Author: pvbella

When I was in Forensic Services, I had to take a few days of in-service training at the Chicago Police Academy. The F.B.I taught the course. It was an advanced crime scene processing course.

After each scenario, it would take 20-30 minutes to reset the various crime scenes, so there were many breaks. I watched the new recruits go through a red man role-playing exercise during one of these periods.

The red man was an instructor wearing a stuffed red rubberized suit that made him look like the Michelin Tire Man. These classes were real-world training and hilarious to watch.

The role playroom was narrow and had a long rectangular window so others could watch their fellow recruits try to solve problems. This exercise was to convince an angry, loud drunken bar patron to leave. The scenario was the bartender called the police to get the patron out. The red man/patron was about six foot two and well over 200 lbs. He looked like a giant in the suit.

The object of the game was to convince the red man to leave. That was it. Just get him out of the bar. The recruits were armed with red plastic training pistols and rolled-up newspapers as nightsticks.

The recruits would go in, one by one. The red man would wave his hands frantically and yell at the top of his lungs. One short Black female officer walked in, got yelled at, and “shot” him.

Others immediately went to the nightsticks, even though the red man did nothing but yell at the top of his lungs and wave his hands around. A few ran out and pretended to call for help.

The lead instructor was a sergeant. We worked together for a while, some years before he was promoted. He asked if I could show the recruits how it’s done.

 I started to walk through the door. The recruits offered me guns and newspaper nightsticks. I turned them down. I had a real gun and did not need a nightstick, especially a paper one.

When I walked in the door, the red man yelled at the top of his lungs, “All I want is just one more fucking drink, one more fucking drink, and I will leave. One more fucking drink.” He was waving his hands wildly.

I yelled louder, “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

I talked to the bartender/instructor. He played the role, saying the guy was too drunk and he would not serve him anymore because of his behavior. I asked him if he wanted the guy gone. Being a typical smart ass, he said, “What the fuck do you think I called the cops for.”

I turned to the red man.

“One more drink and you are gone, right.”

“Yeah, just one more fucking drink, he yelled at the top of his lungs.”

“OK.”

I reached into my pocket, pretended to pull some money out, and threw it on the bar. “Get my new friend one more drink.”

The bartender/instructor pretended to pour a drink and put it in front of the red man.

Before the red man could grab it, I slid the glass towards me. I turned and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him down so I could whisper in his ear. I said what I wanted to say, then slid the glass to him. He drank it and pretended to stagger out of the bar. Then, he pretended to trip while walking out, giving me a body slam, just to be a wise ass.

The recruits were all wide-eyed and agog. The sergeant asked me if I had time to come into the classroom and tell the recruits how I got the red man out. I had about fifteen minutes left, so I went to the classroom.

The sergeant told the class the game’s object was to convince the red man to leave the bar. It appears I did that. Then he asked if they had questions. They had accusations.

One recruit told me I broke the rules, regulations, policies and procedures by buying the red man a drink. I asked him where is it written that I could not buy anyone a drink in a bar while on duty. I reminded him that the only person I could not buy a drink for was myself. Hell, I could buy the whole bar a drink as long as I did not buy one for myself and drink it.

Another said I should not have gone into the bar unarmed. I raised my tee shirt and showed him my real gun. Another was concerned about my yelling and using inappropriate language, which got a laugh from the instructors.

I told them that the uniforms they wear are expensive. Getting into a bar fight with a drunk and rolling on the floor would mean spending hard-earned money to repair or replace shirts and pants. Plus, the trip to the emergency room was not worth it. “Been there, done that. I was young and stupid once.”

I pointed at the Black female recruit. “He yelled at you, and you shot him. Guess what? You are going to prison. All those who beat him with the nightsticks will get suspended or fired. All the guy did was yell at you. Geez, if you can’t take shit here, how are you going to take it in the real world on the street.”

Finally, one recruit asked me the right question. He asked what I said in the red man’s ear.

