Do With Me What You Will

"Then what?" "I got very . . . I got very excited and. . . ." "Did she look at you?" "Yeah. And it made me want to. . . . It made me want to go after her, you know, like grab hold of her. . . . Because she was thinking the same thing. She was afraid of me and she was thinking. . . ." "She kept looking back at you?" "Oh, yes, she did. Yes. Back over her shoulder. I got so excited that I just followed her, I mean I must of followed her, I don't even remember my legs going. . . . It was just her, looking back over her shoulder at me, like checking on me, and me following her, just her and me and nobody else on the street. I never saw nobody else. I just saw her ahead of me, but I didn't even see her face, I was too excited." "When did she start to run?"

"Oh, my, I don't know, I. . . . I guess it was by . . . uh . . . that drugstore there, what is it, some drugstore that. . . . Well, it was closed, of course, because of the late hour. Uh . . . some name you see all the time. . . ."

"Cunningham's."

"Oh, yes, yes. Cunning-ham's. But I don't know if I really saw that, Mr. Morrissey, so clear as that . . . any place at all . . . like I know the neighborhood upward and downward, but I wasn't watching too close at the time. Because I had my eye on her, you know, to see she couldn't get away. She was like a fox would be, going fast all of a sudden, and damn scared. • That makes them clever, when they're scared."

"Then she started to run? Where was this?"

"The other side of the drugstore . . . across a street. . . . I don't know the names, but they got them written down, the police. They could tell you."

"I don't want any information from them. I want it from you. The intersection there is St. Ann and Ryan Boulevard. Is that where she started running?"

"If that's what they said. . . ."

"That's what she said. She told them. When she started to run, did you run?"

"Yeah."

"Right away?"

"Yeah, right away."

"Did you start running before she did?"

"No. I don't know."

"But only after she started running . . . ?"

"I think so."

"Did you? After she started running, but not before?"

"Yeah."

"Were there any cars waiting for the light to change at that intersection?"

"I don't know . . . I was in a frenzy. . . . You know how you get, when things happen fast, and you can't pay attention. . . . I. . . . I saw her running and I thought to myself, You ain't going to get away! I was almost ready to laugh or to scream out, it was so. . . . It was so high-strung a few minutes for me. . . ."

"Did she run across the street, or out into the street?"

"She . . . uh . . . she started screaming. . . . That was when she started screaming. But it didn't scare me off. She ran out into the middle of the street . . . yeah, I can remember that now . . . out into the middle, where it was very wide. . . . I remember some cars waiting for the light to change, now. But I didn't pay much attention to them then."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, uh, she got out there and something like, like her shoe was broke, the heel was snapped . . . and she was yelling at this guy in a car, that waited for the light to change but then couldn't get away because she was in front of the car. And . . . uh . . . that was a . . . a Pontiac Tempest, a nice green car. . . . And it was a man and a woman, both white. She was yelling for them to let her in. But when she ran around to the side of the car, and grabbed the door handle, well, it was locked, of course, and she couldn't get it open and I was just waiting by the curb to see how it would go . . . and the guy, he just pressed down that accelerator and got the hell out of there. Man, he shot off like a rocket, I had to laugh. And she looked over her shoulder at me where I was waiting, you know, and. . . ."

"Yes, then what?"

"Well, then. Then I. uh, I got her. There wasn't anything to it, she was pretty tired by then, and. . . . I just grabbed her and dragged her back somewhere, you know, the way they said . . . she told them all the things that happened. . . . I can't remember it too clear myself, because I was crazylike, like laughing because I was so high, you know. I wasn't scared, either. I felt like a general or somebody in a movie, where things go right, like I came to the edge of a country or a whole continent, you know, and naturally I wouldn't want the movie to end just yet. . . ."

"But you don't remember everything that happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But no. I guess not, I mean. . . . You know how you get in a frenzy. . . ."

"You signed a confession."

