What the hell are you guys doing?” I heard someone yell. I tried to wake myself up but the ground was swaying so much I closed my eyes and hoped whoever was doing the yelling would just go away.
The yelling continued, “Get the fuck up – all of you. You guys know you can’t sleep down here. Let’s go! All of you!”
I opened my eyes just enough to see this big guy kick Bob Morton’s feet. I saw Bob roll over under the box car and look up at the guy. Bob had a puzzled expression on his face. I felt my eyes wanting to close again. I just wanted to stay asleep so I wouldn’t get sick again.
Just as I was about to drift off again, I saw Bob Morton come out from under the box car and he had a huge chain in his hand. It was covered in grease and looked to be about five or six feet long. I’m guessing it was a chain used to tie the railroad cars together. It was enormous. The links were huge – one of Bob’s hands fit into one of the links on the chain.
Morton grabbed the chain with both hands and swung it in a roundhouse motion at the guy who had kicked Bob’s feet. The chain hit the guy on the side of his head and I saw the blood spurt from the side of his face and nose. Morton kept the chain swinging in a complete circle, turning his body to go with it, and when it came around again the guy was staggering from the first blow and his head was turned to look at the chain coming towards him. He was starting to raise his hands to stop the chain but he wasn’t fast enough. The chain caught him once more on the front and side of his head. Some of the grease from the chain was caked in the guy’s hair. I saw more blood flying like a shower and some teeth flew out of his mouth as the guy went down like a ton of bricks. Morton dropped the chain and started to kick the guy in the head.
By that time Billy woke up and both Billy and I jumped in to pull Bob away from the guy. The two of us together couldn’t stop Morton. His strength was so great he flung us away like we were nearly weightless and started to throw some more kicks at the guy. Billy and I were yelling to the other guys to wake up and soon Freddy stumbled to his feet and tried to help us. We were able to stop Morton from kicking but it wasn’t until Bobby also woke up that we were able to get Bob to stop trying to attack the guy. He was struggling with all his strength to shake us off but we all just hung on for dear life, knowing if we let him go before he got his senses back he would start in on us.
I was amazed at how little strength the four of us had against the drunken anger of Bob Morton. Of course, we were all equally inebriated and hardly able to stand on our own two feet.
We looked down and could see the guy wasn’t moving at all. We finally managed to get Morton to sit down. Almost immediately he went over onto his side and fell asleep again. Freddy went weaving back to the box car and sprawled on the ground and was asleep in an instant. “I think I’m going to throw up,” he said as he closed his eyes and began to snore.
Jimmy was still sound asleep and hadn’t moved at all. Bobby had gone over to the box car and was leaning against it with his eyes closed.
Billy and I went over to look at the guy Morton attacked. It looked like the guy had pissed his pants. One side of his face was a gory mess. It looked like his nose was laying flat and sideways on the front of his face and his ear on one side of his head was so pulpy it didn’t even look like an ear. There was blood all over the ground around his head. His face was covered in blood, his mouth was hanging open in a weird way, and his hair and face were also caked with the grease from the chain. Even the shape of his head looked lop-sided.
I stared at the guy for a few seconds, felt my stomach go into a panicked spasm and then whispered, “Billy, I don’t think this guy is breathing!”
“Oh, bullshit, Van, sure he is.” Billy bent down further and almost fell over he was so drunk. He stared at the guy’s face. “We just have to look harder.”
I went down on my knees and leaned way over so I was close to his mouth and nose. I felt the contents of my stomach try to work their way up my insides. His mouth and nose were completely clogged with blood and flesh. It didn’t look as though any air could get through either of those even if he could breathe. “I’m looking, Billy, this guy ain’t breathing. Look at his chest. It ain’t moving. I’m telling you. I think he’s dead! I think Bob killed him!”
Billy looked at me with something I’ve never seen in him before, he had fear in his eyes. “Oh shit, Van, He can’t be dead. Bobby, come over here and look at this guy, is he breathing?”
Bobby opened his eyes, pushed himself away from the box car, staggered over to where we were, knelt down next to the guy’s body and looked. He looked up at us and then put his hand in front of the guy’s mouth. All three of us looked at the guy’s chest for what seemed a long time as we waited to see if there was some movement. There wasn’t any!
Bobby rubbed both hands in his hair and shook his head as though he was trying to clear it and said, “Shit! He ain’t breathing. I think Bob killed this guy. We better get the fuck out of here right now!”
We woke up Jimmy who hadn’t stirred during any of this. Bobby yelled in Jimmy’s ear, “Jimmy, Jimmy, wake up, man. We got some big trouble here. We have to wake Bob back up and get the fuck out of here. I think he just killed that guy over there.”
“Huh, What guy?” Jimmy asked.
Bobby pointed over to where the guy was laying on the ground and said, “That guy.”
“C’mon, Bobby, don’t mess with me. Leave me alone. I just want to go back to sleep. I’m so drunk I can’t even see straight!”
Bobby reached down and grabbed Jimmy by the front of his shirt, half picked him up off the ground and shook him hard. “I ain’t fucking with you. We’re in serious trouble here. That guy over there pissed Morton off and Morton came up with that chain and almost took the guy’s head off. The guy ain’t breathing and we need to get Morton up and get the fuck out of here before we get caught. Let’s move it, Jimmy!”
“No shit. What the hell’s going on?” Jimmy asked.
“We’ll tell you all about it later,” I said. “Right now, we have to wake Morton and Freddy up and get the hell out of here before someone else comes around. I’ll go help Billy get Morton up. You go over and wake up Freddy.”
Billy had gone over and was shaking Morton to try to get him to wake up and yelling in his ear, “Bob, wake up now. We have to get out of here. It looks like you might have killed that guy and we have to scram, now.”
Morton just kept mumbling to himself and trying to fall back to sleep.
“C’mon, Bob. You have to wake up and get out of here. The guy you hit with the chain is dead. He ain’t breathing. C’mon, let’s go!”
