Varda

The knock on the door seemed frantic, so I quickly put down my book and dashed to the door. I asked who it was and got four words in return: “Rock Island police, sir.”

Through the window I see two officers, both baby-faced and looking less than happy to be standing in the rain. A bit annoyed at having been interrupted, I opened the door.

“What apartment number is this?” are the first words out of the skinnier cop’s mouth.

“This is apartment 4,” I say. The skinny cop looked a bit disappointed. So did his slightly-chunkier partner.

“Who lives in that apartment?” Chunky Cop asks, looking at my neighbor’s place.

“What’s this about?” I say.

“Where’s apartment 2?” Skinny Cop asks, slightly annoyed.

“It’s downstairs. What’s going on?”

“We got a report that the girl in apartment 2 is suicidal,” Chunky Cop says.

I didn’t think anyone lived in apartment 2. As far as I knew, that was the three-bedroom on the main floor that was being renovated and hadn’t been lived in for six months. But what do I know, right?

Skinny Cop headed toward the back stairs at a good clip as Chunky Cop followed. But I stopped them.

“Hey, while you guys are here, I got a question for you. I’ve got this Varda alarm in my living room. It’s been here since October. Can you guys just take it?”

The cops look at each other, their mouths open a bit.

“Um, well, no we can’t,” Skinny Cop said.

“Ok, uh … why?” I was a little confused.

“Well …” Chunky Cop was searching for words. “It’s a whole long process because you filled out paperwork to get it. We can’t just take it. You need to call and have a day shift officer come get it.”

Skinny Cop looked at me, as if to say, “He knows. I don’t.”

“But I work during the day,” I said.

“Well, could you call from a cell phone between 8 and 4?”

“Yes, but I’d still have to be here to let whoever is coming by in to get the alarm.”

“Well you could just take it down to the station.”

“You mean you can’t just take it with you?”

“No. We don’t work for a very organized department.”

Skinny Cop and Chunky Cop headed toward the stairs. I watched them go. They never went to apartment 2.

Looking ahead 35 years

Assuming his conviction and sentence survive the appeal process, Raymond Stinde and I will be 59 years old when he is released from prison.

Stinde, who is exactly two months and 18 days younger than me, was sentenced to 35 years in prison today for his role in a September, 2008 murder.

Being a police/courts reporter, I see a lot of kids in the courtroom. I say “kids,” but I really just mean folks younger than me. Nonetheless, I’ve covered any number of court appearances involving people up to seven years younger than me. I’ve seen these kids brought up on all sorts of criminal charges. But seeing Stinde sentenced to more than three decades kind of blew my mind.

It’s not that I don’t think a guy my age can be convicted of felony murder. Quite the contrary. I grew up in Chicago. I first saw “kids my age” convicted of murder when I was 14. Rather, it’s the length of the sentence that floored me.

I don’t know what I’m going to be doing with my life next year. Heck, I barely know what I’m going to be doing with my life six months from now. I have ideas, but those could change any time.

Not so for Raymond Stinde. He knows where he’s going to be for the next 35 years. He knows that with few exceptions, each of those 12,781 days is going to be pretty much like the one before it and will likely be about the same as the day after it. And that’s impossible for me to fathom.

I can be pretty glib about the stuff I cover. I have to be because if I’m not, I’ll burn out fast. But that moment when that judge sentenced that man to 35 years in the Illinois Department of Corrections, I was snapped rudely back to Earth. I guess it just serves to underscore that folks my age are capable of some pretty serious stuff and that a lot of that stuff we are capable of has some pretty serious consequences.

Author’s note 1: For the record, I’m not trying to suggest that Raymond Stinde’s punishment was anything more or less than he deserved, having been tried in a court and found guilty of a crime. It’s not my place to suggest such things.

Author’s note 2: The reason my first sentence starts out, “Assuming his conviction and sentence survive the appeal process” is because while he was found guilty, Mr. Stinde has notified the court he intends to appeal the jury’s verdict, as is his right. I have no idea whether the guilty verdict will survive the appeal process, nor am I expressing any opinion on whether it should survive the appeal process.

