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"The Cost of Immoral Behavior" -
Randy Burns
July, 2002

Editor's Note: while realizing the "f" word is found everywhere, I have chosen not to publish it or similar words, to keep our General Audience rating. Read between the lines. Thanks.

I would like reparations as well. No snot or sarcasm here. I believe in reparations for slavery too, from the long standing companies that made their fortune delving deeply into moral wrong. Money kicked the hell out of moral integrity then, and little has changed since.

I'm a 54 year old white guy who lived in LA during late sixties. Long hair over my waist, and I drove a 1950-Gold Ford Convertible. It was a wreck, but it hung in there like a good friend. Hell, I knew it was only a machine, but it didn't fail me. I'd say anything that doesn't fail you or let you down, is a good friend. In fact, I'd like reparations for that car as well! It was ripped apart, its seats thrown out on the roadside. The insides of the glove compartment-emptied of everything and thrown out onto the ground as well.

If you're beginning to think LA Cops-1960's, you've got it!

Each time my friend Chuck (a blues singer from back east) and myself went out on the streets of LA in that car, we'd get pulled over.

"Officer, what were we doing wrong?"

"Shut your f****** mouth and get out of the God-damned car!" The dialogue, during these common recurrences, was nothing you ever looked forward to. It was the same way every time. Never did luck out and get a decent cop. Never met one in LA.

We'd stand silently on the side of the road, watching the car's insides end up on the outside next to us. The Cops never found a thing. They would leave the seats and the rest of the car's insides on the ground, outside with us. They'd say nothing, we'd say nothing. They'd get back in their squad car and drive away from this failure to consider our Constitutional Rights. During the sixties, all rights were taken from the long hairs as well.

They could do anything they wanted to, so they did. You had long hair and drove an old car, you expected it. Not every single time, but you were always ready and drove clean.

Now, the final part of this story about the LA Cops-and my reparations, marks a significant change in my thought process. I had just signed with a new Record Label, yes, I was a singer, and I got some money "up front." First thing I did was rent an apartment on North Huntley Drive, just off Santa Monica Boulevard next to "The Troubadour." The place had palm trees out in front of it with different colored lights, and an underground garage with my own private parking place! That was cool. A little dignity that the old car so righteously deserved. Right above the parking place was my new apartment.

Now, is where we get going. My girlfriend worked at Handy's Hamburger Stand, about three blocks from the apartment. One day, during "That Grand Era," Chuck and I took the car to get lunch at this Handy's joint. So of course, we ate, and took a right hand turn onto North Huntley Drive on our way back. I put my turn signal on again, and drove the car down under the building and into its own private, and well deserved space. Chuck and I had just gotten out of the car when it happened.

Two Police Squad Cars came screeching to a halt, behind our car and in front of us. They had followed us down the ramp and cut us off inside my own garage! Three Policemen leap from their cars and came straight at us!

"Get up against the f****** wall and don't say one f****** word." The Cops had their batons drawn and were swinging them at their sides. Chuck and I were pushed up against the wall, and I tried explaining this was my parking space, and that I lived right upstairs. As I've said before, these dialogues with the LA Cops were never something to look forward to.

I didn't get a third word out, when "I thought I told you to shut the f*** up, one more word and you'll wish you were never born. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

After being asked if I understood, a nightstick was held in front of my face. I didn't say yes, or nod my head. It might have been just what he wanted. They ripped apart the car again, leaving the entire contents of it strewn about the garage floor. They kicked the car a few times, re-checked the stuff they had thrown out onto the garage floor, then got into their "Protect and Serve" cars and sped away.

Chuck and I were still standing against the wall, looking at the mess on the garage floor. Humiliated, we put the car back together again without saying a word. Finished, we went upstairs to my apartment where we continued the silence for another hour or so. One of us had to say something. Hell, we could have called a cop! Look what happened when we didn't call one. The police were untouchable back then. We knew that.

My anger was so intense, I was spending all my efforts controlling it. All of my spirit was draining. Chuck just stared at a wall and didn't move. What needed to be said? Where would we find an answer?

From that moment on, I changed my thinking. I could never use the word "Pig" when describing a Policeman, and I didn't much care for it when other people did. You know, I still never used it, but it never bothered me again when other people did. Not everyone could put up with that kind of injustice. Not everyone could control themselves enough to not fight back. Was it fear or common sense that made us obey them, allowing our rights to be stripped from us? A little of both, probably.

A week later, Chuck and I drove that same old car back across the country to the East Coast. We were home, and the car made it without a breakdown or a flat tire. We owed that car and it will always remain a friend of mine. I don't know what became of it, but it had plenty of stories to tell. That's if it spoke at all of those times.

Now, my friends, the point. I would like reparations for me, Chuck, and yes, the car. I have no way to get them, nothing was recorded or kept on file. However, to have my children receive money for my fight, no. Absolutely not. Let them tangle in their own battles, without my money in their pockets while fighting for something they believe. It started and ends with me. It happened to me.

Slavery is an issue of a different sort. Life insurance made billions insuring their safe ocean crossings, Lloyds of London-for example. I wrote to them to see if the estimates that I'd read they had accumulated on the slave trade were accurate. They never replied.

Once they made it to a plantation alive, Hartford Connecticut Insurance took over. I read they made billions insuring the life of each slave! For their Masters, of course. The outcome of the Dred Scott Decision, wouldn't have anything to do with the Northern Insurance Companies, would it? The Catholic Church actually made money too! Yes, per slave-shipped to America from the Gold Coast of Africa! These various sectors are what the Slave Reparations People are now singling out. I don't blame them. A company shouldn't exist if their strength is based on Slave Insurance. I have heard that the main company was Aetna Insurance, out of Hartford Connecticut. They made the biggest bucks of all. Also the Ship building Yards in Liverpool England, made a bundle on ships they turned out to make the slave trade more profitable. I do not blame any Black Coalition for going after these immoral companies that profited greatly on something they knew to be a moral wrong. If Money talks, then let it speak again now. Handing the financial award, if successful, to the individuals and direct ancestors of slaves would be the wrong thing to do. The application of it to a heightened purpose, would be so much better. I have no suggestions as to what that should be. After all this time, that must be left to the Black Leaders who will be the representation against this vile and disgusting period in American and World History.

So okay, forget about my car. I have no idea where it is. But could someone out there please get me a few bucks from the Los Angeles Police? Any takers? No….too bad. Probably everyone's still afraid of them. I can dig that.

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