"Yeah, I s'pose so. I mean. I wanted to cooperate a little. I figured they had me anyway, and anyway I was still so high. I couldn't come in for a landing. I wasn't scared or anything and felt very good. So I signed it."

"Did they tell you you had the right to call an attorney?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"You had the right to counsel . . . ? Did the police tell you that?"

"Right to counsel. . . . Yeah. I heard something like that. I don't know. Maybe I was a little scared. My mouth was bleeding down my neck."

"From being struck?"

"Before they got the handcuffs on me. I was trying to get away. So somebody got me in the face."

"Did it hurt?"

"No, naw. I didn't feel it. I started getting wet, then one of the policemen, in the car, he wiped me off with a rag, because it was getting on him. I don't know if it hurt or not. Later on it hurt. The tooth was loose and I fooled around with it, wiggling it, in jail, and took it out myself; so I wouldn't swallow it or something at night. My whole face swoll up afterward. . . ."

"So you waived your right to counsel?"

"I don't know. I guess so. If they said that, then I did."

"Why did you waive your right to counsel?"

"I don't know."

"Were you pressured into it?"

"What? I don't know. I . . . uh . . . I was mixed up and a little high. . . . ."

"Did you say, maybe, that you didn't have any money for a lawyer?"

"Uh . . . yeah. In fact. I did say that, yeah. I did."

"You did?"

"I think so."

"You did say that."

"I think I said it. . . ."

"You told them you couldn't afford a lawyer."

"Yeah."

"And did they say you had the right to counsel anyway? Did they say that if you were indigent, counsel would be provided for you?"

"Indigent . . .?"

"Yes, indigent. If you didn't have money for a lawyer, you'd be given one anyway. Didn't they explain that to you?"

"What was that . . .? In . . .?"

"Indigent. They didn't explain that to you, did they?"

"About what?"

"If you were indigent, counsel would be provided for you."

"Indigent. . . ."

"Indigent. Did they use that word? Do you remember it?"

"Well, uh. . . . Lots of words got used. . . . I. . . ."

"Did they use the word indigent? Did they explain your situation to you?"

"What situation? . . . I was kind of mixed up and excited and. . . ."

"And they had been banging you around, right? Your tooth was knocked out . . . your face was cut . . . your face swelled up. . . . So your signed a confession, right? After Mrs. Donner made her accusation, you agreed with her, you signed a confession for the police, in order to cooperate with them and not be beaten any more. I think that was a very natural thing to do under the circumstances. Do you know which one of the police hit you?"

"Oh, they all did, they was all scrambling around after me. . . . Damn lucky I didn't get shot. I was fearless, I didn't know shit how close I came to getting killed. Jesus. Never come in for a landing till the next day. I was so high. Pulled the tooth out by the roots and never felt it. But later on it hurt like hell. . . . I couldn't remember much."

"Were you examined by a doctor?"

"No."

"A dentist?"

"Hell, no."

"Let's see your mouth. . . . What about those missing teeth on the side there? What happened to them?"

"Them, they been gone a long time."

"It looks raw there."

"Yeah, well. I don't know. . . . It looks what?"

"It looks sore."

"Well, it might be sore, I don't know. My gums is sore sometimes. They bleed sometimes by themselves."

"What happened to your mouth?"

"I got kicked there. Two, three years back."

"Your mother told me you'd had some trouble back in your neighborhood, off and on, and I see you were arrested for some incidents, but what about some trouble with a girl . . . ? Did you ever get into trouble with a girl?"

"What girl?"

"Your mother says it was a girl in the neighborhood."

"Yeah."

"Yeah what?"

"Yeah, it was a girl, a girl. She never made no trouble for me. Her father was (continued on page 190)Do With Me What You Will(continued from page 94) out after me, but he got in trouble himself. So I don't know. I mean, it passed on by. She was. . . . She didn't want no trouble, it was her old man tried to make a fuss. What's my mother been telling you, that old news? That's damn old news: that's last year's news."

"You weren't arrested for rape, were you?"

"No. I tole you, it was only her father: then he had to leave town."