Darwin should intervene

There are some people who just need to be eaten by bears. This woman is one of them.

Let me take you through this woman’s activities at the Berlin Zoo that make me think that about her:

1. Woman waits for polar bear feeding time.
2. Woman looks at polar bears and thinks, “How dangerous are they? What would happen if I climbed into their pen?” But she probably thinks it in German.
3. Woman makes decision to climb into the polar bear pen knowing deep down in her heart that nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan.
4. Woman climbs over fence and into polar bear pen, still knowing deep down in her heart that nothing could possibly go wrong.
5. Instead of keeping a safe distance, woman enters the bears’ swimmin’ hole and thinks (again in German), “Awww. They’re cute. And I was totally right. Absolutely nothing is going wrong with this plan. Me for the win!”
6. Woman gets mauled by large polar bear; thinks to herself (most likely in German), “Holy crap! I didn’t think anything could possibly go wrong with my plan to climb into the polar bear habitat during feeding time! Oh god! It’s mauling me! I hope nobody plans on blogging about this because I don’t want to look stupid on the Internet!”
7. Woman eventually gets rescued, though only after suffering severe injuries.

See? Had this woman been eaten by the polar bears, it would have been her own fault. And I think Charles Darwin would agree with me that the human gene pool would be stronger and smarter had the workers at the zoo simply allowed her to be eaten by bears.

I think I need a hug

I know I’ve written before about schools banning hugging. And you know what? I didn’t think I’d have to do it again. But here I am, once again forced to tackle the burning issue of hugging in our schools.

It seems a school in Connecticut, in response to some particularly violent physical contact, has banned all forms of physical contact in school. Though not explicitly stated in the policy, the implication is that even innocent forms of physical contact – a high-five or a pat on the shoulder or (god forbid) a hug – are banned and those who engage in such physical contact could be disciplined and perhaps even expelled.

For the record, I’m not totally against policies limiting physical contact in schools. Nobody wants their hallways clogged up by hormonal teenagers with their tongues down each other’s throats. And obviously, any sort of touching of personal areas is right out (besides, kids who want to grope each other will go under the bleachers to do it). Inflicting physical harm, wrestling, punching, kicking, and other physically harmful behaviors should also be prohibited.

If I’m not mistaken, a popular greeting that today’s youth enjoy engaging in is the so-called “high-five.” For those who don’t know, it involves two people raising their hands in the air and slapping their palms together momentarily. This “high-five” is also a popular celebratory and congratulatory gesture, both among the general populace and among those who participate in extracurricular sporting activities.

And then of course we have the hug: a simple gesture that involves two or more people wrapping their arms around each other. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t enjoy a good hug. It is a perfect way to express both platonic and romantic affection, and so it is one of the most versatile greetings.

The hug has a more masculine cousin, known colloquially as “man-love.” This gesture allows two gentlemen to express their feelings for each other without sacrificing any masculinity. The gesture involves two gentlemen facing each other. They each extend a hand, but instead of a traditional handshake, the gentlemen pull each other close and turn sideways until either their left or right shoulders touch, depending on which hand they extend. They then slap each other’s backs with their free hands in a masculine fashion.

Under this school’s policy, all such gestures are banned, though none do any harm. If the school is concerned about physical violence, why not simply crack down on fighting? Why is the complete and total elimination of physical contact the only solution?

And of course, the other question is how will the school enforce the policy? Will two students who high-five in the hallways get suspended? Could two friends who hug each other get expelled? Could a little man-love result in a detention? And what about the athletes? In addition to various forms of hugging, man-loving and high-fiving, athletes also tend to pat each other’s posteriors as a gesture of congratulations or encouragement. Will such gestures forever be banned from the sporting fields of this Connecticut school?

You see? The policy is ridiculous. If the school wants to keep kids from getting beaten up, they should give harsher punishments to kids who fight (and especially harsh punishments to those who instigate fights). But banning all physical contact isn’t the answer.

Perhaps this was counter-productive

When the aim of the television station you founded is to combat negative stereotypes about Muslims, perhaps you shouldn’t get arrested for beheading your wife.

