graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee Last night was kinda crazy. All of my girls came out with me to my bar and were slightly stunned to see that I subversively have become the mayor of this twisted dive. Throughout the night the locals came up to pay their respects and check in. Earlier in the day, at work, I mentioned to someone that I felt like I was going to get into a fight. I was right. One of the girls at the bar felt someone steal her purse off of her shoulder, she turned around and gently inquired about it to the thug behind her with a knapsack. He denied it and she, fearful of accusing the guy because he was a minority and she was white, didn't press it. She did, however, have the where withall to vocalize what happened. The buzz got over to P., a neighborhood friend of mine who is a stakeholder in the bar and also a former amateur heavyweight. P. is 6'4", 235 and rock hard. He's intimidating to say the least. P., being from the neighborhood, knew the guy. He said guy is a junkie. P. confronted the guy quietly by the door and I saw the set up. The rest of the bigger guys were in the back playing pool, not knowing what happened. I moved into position, beyond the two of them talking, and stood in the middle of the doorframe, blocking the only exit. I guess I could have moved and grabbed one of the guys from the back, but everything happened so quickly and it was one of those situations when you see someone fall and reach out to aid them - there's no time to get someone else to grab their other arm. So I quietly stood there in the door and waited for this guy to freak out and make a run for it. He saw me position myself and asked P. if they could talk about it outside. I knew what he was doing. He saw that he'd have to knock me down to get out and that would slow him down and get him caught. By moving outside, he'd have room to run. P. humored the guy and they stepped past me and outside. Again, I thought about getting help but I knew there wasn't time. P. tells the guy to open his knapsack and the guy looks like he's going to cry. "P. why you doin' this to me, man? Why you doin' this to me? Why you tryin' to ruin my life, man? You've known me for 10 years." P. stood his ground and repeatedly asked the guy to open the knapsack. I stepped down the stairs and said, "Listen, if you didn't do anything, then just show us what's in the bag." He looked up at me and P. reached out and started pulling the bag off of the guy's shoulder. There was a struggle, but he knew he couldn't fight P. The dude is 3 years off of the heavyweight circuit and he is CUT. I've gone to the gym with P., I know how he conditions. The thug let go of the bag and booked. Right into oncoming traffic. It was like watching a movie. The thug - in a Lakers jersey no less (the irony!)- darts into traffic on the avenue and the car heading toward him comes to an abrupt halt. That car was a police cruiser. P. takes off right behind him. The thug skirts the fender of the cruiser, P. leaps after him and skirts it too, with the knapsack in his hand and pointing after the thief. I jump down the rest of the stairs and scream at the cops, "Stop that guy! He just stole a purse from this bar!" The cops hear me and see what happened, their flashing lights go on and they swerve across three lanes, up onto the sidewalk, back onto a side street and speed down it. Thief in the lead on foot, P. right behind him and speeding cruiser. Someone tackled the guy as I ran back into the bar, grabbed the girl who's purse was stolen and tell her to run down the street and file a report. A couple of the guys come running up behind me. Turns out they had been down the street walking up to the bar when they saw the dude running with P. and the police behind him and jumped him. Because P. was holding the knapsack, which had the purse in it, and the girl couldn't say that she saw him take it and the guy said the knapsack wasn't his, they couldn't charge him. At least her bag was returned. I live in the very start of Spanish Harlem. It used to be called Yorkville but a few weeks ago they redistricted us into Spanish Harlem. It's gentrified, but it can get a little rough. A few weeks ago I heard a couple of young gang members came into the bar and started a fight. P. talked them down, but they erupted later in the night and cracked my friend, the owner/bartender, over the head with a bottle from the bar. As P. and the rest of guys took them to task, barstools being cracked over some of my guy friend's backs, one our guys felt and pulled from one of the kids, a handgun. He had it stashed in the back of his pants. And then they picked up the kids and threw them down the stairs onto the sidewalk. Like a punk pile up. I thought about that for a split second last night. As I was stepping down the stairs I thought, this dude might pull a gun and shoot me. The reality was he would have shot P. and that's most of the reason that I stood out there. I'm a girl and I'm not a fighter or intimidating, but no one is getting shot down alone on my watch. I still can't believe what went down. It was like high school all over again. It's been a long time since I've been a part of something like that and to be honest, I thought those days were over. Today, I felt some small satisfaction in knowing that even though I live a more upscale, tame life, it's good to know that I'm not completely soft. It's important to keep that survival instinct. You never know when you might need it. 11:40 p.m. - 2003-09-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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