OFFICER CHAUVIN’S CHOKING MURDER: WHAT WAS THE MOTIVE.

Does anyone really believe that Minnesota Officer Derek Chauvin strangled George Floyd to death because he happened to be a black man? If so, I’ve got some palm trees to sell you in Fairbanks. 

     Old timers remember Paul Harvey as a famous talk-show host (and author) from 20th century best known for his alluring come-on, “Now, here’s the rest of the story.” There surely is more to the story of George Floyd’s untimely and torturous death on May 25th at the hands of Officer Derek Chauvin, that we yet know about.

     We all witnessed the horrendous violence that followed across the nation, which makes no sense because rioters were destroying their own neighborhoods where citizens had nothing whatsoever to do with the killing. Violent protesters gained nothing but non-stop media attention focusing exclusively on a single entity: Racism.

     Racism sells. It stokes the fires of discourse, valid or not.

     Such were the reasons for mega-millions of dollars worth of destruction in over seventy-five cities and nearly two dozen people killed, for nothing. Floyd’s killing exploded mass anger, demonstrations and attacks by rioters on city streets and neighborhoods all over America. People were led to believe Derek Chauvin’s motive was “racism,” pure and simple. According to news sources, at least twenty-one people have died in the riots, including 77 year-old David Dorn, a black Philadelphia retired cop, shot by burglars breaking in to a pawn shop. At least 55 businesses were invaded just in Philadelphia alone.

In all murder cases brought to court, proving motive is very important. So what was the motive in Mr. Floyd’s killing? Racism?

     I think not.

     All the actions (and inactions) of the people involved tell us that the killer and the victim knew each other because they had worked on and off for years at a local bar and restaurant, one as  a bouncer the other a security person. Interviews with some of the patrons acknowledged that the two knew each other.

     Officer Derek Chauvin did not make the arrest (passing counterfeit money). Chauvin was not on the scene until two rookie cops already had Floyd cuffed and subdued outside on the street. It was in this period that Chauvin took over Floyd settling on the street and began applying the deadly knee-to-neck on Floyd for over eight minutes. That’s no accident.

     For what purpose? Because George Floyd was black? I seriously doubt that. The crime clearly occurred in the presence of witnesses. Chauvin knew that. Through experience and background, Chauvin had to know that strangle-holds are deadly, especially after 60 seconds, yet eight minutes. Chauvin kept his knee on Floyd’s neck at least six minutes while alive, then two more after he was dead. That scenario tells me,( a thirty-year police veteran), the killing was deliberate.

     George Floyd was no saint. In this instance, he allegedly had tried to pass a counterfeit $20 bill. He had a number of run-ins with the law in his past, including a five year period in prison for armed robbery in Houston. Before that, Floyd had been arrested numerous times, with lesser sentences in jail, mostly drug crimes. According to the autopsy, Floyd was under the influence of drugs; Fentanyl and methamphetamine.  

     Meanwhile, Chauvin’s seventeen years on the force taught him the rights, wrongs and nuances of violent policing. During those eight long minutes, Floyd was pleading, “I can’t breathe.” Chauvin clearly had to hear that.

     I don’t know if Chauvin’s motive stemmed from very personal issues between the two. Perhaps Floyd had something on Chauvin. Perhaps, it had something to do with counterfeiting. Perhaps Chauvin was high. Floyd was certainly neutralized. The excessive force was unnecessary. A veteran seventeen-year cop isn’t going to risk his pension by arbitrarily deciding to kill another man already in restraints, in the presence of witnesses and cameras, just because he was black. Makes no sense.

     Decrying “racism” is to be expected. But I don’t believe “racism” had anything to do with this crime. We still need to know, “the rest of the story”

     Paul Harvey, where are you?

 

(Marshall Frank, is a retired police captain from Miami-Dade, serving 30 years,including 16 years in Homicide. He has authored 15 books fiction and non-fiction. Visit amazon.com or order direct from author for signed copies, at www.marshallfrank.com

WANNA BE A COP?

Here’s a story about a really bad cop.

     Imagine. You’re a career police officer (white) in a medium-sized city with five years on the job. Wife pregnant in 2014. You support your loved ones as well as the extended family in uniform. You back up other cops when their lives may be in jeopardy. You have testified in hundreds of criminal and traffic cases. A few times in your career, you have faced the barrels of pistols and shotguns, or other weapons.

     You give to the community not only with special activities at on holidays, but as role models for all citizens because you served your community well. You have been awarded special acknowledgements for gallant bravery doing your job. You have risked your life every day on the job.