Bob finally got to his feet and when he looked like he was going to kick the guy again, both Billy and I grabbed him and started to pull him away. He kept mumbling, “Son of a bitch shouldn’t have kicked me. Had to stop him.”
Finally, everyone was up on their feet again, although it took both Billy and me to hold Morton up. I was feeling so drunk I could barely stand up and Freddy was leaning on Jimmy as he walked. We managed to make our way out of the fairgrounds and into the parking lot where Morton had parked his car. The parking lot was almost empty and Morton’s car was all by itself in the section of the lot where it was parked.
Billy tried to get into the driver’s seat, but Morton pushed him away and fell in behind the wheel. Jimmy, Bobby and Freddy were in the back seat and had fallen asleep again. Billy and I were in the front seat with Bob.
Morton was sound asleep again and snoring loudly when Billy yelled at him, “Bob, give me the keys so I can drive us away from here.” Bob mumbled something like, “Nobody drives my car but me and I’m going to sleep now. So shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
Just then I began to feel sick to my stomach again so I jumped out of the car and heaved and heaved until there was nothing left. When I finally stopped, I went over and leaned against the side of the car and asked, “Billy, what are we going to do? If we stay here we’re going to get caught.”
“I don’t know, Van. I’ve tried a couple of times to reach into Morton’s back pocket to get his keys, but he just keeps shoving my hand away and saying he’s going to whip my ass if I don’t quit.”
I began to feel much less drunk than I was earlier. I leaned into the window and said, “I think we should wake the other guys up and head over to State Fair and catch a bus. Hanging around here in the parking lot is dumb.”
“I know, you’re right, but I’m not going to leave Bob here by himself. He’s our leader, you know. I just can’t do it. You go on if you have to.” Billy gave me a look of desperation. I could tell he knew how serious this situation was, but was struggling with his loyalty to the gang. I could also tell from the way he looked at me that he didn’t want me to leave, either.
I knew the smart thing to do would be to leave but I also was afraid of what would happen to me if I did. I would be an outcast from the State Fair Dukes. I would lose the only protection on the streets I would ever have. I knew I was good at protecting myself, but I also knew I’d be fighting with State Fair Dukes in the near future if I took off. I also didn’t know what would happen as far as me living at Sally’s if I wasn’t in the gang any more.
Just then I heard the sound of a car motor and looked behind me to check it out. My heart dropped as I saw what it was.
“Billy, I think the cops are coming up back there. It looks like a “black mariah” to me.”
The police would often drive around in large black sedans – usually Plymouths or Chryslers. There would always be four cops in the cars – three of them in plain clothes and one uniformed cop driving.
Billy looked at the car and said, “Oh shit, it sure does look like them. Remember, we don’t know anything. We just got drunk after work and fell asleep in the car.”
The car stopped right in front of Bob’s car and all four cops jumped out and got on both sides of our car. One of the cops grabbed me by my arms from behind, pushed me up against the hood of Morton’s car and bent me over with his arm behind my neck.
“What’re you guys doing out here?” the cop holding me yelled.
“Nothing,” I mumbled because my mouth was being held against the hood of the car, “we worked here on cleanup tonight and when we were done, we had some beers and fell asleep in the car.”
“Whose car is this?’ yelled one of the cops on the other side of the car.
Billy piped up and yelled out the window, “It’s his car – the guy behind the wheel.”
“Okay”, the uniformed cop said in a threatening tone as he opened the back door behind Billy, “Everybody out of the car. We want to see what kind of shape you guys are in.”
The cops opened the doors on the other side of the car. This woke Morton up and he screamed, “What the fuck is going on here. Shut this fucking door and let me sleep, dammit!”
I didn’t see what happened next, but suddenly Morton was also bent over the hood of his car like I was and both cops on his side of the car were putting handcuffs on him.
Just then another cop car came flying up and stopped right behind Morton’s car with its brakes squealing as it slid to a halt. Two cops jumped out of the car and said, “Don’t let these guys go. One of the security guys for the fair got killed down by the tracks. Better hold them until we find out what’s going on here!”
The two new cops pulled their guns, positioned themselves on either side of Bob’s car and ordered all the guys out of the car. Jimmy and Freddy were still really drunk and Bobby looked like he was going to pass out. Two of the other cops started searching the inside of the car.
The cop who was holding Morton on the hood of the car pulled him up straight and the cop holding me asked Bob, “What do you have all over your arms and hands and the front of your clothes? It looks like you’re covered with some kind of grease or something?”
One of the two new cops looked at Bob, then at me and suddenly yelled, “Cuff all these guys. That kid by the hood of the car has grease on the front of his shirt, too. The guy who got killed had grease all over his head. We gotta take these guys in.”
“Get the keys to their car, cuff them, then put them all back in their car and hold your guns on them,” said one of the plain-clothes cops. “Then radio for some transport help.”
The cops took the keys from Bob, cuffed us, opened all the car windows and shoved us all back into Bob’s car. Four of the cops stood on both sides of the car with their guns drawn.
It was hard for me to believe but even though they were handcuffed, Freddy and Jimmy had fallen asleep again in the back seat. Bobby was sitting between them with his eyes opened so wide it was easy to see he was frightened. He was staring at the cops outside with their guns pointing at us. I was so scared and nervous I couldn’t have gone to sleep even if someone paid me to do it. I looked over at Bob Morton and he was sitting behind the wheel with his hands handcuffed behind his back. He had his eyes closed and was mumbling swear words under his breath.
I looked at Billy and whispered, “What do you think is going to happen to us?”
“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “Just remember to stick with the story about finishing work, getting drunk and falling asleep. Just stay with that no matter what the cops say, and don’t volunteer anything else. If they ask you questions, just stay with the story. You don’t know anything, Van. Just remember that!”
“Okay, I will, but they’re not going to believe us with all this grease on Bob, and more on you and me.”
“Just stay with the story. You don’t know anything about grease,” Billy whispered.
The cop holding his gun on us outside of the car yelled in the window as he waved his weapon at us, “Shut up, both you guys. No talking in there!”
