Bad Apples, Introduction

Black people are 3.5 times more likely than white people to be killed by police when they are not attacking or have a weapon: George Floyd. Black teenagers are 21 times more likely than White teenagers to be killed by police: Tamir Rice and Antwon Rose. A Black person is killed every 40 hours by police: Jonathan Ferrell and Koryn Gaines. One in every 1,000 Black people are killed by police: Breonna Taylor. And, as sobering as these statistics are, they are improvements to the past. These statistics are the reason why from Minneapolis to Los Angeles people are protesting, marching, and rioting.

We must wonder if we would even know about George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, or Christian Cooper without phone videos. These incidents should make us all wonder how many more like them there are that did not get the opportunity to become martyred hashtags. Most Black people will tell you there are many more unnamed martyrs than named ones. In the words of Will Smith: “Racism is not getting worse. It is getting filmed.”

As I turn 40, I [Rashawn Ray] have been stopped while driving cars, sitting in parked cars, riding on buses and trains, walking, running, studying, eating, and clubbing. I have been cussed out, thrown up against concrete walls, and arrested by police. I have a PhD, am a professor at a major university, and do not have a criminal record. I also have several members of my family who are retired or former police and military. My great uncle, Walter J. Gooch, was the first Black chief of police in my hometown of Murfreesboro, TN. My grandfather, Clarence Williams, served in two wars, receiving a Purple Heart and Bronze Star. I should not even have to say these things because they do not seem to matter much.

As the father of two Black boys, I worry about the moment they will go from cute to criminal in the eyes and minds of so many people; how people will dehumanize their minds, weaponize their Blackness, and criminalize their bodies; how no credential, no degree, no level of income or wealth, no smile, no level of professionalism or grace can protect my babies from the gaze and guise of police violence and white supremacist stereotypes: Christian Cooper and Omar Jimenez (Ray 1-2)

Calls to reform, defund or dismantle police departments are being brought forth as solutions to the systemic racism that pervades many police departments in Texas and across the country. There is a tension between those who believe that there are “a few bad apples” and others who contend that departments in certain municipalities are so problematic that the system of policing has to change (Awad 1).

From Atlanta to Buffalo, New York, officers handling protests are being charged after violent videos spread, contradicting the officers' testimonies. When asked about the incidents, [Trump] national security advisor Robert O’Brien said in an interview with CNN that the issue is the result of a "few bad apples," not a result of systemic racism.

At a House committee hearing on police brutality on Tuesday, Republican Rep. Mike Johnson blamed problems in law enforcement on a "few bad apples."

And on Thursday at a discussion on race relations and policing, President Donald Trump stated, "You always have a bad apple, no matter where you go," claiming bad actors will always be a part of life, but "there aren't too many of them in the police department" (Cunningham 4).

The focus on a few bad apples is misguided at best and dangerous at worst. To root out racism, we need to fix the barrels.

… the killing of George Floyd demonstrates how one bad apple may have spoiled the bunch from a systemic racism perspective.

Derek Chauvin, the officer who is being charged with second degree murder, was able to snuff out George Floyd while three other officers watched and did not intervene. The other three officers are being charged with aiding and abetting second-degree murder, given that it was their inaction that also led to murder.

Let’s assume that Chauvin is the bad apple, a status cemented by at least 17 prior complaints lodged against him. His presence probably ruined the integrity of his fellow officers to the point where they stood by and let their fellow colleague murder a man. However, it was unlikely that Chauvin was the first bad apple in the Minnesota Police Department. Given other prior allegations lodged against the department, there was something about the system itself that corrupted the officers, perpetuating the creation of more bad apples. This gives credence to the notion of systemic racism.

The fact that two of the officers involved in the George Floyd case were rookie officers drives home the point that it is something about the system itself. One was working his third shift as an officer, and the other had been an officer for only four days. They looked to their more senior colleagues to figure out what to do.