"Before this you've been arrested twice, right? And put on probation twice? And no jail sentence."

"That's a way of looking at it."

"How do you look at it?"

"I hung around a long time waiting to get out . . . waiting for the trial. . . . You know, the trial or the hearing or whatever it was. Then the judge let me go anyway."

"You waited in jail, you mean."

"Sure I waited in jail."

"Why couldn't you get bond?"

"My momma said the hell with me."

"According to the record, you were arrested for theft twice. You pleaded guilty. What about the assault charges?"

"From roughing somebody up? Well. uh, that stuff got put aside. There was a deal made."

"So you got off on probation twice."

"Yeah, that worked out OK."

"You were arrested for the first time when you were nineteen years old. right?"

"If that's what it says."

"That isn't bad. Nineteen years old . . . that's a pretty advanced age for a first offense. . . . And no jail sentence, just probation. Now, tell me, is all this accurate: Your father served a five-year sentence for armed robbery, right?--then he left Detroit? Your mother has been on ADC from 1959 until the present, right? You have four brothers and two sisters, two children are still living at home with your mother, and your sister has a baby herself?--and you don't live at home, but nearby somewhere? And you give her money when you can?"

"Yeah."

"It says here you're unemployed. Were you ever employed?"

"Sure I been employed."

"It isn't down here. What kind of job did you have?"

"How come it ain't down there?"

"I don't know. What kind of job did you have?"

"Look, you write it in yourself. Mr. Morrissey, because I sure was employed. . . . I call that an insult. I was kind of a delivery boy off and on. I could get references to back me up."

"This is just a photostat copy of your file from Welfare: I can't write anything in. . . . Where did you work?"

"Some store that's closed up now."

"Whose was it?"

"I disremember the exact name."

"You're unemployed at the present time, at the age of twenty-three?"

"Well, I can't help that. I. . . . Mr. Morrissey, you going to make a deal for me?"

"I won't have to make a deal."

"Huh? Well, that woman is awful mad at me. She's out to get me."

"Don't worry about her."

"In the police station she was half-crazy, she was screaming so. . . . Her clothes was all ripped. I don't remember none of that. The front of her was all blood. Jesus. I don't know. I must of gone crazy or something. . . . When they brought me in, she was already there, waiting, and she took one look at me and started screaming. That was the end."

"She might reconsider, she might think all this over carefully. Don't worry about her. Let me worry about her. In fact, you have no necessary reason to believe that the woman who identified you was the woman you followed and attacked. . . . It might have been another woman. You didn't really see her face. All you know is that she was white, and probably all she knows about her attacker is that he was black. I won't have to make a deal for you. Don't worry about that."

"She's awful mad at me, she ain't going to back down. . . ."

"Let me worry about her. Tell me: How did the police happen to pick you up? Did they have a warrant for your arrest?"

"Hell, no. It was a goddamn asshole accident like a joke. . . . I. uh. I was running away from her where I left her . . . and . . . and. . . . I just run into the side of the squad car. Like that. Was running like hell and run into the side of the car, where it was parked, without no lights on. So they picked me up like that."

"Because you were running, they picked you up, right?"

"I run into the side of their goddamn fucking car."

"So they got out and arrested you?"

"One of them chased me."

"Did he fire a shot?"

"Sure he fired a shot."

"So you surrendered?"

"I hid somewhere, by a cellar window. But they found me. It was just a goddamn stupid accident. . . . Jesus. I don't know. I must of been flying so high, couldn't see the car where it was parked. They had it parked back from the big street, with the lights out. I saw one of them with a paper cup, some coffee that got spilled down his front, when I banged into the door. He was surprised."

"So they brought you into the station and the woman was brought in also, this Mrs. Donner, and she identified you. Is that it? She took one look at you and seemed to recognize you?"

"Started screaming like hell."

"She identified you absolutely, in spite of her hysterical state?"

"I guess so."

"And you admitted attacking her?"

"I guess so."