Just as he was telling us to shut up another car pulled up beside our car. It was a big, black station wagon with two more cops in it. Both the cops jumped out, drew their weapons and left their motor running.
One of the plain clothes cops yelled out, “Get these guys out of their car, put them in the wagon and we’ll get them transported to the station.”
The fear was setting in in a huge way for me as one of the cops opened the car door next to me, roughly pulled me out by my arm, shoved me hard against the side of the car and in a stern voice said, “Don’t try anything stupid, kid, just march your ass over to the wagon!”
The cop held me with both hands on the back of my shoulders as he pushed me to the wagon. Each of us were put inside the station wagon with orders to keep our mouths shut. I watched as Morton struggled with the cop forcing him out of his car and over to the station wagon. The cop grabbed his cuffed wrists and pulled them back sharply as he propelled Morton toward the wagon with his other hand on the back of Morton’s neck. I heard Morton hiss, “Fuck you, you son of a bitch!”
A few minutes later we were all on our way to the police station with the siren blaring.
As soon as we arrived at the station, we were all led into a room where we were searched, any wallets, papers or identification items were taken away, the hand cuffs were removed and we were put into a couple of small jail cells. I was in the same cell with Jimmy and Freddy.
Both the guys were now wide awake and seemed to be more sober. We just looked at each other but didn’t say anything, but we knew we were in deep trouble and were as scared as anyone could be.
A little later a cop came up to our cell and asked, “Which one of you is Van Buren?”
I said, “I am.”
“Okay kid,” he said, “you have to come with me.” He unlocked the cell door, made me turn around so he could cuff me again and took me into another small room down the hall.
I asked, “What’s going on? Why am I in here?”
“Just go sit in the chair over there next to the table, then shut up and wait.”
I was dying for a cigarette and something to drink. I was too scared to be hungry and I really had to pee. On top of all that, I was wondering why I was being separated from the other guys and worrying about what was happening with them.
It must have been an hour or more before a man in a suit and tie came in with a uniformed cop. He had very red hair and wasn’t much taller than me. I couldn’t decide if he was a cop or not, but he was all business as he asked, “Are you Roland Van Buren?”
I nodded.
He turned to the cop and said, “Please take his cuffs off, but stay in the room with us.”
As the cop came towards me, the man asked me, “Do you need some water or something?”
“Yeah! I need to go to the bathroom, bad. I could use a cigarette and a drink of water.”
“Okay,” the man said. “Hold off on uncuffing him and take him to the toilet.”
When I got back to the room, the cop took the handcuffs off and plunked me down on the chair by the table. There was a pack of Luckys, some matches, an ashtray and a cup of water on the table. I gulped the water down and lit one of the cigarettes.
“Van Buren, I’m Detective Williams. When we searched you guys and looked in your wallets, we noticed you had a card which had your birth date on it. Are you sixteen?”
“Yeah.”
“When will you be seventeen?”
“In January.”
“Okay,” the Detective said in a demanding voice. “You don’t look it, but we’ll be checking it out to be sure you’re only sixteen.” He then asked, “So, what happened over at the fair grounds tonight, Van Buren?”
“I was there working on the cleanup crew. I’ve been on the cleanup crew since the first night of the fair. I finished my area and found some of my friends. They got hold of some booze and I got drunk and passed out. The next thing I know I woke up in my friend’s car and cops were all over the place.”
“How’d you get the grease all over your arms and shirt?” he asked.
“I don’t know! All I know is I was drinking a lot and woke up in the car in the parking lot.”
The detective looked me in the eye for a few seconds, shook his head and stood up.
“We have many more questions for you. But for now, we’re going to put you into another cell by yourself. You’re the only one of the guys you were with who is under eighteen so we can’t leave you with the others. We’re going to have to call your parents and let them know you’re here. You might as well try to get some sleep. I don’t think anyone will be talking to you again tonight. It’ll be daylight in a little while and I would bet you’ll be seeing someone soon.”
The Detective started out of the room as he whispered something to the cop.
“Will my parents be coming here?” I asked.
The Detective turned back towards me and said, “No, why?”
“I just wondered, that’s all.”
The cop and the Detective had their backs to me as they both whispered to each other again over by the door. I took the chance to slip the pack of cigarettes and matches into my pocket. The cop handcuffed me again, then marched me to another cell down the hall and left me there. This cell had a bunk bed with a dirty mattress but no sheets or pillow. There was also a small table and four chairs near one of the walls. A short while later the cop came back with some clothes – a shirt, pants and slippers all dark gray and black.
“Take your clothes off and put these on. You can keep your underwear, but give me your clothes when you’ve changed,” the cop said.
I wanted to ask why, but decided to do what he said. I was too tired to do anything else. I did remember to keep the cigarettes.
When I had changed, the cop took my clothes and left. I sat on the bunk and lit another cigarette. I was about half-way through smoking it when the weariness came over me like a big soft blanket. I got up to put the cigarette out, went back to the bunk and instantly fell asleep.
I have no idea how long I had been asleep when I heard my cell door being opened again. Three men walked in – one was a uniformed cop and the other two were wearing suits. Neither of the men in suits were the detective who interviewed me before. The cop came over to the bunk and grabbed me by the arm and in a harsh, commanding voice said, “Okay, move your butt off the bunk, go over to the table and sit down. Move it!” he growled as he roughly shoved me toward the table.
Once I was back to the table, the cop moved away and the two men in suits sat in the other chairs on the opposite side of the table from me. One of the men looked older than the other, was tall, taller than my father, and had a big build. He reminded me of the plain-clothes guys who would ride around in the black mariahs. Even his face looked tough with his slightly crooked nose and piercing brown eyes. The other guy was much younger and had an almost baby-face. His hair was cut in a brush cut and was almost blonde. He didn’t look like he would make a very good cop – he looked like he might be about the same age as someone in college.
The older of the two men looked me over for a moment and said, “Roland, I’m Detective Cobb and this is Mr. Ross, an attorney who was assigned to you by the juvenile court. He will be looking out for you to make sure your legal rights are protected. Do you need anything or have any questions?”
