Something Wild and Evil

January 3rd, 2023

“There are some (places) you go into-in this line of work-that you know will be heavy. The details don’t matter. All you know, for sure, is that your brain starts humming with brutal vibes as you approach the front door. Something wild and evil is about to happen; and it’s going to involve you.” – Hunter S. Thompson

The Milwaukee County Safety Building in downtown is such a place. That seems a bit odd, but it’s true. A person walking onto the premises immediately senses that this will not be an enjoyable visit. The first thing that confronts the individual is one of the ubiquitous metal detectors that grace the entrances of almost all public facilities that house law enforcement offices. The message it gives is: “We don’t trust you.”

I struggled with the metal detector. After emptying my pockets, I walked through the detector which immediately beeped and flashed red. A stern Black lady told me to raise my arms so she could wave her wand across my body. She determined that the problem was with my shoes.

She ordered me to take off my work boots. I did. She told me,

“Turn them over so I can see the soles. Lift up your pants legs. Let me see your socks. Okay, you can put your shoes back on.”

And welcome to the Safety Building.

I was taking a young woman to her court appearance. It was to be held in a room on the second floor of the building. We took the elevator up one floor and came out into a long, winding corridor. “Drab” does not begin to describe the scene. The hallway had no windows. The color scheme was monochromatic. There was a kind of grey, faux marble wainscoting on the lower half of the walls. The upper portion was painted a dull white. The black office doors were almost all closed. Some had peep holes. The linoleum on the floor looked like something that was stylish when Eisenhower was president. There were no pictures hanging anywhere. Milwaukee County apparently hired an interior decorator from North Korea.

Completely out of place, was a small, brightly colored shelf next to the wall. Above it was a sign that read, “Emma’s Garden. Take what you want, leave what you can.” The shelf contained some used children’s books and some ragged stuffed animals. It was a tiny display of humanity in a building utterly devoid of it.

The young woman found the door to the court room. Like most of the others, it was locked. There was a bulletin board next to the door. It held several notices, none of which were comforting. One paper described the things not to do in the court room: don’t use a cell phone, don’t wear a hat, don’t read a newspaper. The overall message was that you have to be here, but you won’t like it.

The woman’s hearing was scheduled to start at 1:15. Nobody was allowed into the room until 1:00. We weren’t the first ones there. There were other people already standing outside the door waiting for the show to start. The atmosphere was heavy with anxiety and resignation. Everybody there had received a summons, and they all knew that they were in some way screwed. Each person was charged with a crime, and each one potentially faced jailtime, probation, and/or fines. Nobody was walking out of the building unscathed. That was guaranteed.

Eventually the bailiff opened the door and ordered his assembled guests to line up single file against the wall. Then they could enter the room to check in. After they checked in, they needed to go out to the hallway again and take a seat. It was kind of like going to the DMV, but not as friendly. There were a dozen folks in the line. Of those, seven were Black, four Latinos, and one white woman. I knew her. Keep in mind that every person there was accused of a crime, but none had been convicted. They were all innocent until proven guilty. However, they weren’t dressed well, and they didn’t have a high-powered attorney at their side. There was no reason for the bailiff to show them more than a modicum of respect.

Time crawled by. The wheels of justice turned slowly, and we noticed that. A young lady set up a makeshift office in the corridor. One by one, she called out a name and spoke with whoever answered. She would say,

“Hi, I’m from the office of the public defender. I would like to see if you qualify for a public defender. Would that interest you?

Almost without exception, it did interest the person.

The young woman with me waited. She, like most everyone else, stared at the screen of her smart phone. There was nothing else to look at. I mentioned the decor on the hallway. She gave me a weak smile, and said,

“Maybe it’s just a taste of things to come.”

Ah,yes…she’s been in prison. She knows.

The young woman and I were worried. We did not know how things would play out. This was her first court appearance for her particular offense. She was charged with battery on a police officer, which is kind of breathtaking when you think about it. We had already made tentative plans about what to do if the judge said to her,

“I think you should hang around for a while.”

This was not just paranoia. A couple had walked in a little late. The woman was edgy. Her partner looked exhausted. She went into the courtroom and did not walk out. The man shuffled over to a chair and slumped down into it. He looked rough. His eyes were red slits sunken deeply into their sockets. He had red splotches on his face. The guy was emaciated. He had that gaunt appearance usually only seen with concentration camp survivors or meth users.

After a while, the bailiff came out and beckoned to the man. The guy got up. The bailiff handed the man a clear plastic bag with some items in it. The man looked at it blankly. He asked the bailiff,

“Where is she?”

The bailiff replied, “She’s in jail.”

“In jail?”

“Yes. She has another court date. Uh, let me get it for you.”

The bailiff came back and handed the man a scrap of paper. The guy with the ruby red eyes tried to read it. The bailiff returned to the courtroom and the man stood there alone with a bag in his hand.

The man took his girlfriend’s belongings out of the bag and shoved them into his pockets. He blew air into the bag and loudly popped it. There was no reaction from anyone. He turned around and said to himself,

“Cocksucking bitch ass mother fuckers.”

He stumbled down the hallway repeating his mantra. His words echoed as he walked into the distance.

Wild and evil.

A tall, well-muscled Black man sat near to me. He was on the phone. He too was troubled. I caught bits of his conversation:

“Man, I don’t know what’s going to happen here…well, they say I missed a court date in December…yeah, I might go to jail…what I’m telling you is that if you don’t hear from me for a couple hours, I need you to get your ass down here and bail me out…no, I don’t know how much it will be…yeah, okay, bye.”

Wild and evil.

My young woman got called to talk with a public defender. He was a heavyset guy with a rumpled shirt and loose tie. They talked in another makeshift cubicle in the hallway. I could hear them. I’m everyone else could too. Then they went into the courtroom.

Eventually, she came back out, holding some papers in her hand. she said,

“I’m out on a signature bond.”

That’s a win.

“I have another court date in two weeks.”

That’s not.

I asked her, “So, how was it?”

“Okay. There was a guy in there because he was starving animals.”

Okay, battery on a cop is one thing, but being charged for starving animals?”

Wild and evil.

We’ll be back.