I responded, “Ask him.”

The red man blushed. Then, he said that the object was to convince him to leave the bar, convince being the operative word.

“It was not what he said but how he said it. It was like an evil sneer. After that, I had no doubt I was leaving that bar. “Drink your drink. If you do not walk out after that, I will break every fucking bone in your body twice. I did not doubt he would do it.”

After a few more questions, I went back to my class. Later in the day, I ran into the sergeant and the red man. We had a good laugh. The red man had a similar background to the sergeant and mine. Working in the rough and tumble dangerous areas.

The sergeant offered me a position teaching tactics. I told him I am all about money. The pay cut would impact my life.   

“There’s always going to be dangerous drivers, distracted drivers and blind spots. We need infrastructure that slows traffic down and prevents people from running over cyclists,” Whitehouse said. “It just feels like it’s just like one right after the other.” (Bike Lane Uprising founder Christina Whitehouse/Block Club Chicago)

Correction: There will always be dangerous, distracted cyclists and blind spots. We need to hold them accountable to protect them from themselves and to protect pedestrians and dog walkers.

There are reckless drivers. They are held accountable for their recklessness. There are reckless pedestrians. It is surprising in this city that they are not slaughtered on a mass scale by responsible cyclists and drivers. There are reckless cyclists. They are never held accountable. If killed or seriously injured, they are held up as holy martyrs. Why? They are a community. Communities get to make their own rules, and the rest of us must cater to them.

I wrote about my disdain for cyclists before. They are whiny terrorist crybabies. If they did not blatantly violate traffic laws and the laws of physics, I would have a modicum of empathy for those injured or killed. As long as too many act like one, two, or three-wheeled terrorists riding their weapons of mass pedestrian destruction, I will continue to demean them and their so-called “community.” Yesterday, I saw one weebling and wobbling in heavy traffic with his phone plastered to his face while trying to control his bike with one hand. Like drivers, cyclists should be forbidden to use phones while riding. They should be cited and heavily fined. I am tired of almost being run down on sidewalks or by cyclists refusing to stop at STOP signs.

If the cycling advocates criticized the lawbreaking and reckless cyclists in their “community,” I would take a different tone. Cyclists will get no empathy, pity, mercy, or support if they tolerate recklessness and the city ignores it. I will not be an ally.

The cycling “community” is the new distressed, disenfranchised victims of systemic institutionalized something or other. They are the new alphabet people, the UNIBITRI+ Community. Will they have their own flag? How about slogans- Bike Pride? Bike Lives Matter? Say it loud, we bike, and we’re proud?

Will the UNIBITRI+ community create new words denoting prejudice and hatred? Bikism, cyclistism, pedalism, bike phobia, cyclistphobic, etc. Will people who disagree with their unreasonable demands will be labeled as ists, phobic, and haters? The Great Comedian forbid they get some celebrities to endorse them.

 Of course, they will demand a Bike Pride Parade. The silly Chicago politicians will participate, celebrating the UNIBITRI+ community. Those floats pulled by teams of cyclists will sure look great.

The cyclists are already winning. The city refuses to remove their illegal litter and blight, the ugly white bike memorials all over the city. They commemorate people who were killed while cycling. It is their only claim to fame.

Will the UNIBITRI+ Community attempt to cancel and deplatform anyone who disagrees or makes fun of them through humor? Will they claim humorists are punching down- whatever that means? Will they demand respect for their choice of transportation? “My bike, my choice.”

I used to be a cyclist until it got too dangerous. It was not cars or trucks I was worried about. The reckless cyclists almost caused me to crash because I followed the laws. I had to threaten one on the lakefront. I was riding with my daughter when she was young. We were too slow for his taste. He kept yelling at me. Cyclists cannot slow down. If they do, their cardio pump will drop, causing death or incapacitation, so they believe. I finally told him that if he kept ranting and raving, it would take a team of proctologists to remove his bike from his ass.