“Yeah. I need to pee and I’m hungry,” I answered.
When I returned from the bathroom, the detective said, “They’ll be bringing you some food later. In the meantime, I have some questions for you.”
It must have been at least an hour of the detective asking questions about last night, but I continued to stay with my original story – finished my work, got drunk, passed out and woke up in the car with cops all around. Every time he asked me about the grease on my arms and shirt, the lawyer told me not to answer.
Nothing more happened the rest of that day. They brought food to the cell – let me out for the bathroom, and I slept off and on as I continued to worry and wonder about what would be happening to me and the rest of the guys.
The next two days were repeat performances of the first day except I did get to go out to the yard for a few minutes each day to walk in an enclosed area.
On the third day I was again awakened by the cop, Detective Cobb and the lawyer, Mr. Ross. After a bathroom break I was seated at the table across from the Detective and the lawyer. Detective Cobb said, “Last night, one of the guys you were with confessed to killing the security man.”
“Which guy?” I asked too loudly because I was surprised at this news.
“I won’t tell you who?” said the detective, raising his voice, I guess to match my outburst.
“This is information they aren’t required to pass along to you, Roland,” said the lawyer. “It’s also probably better for you if you don’t know.”
I looked from the lawyer to the Detective as I thought to myself how I couldn’t imagine Bob Morton ever giving in to the cops. I wondered if they got one of the other guys to say they did it. I knew how much Billy admired Bob and hoped he didn’t make this kind of sacrifice.
Detective Cobb leaned forward and looked hard into my eyes as he continued in a firm, no-nonsense voice, “Roland, you were obviously present at the time the murder happened because of the grease on your arms and shirt. That grease came from the chain which was used to do the killing. Some of the other guys also had the same grease on them. From what the other guys have told us, it appears the grease didn’t come from handling the chain itself, but rather from touching the person who did.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but the lawyer interrupted, “Don’t say anything, Roland. Just listen to the detective and don’t say anything.”
I was going to ask who said anything about the grease and where it came from, but decided I’d better be smart and listen to the lawyer’s advice.
“Roland, we’re going to ask you again what you saw happening that night,” said Detective Cobb.
The lawyer nodded at me to let me know I should answer.
“I told you guys before, I finished my work, went looking for some of my friends, found them, got drunk, passed out, and woke up in the car with cops all around us. That’s all I know – that’s all I remember. I didn’t see anything from the time I passed out until I woke up in the car.”
Detective Cobb had a disgusted look on his face. He kept drumming his fingers on the table as he stared at me. I could see his jaw clenching from the way it jumped on the side of his face. He looked like he wanted to reach across the table and punch me in the face. He said, “I don’t really believe you’re telling the truth, Van Buren, but I can’t beat the truth out of you. We’ll get back to you when we figure out what we’re going to do with you.”
He rammed his chair back against the wall as he shot up out of it, nodded to the cop and the lawyer and all three men left the cell.
For the next three days I sat alone in the cell except for the times when I was let out to go to the bathroom or to be outside for a short while. The outside times were only about fifteen or twenty minutes long. It was a concrete area with a high fence around it and a picnic table in the middle. I couldn’t see anything around the fenced-in area because there were buildings all around it. When I was outside, there were never any other people out there with me. All I could do was walk around and wonder what was going on and why no one came to talk with me.
Whenever I was out of my cell and walking to the bathroom or to the door leading to the yard outside, I was hoping I’d see some of the Dukes in the other cells, but the cells were always empty. The guys must have been in another part of the jail.
Three times each day a cop would bring me a tray of food. The food didn’t taste good so I didn’t eat much of it unless it was the breakfast food, which was usually a package of shredded wheat and a small container of milk. I liked shredded wheat but I wish they would have brought some sugar to put on it. I did eat some of the food at lunchtime when it was a sandwich and I did eat the soup one night when they had it for dinner. It was tomato soup and there were some crackers. I wasn’t feeling hunger so not eating didn’t bother me.
What bothered me was not hearing anything about what was going on with the guys or what was going to happen to me.
On the morning of my fourth day in the cell, Detective Cobb, a different cop and the lawyer came into the cell right after I had breakfast. Detective Cobb looked like he was in a rotten mood and when they all came in he barked at the cop, “Get Van Buren over to the table. We’re going to be having some serious conversation here!”
The cop grabbed me by my elbow and shoved me hard and fast to the table.
The lawyer said, “Hey. Easy there. You can’t treat him like that!”
“Well, he looked like he didn’t want to move so I had to help him out a little,” the cop replied in a nasty tone of voice and a smirk on his face.
“Never mind,” said Detective Cobb. “Let’s all sit down so we can get this over with.”
I grabbed a cigarette out of the pack the lawyer put on the table, looked at him for a light, and took the book of matches he handed to me.
Detective Cobb looked across the table at me with his eyes boring into mine, swallowed hard and said, “Okay, Van Buren. We’ve been quite busy around here for the past few days. Like I told you before, one of the guys in your gang has confessed to doing the killing of the security guard. Since you and your gang buddies were all there when it happened, you’re all guilty of the same crime, even if you didn’t do the killing yourself.”
“Wait a minute,” I yelled, “I was passed out, how would I know what was happening? I wasn’t even awake!”
The lawyer spoke up, “Roland, don’t say anything, just listen, okay? He’s right! If you’re present when a crime is taking place, you end up being guilty of the same crime. It’s the law. It’s called criminal accountability. You’re an accessory to the murder so you’re charged with the same crime.”
I looked from the lawyer to the detective and back to the lawyer again. I felt my heart start to beat faster and could feel heat rising on my face. I opened my mouth to say something, but the lawyer put his hand up to stop me.
“Just listen, Roland. Just listen and pay close attention,” he said.
“Yeah, Van Buren,” said the detective, “You’d be smart to listen to your lawyer. We took all this before a judge the day before yesterday. All the guys in your gang who were there that night are being held over for trial – all the guys, that is, except you. Thanks to your lawyer being present and speaking up, the judge decided to let what was going to happen with you be up to the Juvenile Court.”
