Confessions - Part 3, Getting arrested
II Getting Arrested
On Monday February 24, 1970, I was arrested in Washington DC. I had not intended for this to happen, in fact I had not even intended to go along to this demonstration. Any demonstration at that time and place, the official arrival of M. Pompidou, was clearly likely to have untoward consequences. It was the sabotage of the Swissair plane en route to Israel that finally convinced me to go.
I had been one of the organizers of the official Jewish Community demonstration on the previous day, which about 4,000 people attended. The police had been very cooperative with us then, and there had been no problems. Of course the police were very pleased that we held the large demonstration on the day before M. Pompidou’s arrival in Washington. That way they avoided a potentially difficult situation.
I was only vaguely aware of the plans for the activities on the day of Pompidou’s arrival through my dealings with the Baltimore-Washington Union of Jewish Students, that I had been helping to organize as a counter to the more passive Hillel Foundations. A number of student groups were co-operating in a mock-funeral to bury French honor. It was not intended to be a violent demonstration and, in fact, after some difficulties, legal permits had been obtained by Raphael Perl to walk around Lafayette Park across from the White House.
When I drove up to the meeting point in Georgetown, I was mobbed. It seems that a station wagon with a roof rack on top is an ideal vehicle for displaying a coffin. Within a short time my car was duly bedecked, with the coffin aloft, draped with the tricolor, and with signs reading “we mourn the death of French honor.” In this way I found myself to be the lead car of the procession.
Two men were sitting nearby in a car and the word was that they were Secret Service agents. A couple of our people went over to talk to them and it turned out that they were quite friendly. Just as we were about to move off, one of them came over to us and warned us that we had to remove all the signs, the coffin etc., otherwise we would be holding an illegal procession. We were very cooperative and at that late stage tore the coffin off the top and installed it inside the station wagon.
We moved slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue with our lights full on, but inevitably became dispersed in the heavy traffic. As we approached the White House and when we could see only a few of our cars behind us, we stopped momentarily. This was a mistake, the police were waiting for us, and in the best Hollywood style, a car swung across our path and others came from all sides. A huge traffic jam developed throughout downtown DC. Eventually a top-brass police officer handed down the verdict, the drivers were to be arrested for holding an illegal procession. Some of the passengers slipped out of the cars and went back along the route warning our drivers to turn off their lights and stay in the traffic and avoid the trap. In the end seven cars were lined up and escorted to the Third Precinct Police Station nearby.
Everything was done very correctly, we were even frisked for weapons. Most of the policemen were friendly, but the Chief was quite adamant. He was a parody of himself, down to the cliché “tell it to the judge.” Of course, we had legal help immediately, my friend Ernie Shalowitz (“Ernie the Attorney”) arrived from the JCC. But, we were booked, our belongings were taken (including our ties and belts in case we decided to hang ourselves), and we were each put into a separate small cell. A woman who had been driving one of the cars was taken elsewhere and her little boy was separated from her.
We talked, we sang Jewish songs, Dr. William Perl, noted Jewish activist (later head of the JDL), lead the singing. We watched the police taking photos of my car in the yard of the Precinct House. Then quite boldly two of our people walked in, went to the car, opened it and simply removed the coffin (which was later sent air-freight to Paris for a further demonstration by French students). We were kept there for about an hour. We were not advised of our rights, nor had we been ordered to disperse before we had been arrested. This made the whole procedure seem dubious. Finally they took us out, but instead of letting us see our lawyer, we were frisked again (in case we had manufactured a weapon out of the cell bars?) and they put us in a paddy wagon. This was wet inside and they informed us that it had specially cleaned and sanitized for our benefit. The police were quite amused by us, not their usual clientele. One man, a professor and ex-police official was in his 60’s, one was 37-years old with a high Civil Service position, and the ages went right down to an 18-year old student.
We were taken to the DC Courthouse and put into a large pen in the basement with many other criminals. Finally we spoke to our lawyer and were allowed to make one call each to our family. The place was very dingy, with trash strewn all over the floor, half-eaten oranges and sandwiches, and papers, since there was no trash can. Also, the floor was filthy, probably not having been washed for a week or more. Wooden benches crossed the room, and men lay sprawled on them. Most were Black. They came and went, up to fifty at one time in one large room. Drug addicts, morals cases – and us.
Finally, after another few hours the charges against us were dropped with no arrest record. The lawyer was angry and was sure that we had a good case for false arrest and denial of civil rights since our temporary removal from society had clearly been politically motivated. It was good to feel free. We ascended to the Courthouse, a magnificent building with wide marble corridors. The contrast was absolute. The juxtaposition of the house of Justice was somehow symptomatic of the state of society. A depressing condition to find in the Capital of the richest country in the world.
Other people had been arrested that day, including the couple who had shouted out at M. Pompidou’s press conference in the National Press Club. They were lucky to be released together with us. At least we got some publicity. At least the world would know we were angry and that Israel is not alone. At that juncture in history and under the prevailing circumstances, jail was a good place for a “nice Jewish boy” to be.