A terrorist cyclist almost injured my dog while speeding down the sidewalk in front of my home. I lost count of the times I was nearly struck by terrorist cyclists riding on sidewalks. The worst are those who try to navigate the crowded sidewalks downtown, yelling for people to get out of their way.

It is past time for a fair solution to the cyclist issue. If they keep demanding the city accommodate them, they should be held responsible and accountable for violating traffic laws. Cyclists should be cited for violations with steep fines. This would protect the public, including pedestrians, and protect cyclists from themselves. Since cyclists are considered vehicles by state law, the law giving them the right of way should be repealed. They should be treated like all vehicles.

The city could make a boatload of money citing cyclists for violations since a majority violate traffic laws. If a cyclist is injured or killed and the accident is deemed their fault, they should have no claim. Auto insurers should not pay claims to cyclists or their families if accident investigations find them at fault, and the courts should not find in their favor over lawsuits.

Of course, none of that will happen. The cyclists have an alphabet “community” now- UNIBITRI+. Communities, especially alphabet communities, give them a loud voice. The blissfully ignorant news media in Chicago slobbers and drools all over “communities.” The cowards who run this city are terrified of “communities.” So, the whiny crybaby terrorists will get whatever they want with no repercussions for their recklessness.

Welcome to Chicago and the new urban order.

If you’re going to Ch-ica-go
Wear a bulletproof vest on your chest
If you’re going to Chi-ca-go
You’re gonna meet some violent people there

For those who come to Ch-ica-go
Summertime will be a death-in there
In the streets of Chi-ca-go
Violent people with pistols in their hands

All across the city there is no sign of pity
Shooters in motion Shooters in motion
There’s a whole generation with a new explanation
We deal in lead. We make you dead.

If you come to Chi-ca-go
Summertime will be a death-in there

1967 was the Summer of Love. If you went to San Francisco, you wore flowers in your hair. 2022, according to Mayor Lori Lightfoot, will be the Summer of Joy.

If you come to Chicago, wear a bulletproof vest on your chest.

Like 2021, 2022 will be the Summer of Death. The weather is warm, and the guns are blazing. There are armed robberies, shootings, car-jackings, sexual assaults, and other violent crimes in every neighborhood in Chicago. The Els are not safe. Businesses are not safe.

There is no safe in Chicago.

Spring is turning into summer. The bodies will be piling up in the morgue. EMTs and trauma units will be overworked. Detective case files will thicken. People will be living in fear. Victims’ families will be living in grief.

There were two mass shootings Tuesday on the South Side. 125 people have been shot so far this month. 21 people were killed and 104 wounded. Year to date, 1003 people have been shot, 191 killed, and 812 wounded.

Over the past 28 months of supposed criminal justice and police reform, over 9000 people were shot. over 1800 were murdered, and over 4000 carjackings. During that time frame, 2000 police officers retired or quit. Those numbers shoot all those so-called reforms right in the keester.

Nothing is working in the public safety sector. Not one damn thing.

In another one of his failing plans and strategies, Chicago Police Superintendent, David “Tex” Brown, is canceling days off during the week leading to Memorial Day with the possibility of 12-hour days. It is another recipe for disaster, like all his plans, strategies, and deployments. Brown, besides being incompetent, destroyed the morale and esprit de corps of the rank-and-file police officers.

People in Lincoln Park voiced their concern at a meeting with police and an alderman Tuesday evening. A vicious execution-style robbery and shooting and other robberies in the area finally shook those people out of their privileged stupor.

Too many people in this city, including my neighborhood, are silent. If they are not victims, crime is not happening. The business community is silent. They may be privately scorching the mayor, but they should scorch her in public. They should demand better. Being a booster is fine, but how can you boost a city that is not safe? How can you promote downtown, Near North, and the other business or tourist areas if they are not safe?

Too many alderpeople are silent, especially in the wards most impacted by violence. How can you be silent when violent crimes happen in your own backyard? How can you be silent when your neighbors and constituents are suffering?

