Jailhouse Rocky, Part 3

I longed to be a chick magnet back in 1991, but alas, I was more of a cop magnet. I must have smelled like dozens of donuts or something.

I had just been thrown in jail for beer in the park the previous summer. Now four short months later, I would soon wonder if I was being "profiled" - The police now targeting husky smartass 20-something white kids. Bastards.

It was the night before Homecoming at North Dakota State Univeristy. Not a creature was stirring that Friday night at the fraternity, not even a mouse. Really. Everyone was out at the bars. The "pre-party" really only started about 1 or 2 AM.

I had just gotten off work from the newspaper and was enjoying a couple of cool ones with my buddy Grant, who also had just arrived back at the house from his work shift. Soon, we were joined by three other poor bastards who were trying to put themselves through school. We were just hanging out, shooting the breeze, wondering how many levels of drunkeness we were behind the throng of people who would soon be coming home from the bars.

Then, out of nowhere, a Fargo police cruiser screeched to a halt in front of our fraternity house. The officer inside shone a spotlight on us for about 2 seconds, then pulled over on a side street and turned on his cherries.

The officer walked up to the front porch cautiously, one hand firmly gripping a huge flashlight he was shining on us and the other firmly on his holstered revolver. Grant jokingly asked if this was about that panty raid 3 years ago.

"All right, what's going on here?" the officer barked.

"Uhhh, we're just hanging out having a couple of beers," I said. "We all just got off work and are winding down."

"IDs now!" he shouted.

"Why?" Grant asked.

"Because I don't think any of you are old enough to drink, that's why!" he snapped.

This was amusing because I was the young pup of the group at 22. The rest of the guys ranged between 23 and 25. After showing our proof of age, we kind of thought that would be the end of it, so we kept on drinking and visiting.

Suddenly, the cop asked who lived at the fraternity. Out of the five of us, only Grant and I did. He asked us to come back to the squad car and chat for a bit. We did, thinking nothing of it. But the next thing you know, he's driving away with us in the backseat.

"What did we do?" Grant asked. "Why have we been arrested?"

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Just cooperate and everything will be fine."

"But what are we being arrested for?" I asked.

"Don't make this difficult," he said. "Let's just say that this is life in the fastlane."

"What the fuck?" Grant, who was even more outspoken than me, said. "What's with this Dirty Harry bullshit?!"

Dirty Harry drags us into the Cass County jail about 5 minutes later. We announced to the booking area that we've been arrested, but haven't been read our rights or told what we've been arrested for.

A supervisor pulled Dirty Harry into a small office that has a window. We couldn't hear what the superior officer was telling Dirty Harry, but it was obvious he was getting his ass chewed sideways. When Dirty Harry emerged from his meeting, he informed us we were going down for "loud party ordinance."

"Loud party? There were five of us and we didn't even have a radio on, you fucking pelican," Grant said. "What a bunch of bullshit!"

"Tell it to the judge," Dirty Harry smirked.

Dirty Harry was joined by a red-haired deputy, Carrot Top, to book us. He was just as big an asshole as Dirty Harry. Grant and I made a lot of "ooo" and "aahhh" noises while we were being frisked as if we were watching breath-taking stunts at a circus.

"Rocky, don't let Carrot Top get to third base with you," Grant said. "Tell him you don't go that far on the first date."

Carrot Top was ready to frisk my lower extremities at this point. He told me to "spread 'em," but I only opened my legs a few inches. He repeatedly told me to spread 'em, but I would only comply with an inch or two at a time. Finally, Carrot Top started trying to kick my legs apart. But I had my heels dug into that fucking concrete. Carrot Top was about half my size and just couldn't get them apart. The whole booking area was laughing because he was getting very flustered.

"Is that gum in your mouth, son?" Carrot Top asked. "You need to spit that out now."

"What?!" I asked. "It's just juicy fruit."

"I said spit it out, kid," he yelled. "Remove the gum, now!"

