When I first started working with the Probation Department, I was lucky enough to be assigned to the best partner for me. Big John, also known as The Green Mile, due to his resemblance to the giant man in the movie by the same name. The similarities were not only physical, but also their personalities, and they even had the same first name (google John Coffee). John grew up in the gang entrenched part of a Southern California city, but managed to avoid trouble through sports. John excelled in track and field, basketball, and football. He was a local hero, everywhere we went he was known. No only for his celebrity, but also because he worked in juvenile hall. Most of the crooks we would contact, John knew them when they were kids, coming up in the hall. John was perfect for me, advising me on how to act and what to say in certain households. I was straight out of rural central Massachusetts, not super familiar with inner city manners. There were times when I foolishly thought I was as polite as a prince to some of the families, and John would advise, “Don’t ever say that to a black momma, you almost got us killed.”
Our first assignment was with the Youthful Offender Program, or YOP. It was a new unit in the department, funded by a grant. It was flashy and sexy (for probation), we had all the newest equipment and a smaller caseload. We were both handpicked to work in the metro office. The focus of YOP was on young adults ages 18-25, with a high risk of reoffending. Our job was to use the “big brother” approach; keep them out of prison, and do not arrest them. Get involved with the families, and build a relationship with the young adults so they would to listen to us. We didn’t yell, or correct; we advised. It was the newest thing. We moved into our new office, loaded with seasoned veterans who didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm about the YOP and its sex appeal.
One of our favorite probationers was Curtis. He was the inventor of the names, White Chocolate (me) and The Green Mile (John). Curtis was a young African American kid with a colorful history with known gang members. One day Curtis arrived at the office, without an appointment, crying. This set off the alarm for other officers.
“Your guy is here and he is crying outside.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of it.”
“Well he’s blaring his gang colors and acting crazy, I think you should drug test him”
“Okay I’ll do that, thanks.”
“You shouldn’t be alone, he looks dangerous.”
“Okay, I’ll ask John to be there.” I said with increased annoyance.
I was going to advise that I knew Curtis, and I knew he wasn’t dangerous. I didn’t need to drug test him, or have John with me, but we were new to the office and I wanted to respect the nervous veterans. I asked John to come down to the meeting area and stand by.
Curtis was crying and looked upset and embarrassed because of it. I brought him to the back meeting area which was just a bullpen style room, with desks everywhere in a big open space. We had the room to ourselves, so John casually kept himself busy on the other side. As soon as we sat down to talk, an uninvited officer sat at the desk beside us and did her best impression of being busy, clearly eavesdropping. It made Curtis uncomfortable. When I asked him what was wrong, he quietly said his girlfriend dumped him and he was crushed. Because he had a reputation for being a tough gangster, he didn’t want the world to know he was crying over a girl, but wanted to talk to someone about it. He chose me. The program was working. Take that, YOP haters!! The problem was, the uninvited officer next us was causing all sorts of emotional congestion. Curtis was whispering and mumbling to avoid the unwanted ear hustling. It got too uncomfortable, so I was just going to test him and let him go.
Now, when I say test, I mean drug test. When I say drug test, I mean the two of us go in the bathroom and I watch him pee in a cup. It’s not the most glamorous part of the job. When we walked into the bathroom, John was the only one outside. We exchanged the “you okay?” and reply nod.
About halfway through the peeing, there was a knock at the door.
“Come out with your hands up!”
“What?” I asked.
The door opened and a hand grabbed me by the shirt and yanked me out, leaving Curtis alone mid way through his pee. Upon exit of the bathroom, I was surrounded in a half circle of seven officers, guns drawn, pointing at me, ready to go. Behind them I could see my giant partner, with a look of shock that resembled my own.
“What are you idiots doing, I’m not a hostage, we are just drug testing,” I said, doing my best to show my anger and not fright.
No one was paying attention, because behind me was Curtis, shuffling out. His shorts were still around his ankles and his hands were up, as directed. Loose change and a lighter were trailing behind him with each step.
Once the officers realized the hostage situation was a bust, the seven of them scattered like cockroaches in the light. Leaving a half naked Curtis, The Green Mile, and myself awkwardly standing there. I rushed over to help him pick up his 74 cents and lighter. Curtis pulled up his shorts and looked over at us, still wiping his tears.
“Whew! Rough day, huh?” Said The Green Mile with 100% sincerity. (Makes me laugh every time I think of it.)
I walked Curtis to the exit, apologizing. He didn’t seem to notice. As we got to the door his phone rang, he looked at me with so much excitement. “It’s her!” He flipped the phone open (yeah, I said flip, it was a few years ago), started talking and walked away. Over his shoulder I saw Big Johnny Doe, a Korean officer running toward us, moving surprisingly fast for his size.
“Did you hear, there is a hostage situation inside!” He said, barely able to catch his breath.
“Yeah man, that was me, its all good.”
Just then a police cruiser came flying around the corner, hopping the curb and landing on the sidewalk; cops pouring out of it rushing into the building.
Turns out, a rumor was spread that I was being held hostage in the bathroom. Not sure where it came from, but I can only assume it was the officer with the eager ears. There was a “training issue” and John and I were extended an apology.
Maybe an hour or so later I called Curtis to see how he was doing. It was traumatic day for him and and I wanted to make sure he got home alright. Big brother style. Also, a young African American male having seven guns pointed at him for no reason at all could be a serious public relations nightmare should he decide to let anyone know.
“I’m doing great man… She’s taking me back, we are going to work it out. She holds me up without keeping me down!”
No mention of his near death experience an hour before.
Love works in strange and powerful ways.
Weird Beard Blog 
Leave a comment