The Chicago News media is silent. There are no flaming editorials about the citywide violence or the incompetence in dealing with it. They abdicated their watchdog status long ago. No one is holding Lightfoot and her unfit police superintendent accountable. They just provide cover and PR for this administration.

Lightfoot wrecked Chicago. She disappointed those of us who supported and rallied around her. Lightfoot is not alone in tossing public safety aside. Machine Boss, Cook County Board President Tony Preckwinkle, runs the courts and the State’s Attorney’s Office. She is one of the main drivers of violence with her supposed criminal justice reforms. She just may as well be pulling the trigger.

2022 is shaping up to be the Summer of Death. The Summer of Violence. The Summer of Mourning. There will be no Ode to Joy. There will only be the sounds of gunshots and keening.

There is no joy in Chitown — Tiny Lightfoot has struck out.

Who’s the leader of the club
That’s made for you and me
M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E
Hey! there, Hi! there, Ho! there
You’re as welcome as can be
M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E (Disney)

When I read about the Mickey Mouse Protection Act, I had to double-check that I was not reading the Onion. The MMPA is the nickname of the Copyright Term Extension Act. Enacted in 1998, the act extends copyright terms to the author’s life plus 70 years. Works of corporate authorship extend to 120 years after creation or 95 years after publication, whichever end is earlier. Copyright protection for works published before January 1, 1978, was increased by 20 years to 95 years from their publication date.

Disney and others, including the estate of George Gershwin, lobbied for the passage of the act, hence the nickname, Mickey Mouse Protection Act.

Along comes a Politician of Walmart (POW), Senator Josh Hawley (R. Dog Patch). Hawley wants to repeal the Mickey Mouse Protection Act to punish Disney for caving into woke activists- whatever that means. Disney came out against Hawley’s fellow POW Governor Ron DeSantis’s “Don’t Say Gay” legislation. In a fit of fascism, DeSantis stripped Disney of the special status they enjoyed in the area where their properties are located.

Hawley introduced his Copyright Clause Restoration Act in a pique of iron-handed revenge. The act would revert copyrights to terms before 1998. Worse, it would be retroactive. If passed, Disney could lose copyrights going back to the creation of Mickey Mouse plus Star Wars, 21^st Century Fox, and Marvel superheroes. The act would also harm most other copyright holders. and their estates.

Hawley said in a press release that “the age of Republican handouts to Big Business is over.”

“Thanks to special copyright protections from Congress, woke corporations like Disney have earned billions while increasingly pandering to woke activists,” Hawley said in a statement. “It’s time to take away Disney’s special privileges and open up a new era of creativity and innovation.” (The Hill)

Hawley’s “new era of creativity and innovation” should strike fear in the hearts of all creators. It is hard to tell if Hawley is a Nazi, a Communist, or a member of the American Taliban. Either way, he is not fit to hold public office in the United States. He sure as hell is not American.

Hawley must have entered those university and law school programs for the intellectually challenged to ensure diversity in higher education. His statement smacks of significant violations of the Constitution. His law license should be revoked. He should also be impeached.

Whether you are woke, agree, or disagree with woke theories or philosophies, “wokism” is protected by the Constitution’s First Amendment. Hawley should take a remedial course on The Idiots Guide to the First Amendment, Child’s Edition.

Hawley’s bill has no chance of passing Congress. It is red meat for the tertiary syphilitic voters who elected him and his fellow Politicians of Walmart travelers Marjorie Taylor Green, Madison Cawthorn, and Lauren Boebert. They are comic strip characters.

He and the other POWs are a threat to our country. Their narrow-minded views, incendiary language, and “ideas” go against everything we stand for. They are as bad or worse than their extremist opposition in the Democratic Party, Politicians of Target (POT). Too many unthinking people believe in the extreme populism endorsed by the politicians in both parties.

