4300 Vermillion Avenue

July 18, 2013

I had a weird dream last night about an incident that happened about twenty years ago at 4300 Vermillion Ave., a high rise building where nearly 500 families, many on section 8 lived.  Crime was rampant inside the building as well as outside in the parking lot and the surrounding area.  The Police Dept received daily calls for shootings, robberies, and drug dealing even in the lobby entrance of the building.  One day I was assigned to that area along with my buddy, Warren “Wild Man” Hayes.  The building set about 80-100 yards off Wheeler road, and from the lobby the criminals could see the police when they pulled into the parking lot, and would scatter throughout the building, about twenty stories high.  There were a lot of good and decent people trapped in that building who were terrorized on a daily basis for years, but there was little the police could do about it.  I told my buddy, “tonight we’re going to solve this problem”  I told him we would park our police cars down the road about a half mile away from the building.  The building backed to a wooded area and I said we could walk through the woods and approach the building from the rear so we couldn’t be seen from inside.  As we got closer, we could hear the calls over the radio that there were several people inside the lobby openly selling drugs and displaying guns.  We skirted the side of the building in complete darkness until we got to the front entrance.  I peeped inside and could see seven or eight guys standing inside the lobby with drugs openly displayed.  These guys were all known to carry weapons during that time period.  I looked back at the Wild Man and said you take the four on the left and I’ll take the four on the right.  As he always did, he  just smiled and said, let’s do it bro’.  When a woman came out of the building, as soon as the door opened we rushed in.  People in the lobby screamed and chaos ensued.  People in the lobby, regular citizens, began to scream and grab their children and run for cover.  As I rushed forward I could see that the Wild Man was in a tussle with one of the drug dealers and could see the handle of a gun in his waistline.  I then told the guys that I had targeted to get on the ground and don’t move. At that time, only one guy went down to the ground; the other three stood firm.  As I pointed my weapon I told them, “today is the day it all stops”.  Seeing that we both were serious as two men could be, they all laid down on the ground.  People were still scurrying and screaming; as the guns and drugs fell from their waistbands.  We called for backup and could hear the police cars with sirens blaring coming from blocks away.  We handcuffed the suspects and as we began to search them, I think we recovered six guns, an untold amount of cash, and marijuana and cocaine packaged for sale.  You have to understand how the lobby at 4300 Vermillion is situated.  Once you walk in the door, you were in an area of about 40’ by 40’, extremely close quarters for weapons.  There were two elevators on each side of the lobby and three different exits – one to the right, one to the left, one down the hallway, and a staircase on either side, and two garbage shutes beside the elevator where they could dump the drugs and later retrieve it from the basement.  But now, we had gotten the jump on them and caught them off guard.  I saw the Wild Man physically engaged in a struggle with one of the suspects I kind of smiled because I knew that guy had picked the wrong one to resist.  Eventually Warren got the handcuffs on him and there we had these guys laid out in the lobby with handcuffs on.  Citizens started coming out of their apartments and heading to the lobby where the incident was unfolding.  Some were pointing and cheering and thanking God.  I remember one older woman saying “thank you Jesus.  Now I don’t have to be scared when I come home every evening.”  But that wasn’t enough to myself and the Wild Man.

When we arrived back at the police station I talked to one of the young men about what his life could be; he was seventeen years old, a baby compared to his fellow drug dealers who were hardened criminals.   That he didn’t have to be a drug dealer, that he didn’t have to be a community terrorist,that he didn’t have to be a statistic.  That he should have a desire to achieve something in life.   In the holding cell at the police station, he and I talked for about 45 minutes about life.  At that time, carrying a weapon and selling crack cocaine while armed was a serious felony.  I told him that his life was just starting, and not to shut the door to the possibilities that await you.  About six months later the case came to trial.  I talked to the State’s Attorney on his behalf and told the SA that I saw something in that young man; that he was a good kid and that he needed someone to give him a break in life.  I told the State’s Attorney it would be a favor if he would stet the case and not prosecute the kid, and that’s what happened.  As we walked out of the courtroom, the kid thanked me for all I had done.  He told me that two of his friends that had been arrested that night in the lobby that one of them had been killed in a drug deal, and based on our conversation, he vowed to change his life.  I never saw the kid again until about thirteen years later.  I came to work one day and the secretary told me that someone in the Marine Corps had come by and had called seeking to talk to me.  I returned the phone call and it was that kid.  He was a thirty year old man now, a sergeant in the Marine Corps with a wife and two kids of his own.  He recounted the incident at 4300 Vermillion Ave to make me remember who he was.  He asked me to meet him for lunch at the mall which I was happy to do.  As we sat and talked he told me how that night at 4300 Vermillion had changed his life.  How my taking the time to separate myself from being merely a police officer to being a human being and showing and telling him that there was a better way for his life to unfold.  He said how over the years stationed in different places, and when he came back to Maryland he wanted to look me up.  He should be about retired now from the Marine Corps.  As my memory fades I don’t remember his name, but if he ever reads this I just want to tell him that the only thing he owes me is to pass on his character to the next generation.  To give to others what was given to him, because we don’t own it. 

I don’t know why I dreamt about that incident, but it came to me.  And Wild Man, if you’re still out there, tell the family I said hi.  Love you bro.