Excerpts
Ain't Been No Crystal Stair
I woke up the twins, bundled them up (it was November), and put them in the car. I didn’t even drive to the party. I drove into the projects—that’s where I’d heard the woman he’d been seeing lived.
Sure enough, after driving around for a little bit, I saw his truck—backed into a driveway like he lived there. Or like he thought he might need to make a quick escape. I left my headlights on as I pulled into the drive. I wanted them to see me.
I saw the curtains at the front of the house move, like someone was peeking out the window. I called Jerry’s cell.
“Come out of there,” I told him. He paused a moment.
“I ain’t in there,” he said.
“Where you ain’t at?” I asked him. “I’m looking at your truck.”
Busted.
There was another pause. I’m sure he was re-playing the incident from years before at the Stapleton City Hall, after I’d chased down him and his girlfriend. He was probably afraid I’d run him over in the driveway.
“I ain’t comin’ out,” he said. “Go on home.”
Everyone has a breaking point. A point at which your anger overwhelms every other sense—especially common sense—and takes the wheel. It can manifest in different ways: cursing, crying, slapping, punching.
My emotions were a boiling cauldron, its lid unable to contain the fury. I wasn’t just mad—I was MAD!! As in “crazy.”
So I reached into the glovebox of the car and grabbed my Glock. And I shot out the windshield of his truck.
Then I shot out the front window of the house. I unloaded the damn thing.
Sure enough, after driving around for a little bit, I saw his truck—backed into a driveway like he lived there. Or like he thought he might need to make a quick escape. I left my headlights on as I pulled into the drive. I wanted them to see me.
I saw the curtains at the front of the house move, like someone was peeking out the window. I called Jerry’s cell.
“Come out of there,” I told him. He paused a moment.
“I ain’t in there,” he said.
“Where you ain’t at?” I asked him. “I’m looking at your truck.”
Busted.
There was another pause. I’m sure he was re-playing the incident from years before at the Stapleton City Hall, after I’d chased down him and his girlfriend. He was probably afraid I’d run him over in the driveway.
“I ain’t comin’ out,” he said. “Go on home.”
Everyone has a breaking point. A point at which your anger overwhelms every other sense—especially common sense—and takes the wheel. It can manifest in different ways: cursing, crying, slapping, punching.
My emotions were a boiling cauldron, its lid unable to contain the fury. I wasn’t just mad—I was MAD!! As in “crazy.”
So I reached into the glovebox of the car and grabbed my Glock. And I shot out the windshield of his truck.
Then I shot out the front window of the house. I unloaded the damn thing.
Truth Has No Color
As a peace officer with over thirty years of experience—from patrolman to detective to police chief and now as a sheriff—I believe that truth and justice go hand-in-hand. From my early days at the Augusta PD, standing up to the mayor on behalf of my fellow officers, to speaking out publicly about high-profile cases, I’ve never shied away from “telling it like I see it.” My aim with this book is not to point fingers or lay blame, but to tell truth as it pertains to our national discourse on the justice system. I want to show that the seeds of bigotry and racism—bias and prejudice—exist within all of us. I want to explain how and why this came to be and to show you—through a discussion of history, psychology, and using examples and cold, hard facts surrounding some of the most famous (and infamous) cases of our time—that the “truths” upon which we base our biases are usually just flat-out wrong.
Whether it’s the belief that Blacks are dangerous, that Hispanics are lazy, or that all cops are racist, it’s just flat-out wrong.
Truth isn’t cut and dried. It’s not Black and White. In fact, it has no color at all.
Whether it’s the belief that Blacks are dangerous, that Hispanics are lazy, or that all cops are racist, it’s just flat-out wrong.
Truth isn’t cut and dried. It’s not Black and White. In fact, it has no color at all.
Murder in Augusta
Sometime that morning, as we were searching the landfill, Fielding’s friend Deborah Hawes was saw one of the “Missing” posters which had been circulated following Mary’s disappearance, stuck to a pole.
She didn’t recognize the woman in the picture, but she sure as hell recognized the jewelry the missing woman was wearing.
She went to a neighbor’s house and called her friend Tammy Williams (one of the women to whom Fielding had given jewelry on the night of the 12th).
“Girl, you wearin’ a murder watch,” she said.
She didn’t recognize the woman in the picture, but she sure as hell recognized the jewelry the missing woman was wearing.
She went to a neighbor’s house and called her friend Tammy Williams (one of the women to whom Fielding had given jewelry on the night of the 12th).
“Girl, you wearin’ a murder watch,” she said.
Police on Policing
We often hear the phrase “bad apples” used in discussions about law enforcement in America today, often by defenders of the police. “Don’t judge us by the actions of a few bad apples.” While it’s true that the rogue officers who capture all the headlines are by no means representative of law enforcement as a whole, we often lose sight of the fact that the original phrase is “One bad apple spoils the bunch.”
Our law enforcement “bunch” is in trouble, with the rot spread not by the offending officers themselves but by the rancid and rampant air of mistrust which their actions foster within the hearts and minds of the public we serve.
Our law enforcement “bunch” is in trouble, with the rot spread not by the offending officers themselves but by the rancid and rampant air of mistrust which their actions foster within the hearts and minds of the public we serve.
Not Here To Be Served
It’s not all that unusual for a young boy to dream of becoming a police officer. Like astronauts and cowboys and race car drivers, law enforcement is one of those jobs which holds the promise of excitement and notoriety, mixed with – perhaps more so in the case of wearing a badge – an element of authority.
I just knew that the police helped people.
So it was that - shortly after my graduation from Burke County Comprehensive High School in May of 1990 – I walked into the City of Augusta Police Department and picked up an application. (Although the Waynesboro PD was closer, I felt the “big city” offered more opportunities and excitement. And, honestly, I didn’t want to be arresting childhood friends). Libby, who oversaw HR at the APD, took a liking to me, and I was thorough and prompt throughout the hiring process. That being said, it was a long way from a “smooth ride.”
I just knew that the police helped people.
So it was that - shortly after my graduation from Burke County Comprehensive High School in May of 1990 – I walked into the City of Augusta Police Department and picked up an application. (Although the Waynesboro PD was closer, I felt the “big city” offered more opportunities and excitement. And, honestly, I didn’t want to be arresting childhood friends). Libby, who oversaw HR at the APD, took a liking to me, and I was thorough and prompt throughout the hiring process. That being said, it was a long way from a “smooth ride.”