As horrible as it sounds, we need a true blue bi-partisan committee to investigate fascists, Nazis, American Taliban, and Communists in both houses of Congress. We could call it the Congressional Un-American Activities Committee (CUAC/pronounced quack). The un-American Congresspersons and Senators should be exposed if, like Hawley, they are not already exposing themselves.

After a particularly vicious robbery in the Lincoln Park/DePaul neighborhood and a pattern of other robberies, some alderpersons are speaking out. In an email to constituents, Alderman Brian Hopkins (2^nd) wrote, “This lawlessness has to be stopped!”  

Hopkins also proclaimed what the mayor, her superintendent, and most of the City Council will not admit, “No neighborhood is immune to this criminal behavior,” Hopkins told constituents in an email. “I have discussed the immediate need for additional tactical teams and patrols in the Lincoln Park area with the Chicago Police Department.” (CWBChicago)

Scott Waguespack (32nd) also addressed Friday’s shooting in his weekly newsletter. “This is a heinous crime that should have the maximum penalties charged, with no downgrade of charges, when the police apprehend these criminals,” Waguespack said. (CWBChicago) Good luck with that, Alderman. Cook County does not prosecute. Trials? What trials? We don’t need no stinking trials.

Alderman Michelle “See Something, blow Something” Smith (43) wants her whistleblower army to keep the victims in their hearts. Yeah, that will stop the scourge of murder and mayhem.

It appears Alderman Ray Lopez (15) is no longer the voice in the wilderness on violent crime. If more aldermen banded together, there might be a change to bring public safety back to Chicago. Too many are cowards or sympathetic towards the pampered criminals.

There is no safe in Chicago. Violent crime is a 24/7 endeavor in every neighborhood. All the hearts, whistles, and prayers will not stop the city-wide violent crime spree in Chicago.

The streets, businesses, and public transportation are dangerous. People are in peril no matter where they travel, seek entertainment, work, or live. Our city officials do not care.

It took a vicious execution-style shooting to get some alderpersons to speak up. Where are the rest? There are fifty alderpersons. The crimes are happening in their backyards. The criminals and victims come from their neighborhoods. They are silent. Their silence is deafening.

1 minute and 44 seconds. That is the time it took to rob and shoot a victim three times execution-style. 1 minute and 44 seconds. CWBChicago is the only news media site to post the video in its entirety. The others are cowards. It is past time people witness the vicious crimes being committed. You can see the whole video here. Scroll about halfway down through the article.

According to his family, the victim, 23-year-old Dakotah Earley, is on life support. On this Mother’s Day, his mother’s heart is breaking. His mother is praying for hope. His mother is suffering what no mother should.

The video of this crime is disturbing, but it is a fact of life on the streets of Chicago. The news media is pretty much silent on the rampant criminality in this city. They do not want to disturb you or jolt your conscience. They are as cowardly as most of the alderpersons. If the people of this city saw the absolute carnage, videos, and photos of bodies at crime scenes (faces blurred), there would be an uproar.

The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre news photographs fueled outrage throughout the nation, including the White House. During the social uprising in Sicily’s anti-Mafia campaigns, news photos and videos of the bloodshed and murders were routine. People saw how evil the Mafia really was and still is. There were videos of people hosing the pools of blood off the streets. Mexican news media regularly shows the result of the cartel murders across that country. That takes courage, something lacking in City Hall and the news media.

Chicago is not only a city of scoundrels but a city of cowards. They are in City Hall, the news media, and all the neighborhoods where people refuse to speak out. The philosophy of the citizens is there is no crime if it doesn’t happen to them.

We used to be the City of Big Shoulders. The city of I can. I will. Now, we are the city of weenies, weaklings, with the attitude of apathy. We can’t. We won’t.

Silence is consent. Silence is condoning violence, murder, and mayhem. Be proud of your silence Chicago. Maybe you can design a new flag with yellow stars. Yellow, the color of cowardice.

The wagons were sometimes called meat wagons. Besides transporting prisoners, they hauled dead bodies, in police parlance, meat.