"Why?" I asked, spitting the gum into his hand. "Do you think I'm fucking MacGyver or something and am going to build a bomb with my wad of gum and a toilet paper tube?"

As we were being led into the jail area, Grant and I could hear dozens of abortion protesters who were arrested earlier that day singing "Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore." Grant and I joined in the singing, but were doing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" in a round. This got the abortion protesters riled up, so Carrot Top marched us down to our own private wing where we could only amuse ourselves.

No sooner was Grant in his cell (they separated us), then he kind of went nuts. He threw three rolls of toilet paper into his shitter and flushed it about six times, flooding our wing. I wasn't that bold, so I just grabbed a tin cup and started rattling on the bars of my cell while singing "Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen..."

"Hey, Rocky," Grant said after he spotted an open phone book about 10-12 feet away on a table in the cell wing's common area, "watch this shit!"

He proceeded to climb to the top rung of horizontal bars in his cell, dropped his pants to his knees, and started pissing on the phone book. It was an impressive stream, similar to that of a fire hose. It looked like he had the talent to piss over a bus - the long way - if he would have wanted to. Anyway, a minute later, the phone book was sporting a more golden hue.

"Now they're really the yellow pages!" he screeched.

"Yeah, but instead of your fingers, you let your dick do the walking," I joked.

Carrot Top heard all the hysterical laughing and ruckus over this and returned to our cell area. Needless to say, he flipped when he saw the toilet had flooded. He was absolutely horrified when he saw the sopping yellower pages.

"You sick sonuvabitches," he snarled, re-checking our cell doors to make sure they were secure. "I don't know how the hell you did it, but I know one of you fuckers got out and pissed on it!"

About 20 minutes later, Carrot Top delivered the news that a fraternity alumnus had posted a $2,000 check to spring us both out of jail (the rich dude also took us out to eat at Taco John's later). I was released immediately, but Grant was detained until he mopped up the floor from his flooded toilet and threw away the soiled phone book.

We actually had to go to court over the "charges." We were facing up to $1,500 fines and 90 days in jail over this party ordinance (punishment usually reserved for those throwing a kegger for hundreds of people). Luckily, the best attorney (he's not my cousin, but I'll call him Vinny) in the state happened to be an alumnus of our fraternity and took the case for free (and for fun).

He got the case thrown out in about 5-10 minutes. Dirty Harry was the only person to take the stand.

"How far was the porch from the street?" Vinny asked.

"Ummmm, I'm not sure, 20-25 feet?" Dirty Harry replied.

"No, it's 58 yards, I measured it," Vinny said. "So, tell me officer, from a distance of 58 yards in the dark, you thought these young men were underage drinkers?"

"Ummm, yes," Dirty Harry said.

"Did you see bloodshot eyes from that distance?" Vinny asked.

"No," Dirty Harry said sheepishly.

"And after they provided proof they were old enough, why were they arrested?" Vinny asked.

"Because they just kept drinking and talking," Dirty Harry said, his teeth grinding.

"Hmmmm, these legal age men kept drinking on the porch of their house after showing you they had the right to do so," Vinny said. "Isn't the real reason you brought Grant and Rocky to jail that night because they didn't pass your personal attitude test. Which, I might add, no one probably passes. Would you call it good police work to haul in two innocent men for that?"

Our attorney then told the judge about how we were brought in without being read our rights or told why were were being arrested, then detained for 2 hours on a bogus charge. We had 5 witnesses, including neighbors, ready to testify on our behalf that there was no loud party going on that night. But Dirty Harry's testimony was all we needed. The judge had heard enough.

"I see you young men got a little out of hand while in custody," the judge said, reading over our 5-page police report (seriously, it was that long). "Normally this kind of behavior would only get you in more trouble. But under the circumstances that you felt you were being held for no reason, I will look past it today. I dismiss all charges against the defendants."

That was great, but the best part of being thrown in jail twice? That made me the FIRST and SECOND grandchild to be arrested.