According to CNN, Muzzammil Hassan is accused in the beheading death of his wife, Aasiya Hassan. Here’s the catch: Mr. Hassan is the founder of Bridges TV – a television station aimed at Muslims inside the United States and designed to combat negative stereotypes about the Islamic faith and Muslim people.

Still don’t grasp what’s wrong with this situation? Ok, I’ll lay it out. Do a Google search using the terms “Muslim” and “beheading.” You’ll find about 844,000 entries. A quick scan of the top results indicates that after the story about Mr. Hassan, most of them are talking about incidents where Islamic terrorists beheaded people or planned to decapitate people in the name of Allah. Naturally, when such a barbaric act is so often associated with a group (and I don’t just mean associated with the lunatic fringe of that group. I mean associated with the whole of the group.), a lot of people are going to get the idea that Muslims are America-hating killers. It didn’t help that before and during the Iraq war, the Bush administration launched a fear campaign trying to convince Americans that the Muslim extremists behind the Sept. 11, 2001 terror attacks in New York were the norm.

Bridges TV was trying to combat those stereotypes. It was trying to show its viewers that Muslims are generally good people. But you set your cause back when you get arrested for beheading your wife. In fact, Mr. Hassan completely killed the cause of Bridges TV by getting arrested.

Even if he’s not guilty of beheading his wife, I’m afraid the damage is done. His name and faith will forever be tied to the decapitation of his wife.

The mission of Bridges TV is a noble one. Someone had to combat the lies the Bush administration and its cohorts at Fox Noise (as Keith Olbermann so eloquently puts it) spread about the Islamic faith and its practicioners. But all the work the station since its founding in 2004 has been undone, simply because Mr. Hassan APPEARS to be associated with the beheading of his wife.

And that’s a goddamn shame.

Starstruck

One of the cool things about my job is that I get to talk to people most folks never would. I’ve talked a couple times with U.S. Senator Dick Durbin. I’ve had former U.S. Senator turned Secretary of State Hillary Clinton on the phone. I’ve spoken with any number of Illinois state senators and representatives and all sorts of local municipal higher-ups.

Because I have to be professional, I’m not allowed to be starstruck – at least not overtly. And in reality, I don’t get quite so starstruck (though I did ask Morgan Spurlock to sign my notebook) anymore. But every so often, I still have my fanboy moments.

Earlier this week, I got to interview Tom Dart. Now, to those of you outside of Cook County, Illinois, the name likely means nothing to you. But growing up in Chicago and always having Chicago newspapers around to read meant his name was regularly in front of me. His name would be out there when he was an assistant state’s attorney for Cook County. His name was out there when he joined the staff of former Cook County Sheriff Michael Sheahan. And it was out there when he took over as sheriff when Sheahan retired.

Long story short, this is a guy I’ve been reading about for years. He’s one of those people you never thought you’d get to talk to. Not because he’s so inaccessible, but because you can never see an occasion in which you’d get to talk to him. But all of a sudden, there I was, assigned to go to a press conference he was having in the Quad-Cities.

And I don’t know why, but I got a bit starstruck at that presser. Tom Dart isn’t even that major of a figure, even though he’s the sheriff of the biggest county in Illinois. But there’s something about finally having the chance to talk to someone you’ve read about for years that’s just really cool. And the chance to write something that other people will read with his name in it – to contribute to the long list of things written about him – is just icing on the cake.

Maybe Jonathan Swift was right

I admit that I’m young. I’m only 24. That’s not even old enough for a quarter-life crisis. I don’t know where my life is going. I don’t know what I want to do with it. I don’t know where I want to be doing it.

But despite my age, there are certain things I know to be true about myself. I will never enjoy broccoli. I will never understand why Cubs fans choose that life. And I will never – say it with me: NEVER – have kids.

There are those who have tried to tell me differently. “Oh, you’re too young,” they say. “You’re only 24. How can you be so sure at your age? You’re just too young to appreciate how wonderful kids are. Someday, when you’re more mature, you’ll realize you want kids and you’ll wonder why you ever thought you could live without them.”

