thrown in jail.............

["Eddie Stakes" <eddiestakes@xxxx>]

Tuesday March 16th 2004 started out like any other nice spring day in
Houston, got up, fed
kids, watched part of Telletubbies and then headed for the bank and to
warehouse in my 82 Eagle wagon. I stopped at a newer Dollar Store on
Westheimer to see what they had, as many times you hit the new ones and they
have stuff others don't have.
I was headed north on Wilcrest and had just passed my old workplace, Nick's,
at the corner of Briar Forest when a Harris County Constable pulled in
behind me and flashed his lights. So I pulled over into the center section,
then into the Gallery Furniture Westside Tennis area where the Rockets
practice, as it is a huge lot off the street. What happened next is simply
unbelieveable, and if hadn't happened to me, I still would have a hard time
believing this.

It was the worst 33 hours of my life.

The constable asked for registration and license, and I gave them both to
him. He said "you have a illegal inspection sticker on your car" to which I
told him "that has been on there for awhile sir" and he said "it is no good"
as he walked off. It had never occured to me to look really close at this
sticker and I would not know a difference between a year, or model, or color
anyhows. He came back a few minutes later and said "the DA said I have to
charge you" and I said, "with what?"
He said "a illegal sticker". Suddenly this beautiful sunny morning, 71
degrees, light wind, trees swaying, was not so beautiful anymore. My mind
was racing as I thought about my options, running was not one, when was
the last time you have seen a television station break in on a high speed
chase
with a AMC 4X4 Eagle. He said 'I'll have to tow your car, or do you
have someone that can come pick it up?' I said, let me call my wife from
your cell phone and I quickly explained to Paige that "I was going downtown"
not really believing it myself as I said it. She was incredulous, asking
what the hell for,
as I've never been in trouble in the 16+ years we have been together. At
that time, a friend of mine,
Joe who works at Gallery Furniture drove up and he knew the cop and said hi,
he also knew me and asked what I was doing, and I told him the cop was going
to arrest me for a bad sticker. I noticed Joe had a expired sticker on his
car too and his two small boys were in it. I asked him to sign for my car,
Paige would come pick it up later, which he did.

As I was read my rights and handcuffed, I still could not believe what was
transpiring. It almost seemed like a bad, slow motion dream. Sitting in the
back seat of the constable car was only a minor inconvienence compared to
what the hours ahead would hold. As we drove down I-10, every bump the cuffs
seemed to get tighter. I for some reason, thought the cop would stop
somewhere and drop me off and say it was all a mistake. No such doing.

As we pulled into Riesner Street I thought about my kids and Paige. Also
thought about the laws and how some are enforced, and others are not. I
thought about stupid things like how Enron had destroyed thousands of lives
and dreams, for instance. Most of them can afford the laywers to get them
off, like a big 'get out of jail card' I guess. As I crawled out of the car
backwards, the officer
headed me towards the booking back door in the basement. I was patted down,
searched, and told to go to a cage. One cop was having a hell of a game on
Solitaire, while others went thru the motions. A big box of Krispy Kreams
sat on a desk. Figures. In the holding cell there was
a small bag pushed up under a chair, looks like white substance. There was
another bag but empty. These were drugs that the cops had not found in the
original pat down of whoever it was that had them. Several passed out
hispanic men quietly slept,
possible illegals. Near the cop cage there was a small crack pipe on the
floor. A cop picked it up and asked everyone whose it was, then told
everyone that is what is destroying America. Maybe it is, but my view was
different today, it was a infraction that in many places would have
garnished a ticket. After a whopping 5 1/2 hours there, I had been booked,
fingerprinted, and photographed. Charged with a misdemeanor.

So upstairs we all went, but not before first having to take off boots,
belts, and empty pockets, frisked again, then up the elevator to the 6-7th
floors. In another holding cell, there was usually about 20-30 people
sitting, milling about. The air was extremely dry and it was cold in there
too, seems people like to spit on walls and ceilings when in jail. And then
it is painted over.

