TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

    Years ago, along with the good the Civil Rights movement did, there was some attendant overkill. The liberal courts moved to the side of the criminals, with The Miranda Warning, and other asinine mandates that made our job much more difficult.

  Included under the Civil Rights rulings, were provisos designed to halt the bad 'ol cops from picking on the poor, defenseless prisoners. After all, they hadn't done anything but rob, steal, rape,  murder, and prey on decent folks.

 Prisoners soon learned how to file a Civil Rights Violation against a cop, which could make them a little money, get the cop fired or jailed, and mitigate whatever slimy deed they'd perpetrated to get our attention. And, they were good at it.

 We had an expert in our jail, who I'll call Terrance Turdbowl. Turdbowl decided he could use a big helping of that civil rights relief stuff and decided JD Spohn was just the man to serve it up. Every time JD would walk by his cell, he'd make a nasty comment. Here comes fat ass. There's ol' sh-t for brains. But JD, normally as volatile as Jake LaMotta, played it cool. Nothing worked until Turdbowl spit through the bars on JD. JD, immediately, opened the cell and gave him an open-hand slap across the mouth.

 Turdbowl picked himself up, smiled, and said, "Now I've got your ass. I've got a dozen witnesses (other inmates) and I wanna use the phone to call the FBI."

 Within a week, an Agent from the Miami office arrived to investigate the complaint. Investigate may not have been the proper verb. The FBI didn't like this crap any better than the cops and would help you sweeten your testimony. If you'd let them.

 The Agent asked, "Sgt Spohn, didn't Turdbowl make some threatening move at you, causing you to defend yourself?"

 "Nope," JD said. "Somebody spits on me I'll gonna jack their jaws."

 "Perhaps you didn't understand me," the Agent said. "Did he made a sudden move at you that you thought was aggressive. . .?"

  "No, I just give him what he deserved."

 This went on for a while, until the Agent looked at me in exasperation. I said, "Let me try. JD and I speak the same language."  I turned to JD. "Either your damned memory improves or we're gonna be in deep Umpah!"

 JD, surprised, stared at me a moment then the lights came on in the empty stadium. "Oh, yeah, I remember now. I went in there to council him, and he started to cock his right and I had to defend myself. Didn't want to hurt him, so I just gave him a little slap."

 Everyone was happy--except Turdbowl--and the Agent returned to Miami, No Cause For Complaint form in hand.

 Those times are long gone. Cops get a civil rights complaint filed against them today, they are in deep Umpah.