People who tell me those things are wrong. There is no other way to put it. I do not want kids. I have never wanted kids. I have never thought about having kids.

Perhaps this is selfish. In fact, I know it’s selfish. I don’t want the responsibility of kids. I don’t want to have to get up in the middle of the night to feed and change them. I don’t want to have to pay for their college education. I don’t want to have to pay for their medical expenses. I don’t want to listen to them cry and make them feel better. I don’t want to have to find a babysitter when I want to go out and have a few drinks with people. I don’t want to worry about my kids seeing me when I come home a little tipsy from having a few drinks with people.

And even if none of that were true, me bringing a child into this world would not be fair. I’m not trying to make some grand statement about the world we live in. I mean it wouldn’t be fair for a child to have me as a father. I’m a reporter and I plan on being one for a long time. That means long hours and erratic schedules. That means missing birthdays and other big events in the lives of kids. That means little to no job security, which means I might have to take a job in another, far-away city on very short notice just to maintain an income.

And then there’s the problem of what I’d do if I were to have kids and regret it. Nebraska just changed its safe haven law, so I can’t can’t even drop my prepubescent, moody kid at a Nebraska hospital and say, “Bye, son. I’m not coming back, but someone will take care of you.” That’s not fair to me at all.

Furthermore, the world has enough trouble feeding and housing its 6 billion human inhabitants without me adding more mouths to feed. In fact, I’m an advocate of listening to the words of author Jonathan Swift in A Modest Proposal. Yes, Swift’s words were satire, but he may have had a point. I’m not saying babies are the solution to the world’s hunger problem, but it could help. But perhaps that’s another blog post.

For the record, I don’t begrudge those who choose to have kids. If you want them, that’s great. I simply do not and never will. Trying to convince me otherwise is a waste of my time and yours.

What school can’t prepare you for

For the third time in my life, I told someone that someone they knew died. It happened last week. I was on nights and we’d gotten a report that morning that an official in Mercer County had died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. I was assigned to call Mercer County officials and get them to talk about this guy, who had been county clerk for a long time.

I call up one of the county board members. I identify myself and say that I’d like to talk with him about Tom Hanson. The county board member says, “What about Tom Hanson?” I say, “Oh, uh, well, uh, you haven’t, uh, heard about, uh, him?” He says, “No, what about him?” I stutter along, say “I’m sorry to have to break this to you this way” about a dozen times, and finally explain the situation, all while thinking, “Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!”

I get off the phone after talking to this county board member and one of my coworkers turns to me and goes, “Did you just ruin somebody’s day?”

No journalism class can prepare you for a moment like that. You always expect that the folks you call are going to have at least an idea of why you might be calling. And if they don’t, you expect that if you say something like, “I’d like to talk with you about Tom Hanson,” they’d get it.

But there are those times when you have to be the bearer of bad news. And you never expect them when they come up. That’s why no class can prepare you. It’s just one of those hazards of the job that’s going to happen if you do it long enough. What’s interesting is that it never gets easier. I know reporters who have told dozens of people that folks they knew died and still get hit hard every time.

The worst part about it is that when you realize you’re going to have to be the bearer of bad news, you never know what to say. Do you express sympathy or condolences? What if the person you’re telling doesn’t like the person who died? What then? How do you convince them to be interviewed after you’ve broken the news?

What would you do in that situation? How do you go about telling someone that someone they knew died and then continue with a normal conversation? Can it be done?

Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement

I’m not anti-marriage. Marriage can be a wonderful thing. But what I don’t understand are people who seem to be in a terrible hurry to get married.

I’m 24 years old. And it seems as though all around me, people around my age are either married or in the process of getting to that point. One of my best friends from high school – five months younger than me, for the record – was engaged within his first couple years of college and married before his wife graduated college. Another one of my best high school buddies – this one 18 months younger than me – got engaged very early on in his college career and will be getting married in about 18 months. One of my coworkers – my age – got engaged soon after I started at the paper and she’ll be getting married soonish. Another coworker – younger than me – says she and her boyfriend (who’s my age) have talked about getting married. And then another good friend from college – a junior, aged 21 – tells me she and her boyfriend (also a junior) are now engaged.

