WEIR ONLY HUMAN: An Unforgettable Night By BOB WEIR

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Weir_BobOn Dr. Martin Luther King
's birthday, I'm reminded of a dreadful event that occurred when I was a
rookie cop. April 4, 1968 is a day I'll never forget. I was working the 4 to
midnight shift with my partner, Leroy Spivey, in the Bedford/Stuyvesant section
of Brooklyn, New York. We were on radio motor patrol during an unusually warm
spring evening in the predominantly African-American neighborhood. It would get
a lot warmer before the night was over. We had been working together for about
a year as the first black and white (referred to as “salt-and-pepper”) team in
our precinct, and one of the first in the city. The tour of duty in the high
crime area had been pretty much a routine affair during the first half of our
shift: burglaries, robberies, vehicle accidents, family disputes, etc.

Then, about 8 o'clock, a
tragedy occurred that would change the course of history. It began for us when
someone yelled over the police radio, “Martin Luther King was just shot in
Memphis.” Leroy, an African-American who had often spoken proudly of the man
who for many years had led the civil rights movement toward equality in
America, sat in stunned silence. As I steered the car along the dark street, I
looked toward my partner and said, “Aw, don't believe that. It's some jerk with
a depraved sense of humor.” But a few minutes later, a voice said, “King is
DOA. A sniper got him.” Leroy covered his face with his hands and shook his
head slowly as if trying to block out the truth of the message.

It was only moments later
that the shocking news swept the country and the riots began. Calls for police
response flooded the airwaves, as a segment of the population took to the
streets, burning and looting in a mad frenzy of outrage and frustration. We
spent the next 12 hours racing from one riot to another, chasing down looters,
handcuffing them and taking them to a central booking location so other
officers could process them, allowing us to return to the street. I don't
remember how many arrests we made during that long, tumultuous night, but we
worked continuously until 8 the next morning. Although the violence,
bitterness, and hatred I witnessed during that 16 hour tour would long be
remembered, the most unforgettable sight was the intermittent tears that filled
my partner's eyes as he struggled with his emotions but did his job with a
profound courage and dignity. He berated those we caught looting and condemned
them for besmirching the memory of Dr. King.

Several times during the
night, when we collared someone who had just crashed through a store window and
was running away with stolen property, my partner would grab them by the throat
and push them up against a wall. “This is how you honor the memory of Dr.
King?” he shouted menacingly in the person's face. “You think this is what Dr.
King would have wanted?” He hissed, struggling to keep from pummeling those who
used the death of an icon as an excuse for criminal activity. It should go
without saying that the overwhelming majority of black Americans had nothing to
do with those riots, but Leroy instinctively knew that a segment of the white
population would label the entire race responsible for the behavior of a few
violent opportunists.

The experience was
difficult for me, but it was devastating for my partner. From his perspective
as a black man raising a family in the America of 1968, not only had he
suffered the loss of the most powerful spiritual and political civil rights
leader of the century, but he had to endure the indignity of seeing members of
his race turn to the streets in an orgy of destruction that could only be
detrimental to the memory of his idol. I don't pretend to understand the
emotional roller coaster he and millions of other blacks had to deal with as
they faced an uncertain future without their beloved leader. King represented
more than the civil rights movement in America. He was the conscience of a
nation that needed to be continuously reminded of its sins against those who
were being judged, “by the color of their skin, rather than by the content of
their character.”
Prior to that horrendous night, I hadn't understood the impact the Nobel Peace
Prize winner
had on the hearts, souls and minds of millions of
African-Americans. If it weren't for the tremendous display of courage and
character I witnessed from my partner, I suppose I would not have been able to
see the other dimension to that tragedy. Thanks to him, my education was
significantly broadened in the space of 16 hours, and I became more proud than
ever to call myself Leroy's partner.



Bob Weir is a veteran of 20 years with the New York Police Dept. (NYPD), ten of which were
performed in plainclothes undercover assignments. Bob began a writing career
about 12 years ago and had his first book published in 1999.  Bob went on
to write and publish a total of seven novels,  “Murder in Black and
White,” “City to Die For,” “Powers that Be,” “Ruthie’s Kids,” “Deadly to Love,”
“Short Stories of Life and Death,” and “Out of Sight.” He also became a
syndicated columnist under the title “Weir Only Human.”

eHeziWEIR ONLY HUMAN: An Unforgettable Night By BOB WEIR

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