     You would be ready at any time to save human lives, entering a house on fire, bringing kids to safety or pulling a crash victim from a burning car.

     Yes, some encounters became physical, not by your choice, but by the choice of lawbreakers. You might still have nightmares over killing a black teen who was trying to kill you. But it was, truly, an act of self-defense. No matter. That 18 year-old “boy” had just committed a strong-arm robbery and weighed over 300 pounds, and showed intent to kill you.

     As though on cue, the community ignited into a riotous uproar, declaring you to be a murderer, that the killing of that teen was an act of racism, pure and simple… because you were white and the kid was black. That was the only issue that mattered. Anything you ever did before in your dedicated years of service is null and void, like they never happened.

     Some news media people saturated the scene with cameras and reporters, making sure to get on-scene comments from citizens, many of whom are inspired by hatred. For some stupid reason, “protesters” decided to torch stores, cars and residences showing “unity” among fellow blacks. Cops were declared the “enemy.”

     It doesn’t end there.

     You were an officer who had an exemplary record, yet was declared guilty by segments of the news media and the angry mobsters, long before any court proceedings began. It stirred hatred. The city boiled over with violence. It didn’t matter that the behemoth “boy” had just robbed a grocery store, along with a smaller friend. You were caught off guard as the “boy” suddenly punched you officer in the face through the car window. Then the “boy” reached through and grabbed your gun, which discharged two times. A tussle ensued, the officer kept the gun.

     You were now obligated to arrest the criminal. It’s your job. As the boy started to walk off, you rightfully informed he was under arrest for a litany of felony crimes, including resisting arrest. “Stop! you hollered, gun in hand. The “boy” turned around, lunged forward and began charging you in a menacing manner. There was no choice. There was no time. You knew your life was in jeopardy. You fired several shots. The boy lay dead.

     Never mind that a half-dozen civilian witnesses, all black, later testified at a Grand Jury, that the officer was, indeed, innocent of any wrong doing. Two television media outlets went after ratings as journalists and entertainers from CNN and MSNBC, and The View, condemned the officer, mimicking the “boy’s” outstretched arms, shouting “hands up, don’t shoot.”  It was a lie. The “boy” never said that. It was made up, for effect. You were labeled a “killer” and a “racist” to satisfy them.

     Your name is Darren Wilson. You had been a Ferguson cop with a stellar record for five years. You grew up in multi-ethnic neighborhoods and particularly enjoyed working with blacks, according to a 2015 article in the New Yorker.

     The simmering remains. Just one year ago, the family of the deceased Michael Brown, hired lawyers to file suit against the city. After all, why not?

     Where is Darren Wilson today?  According to a recent interview, he’s living in a low-income neighborhood, incognito. Other than cheap labor, he can’t get a job. He owns a small house, but his name is not on the deed for self protection. When his baby daughter was born, he would not agree to release names in the family. They live in fear of retribution, for doing his job. His future is driven by protecting his wife and child, and to survive.

     Darren Wilson did nothing wrong. He did what was required of him as a police officer. He also saved his own life. Whatever goodness Wilson did in his life, has all been erased. His chances for prosperity and happiness are gone.   

     That’s what you call, a victim.

     Every encounter that leaves a black man dead at the hands of a cop in today’s world is a target on the firing line. The circumstances do not matter. Retribution matters. Police hatred matters. Chaos matters.

     Anyone out there wanna be a police officer today?

 

“A BOY WHO MATTERED” – (non-fiction) tells the story of a 58 year-old drug addict who died a lonely death after a lonely life. He was my son. Available at amazon.com or, signed copies available from the author, yours truly, free shipping. Just order from me at MLF283@aol.com and send check for $15 to P.O. Box 411841, Melbourne, Fl 32941.

ANNIVERSARY THANKS

 

Who woulda thunk it?

     They said it would never succeed, this thing called “marriage.” Suzanne had two failed attempts of matrimony that spanned some fifteen years, and worse yet, my first four marriages ended in divorce court, spanning a total of 19 years.

     Then came the moment in January 8th, 1987 when I was attending a birthday party for an eight-year old nephew, Suzanne walked through the door. She had worked as a hairdresser with the boy’s mother. It was a crowded room, but no one else was there but Suzanne and me. Voices blabbered in the background, but the center of attention was too much of a draw. This woman had a glow.

     Not only was she beautiful in her conservative attire, including high heels and her blond hair fixed to perfection. She had poise. She exuded perfection and confidence. She spoke fluent French. I started posing questions, friendly of course. She was open and forthcoming, nothing to hide, confident. She seemed amused that I was so attentive.