There was four phones on the wall for calls out, the huge problem is that
they are only collect calls you can make. And just about everyone has
'blocks' on their phones, including cell phones. I tried to call Paige.
blocked, I didn't ever know my phone lines were blocked until that moment.
Tried to call brother Tommy in Corpus Christi. Blocked. So I started
thinking about other numbers and who I could call to get word to Paige to go
post my bond. But Paige had already got the ball rolling, calling friends to
find out what she could do, and she loaded up the kids in the Ambassador and
headed downtown to a Bail Bonding company, of which they are as common
downtown as taco stands. My bond was $500, so bail would be $150. She just
missed the cutoff period so it looks like a long night in city.

If I wasn't so used to the smell of urine with two small boys I would have
puked a few times over. The cells, all of them, reeked of urine, and there
of course was no toilet paper, I had long since forgotten how a roll of
toilet paper makes a great pillow in jail. So if you had to shit, you would
have to borrow someone's pillow. Hmmm...WWMD? (what would martha do?) Dinner
consisted of a piece of
bologna on two dry pieces of bread with a squirt of mustard in there, a
peanut butter cookie and a small 1/2 pint of fruit juice. I slowly ate the
sandwich, thinking of when the last time I HAD a bolonga sandwich. I believe
it was 1968, in my Batman & Robin lunch box, and no one at school wanted to
trade with me, so I left the poor sandwich in the box, and then forgot my
box on the Saxet Heights (Saxet is texas backwards ya'll) bus home from
school, but we lived a mile from the terminal and
went to pick it up and the guys laughed 'you must have been real hungry
today!' still remember that as my dad, asked me what they meant, but he
could smell the now warm and mushy sandwich on the way home in the car and
advised me to throw it out or mom would get mad; which she would. Yes, 1968
was the last time I had a bolonga sandwich. This time however I would eat
it, no Batman and Robin lunchbox to put it in and well, seemed like I was
not going anywheres.
The peanut butter cookie was good and a black fellow I had been talking to
gave me his. I should have not drank the fruit punch, and probably shuold
have not ate the cookies, as I could literally feel my kidneys swelling up
laying on the metal bench, then later the hard cement floor.

During the night sometime they called five of us out for what is called a
'free trial' where they ask you questions, there is a tiny nasty room, a
heavily fortified window and a phone where you talk to the other person ont
he other side, who is asking questions to determine whether you are a risk I
guess. I signed a personal recognizance bond, and the lady said 'you will
probably be out soon' but then realized she had said that to the crackhead
kid next to me who was in for the second time this month. The women behind
the thick glass were obviously well paid city employees and took their time,
talking about the NCAA tournament to someone's new hairdo down in homicide,
it was over a 30 minute talk. One fellow in our group got impatient and
knocked on the window and one lady bluntly told him 'who are you and what is
your name?' and he slinked back in his chair like a kid scolded. Good to see
they were paid well to waste taxpayers money. It was great to hear their
conversation
about jeri curl, Kentucky being the #1 seed, and their reverend moving to
Louisiana.

We were headed back to the cell, then headed to the bunks, I was in #3, four
to a cell, at least these had a small blanket and a thin rubber mat. Without
thinking I ended up on lower right, and well, right near the toilet, at
least I had gotten used to the smell, but splashing might be a problem in
the night. The gnats were really bad, they seemed to breed by the hour.
These are
the little annoying gnats you find in bars, restaurants and places like
that, they are
really bad in this part of the country months of the year, mostly summer
months,
but these bad azz gnats had colors/jackets, so were probably in the Mexican
Syndicate or Aryan Nations gangs. I decided to let them breed and if they
were
hungry, there were plenty of dried soemthing or another on the wall and
toilet and in
the sink they could buffet out on.
There was no way to tell now if it was day or night outside and the lights
would sat on all night anyhows in the cell. Every now and then you would
hear keys jingling, then the slow rumble of a iron door, then the cell doors
would open and names would be called, possibly by some who had made bail, or
were headed to the judge at all hours of the morning I was told. It went on
for a eternity. Sadly I thought about all those sad, long faces at the
Special Pals Houston adoption center when I went there a few months ago, all
those poor dogs and cats looking at you, just hoping, praying, YOU are the
one to pick them up and give them a home. I watched their faces every time
the door opened, some would jump and stand at the cage putting on their
biggest smile. Others would sit and quietly, almost sheepishly, wag their
tails, for some reason not having enough confidence in themselves to make
eye contact with a potential new owner. Yes others had given up and slept,
knowing I guess that they would be facing the needle in a few days anyhows
and had resigned themselves to their fate that no one wanted them. That is
how I felt in jail, every time the metal doors slammed open or shut, you
only hoped they would call your last name. And you could go home?

