“The Notorious Sunglasses” by Ellis from Clay Street

Annapolis was unusually active with police officers on Friday. There wasn’t a single busy street in the downtown area without at least one cop on foot patrol or a cruiser passing you by every few minutes. In the last few months, the APD has boosted its presence around town to combat the growing crime problem throughout the city. They have started foot patrols and raised the frequency of their car patrols in the higher crime areas, such as my neighborhood on Clay Street.

The following is a completely true story…

On Friday, I started my night downtown where I met up with a friend. We had a cigar on the rooftop of our hangout like any other weekend. Around 11pm, we split up and I headed home to beautiful Clay Street but I wasn’t done enjoying the night and decided to call one of my neighbors, Bob, to meet up for a beer. He said he was down for a pint so he told me to meet him at his house. We left his house at West Washington shortly after 11 and began to walk towards the intersection at Clay Street. Up ahead, I noticed a cop car at the intersection and said, “Look Bob, the cops are patrolling. They’re everywhere tonight.” As I said this, Bob suddenly realized he still had his sunglasses on his head from earlier in the day. “I wanna run these back to my house real quick.” he says. No problem, we had barely left his house.

We turn around to take the sunglasses back and suddenly the cop car I had noticed earlier speeds over to us and stops. One officer who we’ll name ‘New Guy’ begins the usual routine. “Freeze right there boys.” he says. New Guy gets out of the car and so does the female driver.

“Hey, what’s up, guys?” Bob said. We were both kinda bewildered at being stopped in our neighborhood, thinking maybe they had us mixed up with two other guys.
“I’ll ask the questions here.” says New Guy sharply. “So keep quiet until I ask you to talk. Why are you boys down here?”
“I live here.” Bob says. “My house is right there.”
“And my house is around the corner.” I added.
“Right.” says New Guy in disbelief. “I’ll ask you again. Why are you guys down here?”
“We live here.” we said.

(To shorten the story, let’s just pretend that I wrote about this question being asked a few more times.)

“ID’s. Now.” says the female cop. Bob and I took out our ID’s and handed em over, further explaining that we did in fact live down here, a fact that they were clearly having a hard time digesting. As we did this, 5 cop cars consisting of about 8 more cops had shown up, completely surrounding us. As they emerged from their patrol cars, New Guy took a moment to walk up to the corner where we had turned around earlier to return Bob’s sunglasses and with his trusty flashlight, proceeded to see if we ‘dropped anything’…. ya know… such as crack or a pipe or weed or whatever. The female cop continued to ask us questions about what we were doing in OUR neighborhood and why we were outside. Bob and I traded off explaining to here that–yes, you guessed it–we lived here and were going out for a beer.

New Guy returned to the scene of our questioning just in time to remind Bob to shut up and within all this commotion, one of the other officers began patting me down. By now, neighbors had begun coming out of their houses to watch the excitement and a crowd of pedestrians had gathered up at the intersection. You’d have thought someone was shot.

At this point in the story, the cops had verified through dispatch that we were who we said we were. The Threat Level had been lowered back down to DEFCON 5 and the situation was becoming comedic. Some of the other officers had since left, knowing that there was absolutely nothing going on with the two of us. Bob and I decided to lighten the mood with some Clay Street good-time vibes and everything that happen from this point forward did in fact happen.

After New Guy finished patting down Bob, Bob tells him he has something in his pocket.
“What is it?” says New Guy.
“It’s a sticker and I want you to have it.” says Bob. “Ok now… I’m gonna reach reeeeeeal slowly for my pocket. Just two fingers, officer.”
“Slowly.” says New Guy with authority, maintaining complete control of the critical situation.
“Right. I’m just gonna use these two fingers.” says Bob as he motions for his pocket. “So don’t be getting trigger happy, my man. We’re cool.”
Bob slowly slips two fingers into his pocket and fumbles for the stickers.
“Okay, I have the stickers between my fingers and I’m taking my hand OUT of my pocket now.”
“Just ONE sticker, buddy. One sticker.” Says New Guy, still on edge.
“okay, okay. Just one sticker.” Bob says and he slips a sticker out of his pocket and hands it to him cautiously. New Guy takes the sticker and then reads it out loud to all the officers.
“Clay Is Good?” the cop questions.
“That’s right, Clay Is Good.” Bob replies with a Clay St smile.
“What the hell does that even mean?” asked a random cop in the background.
“Oh my God! You’re the sticker guy!” the female cop laughs.
“That’s right, I’m the sticker guy. Ya want one too?” Bob asks.
“Definitely.” she says.
“I want one too!” says some random cop in the background.
“Yeah me too.” says another.

