During an interview today, I found myself sharing a personal story. A question was posed to me having to do with facing challenges and how I handled them. I first laughed it off and joked, ‘I’m in the music industry'!’ Both the interviewer and I had a good laugh. But then, in light of current events, I found myself inclined to share a story. MY story, which I still can't believe I did. If you’re anywhere close to me in friendship, you know I’m the ‘quiet one’. I keep to myself, mostly. So, every time a tragedy happens such as the one that took the life of George Floyd (or past victims like him who are too many to name in this space), all the details of that night a long time ago come flooding back to memory. And every time, I want to share it. But, when all is said and done, the notion to share is gone.
Well.......
Many years ago (I believe, 1974) my friend and fellow band mate, Rex Richardson and I had just finished a band rehearsal (RAW SOUL) and we were getting ready to go home. I needed a ride home and so asked Rex. Now, I think it was less than a year before, that Rex had just purchased a brand new white Plymouth Sebring. It was beautiful. And we were all really happy for him. He worked hard both FOR that car and ON that car. It always looked good. It always smelled good. He loved that car. And we loved riding in it but we did have to pay our $2 for gas for the privilege of getting a ride. Lol. But, I digress.
Rex and I load up in his car and we hit the road. I sat in the passenger seat. We immediately notice at the first stop light before getting onto the expressway, there’s a police car behind us. No worries. Happens to everybody. The police car follows us onto the expressway. Again, no worries. We drive along and at about three exits the policeman exits. We drive about another mile or so and another policeman enters and follows us. Maybe another two exits. When this one is gone, Rex and I look at each other and laugh it off. We get off at our exit. At the upcoming red light, there is already a police car at the cross street waiting his turn at the light. Our light turns green and we make the left turn. The police follow us. We drive another couple miles to the next major intersection. (To my Akron friends, family and residences, that intersection is South Hawkins & Copley Rd. I think that would be the NW corner where the Walgreens now stands. Forgive me if my compass reading is wrong.)
We stopped at the light at which time we see another police car waiting at the same light but the cross street and on my side. All of a sudden, it seemed like out of nowhere, maybe five cruisers appear, lights, flashers, and horns blaring. The sound was deafening and the lights were blinding. I remember looking over my left shoulder out the rear window and slightly ducking so as not to make a perceived sudden move.
Guns seemingly pointed directly at my head. At Rex, too but I was totally stifled by the guns pointing at me. Shiny, silver, and huge. And a bunch of them both behind and in front of us. We were ordered, “PASSENGER! NOW DRIVER! OUT OF THE CAR! HANDS UP! SLOWLY!” I don’t remember if we were ordered to the ground. After numerous shouts from all directions, we were handcuffed and left to stand their for all the passersby to gawk. And this was in MY neighborhood. While they searched the car and eventually opened our instrument cases to find nothing but instruments, Rex and I stood there. Waiting. The way those policemen were acting, all I remember thinking was we were either dead or going to jail for sure. Whatever happened, it was serious! We weren’t any part of what happened, but history was not on our side. I knew that and Rex knew it, too. He was asked so many questions about his car. Where did you get it? How did you pay for it? Where do you work? Where were you both coming from? Where were you going?
After what felt like an eternity, we were herded into separate cars. I remember while we were riding, one officer had his gun pointed at my side the entire ride. We eventually drove to a location that ended up being about a mile from my house. To this day, I don’t remember how Rex’s car got there, but I remember him telling me the same thing. That the officer had his gun on him the whole ride. We were both taken out of our respective cars and told to stand in front of one. About fifteen minutes later another cruiser drove up and parked in front of us with it’s lights shining on us. We stood there. The car sat there. The officers around us waited there. After about ten minutes, we were uncuffed. It turns out that someone matching our description had just robbed a store with a sawed off shotgun and got away in a car that matched Rex’s and that it all happened not too far from where Rex and I had just left. Apparently, the owner of that store was in that police car facing us…to identify us…or not. Oftentimes, I go back in my mind to that very moment and think, he (or she) could have easily said ‘Yes,it was them’ and called it a day. But, they didn’t. They never got out of the car. We never saw them. Rex and I were let go. Just like that. No apologies. Nothing.
That’s Rex, second from the left in the photo below.
I would tell my son AND my daughter that story years later. I would tell them that Rex and I were lucky. I would tell them to take care how they interact with the police. I would tell them how often I think of that night and how easily it could have gone in any no good direction instead of the one that left us with our lives.
And now here we are. So many years in the future. And the results are different. Tragically different. Too many times. I have a son. I have a daughter. And now when these things happen, I think about them. I worry. As any parent would. As any parent should. But, at the same time shouldn’t have to.
I mourn not only George Floyd, but the past victims like him who are way too many to name in this space.
L-R (circa 1973) Reggie Manley, Rex Richardson, Russell Nixon, Phillip Ingram, Ike Allen, Eddie Fluellen, Thaddeus Walton, David Podis