The lawyer broke in and said, “I explained to the Judge about you being only sixteen years old and how you didn’t seem to have any awareness of this crime happening. He told me he would contact the Juvenile Court to see if they would give us a hearing with them. They said they would and the hearing is scheduled for tomorrow. You and I will be going before the judge there and they will make a decision about you.”
Detective Cobb gave me another of his steely glares and said, “If it was up to me you’d be tried in adult court with the rest of your tough guys, Van Buren, and who knows, maybe the Juvenile Court will send you back to me. I hope so because I don’t believe what you’ve told us for one minute. I think you do know what happened that night and I think you played a big part in it.”
I started to respond to the detective, but the lawyer saw me react and put his hand on my wrist and shook his head to stop me.
Detective Cobb watched the interaction between the lawyer and me and with a knowing look on his face said, “Van Buren, I don’t have anything more to say to you. You and your lawyer are going to be able to spend some time now talking about what’s going to happen at your court hearing tomorrow. The police officer is going to stand over there where he can’t hear what you and the lawyer talk about. If either you or your lawyer don’t feel it’s private enough, we’ll have to handcuff you again in order to leave you alone with him.”
“We’ll be fine if he stands over there,” Mr. Ross said. “Most of what we’ll be discussing isn’t so confidential it would matter if he hears what we say.”
Detective Cobb, got up from his chair, nodded to the cop, and went to the door of the cell. He looked back at me and said, “I get the feeling you are one lucky kid you were born when you were. Just a little bit earlier and your ass would be heading to prison along with the rest of your fucking outlaw gang.”
The cop opened the cell door and the detective went out without a backward glance. After he closed the cell door again, the cop moved over to the wall furthest from the table.
“Roland, here’s what we’re going to do tomorrow,” Mr. Ross said in a quiet voice. “I’ve done some research on the options which might be available to you. There aren’t a lot of options, in fact I could only find two in my research so far. One of the options, which I’m going to try to not let happen, is for you to go into a Juvenile Detention Facility from now until you’re eighteen years old and then be transferred to Jackson Prison to serve out the rest of your sentence for accessory to murder.”
My entire body began to shake as the panic of what he said set into my mind. I couldn’t believe it might be possible for me to spend years in a prison. I had heard stories from some of the guys I worked with unloading trucks about what happened to young guys in prison. I was so frightened I felt like I would pass out. I was definitely sick to my stomach but somehow managed to keep from throwing up.
The lawyer reached over and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Wait until you hear the rest of what I have to say before you pass out on me here. I said I would try to not let this option happen if I can convince the court. Here’s the other possibility – we ask the judge if he would allow you to enlist into one of the branches of the military on your seventeenth birthday. You would have to commit to a full four year enlistment and you would have to earn an honorable discharge after the four years was up. The Korean War is going on right now so there’s a better chance of the judge going along with this option. The services would be anxious to get more volunteers even though there is a draft. There are two snags to this option – one is your parents would have to sign permission for you to enlist at age seventeen – and the other is the judge may not allow for this option since the crime you’re charged with is accessory to murder. It’s a serious felony, so he may not allow it. However, as Detective Cobb said when he left, your juvenile status might work in your favor. We won’t know until tomorrow. If the judge does allow the service option,do you think your parents would agree to it?”
My mind was spinning so fast I felt like I wouldn’t be able to keep from throwing up. I kept trying to think about what my parents would say, but the only thing I could focus on was the fear of ending up in prison.
Mr. Ross kept looking at me waiting for some response so I forced myself to try to imagine what my father would say about going in the service. The last time I had any contact with him was the day at the Sugar Bowl when he talked to me about Reverend Schutter. He wasn’t too bad then, maybe he would be alright to sign for me and let me go into the service.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said in almost a whisper, “I haven’t seen him or talked to him in a long time. I would guess he would probably say it was alright, but my mother wouldn’t agree. She’d be scared to have me in a war. Do they both have to agree?”
“Yes, they would both have to sign the papers. I don’t know your parents but my guess would be when they hear what the other option is, they would be more likely to choose this option. The other part of this is if you do serve in the military for four years, and get out with an honorable discharge, your Juvenile Record will be, what they call ‘expunged’, which means, in our state, your record of this crime will be sealed. It’s not destroyed, but it is completely hidden from the public. It makes it possible for you to enter adulthood with a clean slate. I hope you can understand how important this would be for you. With a murder conviction on your record, even an accessory conviction, it would mean you’d have trouble getting a job or having any kind of decent life. Plus you could be fifty or sixty years old before you get out of prison. Do you follow what I’m saying?”
Mr. Ross looked at me with an expression of desperation on his face. I could tell he wanted me to deeply understand what he was telling me. I looked over at the cop and he had his eyes closed as he leaned against the wall of the cell. I felt like I would start crying as I nodded my head, but I swallowed hard instead.
“I’ll be calling your parents tonight,” Mr. Ross said, “and after I’ve spoken with them I’ll let you know what they say before our hearing tomorrow morning. Do you have any questions, Roland?”
“I can’t think of any. But I’m really scared about what the judge will do tomorrow. I didn’t kill anybody so I don’t see why I should be considered guilty of something I didn’t do.”
“It’s the law, Roland. The law says if you aid or contribute to the crime, are present at the crime or have knowledge about the crime and don’t report it, even though you don’t actually do the crime yourself, under the law you’re just as guilty as the person who did.”
I let what the lawyer said sink in for a minute and started to speak out loud when I looked over and saw the cop standing by the wall being much more attentive to us. I moved in closer to the lawyer’s ear and whispered, “But I didn’t aid in the crime or contribute to it, I was one of the people who actually stopped it from going any further.”
“Roland, whatever you say to me is completely confidential,” Mr. Ross whispered back to me. “If you can, I want you to tell me exactly what your part was in all this. Tell me exactly what happened and don’t leave anything out. I’m here to defend you and to help you any way I can, and I can do a much better job if I know the whole story. Unless you confess to murder, nothing you say to me as your attorney will be revealed unless I think it’s in your best interest to do so and I won’t do so without your permission. Are you willing to tell me exactly what happened?”