Bob hands the stickers out to the cops and tells em that he better see them on their cruisers. Obviously that’s not gonna happen, but it would be a fitting end to the story.

“So how do you guys like the new Police Chief?” I asked the cop who was patting me down.
“uh, well…” he replied and then turned his attention to the female cop and asked. “Hey, is your radio on right now?”
“Yes.” she said, handling the radio clipped on her shoulder. Then the cop answered my question, sarcastically loud enough for the radio to pick up.
“I like the new Chief a lot! He’s a great guy and I love my job!”
“Couldn’t ask for a better guy!” one of the random officers joked.
All the cops laughed and then Bob turned his attention back to New Guy.
“So… I’m a little disappointed, man.” Bob said to New Guy. “I’ve lived down here on Clay Street since ‘02 …and you don’t know who I am.”
“Let me ask you a question.” New Guy replies with a smile. “How long do you think I’ve been on the force?”
I could see the wit-wheels grinding against the smart-ass sprockets on Bob’s face, just looking for the right phrase.
“Weeeeeelll… I’d say…. 85 years. Yeah. 85, you look kinda old.”
“So you think I’m 85 years old, huh?”
“No.” Bob said. “I think you’ve been a cop for 85 years. I think you look to be about 130.”
“One month.” says New Guy as his fellow officers laughed. “I’ve been on the APD for one month. I’m actually from the Baltimore Police Department. The Chief asked me to come down here before I retire.”
“Well then, welcome to my neighborhood.” replies Bob and then they shook hands.

(note to readers… New Guy and Bob are former military soldiers… so they can get away with talking trash to each other. Do not try this at home! hehe…)

The cops then asked us if we knew why they stopped us and the four of us talked about it briefly. Of course we knew why …and I’ll get to that later. Finally, the cops returned our ID’s. The female cop turns back to us and says, “What bar are you guys going to?”
“Probably Rams Head or Stan & Joe’s.” I said.
“Well, when you get there, have a pint for me!”
“Only if you put the sticker on your car!” hollered Bob.

And with that, the cops left. Bob and I took the sunglasses safely back to his house. His neighbor was outside and asked what all the commotion was about. After we told him, he says, “Ya know earlier, I was sitting right here on my front porch and they stopped and asked me why I was sitting here. I told em it was my house!”

Closer to midnight, Bob and I had finally been able to continue our trek to West Street for a cold pint. A few times along the way more of our neighbors had come outside and asked us why we were stopped by the cops and searched. Our answer was the same in all instances… “We were just walking down the street.”

So what’s the moral of the story? I’m not even sure there is one.

Maybe the moral of the story is… give a cop a sticker and everything will be alright.

Or… I can say that I walked the streets of the downtown Inner Harbor of Annapolis just minutes earlier that night, walked right past a few cops and at no time did any of them stop me to ask why I was down there. However, in my own neighborhood, where I own a house and pay property tax, I was stopped. What does that say about me? Well, in downtown Annapolis, I look like everyone else. On Clay Street however, I guess I look like a drug buyer. Who knew?!

Much of Clay Street is in fact Good. You can find that Good scattered around the area. Unfortunately, the history of this tiny section of Annapolis still lingers in the air as well as in the minds of people who do not live here. Why were Bob and I stopped on a Friday night in our neighborhood? It’s a simple answer really. We were two white guys in a place that in their eyes we shouldn’t have been. We stood out. Of course, the cops obviously didn’t know we lived there, otherwise, they probably would have never stopped us at all. Bob and I fit the typical profile of a drug buyer; white males in a questionable area late at night, walking the streets. Considering the fact that we made a b-line for Bob’s house right about the time we saw the cops at the corner, the cops thought we were avoiding them and at that point, they had probable cause to stop us. We had acted–in their eyes at least–in a shady manor. They had every right to stop us and upon stopping us, they followed their protocol perfectly.

We understand that cops have a job to do and it’s not a very rewarding job at times. After what happened Friday night, we hope that the cops realize that CLAY IS GOOD but sometimes you have to find it. Sometimes it’s right in front of your face and other times you have to search a little. And sometimes… the Good accidentally wears sunglasses at night.

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Posted in September 2007