with roach clip feather earrings who were made to wear stocking caps if they broke a rule.

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TRAVELS IN WAR-TORN AFGHANISTAN

When You Run Around Afghanistan Alone And in Shirtsleeves While All Around You Your Fellow Americans Are Barricaded, Bunkered, And Bulletproof-Vested Up, This is What You Can Experience

The government, ethnic resentment dynamic seems pretty raw. Power, Karzai was from the south, being bombarded with how bad the government is, how bad the NGOs are – – I don’t know if I’m being used, spun or it’s legitimate resistance fighter rhetoric.

The rural poverty is pretty staggering. The isolation of so many of these villages also staggering — the urban areas, bazaars, mazes of mud huts, little girls carrying water jugs on their shoulders and navigating sharp rock mountains like billy goats, boys standing with naked legs in rivers while I’m bundled up against hypothermia in the SUV.

Then suddenly if you look somewhere else there are palatial structures, gleaming corporate office buildings.Two artillery sounding blasts in Faisalabad, think they were blowing something up intentionally and announced it in Dari over loudspeakers, but ugly sickening sound.

Read full story:

http://journalismworksproject.org/Afghanistan1.html
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