The “bad apples” narrative is also being used to describe excessive force used by police officers during these racial protests. Some of the more recent instances caught on camera include: The pushing of a 75-year-old protester by two Buffalo police officers that resulted in the elderly man hospitalized in serious condition. The excessive use of force on college students in Atlanta that included the use of a Taser on one of the students. And a New York Police Department vehicle veers toward a group of protesters.

How many bad apples do you need before the “bunch” is spoiled?

...

In the words of Chris Rock: “Bad apples? Some jobs can’t have bad apples. Some jobs, everybody gotta be good” (Awad 1-3)

Paul Butler is a law professor at Georgetown, a former federal prosecutor, and the author of the 2017 book Chokehold: Policing Black Men. His work has long focused on the fundamentals of America’s criminal justice system and why they keep reproducing the same outcomes for black Americans. Here are excerpts of an interview he did for Vox Magazine.

The point of policing the hood is to demonstrate that the police officer dominates. That he’s the man, regardless of gender, that the officer is the boss, and that everybody else is subordinate. The way that that message is communicated is with fear. Fear for your physical safety. I called this “torture lite” in my book Chokehold, and some people thought that that was extreme. But I was actually thinking about a specific thing in international human rights law, and a specific evolution of torture, from the horrible pulling out of your fingernails to the way it works now — which is to make people feel both humiliated and terrified that anything could happen to them at any moment.

This attitude is present in a lot of police officers who work in communities of color, and it defines the dynamic between them and the people they’re supposed to be serving. It impacts all of us. I went to a fancy college and law school; I have a good job and drive a nice car. But every time there’s a police car behind me, my heart starts beating quickly. Every black man I know has the same story. Because you just never know.

Let’s think about the Floyd case. Before we get to the killing, let’s think about the arrest. The store owner called the police and said that someone had tried to pass a fake $20 bill. The police respond, and what they do is virtually impossible to imagine happening to a white person. What they do is to approach Mr. Floyd’s car like he’s a violent thug. They order Mr. Floyd and the passengers to exit the car. One officer has his hand on his gun. They put Mr. Floyd in handcuffs. When he falls to the ground, they leave him on the ground in handcuffs, and then, as the whole world knows, they hold him down by his back and knee and legs for 10 minutes until he dies. I just can’t imagine that happening to a white person over a $20 bill.

… a lot of the conduct that people of color complain about is totally legal. … The defense [in the George Floyd case] will be that their use of force was reasonable. And they have a case to make. They don’t have a great case, given that Mr. Floyd was handcuffed, but what they will say is that he was resisting arrest and they used reasonable force to subdue him.

Outside of that case, in theory, the power that police have is unreal. I have a police officer buddy who comes and visits my criminal law class, and to demonstrate how much power he has, he invites my students to go on a ride-along in his car, to see what it’s like to patrol the streets of DC. He plays a game with them called Pick That Car. He tells the student, “Pick any car that you want, and I’ll stop it.” So the student will say, “How about that white Camry over there.”

… he says that he could follow any car, and after five minutes or three blocks, the driver will commit some traffic infraction, and then under the law he has the power to stop the car, to order the driver and the passengers to get out of the car. If he has reasonable suspicion that they might be armed or dangerous, he could touch their bodies, he can frisk them, he can ask to search their car. And it’s totally legal. That’s an example of the extraordinary power that police have.

And that extraordinary power, that constitutional power, is used more aggressively against black and brown men than against white soccer moms.

I don’t think police officers are any more racist than law professors or doctors or anybody else. In fact, I think that some people go into that work because they want to be warriors, and that’s not constructive, so when we think about change, we need to think about guardianship as a model, not war.

But I think a lot of people go into the work because they really want to help communities, and they really want to make a difference, and this belief is based on my experience as a prosecutor working with police officers of all backgrounds and of all races. So I don’t think that police officers are especially racist. But I do think we give them tools and authority in a context that leads them to deploy it unjustly against people of color.

