Strange Encounters of the Cop Kind

I Wish I Was Hulk Hogan

My Latest Podcast

My latest podcast guest was Natalie Foster, author of The Guarantee. The book is a call to action for why and how the government should guarantee basic things in life to its citizens, including shelter, education, healthcare, and an inheritance.

I’m generally sympathetic with the thinking in that citizens should benefit from the abundance that technology has created for society in our lifetime, although I would worry about the complexities this might create in its administration. Talking about complexity, many people are ignorant about the incredible complexity of the world we are born into, and lack the social capital required to navigate it effectively. Someone referred to this complexity is being a subsidy for the wealthy and the powerful, who have the means to understand and exploit it, while ordinary people struggle to navigate it. The Guarantee is a call to action to level the playing field a little. It is regrettable that in a country as rich as the US, millions of its citizens have less than four hundred dollars in reserve, and where an emergency situation can upend their lives.

Listen to Natalie make the case for why and how government can take a more active role in improving the lives of its citizens. The podcast is available at

https://bravenewpodcast.com/episodes/2024/08/09/episode-86-natalie-foster-on-the-guarantee/

Strange Encounters

A few weekends ago, my partner and I, along with our yellow Lab Lucy, attended a friend’s wedding upstate. My friend had rented the fanciest house situated along the Catskill creek in a little town called Leeds. It’s a grand house with a nice swimming hole in the creek that runs by its manicured lawns. After attending the opening reception a few miles away, we drove back to the house along a dark and narrow country road called Green Lake Road which ends on Main Street in Leeds. I turned right on Main Street, and then almost immediately into the gravel driveway of the rented house on 1169 Main Street. Take a look at the map.

Out of nowhere, a cop car pulled up behind me on the driveway with flashing lights. He said I had my high beams on. I apologized, explaining that I had driven almost ten miles on a dark country road where I’d used my high beams because of the heavy animal life up there. I said I was sorry I had them on for a few seconds on the deserted Main Street before I turned into the house.

He asked for my driver’s license and registration, and asked why the car was registered in a different name. I said that it was registered in my ex-wife’s name. He didn’t seem to like that answer.

He asked me to step out of the car. He asked where I was coming from and whether I had been drinking. I said I’d had a glass of wine about five hours ago and nothing since. He asked me what time it was now, to which I said a little before 10. He said 9:50, to which I said “close enough!” He asked questions about my eyesight and whether I wear glasses. I don’t. He asked whether the passenger was my wife. I thought that was a somewhat intrusive and irrelevant question.

Things went downhill from there, and the next twenty minutes were a nightmare. He started by having me do an eye test, where he positioned a bright light behind him, and instructed me to follow a pen from side to side without turning my neck. Then he did an up and down test. Did I pass it? Yes, but he said he was going to do more tests. He instructed me to walk in a straight line with my front foot touching the back foot for twelve paces, turn around, and repeat. I did it, and asked whether all this was necessary.  He nodded, then instructed me to stand on one foot, raise the other foot forward with a straight leg, six inches above the ground with my soles parallel to it, and to start counting the following numbers slowly: one thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, etc. I counted until one thousand and ten on my left foot, which took about twenty seconds, and lowered my foot, figuring that that should satisfy him. To be honest, it’s challenging enough to stand on one foot even on a flat surface in that position, let alone in front of an unfriendly cop on gravel late at night. My practice with the “tree pose” came in handy.

To my surprise, he said keep going until I tell you to stop.

At this point, I felt I was being treated very poorly. I told him that I refused to subject myself to what seemed like an endurance test, and demanded to know what he was testing, and the criteria for passing or failing the test. My partner, sensing that I was getting annoyed, sidled up to me and urged me to keep my cool. I asked whether she could get me a glass of water from the house since the cop was stressing me out. The cop asked what he could do to make me feel less stressed. I responded that showing a little consideration towards a senior citizen would be a good start. He said, oh, you don’t like that I’m speaking in a monotone. I responded that he was putting it mildly, considering he was positively unfriendly and intimidating.

After twenty minutes of this charade, I felt very stressed. I’ve lived in the US for almost fifty years, and cops have generally been courteous. I’m from a military family, and respect people who put their lives on the line for us. But I’m not a US citizen, and acutely aware of my lack of rights in such situations, so I avoid escalation at all costs. Friends often ask me why I’m not a US citizen. I’ve viewed renouncing my citizenship as an explicit rejection of the country that nurtured me, which hasn’t felt right, and seemed like a big and unnecessary step.

Until now. Such situations make me aware of the possibility of some absurd unforeseen event triggered by the whims of an aggressive small-town cop. I need to get myself some rights.

I’m still somewhat baffled by the cop’s behavior. At the end of the ordeal, he gave me a breathalyzer test. Why didn’t he just start with it in the first place if he truly suspected alcohol? When I passed that test, he said that most people lie, muttered an apology, and left abruptly.

I’ve been scratching my head about what happened. Was it a racial thing? I don’t think so. I’ve had scores of racial incidents in my lifetime, especially in my youth when I had long hair and a black beard, but this didn’t feel racial. Besides, I don’t come across as someone fresh off the boat, my English was as good as that of the cop, and my partner is as blond as they get.

Could he have really thought I was drunk? Very unlikely, considering we were talking for twenty minutes and I showed no such signs. My partner heard and watched the interaction and said I showed no signs of instability, incoherence, or rudeness.

The only explanation that makes any sense to me is that the cop knows about the fancy house and the well-to-do out-of-towners who must revel there occasionally. He was obviously parked very close to the house. I’m guessing that it must get boring for a small-town cop in Leeds, with its population of four hundred people.

The Political Spectacle

Mulling over whether I should become a US citizen reminds me of an essay by my friend and previous podcast guest Paul Sheard who became an American citizen a few years ago. One of my takeaways from his essay was that Americans treat political parties more like sports teams that they support. Paul noted that Americans tend to say "I am a Democrat" more than "I support the Democrats" or "I vote Democrat."  The result is that election outcomes hinge on a small section of uncommitted voters who care more about the issues than supporting a team. This is especially true in the few swing states.

Influencers also seem to matter a lot now, thanks to technology. Republicans roped in Hulk Hogan, who ripped off his shirt at the Republican convention, as he told Americans about Trump’s kindness. Democrats would love to get Taylor Swift behind them along with millions of her fans.

In a 1958 interview with Mike Wallace, Aldous Huxley, the author of Brave New World, warned that technology would create a world where leaders would not be the most qualified ones, but good marketers using clever “devices” for persuasion. It looks like he was right. It highlights more than ever the need for an informed electorate, who vote on the basis of issues instead of personality.

Gimmicky ads were on full display after the Democrats decided to go with Kamala Harris. Some were becoming personal attacks, but they’ve thankfully leveled off, perhaps due to the Olympics. One of my favorites was whether Kamala is really black, or whether she’s more Indian than black, which is summed up nicely by the satirical John Stewart: when they sent her DNA to 23andMe, it broke the computer.