The FBI and I

I HAVE SOMEWHAT OF A ROCKY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE FBI. But who doesn't? It all started in February, 1991, when I was minding my own business,leisurely strolling along a usually busy street in one of america's premier college towns with a few hundred friends, carrying a homemade sign which read "no war for oil!". Actually, I can't remember whether there was an exclamation point at the end, I should have saved the sign. I may have gotten burned in a subsequent community related activity. I had an american flag draped across my shoulders, as I recollect, with absolutely no intention of burning it. No reason, those things cost money. Seemed harmless enough, a little public display of patriotism, and it helped keep me warm. I didn't even get into any fights with the real patriots of the pro war sort lining the sidewalk, although I gave it a good try, and had to be restrained by one of my students when I went walking towards some bastard who called me a 'traitor", I would have thrown a punch, but my student, an ex marine with a black belt in some martial art or other, suggested I continue walking. I did as advised. That damned war mongering bastard never knew ow lucky he was, or maybe it was I who never knew, and still don't. When the walk ended and the speech making began, I happened to glance up and noticed a pair of well dressed gentlemen on top of a nearby building, looking at us through binoculars. FBI, somebody informed me. I smiled and waved, but neither gentleman waved back, nor seemed amused or the least bit cheerful. maybe they were merely preoccupied. I managed to make it home, with sign and flag, which, again, might have been the most fortunate of all possible outcomes. That was only the beginning of what would become a long relationship with America's top investigatory agency..........Chapter two......After the attack on Pearl harbor, my father, 23 years old and fresh out of law school, tried to join the FBI. They quickly saw through the scam, and sent him to the naval enlistment office down the street. He entered as a Lt. second grad, and survived the war. But had he not, I wouldn't be alive now, which would greatly piss me off, so, strike two against the FBI............Chapter three......One fine day several years ago at my favorite drive thru liquor store, I was complaining to the lady in the window about the scarcity of good reading material in our tiny town, so she flung a paperback through my rear window, which fortunately was rolled down, and said: "here, read this." I ignored it for several months, while it gathered dust in my back seat. One day, while performing the extremely rare function of cleaning out my car, I came across it, read the cover, which said: "/the Street Lawyer", by John Grisham. J haven't looked back. I went through his entire opus, and now each October I wait anxiously, as I am beginning to do now, for his next release. One thing about John Grisham, he writes great books, and he does not like the FBI, at all. In each of his wonderful novels, the Fibbies are portrayed as merciless, cut throat thugs, willing to do anything to accomplish their assigned task. They're not always totally bad, but close enough....foul ball, count remains at strike two.......Several years ago, a good friend of mine was suspected by the FBI of being a serial killer, for reasons irrelevant for purposes here. They put my friend through hell, just by labeling him a "person of interest". Seized and ransacked his computer, staked out his house night and day, all that. They interviewed everyone who knows him, including me. The interview didn't go well. They seemed to sense my anger, my contemptuous attitude, and maybe my fear. They kept reminding me of my obligation to be forthcoming. I came within a hair's breadth of telling them where they could put their estimate of my civic responsibilities, but didn't, which might be why I lived to tell about it. Funny thing is, everybody in town, everybody who knew my friend knew damned good and well that he was entirely innocent of all serial murders, but, how are you gonna explain that to a gang of thugs? There was even a national television program devoted to the investigation, in which the bastards told one lie after another. Months went by, and one fine hot humid summer afternoon I lost it, and went walking into the local FBI office, all charged up, dressed as usual like a counter cultural hippie, and walked up to a bullet proof glass window, at a desk behind which sat a very stern, well dressed young man with an ID badge and sidearm. I introduced myself, explained the purpose of my visit, politely I thought, and suggested that perhaps the investigation might be taking a bit long, seeing as how my friend had a life to live, and all. The severe young man looked straight at me, informed me that this particular office had no specific jurisdiction over this matter, and suggested that I have a nice day. I've always been good at taking a hint, and I walked out, at a quick step, grateful to be doing so, and grateful to be allowed to do so, without being detained against my will or incurring any bodily damage. My friend was eventually cleared of suspicion, but the sons of bitches didn't even convey to him the slightest expression of regret.......strike three. John Grisham was right all along............PLEASE DO US A FAVOR,, AND TELL OTHER PEOPLE ABOUT THIS BLOG