So the problem is about culture, and it runs much deeper than a few racists here and there.

[Interviewer]: … how is it that non-racist cops, or cops who set out with good intentions, succumb to perverse incentives and end up enforcing inequalities they themselves would probably reject in the abstract?

The culture of law enforcement is very much a paramilitary culture. You’re part of a team and you have to have each other’s back. Part of the reason your question is so important is that we’re not just talking about white cops, we’re also talking about black cops. Police officers of color get caught up in the same loops. In hip-hop, there’s a lot of interest in black police officers, and the message you often hear is that black officers are actually worse than white officers, because they want to show off for the white cops.

… we can save lives in other ways before we [attempt to] crush white supremacy.

So in the meantime, we can make a difference by teaching cops to intervene when their peers are crossing the line, by teaching them how to deescalate, by changing our entire approach to nonviolent criminal arrests. These things are not going to bring the revolution, but they can save lives.

Martin Luther King says the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice. I hope that’s right. One of the most poignant moments of that horrific video [of Floyd’s death] is there’s a bystander who says to the cop, “Bro, he’s human.” The truth is that I don’t think those police officers saw Mr. Floyd as human. And I’m not sure that’s a problem that can be solved by a reform (Illing 1-6).

A growing body of research suggests that some of the most widely adopted reform efforts have not succeeded at curbing police violence in the ways the policies intended.

Research into the use of body cameras by police officers has showing no statistical difference in behaviors or reduction in force when the cameras are on. Body cameras also haven’t stopped egregious killings, have rarely led to discipline or termination, and have almost never yielded charges or convictions.

In Oakland, California, a police department monitor found that officers were failing to properly turn on cameras nearly 20% of the time.

…

Policies aimed at preventing excessive force and protecting free speech rights at protests have similarly led to little change. In protests across the country this week officers from some of the same departments that enacted reforms were seen violating those policies.

“The issue is not a ‘bad apples’ problem,” said Alisa Bierria, an organizer with Survived and Punished, a prison abolition group. “There is something specific about the institution of policing that is intrinsically violent.”

In Austin, policy dictates that officers may use beanbag rounds to de-escalate potentially deadly situations or “riotous behavior” that could cause injury. But at one of the early protests after Floyd’s death, police fired a beanbag round at a 16-year-old boy’s head, even though he was alone on a hill far from officers, and appeared to be watching the events. His brother said the ammunition fractured his skull and required emergency surgery.

There is also minimal evidence that implicit bias trainings affect officers’ prejudiced behavior on the job, and some research suggesting they could even be counterproductive, making officers resentful and more entrenched in racist viewpoints. In San Jose, California, earlier this month, a black community activist who had trained police on implicit bias for years, and personally knew the chief and others, tried to de-escalate a confrontation between officers and protesters. Police shot him in the groin with a rubber bullet, possibly preventing him from having children.

These kinds of repeated scandals are reminders that misconduct, abuse and brutality aren’t isolated acts that reforms can fix, activists said.

That idea was exemplified this month in Buffalo when two officers were suspended after video showed them shoving a 75-year-old peace activist to the ground. More than 50 officers, the entire emergency response team, resigned from that unit after the suspension, apparently in support of the two colleagues.

…

But given the failure of many past reforms, a coalition of activists  actively opposes such moderate policy shifts and argues the US needs more radical change, pointing at the failures of past reforms. These activists say that it would not only be a waste of the momentum of these global protests, but that continuing to rely on police departments to address their own violence will simply lead to ongoing harm.

They point at the continued power and influence of police unions and legal protections for police officers accused of wrongdoing and excessive force as barriers to change. If police and politicians who oversee law enforcement continue to adopt policies that focus on fixing individual behaviors, they say, it will not address institutional and deeply embedded cultural problems.

Instead, they are backing efforts to immediately reduce police power and size, as a way to move toward dismantling police departments and creating different models of safety (Levin 1-4).