I thought about this for a couple more minutes and felt my loyalties to Billy, Bob and the other guys take over, plus I didn’t know if what Detective Cobb had said about someone having confessed was true, so I whispered, “Yes. I will tell you what happened as far as what I did, but I won’t use any names, if that’s okay.”
“You go ahead and I’ll decide after I hear what you say if I think I need to know any names.”
The next several minutes were absorbed with my speaking just above a whisper in Mr Ross’ ear and telling him exactly what I heard, saw and did the night this all happened. Mr. Ross only interrupted a couple of times and he made numerous notes on a pad of paper.
When I finished, Mr. Ross said, “Thank you, Roland. You just made my job much easier and I’m feeling more confident I’ll be able to help you tomorrow. Again, I do think your age is going to work in your favor. It will be my job to convince the judge about your role in this crime – your role as someone who tried to stop the crime from being committed rather than someone who aided in the crime.”
He paused as he sat hunched over the table so we could talk in whispers. He seemed to be thinking about something else he wanted to say, but then continued, “I’m going to leave now so I can call your parents before it gets too late. I’ll be back in the morning to see you before we go into the hearing. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“No, they’ll be bringing lunch in soon and I’m really thirsty so I hope they bring water.”
“I’ll tell them to bring you some water on my way out, Roland. Try to get some rest so you’re feeling good tomorrow.”
The rest of the day I was barely able to eat anything. I did drink lots of water so I had to be escorted to the bathroom several times. I was taken outside once for about a half hour. It seemed, at times, as though the walls of the cell were getting closer and closer. I couldn’t see outside. There was almost no room to walk around. Through the rest of the afternoon and most of the night I slept only in short spurts. The worry and fear I was feeling about my unknown future was so immense I couldn’t fall into a sound sleep. I also wondered about Billy and the rest of the Dukes who were involved the night of the murder. I knew everyone there was eighteen years old or older. I didn’t know Bob’s age and I was pretty sure both he and Freddy were older than the other guys.
The next morning, at the same time as the guard brought in some cereal and milk, Mr. Ross came in along with a police officer. The cop stood over by the wall.
“Well, Roland, I decided to go to your home last night rather than make a phone call. I spoke with both your mother and your father,” Mr. Ross said as I started to nibble at the cereal, “and, of course, they are worried about you. The good thing is they both agreed to sign for you to go into a branch of the service if the judge allows it this morning.”
“Did my father say anything about all this?” I asked.
“No, he was pretty quiet. But he did say he would sign for you.”
I looked at Mr. Ross with doubt in my eyes, but he didn’t say anything further about his talk with them.
“Your mother did tell me about Rev. Schutter and your piano teacher, Miss Thomas. I thought it would be good if they could be here today, but it turns out both of them are out of town. Miss Thomas is in Jamaica, and Rev. Schutter is away on vacation. Let’s see how it goes today. If I feel the need I might talk about your relationship with both these people, but I won’t do it if we don’t need to. Without them here to testify on your behalf, I have nothing to back up any statements I make about them.”
I was happy Miss Thomas was away. She would be the last person I would want to see me in this situation, although I did understand why Mr. Ross thought it would be a good idea for either of them or both to speak about my music life.
Mr. Ross continued, “Our hearing is going to happen about nine o’clock, so we need to talk about what we’ll be doing.”
I nodded and continued to nibble away at the cereal. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I would feel better if I ate something.
“Most of the time you won’t say anything in court unless the judge, me or another lawyer asks you to answer a question directly. If that happens, you might be sworn in and you will need to swear to tell the truth. I haven’t done a lot of work in the Juvenile Court, so it may be handled differently, we’ll see. You have to remember to listen carefully to the question, and answer only the question, don’t volunteer any information. Most of the time your answer will be either a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’. Do you understand?”
I nodded as I felt my nerves start to fire up again. I felt fear trembling all over my entire body. I wished I hadn’t eaten the cereal. I got another cigarette out and lit it.
“There might also be a lawyer there representing the Police and the City. It’s possible they may question Detective Cobb or any of the police who were there that night. If they are present in court, the City Attorney may also want to question you. In my opening statement to the court I will be covering most of what you told me last night, plus what your parents said last night about signing for you. I want you to listen carefully to what I say in my statement, and to remember not to volunteer anything more than what I say. Don’t offer anything about what you thought, or what you felt, or anything other than the plain facts of what you saw and did. If the Police are there as witnesses, the attorneys for the City will present their side of the story in their statements. I suspect they won’t say much other than they have a confession. After all, they can’t testify as to what actually happened. They weren’t there. I don’t know if any of the other gang members will be there to be questioned about what you did, but I would doubt it. They have what they need, and you’re only sixteen years old.”
I had a sudden thought and I felt panic as I asked, “What if they ask me to name who did what?”
“You can’t lie in court, Roland. If they ask you – and you know, you have to answer truthfully. There isn’t any other choice. If you lie, and they can show you’re lying, you’ll be in trouble and the judge will act accordingly.”
“What if I say I don’t know – I was too drunk to remember who did what?”
“Be careful, Roland. You told me last night everything you saw and did. I’m going to be telling the exact same story in court this morning. I understand you were drunk, but what you said you did tells me you weren’t so drunk you wouldn’t know who did what. Don’t mess up and lie about anything. If they ask you, tell them. I don’t think you’ll like the consequences if you get caught telling a lie in court. You don’t have to volunteer anything, but if you’re asked a question, and you know the answer, you have to answer. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes,” I whispered and nodded.
“Alright. Do you have any questions? I have a meeting to go to right now, and I’ll be back to get you in about an hour, okay?”
I looked up at him and nodded as he walked over to the door. Both he and the cop left the cell.