And then there’s me. I don’t anticipate being married or even anywhere close to being married before I turn 30. In fact, I don’t think I want to be anywhere close to being married until I hit 30. And that makes me a rarity among the people I hang out with. My question is simply this: Am I missing something?

I don’t get the appeal of being married in your 20s. It simply doesn’t make sense to me. I’ll be honest – I like being able to think just in terms of “me” as opposed to thinking in terms of “us.” I like being able to go out whenever I want with whomever I want. I like being able to spend all my money on myself (or in my case, myself and my guinea pig). I like having a place to myself and having it decorated how I like. Long story short – I like that I’m able to be selfish.

Is that weird? I mean, it seems like so many people around me are in a hurry to get married. Maybe I’m just not getting it. I admit I have some issues with commitment and relationships, but even looking past those, being married in your 20s doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.

And so I appeal to you all. What is the point of being married in your 20s? Why is that an appealing proposition to so many? Why the rush to be engaged and married? What are the advantages of getting married in your 20s over waiting until you  hit 30 or older? Help me make sense of this odd trend of folks my age and younger getting engaged and married. It’s been puzzling me far too long.

This isn’t what Methods of Mayhem meant

There’s a certain irony in the fact there are now at least three lawsuits pending against Chicago Public Schools alleging that students were forced to take their clothes off as part of a search of their person. After all, most schools have dress codes designed to make sure students wear more clothes, rather than fewer.

In the last couple weeks, the CPS has been hit with lawsuits from students that claim they were strip searched. In one instance, according to the Chicago Tribune,  a student was told by a school disciplinary official that he was suspected of selling drugs. The student was allegedly taken into a back room and told to pull down his pants and underwear. No drugs were found.

In another instance, an 8th-grade girl was pulled from an assembly, told she was suspected of concealing a razor blade, and allegedly taken into a bathroom and told to pull down her pants and strip down to her bra. No razor blade was found.

You can argue all day about constitutional rights in public schools and the rights of teachers and school administrators to search students’ bags, backpacks, purses, and pockets. And you know what? Teachers and school administrators have the right to do all of that. I don’t like it, but they have the right.

According to section 409.3 of the Chicago Public Schools Policy Manual, “If the school official reasonably suspects that a student has a weapon in his or her possession, a simple “pat-down” search should be adequate; if there is reason to suspect that a student has drugs on his or her person, the search necessitated by such suspicion may require a more thorough pat-down, or the emptying of pockets and the removal of coats, jackets, shoes, and/or socks.” What this roughly translates to is that school officials are reasonably suspicious that a student has something not permitted on their person, they can do a search of that student’s bag(s), shoes, socks and jackets.

But if you read further, the policy manual says this: “If the school officials conducting the search determine removal of any other items of clothing is necessary in order to facilitate a more thorough search, the school officials should contact the Law Department before proceeding with such a search. Under no circumstances are school officials authorized by this policy to conduct body-cavity searches.”

And a few lines below that, it says this: “Whenever possible, the search should be conducted by a sworn law enforcement officer, such as a Chicago Police Officer of the School Patrol Unit (either assigned to the school or roving”) or an off-duty Chicago Police Officer or Cook County Sheriff’s Department Officer employed by the Board as a School Security Supervisor, at the request of or in conjunction with school officials. Law enforcement officers are trained in proper search techniques, and know how to search for contraband in a manner that minimizes the possibility of injury. A school official should be present during all searches.”

Now, the lawsuits mention nothing about the searches being done by a law enforcement officer of any sort. And even if the school determined a need for such an extreme search, there should have been at least two officials, according to the policy manual. So at the very least, this is a case of severe ignorance of CPS policies. At the worst, these are power-happy school officials forcing students to remove their clothes and publicly humiliating them, which, in my mind, is sexual abuse.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Schools need to be places where students can feel safe. Strip-searching students is not the way to accomplish that.