In order to fundamentally solve police brutality, we have to replant the roots of rotten trees within law enforcement. To deal with rotten roots, America needs to be honest that law enforcement originated from slave patrols meant to capture my descendants who aimed to flee from enslavement. America has not fully dealt with this. We also have to deal with the “above the law” mentality of officers, the fact that fear is used as an excuse to enact force, and the blue wall of silence that extends from police departments to prosecutor’s offices and courtrooms.

Most importantly, there needs to be a restructuring of civilian payouts for police misconduct. Eventually, there will be a large civil payout for the death of George Floyd. Troublingly, his family’s taxpayer money will be used to pay for the dehumanization of his body. Typically, officers are immune from the financial impacts of these civil payouts. Since 2010, the city of St. Louis has paid over $33 million and Baltimore was found liable for about $50 million for police misconduct. Over the past 20 years, Chicago spent over $650 million on police misconduct cases. …

My policy recommendation is for police department insurances to replace taxpayer money concerning civilian payouts for police misconduct. This restructuring will allow for police chiefs to better identify bad apples and justify their removal. Healthcare uses this model to make determinations about physicians. When hospital premiums increase due to medical malpractice, hospitals perform a cost-benefit analysis to determine if physicians should allow to continue surgeries.

Furthermore, bad apples should not be allowed to proliferate and spread to other trees. For many people, it is clear that the Minneapolis officers should have been fired long ago. Chavin has had 18 misconduct complaints against him, as have some of the other officers involved. While being fired instantly sends a clear message about accountability, this should be commonplace in a country that should treat every human life like it matters. However, it needs to be ensured they cannot work in law enforcement again. If this happened with the officers who killed Tamir Rice and Antwon Rose, those teenagers may still be alive (Ray 3-4).

Works cited:

Awad, Germine. “Saying ‘A Few Bad Apples’ Does Not End Systemic Racism in Policing.” UT News, June 22, 2020. Net. https://news.utexas.edu/2020/06/22/saying-a-few-bad-apples-does-not-end-systemic-racism-in-policing/

Cunningham, Malorie. “'A Few Bad Apples': Phrase Describing Rotten Police Officers Used to Have Different Meaning.” ABC News, June 14. 2020. Net. https://abcnews.go.com/US/bad-apples-phrase-describing-rotten-police-officers-meaning/story?id=71201096

Illing, Sean. “Why the Policing Problem Isn’t about ‘a Few Bad Apples’.” Vox, June 6, 2020. Net. https://www.vox.com/identities/2020/6/2/21276799/george-floyd-protest-criminal-justice-paul-butler

Levin, Sam. “’It's Not about Bad Apples': How US Police Reforms Have Failed to Stop Brutality and Violence.” The Guardian, June 16, 2020. Net. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2020/jun/16/its-not-about-bad-apples-how-us-police-reforms-have-failed-to-stop-brutality-and-violence

Ray, Rashawn. “Bad Apples Come from Rotten Trees in Policing.” Brookings, May 30, 2020. Net. https://www.brookings.edu/blog/how-we-rise/2020/05/30/bad-apples-come-from-rotten-trees-in-policing/

 

Crossing the River, Chapter 10, Section 3

Characters Mentioned

Adams, Samuel – Continental Congress delegate. Leader of the rebel patriots of Massachusetts

Browner, Solomon – 18 year old Lexington youth, one of three men sent to scout the road west of Lexington, captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party

Clarke, Rev. Jonas – Lexington minister and influential political leader

Dawes, William – express rider

Gage, General Thomas – commanding general of British forces stationed in Boston

Hancock, John – Rich Boston merchant. Continental Congress delegate

Loring, Jonathan – One of a party of three Lexington men captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party

Lowell, John – John Hancock’s clerk

Mitchell, Major Edward – 10^th Regiment. In command of a body of officers assigned to intercept express riders prior to the raid upon Concord

Parker, Captain John – Lexington militia captain

Patterson, Elijah – Lexington cabinet maker. One of a party of three captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party

Prescott, Dr. Samuel – traveling from his fiancee’s house near Lexington to Concord

Revere, Paul – Boston silversmith and express rider

Chapter 10, “My Name Is Revere,” Section 3

“Keep moving!” the sadistic lieutenant ordered. Using the side of his hanger, he struck the rump of Patterson’s horse.

