but I am a bit cautious, — Jack Cummins
Well, and so am I. I reveal information about the character of where I live, its general location, my sex and race, certain details of my life that only a few would know, etc. But, of course, I don’t reveal my address, social security number, exact date of birth, etc. There are so many Todd Martins out there in the world, even in the Southern USA, that I don’t really fear anyone stalking me up in here...
...btw, this brings to mind an incident that happened to me a few years ago. I was standing on a street corner smoking a cigarette in the local town here, when I noticed police approaching on foot—not unusual, since the station was across the street, and they come by here frequently on their way to downtown. But they failed to just greet me and pass me by; instead they approached me directly, and one of them asked, “Are you Todd Martin?”
I replied that I was, and was then asked to accompany them down into the alley, to have a talk. I agreed, and followed.
In the alley I found myself opposite three police officers, and they began an interrogation: where did I live, what was I doing here, had I posted anything recently online, etc. I answered everything honestly, since I knew I had nothing to hide. As I spoke with them, I continued to smoke my cigarette, but I had nothing to do with my other hand, so I stuck it in my pocket. “Please, take your hand out of your pocket”, I was sternly admonished, which task I slowly and carefully accomplished. I was aware of the holstered pistols on three hips...
...soon my cigarette was finished, and I cast the butt aside onto the pavement. Now I had nowhere to put two hands, and, without thinking, began to slip them both into their respective pockets...”Please take your hands out of your pockets,” I was told by the middle cop: “you’re making me nervous!”...
...looking back on that moment, I realize how lucky I was to be a well-mannered unbelligerant white guy: a recalcitrant black fellow in the south would probably have had pistols drawn on him, if not fired. At any rate, I was finally asked to produce my ID...which was in my back pocket in my wallet; so, I slowly reached my hand back and slowly pulled it out, took out the card, and offered it them. The middle cop took it, looked it over, glanced at me and said, “Well, it looks like you’re not the Todd Martin we’re looking for”, and they took their leave of me...
...but not without apology: the middle cop asked for my phone number, said he would contact me after he had done a little research. Soon after, he called me, and invited me to join him in his office at the station, which I did...
...in his office, into which he graciously invited me, I sat opposite him as he described how a certain Todd Martin had posted threats against him on Facebook. He showed me the threats on his computer, and a picture of the guy (he looked nothing like me). Then he began detailing to me how these threats had caused him to contract high blood pressure, go to doctors; how they had disrupted his family life, etc. I felt sorry for the guy, a police lieutenant about to retire, and now faced with this! Just an hour ago he stood opposite me as an enemy...and now I sat opposite him as a confidante...I’m certain, had I been a dreadlocked belligerent black man, I would never have been invited as a friend into a police lieutenant’s office...
...so that, I suppose, is a commentary on having a certain name, being a certain sort of human being, and having a certain rather perilous occupation from which you are about to retire...if only you can save your skin so long. I suppose it is also a commentary on current race relations.