Breakfast was served at 5:30am, and either you eat it or don't. I had never
ate uncooked grits before, it is a aquired taste. A spoon full of cold
scrambled eggs with some dots in them, at this point I was not going to be
picky and could care less whether it was a piece of some sort of
unidentifiable meat, or possibly larvae. A cold bisquit and another of those
little juice drinks, and a orange. I traded my drink for another orange,
which I hid under my armpits to take back to my cell for later. I would
later give it to the nice Mexican fellow above me, as we talked about
sports, life, charges, cars. He was in for assualt. Seems he had beat his
wife senseless, not a good thing. He said if he got out he would go to
Mexico.

I have never heard the "N" word used so much in my life. I never knew it
could be used as a noun, verb, adjective, pronoun, all in one sentence. One
black guy must have said it 20 times in one paragraph, and over the phone.
He was still $400 short of the bond however so he was agitated that his
homies would not come thru for him...again. He called his mother who cried,
as he told her to quit crying and come get me out again. At least he didn't
call her a ho. I was surprised to
hear in some conversations what some of the people in the cell were looking
at. One guy had 3 DWI's. Another was looking at involuntary manslaughter.
Another was busted with '2 dimes and 3 nickle' bags, while another said 'he
had a whole pocket of rock when popped'. And yet when you looked around, you
could tell those who were in deep trouble and those who seemed to think it
was just another day and no big deal. There were a number of people in the
holding cell upstairs who actually were making fun or their plight. Either
that or they had been there before and only knew it was a matter of time
before they were back out on the streets again to do whatever it was that
got them in there to begin with. How unusual for some it was all funa nd
games like being at Astroworld.

They called about ten of us out, it was almost 4:00pm. For a moment I
thought my luck was changing and had talked to a few hispanic fellows who
were smart enough to have written number of attorneys and friends on their
arms before getting arrested. I memorized a attorney number. Would do me no
good, collect call block again. We were taken down the elevator to where all
our belongings had originally been taken, and put in another cell. At this
point I realized it was late afternoon and I had been in there now 28-29
hours. And options were limited, as I had no one to call. I thought about
AMC vendor friends whose numbers I know. Andre Jacobs in San Antonio.
BLOCKED. Jeff Kennedy in Ohio. No Answer. Dave Simon in California. BLOCKED.
And then on a last ditch effort, I called the club where I worked over a
year ago, Nick's, as I remember I had taken a collect call from a regular
who had gotten pulled over one night. Luckily Susan the bartender took the
collect call and I told her: "Susan. Eddie. I'm in city. They are fixing to
take us to County. Call Paige, tell her I love her and the kids and to call
a bondsman, any bondsman, get some of my credit card slips out of my office
if she has to use those numbers for bond." She said that Paige had already
called and talked to a number of people about the situation and what to do
and she had posted bail for me at 1:30pm. But that was AFTER the cutoff
time. So I told her I will try to call again when at county jail.

When the lady cops brought out the chains, I knew this was suddenly going
from bad...to worse. We were chained together at the wrists, and led down a
corridor to a waiting van outside. Several of the fellows were flirting with
the HPD cop, I guess she was used to it, and was attractive, but not the
place to pick up chicks, especially with one arm handcuffed to 11 other men.
You won't be thinking about picking up anything if you get to the 7th-8th
floor of Harris County Jail, as someone will pick YOU up.
A short drive to county jail and the big red, Harris County Jail loomed. I
had heard all the stories. Seen the red down ramp at the back. Never had
seen that inside and never want to again. You go thru a series of doors and
several of the handcuffed who had been there before said sternly that at
county, they take no shit. You would quickly learn that too. There was over
a dozen women in a hall, getting stripped for search and one Sherriff told
us to look away or get slapped, of which everyone looked dead ahead. Take
off shoes, shirt, and turn around, unbutton upper button, fall towards wall,
then refrisked. Turn around. Keep hands at sides. There was a small mini-me
cop could not have been 5 feet tall, who would get in everyone's face. I
accidentally scratched my nose and he told me quickly that if I had a itch,
then I have to ask, which I said 'yes sir'. On young kid about 21 who was 3
people down from me kept trying to pull up his pants. They warned him twice
then the little cop said 'we got a problem with this ni**er here. to which
the big black cop came over and said, 'turn around' they cuffed him and then
pushed him to the floor face first. The rest of us in line didn't look
except straigh ahead. Rights? Give me a break.

