NYPD's 2013 "Stop and Frisk" Policy vs NYPD's 1960's "Attitude Adjustment" Policy

I really don't see what all all this hoopla about the NYPD's "Stop and Frisk" program is all about.

I'll be the first to admit that I got into my share of trouble wandering the neighborhood with my friends back in the early 1960's as a youngster growing up in Woodside, Queens,.

If we were bored we would execute a couple of "ring and runs" (aka "Ding, Dong, Ditch") and laugh ourselves silly when some adult would open the door and, seeing us running away up the street, would unleash a stream of expletives that would make a Marine proud.  That game lost much of its luster when, after one particular "ring and run", a rather annoyed and very scary looking male adult bolted out of his front door after us brandishing a tire iron and threatening to cave our stupid skulls in.

We ran for almost 3 blocks when a local cop, probably wondering what the scary looking adult intended to do with the butcher knife he was waving around, finally stopped all of us.

After a rather short discussion, the cop ordered us to apologize to the adult.  My buddy Bobby Crew, who had a big mouth that often overrode his brain, retorted, "Listen Joe Bolton, all we did was ring a bell....this idiot tried to carve us up!" [Note:  "Joe Bolton" was a derogatory street term for a Police Officer.  If you are still confused...google the name.]  Immediately thereafter, the officer introduced us to his night stick and what we would come to know as an "attitude adjustment".

When we were able to get our hands on some fireworks, we would sneak into the Sunnyside train yard and spend hours happily assembling what today would be described as improvised explosive devices out of firecrackers, cherry bombs and ash cans and blow craters the size of  basketballs in the hard dirt surrounding the tracks.

One evening the yard security officer, an old timer, spotted us.  He yelled at us from a safe distance while holding a german shepherd on a leash ordering us off property and threatening to release his "attack dog" if we didn't obey.

Knowing that we all could easily outrun the rail cop and thinking that he would never release the dog, we simply laughed at him.  A second or two later the german shepherd was bounding towards us barking at top of his lungs.

I think we all soiled our "tighty whities" before we realized the guard dog was simply a happy and very congenial mutt who jumped up on my friend Chris, lapping at his face. On the other hand, the elderly yard cop almost had a stroke but was ultimately relieved that both us and his "attack" mutt survived the encounter unmolested.  By now the local cops had arrived and they administered "attitude adjustments" to all of us. Not because of the fireworks but because we almost gave the elderly yard cop a heart attack.  We steered clear of the yard for several months after that evening.

On those (not so rare) occasions when we were able to procure a case or two of Rheingold or Schaefer beer, we would retire to the local park where we had several "church keys" stashed.  There were no "pop top" cans back then.   Sitting out of sight behind the handball court we would enjoy our beer, cold or warm, and spend hours amusing each other with one outrageous falsehood after another.  If the local constabulary showed up, and they often did, they would confiscate the unopened beers, issue all of us  "attitude adjustments" and then drive off in their green and black patrol cars to "coop" and enjoy our lost and their new found libations.  We resigned ourselves to those losses as the price of doing business.

We also had a great fondness for sneaking into, and being thrown out of, the Sunnyside Gardens on Saturday nights to watch the Golden Glove fights or the women's roller derby matches.  Actually, we were probably more interested in the ladies roller derby than the fights because their costumes consisting mainly of very little!  I still fondly remember the night Annis "Big Red" Jensen of the Bay Area Bombers was bumped off the track and lost her shirt no more than 5 feet where I was sitting.  I almost went to Church the next day to thank God for such good fortune.

Memories aside, we were inevitably caught by security guards who were, of course, moonlighting cops and they also administered "attitude adjustments", not with a night stick, but with their off duty, small lead filled, leather slappers.  Some of us actually started sticking paperback book in both rear pockets of our dungarees to ameliorate these "butt slaps" when we went to the roller derby.

Although drugs were easily available and all of us knew who the local dealers were, I guess most of us felt they weren't worth the risk.

A can of beer or a pack of cigarettes and a big mouth might get you a whack on the rear or, at worst, a ride home in a patrol car where you were delivered to your parents for additional verbal (and physical) mayhem which could last for days.

On the other hand, get caught with a joint or some pills and a big mouth...that was a big deal! It was a one way ticket to the 108th Police Precinct via a green and black RMP where you usually received an "attitude adjustment" before being delivered to the Desk Sergeant who would issue you a "JD" card (juvenile delinquent) and then place your butt in the "meditation room" (cell) to "think about what you had done" while awaiting the arrival of your parents and, of course, some additional verbal (and physical) mayhem when you arrived home which, again, could last for days.

Making matters worse, once you received your first "JD" card, every cop in the precinct knew who you were and considered you "fair game" and if you even looked at a "Joe Bolton" sideways, or forgot to address him as "sir", it was off to the 108th Precinct with you.

One summer evening we actually set out to steal a car and ride up to the Bliss Theater on Greenpoint Avenue to see the new James Bond movie, Dr. No.  Actually we were going to a scantily clad Ursula Andress who was in the movie!  Unfortunately, unlike the car jockeys in "The Fast and the Furious" ,  none of us could operate a manual transmission at the time and automatics were few and far between in the neighborhood.  No attitude adjustment here, just extreme embarrassment!

There was a period of time when we thought ourselves to be "tough guys".  Some of us took to carrying a switchblade knife or brass knuckles.  They were easily purchased at that time but they probably posed more of a danger to us who carried them than anyone else.  Or "bad boy" era ended when Bobby Crew tried to sneak into a peep show in Times Square and the security guard grabbed him and, after patting him down, found a switchblade on him and turned him over to  New York City's finest. We didn't see Bobby again for almost a month and when we did he was still talking out of the side of his mouth.

Guns?  We never even thought of guns.

A gun was something you got when you got drafted, as most of us ultimately were.

Besides, we all knew that carrying a firearm upset the viable and accepted karma that tenuously existed between us fools and the local gendarmes.

If you were caught with a gun and were lucky enough not to have been shot, after you were discharged from the emergency room (yes, a big "attitude adjustment") you had a definite date with an arraignment judge and could then look forward to spending a whole lot of quality time with some guy name "Turk" on Rikers Island while you waited to be transferred to state prison.  None of us wanted to have to speak sideways like Bobby Crew so guns were never an issue with us.

When all else failed, we simply hung out as a group on the corner of 51st Street and Skillman Avenue, talking loudly and acting like fools, until the neighbors complained and the local beat cop would come strolling by, twirling his baton, and gruffly telling us all to "get lost"!  Those of us who didn't react fast enough, and who forgot to wear their paperback books,  quickly discovered just how big a welt a baton could leave on your posterior.

As we grew older we tired of our rather one sided interactions with local law enforcement and our free time activities started to mellow.  A little dust up out east called Viet Nam finally intervened and myself and most of my buddies finally got our guns...legally....with the United States Marine Corps where we discovered the art of "attitude adjustments" was taken to an entirely new level by Parris Island Drill Instructors.

I guess what I am trying to say is that having grown up under the NYPD's 1960's "Stop and Adjust Attitude" program, I really can't fathom the the antipathy towards the NYPD's present day and almost genteel "Stop and Frisk"  program.

Then again, like most life events, I guess you just had to be there!