(this section was reproduced from “Doreinu” the paper of the BWUJS)
On Monday February 24, 1970, I was arrested in Washington DC. I had not intended for this to happen, in fact I had not even intended to go along to this demonstration. Any demonstration at that time and place, the official arrival of M. Pompidou, was clearly likely to have untoward consequences. It was the sabotage of the Swissair plane en route to Israel that finally convinced me to go.
I had been one of the organizers of the official Jewish Community demonstration on the previous day, which about 4,000 people attended. The police had been very cooperative with us then, and there had been no problems. Of course the police were very pleased that we held the large demonstration on the day before M. Pompidou’s arrival in Washington. That way they avoided a potentially difficult situation.
I was only vaguely aware of the plans for the activities on the day of Pompidou’s arrival through my dealings with the Baltimore-Washington Union of Jewish Students, that I had been helping to organize as a counter to the more passive Hillel Foundations. A number of student groups were co-operating in a mock-funeral to bury French honor. It was not intended to be a violent demonstration and, in fact, after some difficulties, legal permits had been obtained by Raphael Perl to walk around Lafayette Park across from the White House.
When I drove up to the meeting point in Georgetown, I was mobbed. It seems that a station wagon with a roof rack on top is an ideal vehicle for displaying a coffin. Within a short time my car was duly bedecked, with the coffin aloft, draped with the tricolor, and with signs reading “we mourn the death of French honor.” In this way I found myself to be the lead car of the procession.
Two men were sitting nearby in a car and the word was that they were Secret Service agents. A couple of our people went over to talk to them and it turned out that they were quite friendly. Just as we were about to move off, one of them came over to us and warned us that we had to remove all the signs, the coffin etc., otherwise we would be holding an illegal procession. We were very cooperative and at that late stage tore the coffin off the top and installed it inside the station wagon.
We moved slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue with our lights full on, but inevitably became dispersed in the heavy traffic. As we approached the White House and when we could see only a few of our cars behind us, we stopped momentarily. This was a mistake, the police were waiting for us, and in the best Hollywood style, a car swung across our path and others came from all sides. A huge traffic jam developed throughout downtown DC. Eventually a top-brass police officer handed down the verdict, the drivers were to be arrested for holding an illegal procession. Some of the passengers slipped out of the cars and went back along the route warning our drivers to turn off their lights and stay in the traffic and avoid the trap. In the end seven cars were lined up and escorted to the Third Precinct Police Station nearby.
Everything was done very correctly, we were even frisked for weapons. Most of the policemen were friendly, but the Chief was quite adamant. He was a parody of himself, down to the cliché “tell it to the judge.” Of course, we had legal help immediately, my friend Ernie Shalowitz (“Ernie the Attorney”) arrived from the JCC. But, we were booked, our belongings were taken (including our ties and belts in case we decided to hang ourselves), and we were each put into a separate small cell. A woman who had been driving one of the cars was taken elsewhere and her little boy was separated from her.
We talked, we sang Jewish songs, Dr. William Perl, noted Jewish activist (later head of the JDL), lead the singing. We watched the police taking photos of my car in the yard of the Precinct House. Then quite boldly two of our people walked in, went to the car, opened it and simply removed the coffin (which was later sent air-freight to Paris for a further demonstration by French students). We were kept there for about an hour. We were not advised of our rights, nor had we been ordered to disperse before we had been arrested. This made the whole procedure seem dubious. Finally they took us out, but instead of letting us see our lawyer, we were frisked again (in case we had manufactured a weapon out of the cell bars?) and they put us in a paddy wagon. This was wet inside and they informed us that it had specially cleaned and sanitized for our benefit. The police were quite amused by us, not their usual clientele. One man, a professor and ex-police official was in his 60’s, one was 37-years old with a high Civil Service position, and the ages went right down to an 18-year old student.
We were taken to the DC Courthouse and put into a large pen in the basement with many other criminals. Finally we spoke to our lawyer and were allowed to make one call each to our family. The place was very dingy, with trash strewn all over the floor, half-eaten oranges and sandwiches, and papers, since there was no trash can. Also, the floor was filthy, probably not having been washed for a week or more. Wooden benches crossed the room, and men lay sprawled on them. Most were Black. They came and went, up to fifty at one time in one large room. Drug addicts, morals cases – and us.
Finally, after another few hours the charges against us were dropped with no arrest record. The lawyer was angry and was sure that we had a good case for false arrest and denial of civil rights since our temporary removal from society had clearly been politically motivated. It was good to feel free. We ascended to the Courthouse, a magnificent building with wide marble corridors. The contrast was absolute. The juxtaposition of the house of Justice was somehow symptomatic of the state of society. A depressing condition to find in the Capital of the richest country in the world.
Other people had been arrested that day, including the couple who had shouted out at M. Pompidou’s press conference in the National Press Club. They were lucky to be released together with us. At least we got some publicity. At least the world would know we were angry and that Israel is not alone. At that juncture in history and under the prevailing circumstances, jail was a good place for a “nice Jewish boy” to be.
(this section was reproduced from “Doreinu” the paper of the BWUJS)
posted by Jack Cohen at 3:18 PM
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