"Was that really the correct woman, though? This 'Mrs. Donner' who is accusing you of rape?"

"Huh?"

"Could you have identified her?"

"Me? I don't know. No. I don't know."

"Let's go back to the bar. You said there were three women there, all white women. Did they look alike to you, or what?"

"I don't know."

"Did one of them catch your attention?"

"Maybe. I don't know. One of them . . . she kind of was watching me. I thought. They was all horsing around."

"It was very crowded in the bar? And this woman, this particular woman, looked at you. Did she smile at you?"

"They was all laughing, you know, and if they looked around the place, why, it would seem they was smiling. . . . I don't know which one it was. I'm all mixed up on that."

"Would you say that this woman, let's call her 'Mrs. Donner' temporarily, this woman was behaving in a way that was provocative? She was looking at you or toward you, and at other men?"

"There was a lot of guys in there, black guys, and some white guys, too. I liked the tone of that place. There was a good feeling there. I wasn't drunk, but. . . ."

"Yes, you were drunk."

"Naw, I was high on my own power, I only had a few drinks."

"You were drunk: that happens to be a fact. That's an important fact. Don't forget it."

"I was drunk . . .?"

"Yes. You were drunk. And a white woman did smile at you, in a bar on Gratiot; let's say it was this 'Mrs. Donner' who is charging you with rape. Do you know anything about her? No. I'll tell you: She's married, separated from her husband, the husband's whereabouts are unknown, she's been on and off welfare since 1964, she worked for a while at Leonard's Downtown, the department store, and was discharged because she evidently took some merchandise home with her . . . and she's been unemployed since September of last year, but without any visible means of support: no welfare. So she won't be able to account for her means of support since September, if that should come up in court."

"Uh. . . . You going to make a deal with them, then?"

"I don't have to make a deal. I told you to let me worry about her. She has to testify against you, and she has to convince a jury that she didn't deserve to be followed by you, that she didn't entice you, she didn't smile at you. She has to convince a jury that she didn't deserve whatever happened to her. . . . She did smile at you?"

"Well, uh, you know how it was . . . a lot of guys crowding around, shifting around. . . . I don't know which one of the women for sure looked at me, there was three of them, maybe they all did . . . or maybe just one . . . or. . . . It was confused. Some guys was buying them drinks and I couldn't get too close. I didn't know anybody there. I liked the tone of the place, but I was on the outside, you know? I was having my own party in my head. Then I saw this one woman get mad and put on her coat--"

"A light-colored coat? An imitation-fur coat?"

"Jesus, how do I know? Saw her put her arm in a sleeve. . . ."

"And she walked out? Alone?"

"Yeah. So I . . . I got very jumpy. . . . I thought I would follow her, you know, just see what happens. . . ."

"But you didn't follow her with the intention of committing rape."

"I. . . ."

"You wanted to talk to her, maybe? She'd smiled at you and you wanted to talk to her?"

"I don't know if. . . ."

"This white woman, whose name you didn't know, had smiled at you. She then left the bar--that is. Carson's Tavern--at about midnight, completely alone, unescorted, and she walked out along the street. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"When did she notice that you were following her?"

"Right away."

"Then what happened?"

"She started walking faster."

"Did she pause or give any sign to you? You mentioned that she kept looking over her shoulder at you--"

"Yeah."

"Then she started to run?"

"Yeah."

"She tried to get someone to stop, to let her in his car, but he wouldn't. He drove away. She was drunk, wasn't she, and screaming at him?"

"She was screaming. . . ."

"She was drunk, too. That happens to be a fact. You were both drunk, those are facts. This 'Mrs. Donner' who is accusing you of rape was drunk at the time. So. . . . The driver in the Pontiac drove away and you approached her. Was it the same woman who had smiled at you in the tavern?"

"I think . . . uh. . . . I don't know. . . ."

"She was the woman from the tavern?"

"That got mad and put her coat on? Sure. She walked out. . . ."