I'm sure there are many jails like this in the US, big city jails, and
possibly even smaller ones where you have to follow by the rules. It was a
bit of a culture shock however to see. Not that I will defend anyone who
disobeyed a order a cop had given, we had been warned in the van and chain
gang by 'veterans' to yes sir, no sir everything. Period. Or you would never
see the light of another day in Houston. This is how they simply treat you
in County Jail.

Into another cell about a dozen of us were herded. I was told by two this is
a good thing as Martha Stewart might be soon saying in my place. But this
area was a sort of pre-release area. It meant that someone had posted our
bail. We were herded past a wall of prostitutes who looked all of us over.
Maybe we would see them again out on the street and qualify for some sort of
discount since we seemed to now know them by many of their glares. Ironic
that the world's oldest profession still attracts teenagers to old women
past their prime look. About five of the women in a row looked like a Willie
Nelson concert, three front teeth between all of them. Two of us
were called out from this other cell, which was the only cell in now going
on 31 hours with no gnats; this cell had only one phone that worked, but no
urine smell, and no chunks of dried vomit and spit trails on the wall. One
black fellow said, you are one cell from leaving. The two of us were herded
into a room that the sign now said 'pre release' and inside, we gave each
other high fives, and high fives with the other three inmates in there.
But we also knew it would be hours, as release times were 6, 8, 10 and
midnight. One old black man was going home to Pasadena, but would have to
serve weekends in jail there for a month, and to him it was a cinch. A young
white fellow had all the answers and was adamant he was going back to the
Kohl's department store to "get" the manager who had busted him for stealing
a pair of $50 shoes. And a young Mexican fellow, only 17, was there for
smoking weed in front of a pool hall. Only 5 of us at the moment, but we
knew we would be awhile and the cell would fill up with almost 70 others
soon. The old man gave a lesson to the young boy, telling him that he better
straighten up his shit now, or he would be on the 7th floor one day. And
there would be no one to help him, and no one to hear him scream when a hand
is over his mouth and he is being held down and raped by those inmates who
are in for 20, 30 years who think he is pretty with that haircut. The young
boy seemed to think that he had heard it all before and rolled his eyes. The
old man said, 'listen here punk, I don't care who you know on the outside
and who your friends are but up there, you will be walking around holding
someone's belt as you WILL be their lady full time'. That got his attention.
Then he turned to the young white guy with tattoos. He asked why he wanted
to go get the manager who was only doing his job in preventing the kid from
stealing $50 worth of shoes. The kid said 'the guy was a 22 year old punk
manager and I told him I would GIVE him $100 to let me go' of which he would
not take it. He had a chance to make $50 for nothing'. To which the old man
replied ' it is not his job to get paid to make money off theives, it is his
job to manage the store and stop theives'. That talk was wasted on the young
white guy it seemed. I simply listened and told the Mexican fellow that the
guy is right, if you are going to smoke weed then don't stand in front of a
pool hall or anywhere to try to make a statement. None of your friends are
here, you were the only one to get caught. He nodded and said he will really
try to turn his life around. I told him look in his mother's eyes when he
gets home.

Wished my mother, Sara Maria DeAlcala was still alive, but she passed away
in 1988. I thought of the times she bailed me out as a teenager for stealing
CB radios in the 70s, cars, smoking weed, finally straightened up in the
late 70s however, maybe that tortilla rolling pin to my head worked.

In the release area, we were handed back our possessions taken a day
earlier. And the heavy sliding door with the sign behind it said 'bank/left'
and 'exit/right'. The bank is a in house bank as they don't give you your
cash back, they give you a check, and yes, you have to put your fingerprints
on that also, then you can cash it on your way out or deposit it in your own
bank later. I cashed one of them for cab fare, realizing I had now been in
'the system' for a minor infraction, for a staggering 32-33 hours.

