Some of you may remember one of the finest people from the 1972 Graduating Class at Billings - Mr.Len Van Marck. Len has quite a life these days - I would say extraordinary. Like others who send their stories to me, he has allowed me to enter this one to this blog. (Non Fiction). Len has been out west for years now but only in the last ten years or so has he changed careers -into the RCMP.
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On Friday night I was responding to a 911 call
of a complaint of an unknown male causing a disturbance. When I got there, I
arrested this guy who had three outstanding warrants. He was messed up on
alcohol and drugs (probably crack). Back in the police car I was reading him
his rights. Whenever I asked him a question he would respond with “You’re a
‘head’, you’re nothing but a ‘head.’” He was frothing at the mouth as he yelled
at me, and all he would say was that I was a “head.”
I thought of saying something clever like “Well,
it’s better to be ahead than behind,” but I thought better of it since it would
probably just aggravate him. Instead, I thought back on the last time someone
asked me if I was a “head.”
It was the late 1960s in grade eight or nine. I
was in class at Billings High School. John Saunders was sitting behind me. He
was sporting an afro and was wearing a head band.
John and I did not have much in common back then
except for football. He was an offensive running back and I was a defensive
back with the high school team and with the Chateauguay Browns. John’s father
was the coach. I had a lot of respect for his dad. He was probably the best
coach I ever had.
Anyway, we were talking football when John
asked, “Are you cool?”
Well, what I’m I going to say to that?
“Sure.” I said.
I guess he wasn’t convinced because he then
asked: “Are you a ‘head’ or a ‘greaser’?
Well, back then, I had a pretty good idea what a
“head” was… that is, someone who smoked dope. But a “greaser?” That sounded
like something out of the 50s. Not wanting to show my ignorance, I responded:
“What do you think?”
John took a quick look around the room and then
asked: “You smoke weed?”
“I’ve tried it.” I said.
“Have you ever bought any?”
“No.”
“Then you’re a “greaser.”
Just then, the teacher walked in and that was
the end of the conversation.
Okay...so, back in the police car this guy was
still yelling a t me, calling me a “head,” periodically hitting his own head
against the Plexiglas whenever he wanted to emphasize a point. Every time he
called me a “head,” he would strike his head against the Plexiglas.
I looked at him through the rear view and waited
until we had eye contact. Then I said, “Actually, I have it on good authority
that I’m not a “head”…I’m a “greaser.”
He suddenly stopped banging his head and stared
at me through to rear-view mirror, his mouth slightly open, still frothing. For
the rest of the trip to jail he did not utter a word. Whenever I glanced back
into the rear view, he was still staring at me.