"Did all three women more or less behave in the same manner? They were very loud, they'd been drinking, you really couldn't distinguish between them . . .?"

"I don't know."

"When you caught up to the woman, what did she say to you?"

"Say? Nothing. No words."

"She was screaming?"

"Oh, yeah."

"What did you say to her?"

"Nothing."

"Could you identify her?"

"I . . . uh. . . . That's where I get mixed up."

"Why?"

"I don't remember no face to her."

"Why not?"

"Must not of looked at it."

"Back in the bar, you didn't look either?"

"Well, yes . . . but I. . . . It's all a smear, like. Like a blur."

"This 'Mrs. Donner' says you threatened to kill her. Is that true?"

"If she says so. . . ."

"No, hell. Don't worry about what she says. What do you say?"

"I don't remember."

"Lay still or I'll kill you. Did you say that?"

"Is that what they have down?"

"Did you say it? Lay still or I'll kill you?"

"That don't sound like me."

"You didn't say anything to her, did you?"

"When? When we was fighting?"

"At any time."

"I don't remember."

"In the confusion of struggling, it isn't likely you said anything to her, is it?--anything so distinct as that? Or maybe it was another man, another black man, who attacked this 'Mrs. Donner' and she's confusing him with you . . .?"

"Uh. . . ."

"Did you intend to kill her?"

"No."

"What did you have in mind, when you followed her out of the tavern?"

"Oh, you know . . . I was kind of high-strung. . . ."

"She had smiled at you, so you thought she might be friendly? A pretty white woman like that, only twenty-nine years old, with her hair fixed up and a fancy imitation-fur coat, who had smiled at you, a stranger, in a bar . . . ? You thought she might be friendly, wasn't that it?"

"Friendly? Jesus! I never expected no friendship, that's for sure."

"Well, put yourself back in that situation. Don't be so sure. If a white woman smiled at you, and you followed her out onto the street, it would be logical you might expect her to be friendly toward you. Keep your mind clear. You don't have to believe what other people tell you about yourself; you don't have to believe that you assaulted that woman just because she says you did. Things aren't so simple. Did you expect her to fight you off?"

"Don't know."

"If she hadn't fought you, there wouldn't be any crime committed, would there? She resisted you, she provoked you into a frenzy. . . . But don't think about that. I'll think about that angle. I'm the one who's going to question Mrs. Donner, and then we'll see who's guilty of what. . . . But one important thing: Why didn't you tell the police that you really didn't recognize the woman, yourself?"

"Huh? Jesus, they'd of been mad as hell--"

"Yes, they would have been mad, they might have beaten you some more. You were terrified of a further beating. So, of course, you didn't protest, you didn't say anything. Because she's a white woman and you're black. Isn't that the real reason?"

"I don't know."

"There weren't any black men in the station. You were the only black man there. So you thought it would be the safest, most prudent thing to confess to everything, because this white woman and the white police had you, they had you, and you considered yourself fair game. And already you'd been beaten, your mouth was bleeding, and you didn't know you had the right to an attorney, to any help at all. You were completely isolated. They could do anything to you they wanted. . . . Your instincts told you to go along with them, to cooperate. Nobody can blame you for that: that's how you survived. Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

"Some kind of way, yes. . . . Yes, I think so."

"And the police demonstrated their antagonism toward you, their automatic assumption of your guilt, even though the woman who accused you of rape was a probable prostitute, a woman of very doubtful reputation who led you on, who enticed you out into the street . . . and then evidently changed her mind, or became frightened when she saw how excited you were. Is that it? Why do you think she identified you so quickly, why was she so certain?"

"Must of seen my face."

"How did she see your face, if you didn't see hers?"

"I saw hers but didn't take it in, you know, I kind of blacked out . . . she was fighting me off and that drove me wild . . . it was good luck she stopped, or . . . or something else might of happened. . . . You know how frenzied you get. There was a streetlight there, and I thought to myself, She ain't going to forget me."

"Why not?"

"Gave her a good look at my face. My face is important to me."