One hot, muggy summer day, a call came over the radio for the wagon about a complainant of a strong odor. Strong odor only meant one thing, a stinker, a decomposed dead body. The wagon men located the cause of the odor. The stench was strongest at an old gray stone two-flat. The stench emanated over a half-block in both directions.

The wagon men tried to get in the front and back doors. They could not kick in or use sledgehammers on the doors. The doors were hinged to open outwards. The wagon guys went to break windows. Whoever lived there installed glass block windows on the inside of the building. They never took out the old windows, so no one knew.

Somehow, the wagon men figured out a way to get inside. Within minutes they ran out of the building, retching, vomiting, then dry heaving. They needed a plan. They called for a sergeant.

Sergeant Smurf* showed up. He called for the other two wagons. The wagon men would go in and out in two-man relays. Two guys ran in, went up to the second floor, did what they could, and ran out, retching and vomiting. The following two did the same. Then the next two. Over and over.

One of the first wagon guys told everyone that maggots were all over and covered the floor. For the uninitiated, maggots look like fat grains of rice. They snap, crackle, and pop when you step on them. So, the dead guy became the Rice Man.

No air could get in to alleviate some of the odor. The heat and humidity made it worse. The relays kept going in and running out, retching.

The sergeant tossed me a twenty. He told me to go to the nearest liquor store to get some booze to revive the retching cops.

There was heat over minor misconduct from downtown, and Inspectors were wandering all over the area. It would not look good to get caught going into a liquor store while working. I went to the fruit stand at the corner of Roosevelt and Kedzie. We knew the owner and would stop by from time to time to chat. The owner sent his nephew to a liquor store down the street. He came back with a quart of cheap brandy and change. The stand owner had some of that pink Bismol stuff. Who knew where or how he got it? Who cared? I grabbed a few bottles.

As each relay came out and vomited or dry heaved, the sergeant gave them a swig of booze and some pink stuff. I don’t know what it did for their stomachs, but it helped them go back in, again and again. Maybe that is why they call booze “liquid courage.”

It took a while to get the Rice Man out of the building and into a wagon. They did not want to move him off the bed onto a stretcher as badly decomposed bodies tend to explode. You get splashed with gore. They lifted the mattress and carried it with him on it—relay after relay.

While the wagon men were working, retching, vomiting, and getting loaded, we started asking some questions.

The Rice Man was one of the very few White people who refused to move during the White flight out of Lawndale in the 1950s and early 1960s. He lived there alone, minding his own business. No one bothered him. He bothered no one. Some remembered a wife. Others were not sure.

The Rice Man retired some years past. He rarely was seen out of his home. However, neighbors remembered a person driving him to and from the grocery store now and then. He was not friendly or unfriendly. He just was. He was burglarized a few times. That would explain the camouflaged glass block windows and doors hung backward.

No one had much to say about the Rice Man. He lived alone in that second-floor apartment. The first floor was vacant.

After the wagon took him to the morgue, we got what little information we could and went back to business as usual. It became another tale to tell in the tavern after work. Years later, we would reminisce, “Remember the Rice Man”?

The Rice Man’s home was his castle fortress. All it needed was a moat and alligators in the moat. Maybe he thought about that but got too old, sick, crippled, or addled to do it.

No one knows if the Rice Man was a racist, afraid, or just stubborn. No one knows why he had no one to take care of him in his old age. No one knows why he died alone, in bed, sealed up in a fortress of his making. He lay there in rot, decomposition, and putrefaction. Maggots covered him and his bedroom. They snapped, crackled, and popped when you stepped on them.

That is the sad thing in the City of Big Shoulders. People die alone. No one hears their cries of pain or calls for help. No one knows if they are sick or otherwise incapacitated. Sometimes, like the Rice Man, they barely exist. It is only the telltale stench that gives their death away.

*Smurf was the sergeant’s nickname due to his stature.