I walked down the stairs of the Harris County Courthouse and a door opened
to the famous red ramp, as seen on tv when the county released hundreds for
overcrowding, it leads to, well, the street. There was a taco truck near the
gate, and a light wind blowing, about 74 degrees. Downtown Houston, Texas,
4th largest city in the US. It was now St. Patrick's Day, at night. A few
blocks over you could hear the celebrations from pubs, and restaurants, the
new shiny Metrorail train whistle added a sombering effect to the night. Two
guys quickly walked towards me with cell phones in hand 'hey buddy, you need
to make a call anywhere in the US only $1.00?' I politely declined but
thought how much money they must make nightly doing that. A
Yellow Cab driver waved me over, asking if I needed a ride. Yes I did.
Anywhere. He cranked up the meter and we headed down I-10 for a $30 cab
fare. I still could not believe I had been picked up and jailed for such a
extended period of time. There are daily carjackings, armed robberies at
banks in Houston are a weekly occurance, and judging by the amount of crack
cocaine on the streets and well, in the HPD holding cells where it was not
found by a patdown, there just seems to be so many more important crime
issues facing our city.

I was not in the right. What had happened with my car was I had several
gypsies that cruise neighborhoods searching for the latest scam stop by and
offer to change my cracked windshield for $125 awhile back. I thought this
was a great deal and said sure, and they came back that afternoon and
changed it out, put the sealer and chrome back on, and I gave them the
money. I didn't know that they had also changed my inspection sticker, but
had left my license sticker alone, simply scraping it off and supergluing it
on the new glass, but my old inspection sticker was changed out. The charge
on the bond sheet is 'misdemeanor/inspt/stkr' I go to court 8:00am Tuesday
to find out my fate and not sure what to plead as the judge would laugh at
my story anyhows, but several people have told me to plead not guilty and
ask for a jury trial and then postpone it. Over and over and over.
Eventually they will drop it. Yet another said that my extensive time served
would be the fine. I would like to get all this behind me and move on, but I
have a spotless driving record going back to the year AMC last used a V8 in
their production vehicles: 1979. That is right, no tickets, nothing. Well, I
had one but it was dismissed for you guessed it, a inspection sticker that
had expired.

In the meantime, I have thought about all those police officers who have
died in the line of duty, and those that risk their necks daily on the
street for others to have a safe place to live, work, play. I am extremely
bitter and somewhat angry at the whole situation and think also about all
the many benefits and chartities I have volunteered in thru the years,
BBQing for a day and so forth to raise money for a cop's family after he was
killed or donating blood when a officer is down. My father was a captain
before he got involved with American Motors, so there is a link. However
there is also a real fine line of those who abuse their power of the badge
also. I feel this was my case. Everyone laughed when I told them I was in
jail for a inspection sticker. The gang banger with cryptic writing on his
chest and hands wrapped in plastic, the guys who proudly wear their 'North
Side' shirts in jail like attending a concert, even the triple DWI guy
laughed, so did the crack seller who was only 21 and said he would have to
sell more crack to pay these people back who were bailing him out, my crime
did not fit the punishment. So it will probably be a very long time before I
ever volunteer any police benefit again, or donate to the 100 Club, or give
blood. Angry? Still. A few days later. This could of and should of, been
handled differently from the beginning. If I would have know I had a gypsy
inspection sticker on my car I would have went and had it reinspected for
$40 it is no big deal. I did find out that the bogus inspection stickers are
a big problem since inspecting a car went to $40 a few years ago, there is a
small little bar code tag on each, and the bogus ones, although you can't
tell them from real ones, the number on the bottom is same. For different
years. There to me at least, are a whole city of things more
important than something like this. I realize you have to start somewhere
too, but when you consider what all is on the streets of Houston at any
given time from stolen vehicles, drunks, illegal immigrants, chronic
speeding and stop light running and school zone speeding, I just believe
this was trivial and could have been handled differently like a ticket, or
warning, but not 33 hours in the city and county jails.
Eddie Stakes