Watching City Hall #327, (11-5-04)
“You’re going downnn!!!”
(Officer Jack Santos, SFPD)
I wish I could kick Santos’ ass. A good, solid ass-kicking. Unfortunately, I’m old and small and weak (facts taken into account by the sadist bully when he attacked me in front of City Hall) … Along with his partner of that evening and Officer Krepps who signed for the arrest because: “Well, if he’s homeless, then he’s going to jail!!”
Those 3 SFPD definitive pigs and the punk ass Sheriff’s Deputy (Touahan, or something like that) … the Deputy who let all of the prisoners in jail at 850 Bryant know that Bush had stolen another election by going cell to cell, banging on the doors (and later on the speaker system) … chanting: “Four more years! Four more years!!”.
Assholes like that have no business carrying badges and guns. Unfortunately, like the gang bangers in the projects, they often get them from their families.
Santos and Fagan, partners against crime.
Did I say “against”? I meant, of course, “in”. Did you know that the guy who almost broke my arm and stomped on my hand’s pop was once the Deputy Police Chief? … Oh yeah, they take care of their own. Know who his partner was in narcotics? Why it was Alex Fagan Sr.! … Will coincidences ever cease?
Now, I’m still pissed-off and I don’t want to do a serious number on the ‘thug-begats-thug’ theme without finding out more about Jack Santos’ old man. Maybe he was a saint. Let me know what you know and I’ll do a piece on it. It is a curiosity that entire families of blackguards seem to inhabit the San Francisco Police Department. I was reading just this morning that Fagan Jr.’s partner, David Lee’s dad is a police sargeant here and that he has “other relatives on the force” (Chron’s Jaxon Van Derbeken).
“Lie til you die.”
That’s the unofficial POA (Police Officers Association) motto. It is absolutely true and you can ask any cop and some of them will actually admit it. That’s how Fagan Sr. and the rest of the brass beat the conspiracy charges against them when they conspired to sweep their punk-ass sons’ mugging of a couple of innocent citizens under the rug. You know what the tragedy of it all is for the citizens of San Francisco?
Liars and co-conspirators run the force.
Anyone who thinks that Heather Fong runs the SFPD has their head up their ass. The police department is run by POA boss, Gary Delagnes who believes in free speech about as much as Joseph Stalin did. This is the same Gary Delagnes who is in the paper this morning for destroying thousands of newspapers that poked fun at my friend, Dick Hongisto (rip good buddy you danced in my living room, partied and ate and laughed with my friends and I all over town when you barely knew us, and … died while having a screaming match with a beautiful woman way to go Chief, you’d have made a fabulous mayor) … Delagnes hasn’t changed. Like all relatives and liars and thugs in the department, he rose to the top. As ex-officio chief, he’s been circulating a film around the police stations that is designed to stir up his nazi troops. It’s aimed at Police Commissioner, Peter Keane specifically, and every citizen in San Francisco indirectly. It says that if your practice of free speech involves criticism of the cops, the POA will come after you like the Gestapo after a hiding Jew.
When asked about the film, the Pretend-Chief, Fong said she couldn’t comment because she hadn’t seen it. … Heather!! … Heather!!! … Time to wake up! Are you telling us that you can’t control the fascist indoctrination of the force? You “haven’t seen it”? … I mean, God dammit woman, what kind of a leader are you?
I’m an easy target
The cops came after me just like they are coming after Peter Keane and for exactly the same reason. … Because they are a bunch of inbred, stump-jumping knuckle-draggers and they know that as long as they never tell the truth, they can get by with it. Take my case.
Why was Santos there?
That’s a fair question. I mean, I’ve been covering the Hall for 4 years and I’ve never seen the guy. He’s hard to miss too. Well over 6 feet, with a bloated body and disposition that screa ms “STEROIDS!!!”.
The man is a cowardly, lying asshole. First, he wants to charge me with resisting arrest. … Too many witnesses. … then, he decides on drunk in public. Could have been. Could have been. I mean, I usually am. But, when I demanded that he be tested for steroids, no one cared to call my bluff. … These charges failing (the Sheriff’s deputies weren’t too happy about the prick showing up down at the jail and juggling my possessions to try and find another charge) … on that line.