The Juvenile Court was across the street from the jail, but rather than walking there, they took me and Mr. Ross over in a car. I was still handcuffed until we got to the door of the courtroom, when the cop who escorted us took the cuffs off. Mr. Ross took me by my arm and led me through the door into the court. The policeman walked right behind us. I was surprised when we walked in the courtroom door how small the room was. There was a raised area in the front of the room where I guessed the judge would sit. There were two tables with chairs in front of the raised area and a railing behind the two tables. There were two rows of chairs set up behind the railing. All the railings and the tables were highly polished and there wasn’t any dust anywhere I could see. There was no one else in the room when we entered. Mr. Ross guided me to one of the chairs by the table on the left.
“Are you doing alright, Roland?” Mr. Ross asked.
“I’m really scared,” I said.
He patted me on the shoulder and sat down next to me.
Just then a door opened in the front of the room and an older woman came out and sat in a chair next to raised area where there was a small table.
Mr. Ross leaned over and whispered, “She’s the court reporter. She will write down everything we say in court so there will be a written record.”
“How can she write so fast?” I asked.
“She does it with a shorthand method. Every word we say will be in the record.”
I heard the door open behind me and Mr. Ross turned and looked back. He leaned over and said, “Your mother and father are here, Roland. I was hoping they’d come because it helps for the judge to see the parents taking an interest in their child. When I asked them to be here last night, I was pretty sure your mother would come, but I’m glad to see your father here as well.”
I was tempted to look back at them, but kept my head facing forward.
“I can see by the look on your face, you’re not feeling too good about them being here. But, trust me on this, their being here will definitely help us make our case with the judge.”
I nodded as I glanced at a clock on the wall over to the right of us. It read nine o’clock exactly.
The same door the lady came through opened. A policeman came through and walked in front of the raised area and said what sounded like, “Oyay, Oyay. All rise. The Honorable Judge Harold Gregg will be presiding in the Juvenile Court of Wayne County, Michigan.”
As Mr. Ross and I stood up another man in a robe came through the door and took a seat behind the raised area. He then said, “Be seated, please.”
The judge didn’t look old enough to be a judge. His hair was dark brown, almost black. When he looked over at Mr. Ross and me he had a way of making you feel as though he was looking right through you. When he came through the door I could see he was quite tall and slim. His face was that of a man much younger than I had imagined in my mind as I was sitting in the cell at the jail.
“Mr. Ross,” the judge said in a soft, gentle-sounding voice, “It appears there will only be you and Mr. Van Buren here today. Are the people sitting behind you the parents of Roland?
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mr. Ross replied.
“Good. Since there are no other parties wishing to take part in this hearing, we will be as informal as possible. Is this agreeable to you.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mr. Ross said.
“Very good. Let’s proceed. Roland Van Buren, you have been referred to the Juvenile Court because you are sixteen years of age and a minor. The judge in the trial court indicated to me that you were involved in a situation at the Michigan State Fairgrounds on September 29, 1950 which resulted in the murder of a security officer. It is my understanding one of the other people present at this occurrence has confessed to doing the actual killing. All the other individuals present have been charged as accessories to this crime and will be standing trial as adults. However, because of your age, you have been sent to this court so we can determine if you should also stand trial for the same crime as an adult, or whether we can deal with you in this jurisdiction. Do you understand thus far?”
I nodded my head.
“Roland,” the judge said, “you’ll have to speak up so we can get your response on the record. So, let me ask you again and this time please speak your answer. Do you understand so far?”
I gulped, felt a huge wave of nausea and uttered, “Yes.”
“There are a couple of formalities we need to take care of before we proceed. Although this is a hearing, it is possible that some decision could be reached today. Therefore, I need to tell you your rights and have you swear to be truthful. So, Roland Van Buren, you have the right to an attorney, which you have, you have the right to a public hearing, which this is, you have the right not to say anything which might incriminate you, you have the right to confront and cross examine witnesses, which it looks like won’t be happening today, you have the right to present evidence, and you have the right to appeal a final decision of this court, if any. Do you understand this, Roland?”
I looked over at Mr. Ross, and he nodded toward the judge.
“Yes sir,” I said.
“Good, let’s swear him in, then.”
The police office came over to me with a Bible in his hand and asked me to place my right hand on the Bible.
I looked at the policeman and I looked at the Bible and thought to myself what that book had represented to my life on so many occasions. Every ounce of my being wanted to say something and not put my hand on this book, but I knew I didn’t need to create any more trouble than I was already in. I did what he asked.
“Roland Van Buren, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God? If you do, please say, I do”.
I did feel as though I wanted to grin but I said, “I do” with a straight face.
“Good. Now, Mr. Ross, is there any statement you wish to make on behalf of your client?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor, there is.”
Mr. Ross then proceeded to tell the judge the events of the incident as I had told him earlier. He also added what he felt were the two possible options available to me if this court were to handle the matter. He continued by stating what my parents had agreed to as far as signing for me to go into the military on my next birthday.
“Roland,” the judge said, “I’d like to ask you some questions directly. Are you agreeable to have this happen?”
I looked over at Mr. Ross and he nodded his head.
“Um, yes,” I guess so,” I said. I really didn’t want to do it, but was feeling extremely vulnerable and frightened. Even though my mind felt like it was about to explode, I figured I’d be in a better place if I cooperated.
“I’m going to take that as a yes, Roland. If I understand what Mr. Ross just said, is it true you did what you could to stop this violence from going any further?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you able to stop it on your own?”
“No, sir.”
“So, what you’re telling me is one or more of the other boys there helped you to stop what was happening, is that correct?”
I kept getting the urge to say more about what happened, but could still hear Mr. Ross’ caution to only answer the questions with a “yes” or a “no”, and not to volunteer any information. So I said, “Yes”.
“Okay, Roland, did you realize when you were trying to stop the violence how serious it had become?”
“No, not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
I could see this would require more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, so I looked over to Mr. Ross and he gave me a nod to indicate I should answer.
“I was aware the man was hurt, but I was really drunk. I just wanted it to be over so I could pass out again.”
“What happened after you were able to stop this from going further?” the judge asked.
