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‘He Had This Fear of Calling the Police’

Posted on March 5, 2012March 5, 2012 by Varg

Family: Teen murdered was at wrong place at wrong time

Pastor Raphael knows many of the neighborhood kids. He said one boy told him he had seen Summers laying there wounded hours before anyone called police.
“He had this fear of calling the police. He wanted something to be done and he said he knew that kid and he just felt he couldn’t call the police that he wouldn’t be treated right or he would be considered a suspect if he called to report it, which a tragedy,” Raphael said.

This reminds of something that happened to me a few years back. It was probably some time late in 2006. I was finishing up some work on the house in the front yard and was hosing off brushes. A kid who looked to be in middle school came up to me and asked me if I could walk him home. He seemed timid and frightened but I can’t tell you how many red flags went off in my head. I thought for sure I was being set up for something. I was somewhat new to the neighborhood and a neighbor I had at the time was constantly telling me how mad it was and how we were “urban pioneers” by even living there. I still thought critically about things but still, hearing things over and over again affects your sub-conscious to a degree. So my guard was up more than maybe it should have been.*

I asked the kid a few questions. First, “why do I need to walk you home?”

He said he was out after curfew and was afraid of the police. That seemed like a legit fear. I asked where he lived and he gave a decent enough answer, on Hendee a few blocks up and a few blocks over, probably 8 blocks total. I asked him where he was coming from and he said his grandmother’s house across the river. That seemed legit too. I asked how it was that he was out after curfew and he said the ferry was late. At that time the ferry schedule was pretty bad so that seemed to check out.

My neighborhood isn’t too bad but it gets worse the closer one gets to Hendee. A few murders had happened there and it was a hot spot on the crime map. I didn’t want to walk this kid through there for my sake more than his. But he didn’t want to walk in the Point any more than he had to either.

So I told him I’d drive him home. No go. He didn’t want to. I guess that was reasonable on his part because I could take him anywhere once he got in the car right?

What convinced me to go with him more than anything was he looked scared. Maybe scared of getting in trouble but mostly it seemed he was scared of the cops themselves.

So we walked. All the way through the rest of the Point. We talked but I don’t remember about what. Some people hollered at us and we got some strange looks from everyone outside the Newton Market. At the corner of Whitney and Newton, I asked him how much further and he said he only lived a few blocks more and I asked him if it was okay to finish off the rest of the walk on his own. “Why?” he asked. “For the same reason you didn’t want to walk up to this spot, I don’t want to go any further. I’m scared.” This reply seemed to satisfy him.

More in his own neighborhood and more comfortable it seems, he agreed to do the rest on his own and seemed in better spirits as he crossed the street on toward his block. His demeanor having altered greatly. He didn’t seem scared or vulnerable any more.

I’ll never know if I was being set up for something or not. I’ll never know what would have happened if I had walked him all the way home or what may have happened on the way back alone. I believe nothing.

Point is, this kid was scared of the cops and took a chance on a complete stranger rather than those sworn to serve and protect him. I only wish the kid in the story above had told a stranger about what he saw. I wish more that he felt comfortable going to the police.

* That neighbor has since moved away. We had a falling out not long after and I stopped talking to him but those that do said he’s thinking about moving back to New Orleans. I am so happy the rest of us “pioneers” got the place back together for him just in time.

2 thoughts on “‘He Had This Fear of Calling the Police’”

  1. Mrs. vargas says:
    March 15, 2012 at 12:47 pm

    It’s damn shame that in our community an adult has to think twice about helping a child. I hope the experience imbued both parties with more trust of their fellow man, although the reality is we all still need to “watch our backs.” Something tells that old neighbor of yours might not be heading back to the old block anyway.

  2. Pingback: thechicory.com » A Plausible Recreation of the Death of Justin Slip

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3 Noble Truths

Know yourself. Know the Universe. Know yourself in the Universe.

Rev. Varg’s Artist Statement

Rejoice!

I say that a lot. I sign many pieces with it. I do this because I believe our lives are a true happenstance. A brilliant occurence from nothingness. We are so rare. We are so unlikely. And simply being born isn’t enough. From there we must survive, endure. So each morning, after our Sun departs and is reborn again. Please, for the sake of your ancestors and the Universe in general, hoist that cup of joe up and say, “Rejoice.”

Ours is a soulful existence. No matter how many McMansions, polyester fabrics, auto-tunes, modified foods and social networks we surround ourselves with, we are all still native, passionate beings made of ancient matter. We are organic and we have soul.

Wood also has a warm, soulful quality. Wood has a memory. It retains smells, traumas, events. It even has a calendar. This is why I have chosen it as my medium, for its old soul. I like to think the wood in my work is in its third incarnation. First a tree, then a home and now art. If you have a room that needs a little soul, get a piece. A room can never have enough soul.

My inspiration and subject matter comes from many sources, among them: Humanism, old ballads, trickster tales, flora and fauna, science, myths and folklore, stringed instruments, brass bands, amber spirits, lady vocalists, general relativity and quantum mechanics. Some of my pieces are there just to make a short, simple statement about what’s important in life. Some are more diffuse and abstract in meaning. A personal drama, an enduring line from a poem or novel, a poignant song lyric, the legacy of an important person, a fleeting thought … these are the subjects of my art.

I use hearts often because they are a very abstract way of depicting the human soul without also employing the very subjective human form. The symbolic heart is an apt representation for a person’s experience and essence. A body can immediatly conjure happiness, sorrow, youth, age, anger, bliss. These emotions can get in the way. Sometimes it’s simply about the experience.

I am the son of a sailor and a social worker, the grandson of a gypsy, a dancer and a nurse. I spent my youth moving from port city to port city, watching a lot of road go by and reading World Book Encyclopedia. After my parents settled down on the Gulf Coast, I was a miscreant youth, destroying cars and taking the wrongs things too seriously and the right things not serious enough. Eventually I began replacing my imagination with experience.

I will use any salvaged wood but prefer swamp cypress and longleaf heartwood pine.

I despise waste. Particularly the waste of organic matter. Trees are magnificent. They were here before we arrived and they’ll be around after we are gone. I’m making an effort to save as much wood as possible. Creating art is fun too. But beyond communicating with folks, but beyond making money ad providing for myself, beyond rescuing flooded parts, beyond reveling in the ethereal aroma of heartpine that hasn’t seen the light of day in 400 years, beyond all that, I am trying to make a simple comment on waste.

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