Gold, cash & pot
I’m usually flat broke. I surf from couch to couch and as long as I have a couch (they’re running out ) … but, as long as I have the basic GA (General Assistance) grant of $410 a month and a place to hang my head, I’m OK. I, as Lennon said: “Get by with a little help from my friends.”. It just happened that I’d been paid that day and had $141 in cash in my wallet and 3 small buds of pot in a plastic bag ($40 from ‘The Vapor Room’ on Haight good shit, which came in handy after big Jack Santos did a ‘Daly’ routine attempting a spiral fracture on my left elbow bystanders said he smiled broadly when I screamed in pain) … so, I had this pot and when Santos found out, he started yelling at the Sheriff’s deputies that he wanted to add that as a charge against me. They pointed out to him that my wallet contained a legal San Francisco ID allowing me to purchase medicinal marijuana (does he have one for steroids?) and it was legal for me to purchase pot (which came in handy for the pain after his chicken-shit brutal assault). … Santos is standing there in the middle of a hundred prisoners and a dozen deputies, screaming that he wants me brought up on state charges for having less than a sixteenth ounce of pot. … He really did that.
The deputies really told him to blow it out his ass too. Naw, they didn’t want to be involved. Nope, they saw this one coming from way down the road. This is the same lockup where some idiotic deputies (on order, no doubt, from the POA) strip and body-cavity searched a 70 year old nun and left her nude in a cold cell overnight to try and dissuade her from demonstrating for free speech and liberty. That’s gonna cost everyone in town dearly. I sure hope it does. … At any rate, the deputies (other than the ‘4 more years’ dweeb, who came around and shook their hands and congratulated them and shit like that) … the rest of the deputies weren’t gonna lose their jobs for this mother fucker.
A hostage negotiator
I swear to God, they brought a hostage negotiator to my cell to assure me that they’d be freeing me at any moment and that everything would be all right. … I didn’t know the guy was a hostage negotiator. I just knew that suddenly, someone showed up who had an even-keel and a rational approach. As he walked away, I called out to him: “Hey man, you got people skills. He turned and kind of laughed and replied: “I’m a hostage negotiator.” Didn’t catch his name. We both laughed at the irony that both of us knew that I was a ‘hostage’ and nothing more. Imagine, sending a negotiator to talk to the hostage instead of his captors. Strange shit, indeed. The guy did a good job. Good cop.
“He didn’t do anything, you did.”
That’s what the deputies told the other prisoners when they complained that the door to my cell was left open most of the time I was there. … Thug cops seeking support in their lies and actions from Sheriff’s deputies. A long ride through the night alone listening to officer Krepps do a series of Fajitagate conversations from the front of the van about what he should do with me. … Folks, I was starting to be concerned that perhaps Delagnes put the thug Santos and his barbarian partner there on the front stairs of City Hall just to harass press in general and perhaps, even, to catch me individually, take me to the Bayview (which is where Krepps had driven) and kill me.
“Take me to a police station now!!”
“I can hear you!” … “I can hear you!!” … “Take me to a police station now!!” … … That’s what I was yelling at Krepps through the panel that separated the front of the cop van from the back. He sounded confused when he spoke again to whomever he was speaking (Delagnes?). “He wants to be taken to a police station.” He turned the van around and headed back for 850 Bryant.
Folks, I want to stress this. I owe, at least my freedom, and, perhaps my life, to the people who were trailing behind me when I tried to enter the front door of City Hall on election night. Amy Laitenan, Rich Hillis, Carlos Petroni, Pat Murphy (of the Sentinel who took pictures) and a number of others. Santos and Krepps and the punk partner screamed threats at them too but they held their ground and immediately sent out a broadcast of my situation. When I later learned the people who were looking for me, I was astounded. It went from Jack Davis and Alex Clemens, to Matt Gonzalez and Eric Mar. Sue Betts blasted e-mails and there were calls that came from government officials as far away as Sacramento. Delagnes was stopped in his tracks. You can bet your ass that Heather Fong never had a clue that an infamous online satirist had been snatched from the stairs of City Hall and was missing. Thank you, my friends.