     At the time, we were both still married but separated awaiting the final decree from a judge. We both swore we would never do that again. Yes, we could be friends, but that was all. Not only that, we did not want to field the negative smirks and prognostications from friends and acquaintances.

     I took her to the movies. We went on dinner outings. We went to the beaches. We swore to each other, we would go no further. Though each in our 40s, Suzanne treated the relationship like a string of blind dates, no fooling around.  Getting physical was off limits. (well, for a while)

     After a few months of us both warning myself not to get serious, I realized I had fallen in love. It was the real thing. I thought about her night and day. Nothing in my past could compare. I had met the perfect woman…finally. I only hoped she would feel the same toward me.

     I proposed on Valentine’s Day in 1989 (well, kinda), at a swanky revolving rooftop restaurant in Ft. Lauderdale. After entering the dining room, I stealthily handed the Maitre D a tiny box, gift wrapped, and instructed him to wait fifteen minutes, then bring it to Suzanne. Yes…it was a ring.

     “Oh my,” she exclaimed, before opening the box. “Isn’t that nice. They give away a little chocolate on Valentine’s Day.” She saw me staring back at her with a wry smile. “Oh,” she said, curiously. “That’s not a chocolate, is it?”

     I nodded. This was such an important moment, it had to go right. She saw me starting to tear. She looked at the box, then at me, then the box again. As she awaited my proposal, I remained emotionally choked. I couldn’t talk. So, with a smile, she looked up at me and asked. “Will you marry me?”

     From that day on, we tell people that it was she who proposed to me.

     Planning a wedding was easy. We’d invite no one, except a witness couple. Who needed to hear the jokes and taunts, doubts and negativity? So we eloped to Hilton Head Island, S.C. where my best friend and his wife owned a condo.

     The wedding took place at the Baynard Ruins, a local historical site in the woods and a weathered building that once served as a southern plantation. Only a sampling of coquina walls remained, the floors were dirt and weeds. A Notary Public lady performed the wedding requirements. Friends, Harvey and Judy stood by. Such, my fifth marriage and Suzanne’s third, was finalized. Suzanne was so happy.

     The “reception party” took place on the tranquil beach, just the four of us, with wine and goodies, using a beach blanket under a bright moon that served as a light bulb in the sky.

     That was thirty-one years ago, this date, June 14, 1989.  We are still on a roll.

     Who woulda thunk it?

     Happy Anniversary, my love. Thank you, for being you.  

 

CONGRATS TO AIDAN – FUTURE SCIENTIST

This…from a proud grandfather.

Just wanted the world to know that Aidan Lytle, age 24, a Junior/Senior at University of North Carolina, Greensboro, has received a certificate of High Scholarship in Math and Physics, as he posts a 4.0 grade average.  He is presently researching Heavy Ion Collisions in Nuclear Physics and the effects of network topology on population dynamics in evolutionary graph theory. 

Don’t feel bad, I can’t translate that either.

Yes, he has brains oozing out his ears. Must be in the genes.

Aidan, who is also a Parris Island trained Marine, is also an accomplished musician. Like many of us, he has had his share of struggles in life, but manages to emerge as he reaches for the top. He’s a very special young man.

If you like, please drop a note at the end of this blog…let him know he’s special.

 

               

 

MICHELLE LIKELY TO RUN AS VP RUNNING MATE

As the Democratic VP prize is nearing the next election, there is a lot of speculation about which woman Biden will select.  (After all, he did promise to appoint a woman)
I’ve been writing about this for three years. Most folks think I’m nuts, after all, she has no in-office experience.  Holding office doesn’t matter, it’s winning that matters…even if it’s Daisy Mae or AOC.
Rush Limbaugh took to his radio show today and predicted that Michelle Obama will be Biden’s running mate, and how that would assure Obama of another 8 years, defacto, in the Oval Office again. I felt like calling Rush and ask if he gleaned that from me.
Then I recalled writing my own predictions 2 and 3 years ago.  Here are the articles:
(Note: Item #2)
PREDICTIONS 2017 | Marshall Frank
Also, in 2018, I had predicted that Michelle Obama will be the likely VP running mate, or presidential nominee, regardless who led the field. Check it out:
MICHELLE OBAMA STRONGEST 2020 DEM. CANDIDATE – Op-Ed | Marshall Frank
And now, with the left-media behind her, the predictions are beginning to manifest.
It’s all about power.
Rush Limbaugh suggested that Biden might get elected with Michelle as #2, then resign after taking office. Anything is possible.
Your thoughts welcome.
 
MF