Way back in 1977, Randy Newman wrote and recorded a lovely, cheerful song -- one that filled me with hope and made me smile every time I heard it.
In Jolly Coppers on Parade, a stream of police officers, motorcycle cops and black-and-whites pass by, moving in formation. The song evokes a happier time, a pause in our hectic lives, as seen through the eyes of a young boy.
"They’re coming down the street
They’re coming right down the middle
Look how they keep the beat
Why, they’re as blue as the ocean.”
A couple of days after my brutal discovery, I was sitting on the couch in our quiet house, shell-shocked and staring into the emptiness of the room. Earlier that morning, I had called my wife, told her I had a gun and threatened to use it on her lover. I didn't, of course, but I was so very angry and that was the first thought that came into my head.
The phone rang.
It didn’t register at first. By the third ring, I reacted to the sound as we all have been conditioned to do and walked slowly toward the source of the noise.
“ Hello?”
“This is Officer Lloyd Garrity of the Sunnyvale Police,” said a firm voice on the other end. “Is this David Price?
“Yes.”
“Mr. Price, this is a very serious matter and I need you to do what I say. Do you understand?”
“What?” I asked.
“Mr. Price, this is a very serious matter,” the voice repeated. “I need you to do what I say. I am outside and I want you to walk outside with the phone. Can you walk outside with the phone?”
It was cordless, so I said yes, that is possible.
“Good, Mr. Price. Now walk outside very slowly and put your other hand up in the air where we can see it.”
“How the sun shines down
How their feet hardly touch the ground
Jolly Coppers on parade.”
What in the world is this? I thought. Who is this guy and why is he bothering me?
“Do you know what’s happened here?” I spit into the phone.
“Yes, Mr. Price,” said the voice, “we know. Now I need you to come outside very slowly and with your other hand up in the air.”
I was curious now. So I walked through the kitchen and into our dark garage, which opens onto the street outside. I passed through the dusty, cluttered area where shelves stacked to the wood ceiling held a lifetime of memories. I opened the latch of the heavy wooden garage door and slid it over to the right so I could slip through into the mist of the light rain falling outside.
“Walk out slowly,” said the voice, “with your right hand in the air.”
I did what he said, but I’ve never cared for people ordering me around and his voice of authority made me angry. What was this about? Why was he bothering me? Did he really know what happened?
“Listen to those engines roar
Now they’re doing tricks for the children.”
“I can see you now,” the officer said. “Look to your right.”
I turned and saw a man in uniform about 100 feet away. He had his right hand and arm in the air, waving them slowly from side to side. Another officer stood behind him.
Next to the waving man was a black and white Sunnyvale Police car. Another black-and-white angled out behind it, preventing any cars from driving into the scene.
“What is this?” I shouted into the phone. “What are you doing?”
“Stay calm, Mr. Price,” said the voice. “Keep your hand high where I can see it. Walk down to the street.”
I took a few cautious steps down our short, steep driveway, moving carefully toward the sidewalk and the gutter.
“What are you doing to me?” I shouted, this time at the officer instead of through the phone.
As I said that, I saw movement to my far left, opposite from where the waving police man and his buddy stood. I turned toward the movement and saw three more police officers, marching together, three-abreast. The one on the left was a man. The one on the right was a woman. The one in the middle was a man. He held a rifle. He pointed it at my chest.
Oh, Mama
That’s the life for me
When I’m grown
That’s what I’m gonna be.”
The five of them converged on me as I stood on the sidewalk, the light rain falling, steadily now.
“I didn’t do anything,” I shouted. “I did NOT do anything. They’re the ones who did it. Why are you bothering me?
“Put your hands behind your back,” said the woman officer, taking the phone from my hand.
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” I pleaded, crying now.
“Mr. Price,” Officer Garrity said, “you threatened to kill a man around 10:30 this morning. Is that correct?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I sobbed. “You’re arresting me in front of my house, in front of my neighbors, in front of everyone.”
“We’re being quiet,” said one of the male officers. “You’re the one making all the noise.”
The woman handcuffed me behind my back. There’s nothing happy about handcuffs. Nothing at all.
By this time, one of the officers had retrieved his car. He drove down the street, made an illegal U-turn and parked in front of the driveway. The woman urged me toward the car with her arm. My face felt wet from my tears and the rain. I couldn’t see through the streaks on my glasses. My swollen sinuses started leaking mucus from my nose and onto my moustache. With my hands locked behind my back, I couldn't wipe it away.
She pushed my head down firmly so I wouldn’t bang it on the car door frame and I slid into the Sunnyvale Police car, sitting on the hard, light-blue plastic seat.
“They’re coming down the street
They’re coming right down the middle.”
I tried to bargain with the young woman police officer as she drove me away to Valley Medical Center, where the mentally health challenged criminals are temporarily warehoused. I pleaded my case as she drove. I told her what happened in exquisite detail. I told her that it wasn’t my fault. I asked her what she would have done if this had happened to her.
She didn’t say a thing.
“Are you listening to me?” I pleaded, desperate and frightened now. “Do you even care?”
She didn’t say a word. She just drove.
Oh, it’s all so nice
Looks like angels have come down from Paradise
Jolly Coppers on Parade.”
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