Gonzalez dusts off his license
I’m proud to say that Matt Gonzalez is a good friend of mine. That fact could be what saved my life on election night. I’d had a hell of a great day til then for a reporter (I’m actually a ‘satirist’ you look up the difference) … I’d crashed in Windy Chien’s spare room the previous couple of nights. I met her last year when I was ‘Propaganda Minister’ for the Gonzo for Mayor campaign and she was the pretty, young organizer of the: ’30 parties in 30 days’ arm of our effort. (Windy’s record store in the Sunset made her the Queen of SF recorded music for the previous decade before she sold it and took up the guitar and Gonzo politics.) She was already rushing around the kitchen with her ‘Mirkarimi in 5’ orange ‘T’ shirt. I followed her out the door after a few minutes and walked from 26th and Mission down to the welfare office at 1235 Mission to track down my tardy bi-monthly remittance. Along the way, I sparred with Ammiano supporters at 24th and Mission where the signs of all candidates except Tom had been conveniently removed during the night.
I kicked into the big hall of the destitute at the City’s main welfare office, left a message for my case worker and after an agreed half hour, headed over to the Department of Elections to again try to answer the unfathomable question of: “Just how big a turkey is John Arntz?”. Along the way, I stopped at a couple of check cashing outlets used by the City and found my funds! Oh happy, day.
“I may get 50,000 absentees today!”
“If you need that many!” That’s what I shot back. Arntz (who has the same tailor as the Maytag repairman) was not answering (later, he said that he has 70,000 uncounted ballots enough to fix the School Board race, plus 4 supervisor contests stand by and don’t say I never told you). … Leaving the Hall, I heard a car honking.
It was Matt Gonzalez on his way out to do a merchant walk in the Sunset with Pat Gray, the Green party congressional candidate running against Tom Lantos. Matt draws a crowd.
People literally get off of buses miles before their destinations to shake his hand and thank him for his work. Within 20 minutes of our arrival at 9th and Irving, the 4 corners occupied by the Gray workers and their signs had company.
Phoenix Streets, Deputy Public Defender, Matt pal, and candidate for Matt’s District 5 supe seat slowed down in one of those motorized cable cars that look like the real thing. He was smiling broadly, but I noted that he was heading into District 7 with his banner festooned steed. … Good people aren’t always the best campaigners.
Susan King was on the corner with her people within 10 or 20 minutes. Mirkarimi’s troops came shortly thereafter, followed by a few Haaland supporters who had grafted themselves to Ross’ ass for the final couple of weeks of the campaign. Others came, but I lost count. Matt took his welfare buddy to lunch at a pizza parlor that served beer up the street.
“Is that Matt Gonzalez?”
The waiter said that when Gonzo was away answering one of those calls that cannot go unanswered. “He is a noble man.” … I nodded. I thought. … It pretty much summed up our support and harassment of the guy. By his accent and looks, I made the waiter out to be a Latino immigrant. I let my mind wonder to potential campaigns outside of San Francisco. To the South. Where the weather is warmer. There are even deserts. We could drive in caravans and party over the cliffs of Big Sur. Christ, who was to keep us from …
This piece is long enough. I’ll do another about getting out of the pen and the late night drink with Hillis and the rescue by Charles Kalish and the 7 hours the next day at SF General and on an on. Let me bottom line it.
Matt will represent me Monday morning at 850 Bryant at 9am for some kind of misdemeanor charge that will probably be dropped. It might make good theatre if you’re into that kind of thing. It will be, far as I know, Matt’s first new case since he was elected to the Board in 2000. I’m honored for that.
I won’t sue the City. Not my style. If pig, asshole Santos had actually broken my arm, I’d have put aside my rule on that one and gone after them. I will file complaints with the OCC (a benign rubber-stamp which regularly rubber-stamps police brutality ‘Office of Citizen Complaints’) … I’ll file complaints (which Heather Fong will bury for a year only thing she can do is cover up for corrupt cops) … I’ll file complaints against the 3 cops who abused my sorry old ass and the dip shit leader of ‘Deputies for Bush’ who led the Abu Ghrahib chant at City jail. I compliment Sheriff Hennessey for learning from the recent past that raping people in jail for their political beliefs is probably not a good idea. His deputies, as I mentioned were pretty much cool (a couple made a point of coming by my cell to tell me that they agreed with my political beliefs and that: “My candidate lost too.”) … The next hit on the charts is Monday. Unless you want to stop by Gonzo’s office in 3 hours and check out his second-to-last art party. I won’t be showing my bruises, but I’ll flirt with you if you’re a girl.