“I just wanted to lay back down. I was so drunk and by then I was exhausted. I felt like I was going to pass out. But the guys said we should get back to the car, so we all just took off.”
“You didn’t go back to check on the man on the ground?”
“No.”
The judge’s eyes seemed to be looking right through me. It was as though he was studying every pore on my face and I got the feeling he was trying to read my mind.
“Roland, I took a look to see if there was any information about you in the police files before I came in here today, and I saw some reports about you running away from home when you were quite young. I see one here from when you were eight or nine years old, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me about that. Why were you running away when you were so young?”
I didn’t know what to say. If my father hadn’t been in the courtroom I would probably have just answered the judge without hesitation. My mind raced trying to sort out following Mr. Ross’ advice about telling the truth; wondering what information the judge had in front of him; what my father might be thinking, and realizing Mr. Ross didn’t know anything about this.
As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, Mr. Ross suddenly spoke, “Your Honor, may I have a moment to confer with Roland?”
“Alright. Let’s take a ten-minute recess. Roland, understand, you will need to answer the question when we resume.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Mr. Ross leaned over and in a quiet voice asked, “What’s this about, Roland? I had no knowledge about you running away from home.”
I briefly explained to him about my father beating me up and how I hadn’t been living at home since I was twelve years old. I explained about being adopted. “I don’t mind answering the question but I didn’t know what to do because my father is sitting right back there!”
“Alright, I wish I had known this earlier, but I will request that the judge ask them to step out in the hall while you answer. I don’t know if he’ll do it, but I will ask him.”
The judge had left the courtroom, so Mr. Ross wrote something on a pad he was carrying and took it up to the policeman seated in the front who took the note and left the room.
A few minutes later, the judge came back to his bench and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Van Buren, would you mind waiting in the hall outside for a few moments? Thank you.”
I heard my father grumble something and also heard my mother say, “Shush,” as they left the room.
“Alright, Roland, it’s time to answer my question. Why were you running away from home at such a young age?” said the judge.
I told the judge about the beatings, my father’s belief about all kids being sinners who need to be regularly punished, and having to work in the bowling alley starting when I was eight years old.
“Did your mother do anything to try to stop him?” the judge asked.
“No, sir, she felt he was right.”
Judge Gregg ran his hand over his jaw, looked down at the desk in front of him and asked, “Did your father drink alcohol, Roland?”
“No sir.”
“Roland, from what I’m reading in these reports, I’m seeing you haven’t lived with your parents for almost five years. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
The judge looked up at the ceiling, then leaned forward in his chair and looked straight at me and asked, “Where have you been living all this time?”
Mr. Ross suddenly stood up and said, “Judge, may I intercede here for a moment?”
I felt my head jerk up to look at Mr. Ross as I panicked, wondering what he was going to say. I hadn’t told him anything about the past few years other than to tell him I hadn’t talked to my father for many years. I couldn’t imagine how he could answer the judge’s question.
The judge said, “Go ahead, Mr. Ross.”
Mr. Ross began with details about how my parents had contacted their minister, Rev. Schutter, about me and how they had made an arrangement with him for making sure I was clothed, fed and healthy. He told them about how I was an unusually accomplished young pianist and practiced piano for two hours every day at Rev. Schutter’s church which was how the minister was able to make sure I was doing alright.
I was amazed at how much Mr. Ross must have learned from my parents when he visited with them the previous night.
Mr. Ross continued, “Roland was also one of the young artists who performed with the Detroit Symphony the summer before last. I wanted to have both Rev. Schutter and Roland’s piano teacher here today to speak on his behalf, but they are both out of town. I learned these facts about Roland last night when I interviewed his parents.”
Mr. Ross sat down and put his hand on my arm and patted me lightly.
The judge went back to leafing through some of the papers he had in front of him. It seemed like the silence in the room would go on forever.
All I could think of was what was the judge going to say next.
Judge Gregg stopped leafing through the papers and said, “The clock on the wall is saying this might be a good time for another recess. Let’s reconvene in two hours at one-thirty.” He stood up and went out the door. The policeman and the woman taking notes followed him out of the room. Since I hadn’t looked behind me all this time, I didn’t realize the policeman who came into the courtroom with us was standing in the back of the room.
He walked up to us, put his hand on my shoulder, held out the handcuffs and said, “Sorry, Roland, but you have to go back across the street for your lunch and I have to put your bracelets back on.”
When we were all seated again in the courtroom, the judge said, “Roland, I’ve pondered this for the past couple of hours and feel I’ve come to a decision. As Mr. Ross has pointed out, there are basically two options available to you. One is for you to be incarcerated in the Boys Vocational School from now until you reach the age of eighteen, and then, when you’ve reached adulthood, be transferred to Jackson Prison to finish out your sentence for however long your remaining sentence might be. The other option would be for you to enlist in a branch of the military service for a period of four years. This option couldn’t take place until you reach your seventeenth birthday, which I see here is this coming January, twenty-eighth. This would be in little less than four months from now. Are you with me so far, Roland?”
There were plenty of times in my young life where I had felt nervousness and anxiety, but sitting there in front of the judge and waiting for his decision was worse than any other time. I did manage to croak out a faint,“Yes, sir,” in response to his question.
“What I’m going to ask you to do right now, Roland, is to go with the policeman back to my chambers and wait there while I have a conversation with your mother and father. It will only take a few minutes. So, officer, would you escort Roland to my chambers, please?”
I tried to sit in one of the comfortable looking chairs in the judge’s chambers, but found I had to be moving around. So, I paced – back and forth – back and forth. Then I sat down, only to get up and start pacing again. It was a nice room, big desk, carpets on the floor, lots of windows, bookshelves on two of the walls, but none of that interested me. My mind was racing with what was going to happen to me and what the judge needed to talk with my parents about.
There was a radio playing on the table behind the judge’s desk. The radio was tuned to a classical music station and suddenly I realized I was listening to the same piece I had played with the Detroit Symphony a couple of years ago.
As I stopped my pacing to listen to this beautiful music, my mind wandered back to that wonderful time in my life.
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