The party of soldiers that had arrested and detained the three of them had separated into two groups. Patterson’s group, which included three lieutenants, four sergeants, Paul Revere, Loring, Browner, and a peddler whom the soldiers had an hour ago arrested, was riding toward Lexington. The main group, led by the patrol’s fearsome major, had thirty minutes earlier ridden ahead to locate and arrest John Hancock and Sam Adams. That they would not accomplish! They, not Reverend Clarke’s houseguests, would very soon be the hunted! “500 militiamen,” he had heard Mr. Revere say. A mere fifty, intelligently used, would be enough!

Guarded by a sergeant whom the major had instructed, “Take out your pistol. If he runs, kill him!” Revere had for a short time been verbally abused. “Damned rebel” he was! Patterson thought. Ten times the man these flaming cuckolds!

“You are in a damned critical situation,” one of the lieutenants had told Revere.

“I am sensible of it,” had been Revere’s bland reply.

Not having daunted Revere, having good reason themselves to be afraid, the seven soldiers had thereafter been silent.

At the top of Pine Hill, a half mile past the Nelson house, Patterson’s group came upon the lead group, waiting in the road.

The three lieutenants from Patterson’s group and the commanding officer conferred. Watching them, Patterson sized up his situation.

They were a mile and a half from the Common. Was Captain Parker aware of their proximity? Had he sent a rider out to discover why he, Loring, and Browner hadn’t returned? Were militiamen hiding behind trees and stone walls prepared to fight? Would these soldiers refuse to surrender? Would he, in the middle of them, draw fire?

Patterson pictured himself galloping across the Common. An officer or two might fire at him, but he wouldn’t be chased -- the patrol’s safety being too important. If he didn’t do this, what afterward should he expect?! Considering who was in charge, … the worst!

The four officers separated. A minute later the two groups started up. When we reach Lexington, I’ll kick my horse across the Common, Patterson vowed, all the way to Bedford, by God!

His body’s queasy lassitude suggested otherwise.

The toll of the tower bell startled them. It continued to peal. The riders at the front halted. Facing his captives, the wrathful major demanded an explanation.

“The bell's aringing,” Jonathan Loring said.

The officer’s look scorched him.

“The town's alarmed. You're all dead men!” Loring responded.

“I wouldn't be sayin' that,” the sergeant next to Loring whispered.

The major summoned four officers. They conferred. One of them dismounted. He approached Patterson.

“Get off your horse,” he said.

His heart pounding, Patterson dismounted. Wobbling a bit, he extended his right hand.

The officer’s eyes locked on him. “I must do you an injury!”

Patterson’s shoulder blades went numb. “What … are you going to do?” he stammered.

The officer withdrew his hanger. Emitting a high-pitched screech, Patterson lurched backward against the hindquarters of Solomon Browner's horse. The officer laughed. Turning his back, he pressed his blade against the bridle of Patterson’s horse.

Having severed also the horse’s saddle girths, the lieutenant ordered Browner, Loring, and the one-armed tin ware peddler to dismount.

Patterson’s bowels rumbled. Buttock muscles clenched, he watched the sadistic officer labor.

“It makes no sense,” Loring said. “They could simply take ‘em off.”

“They don’t want us usin’ them again, ever,” Browner answered.

“Spiteful bastards!” Loring muttered.

The officer with the hanger flung the last saddle to the side of the road.

“You are released!” Major Mitchell exclaimed, the four of them having looked at him expectantly. “Drive their horses off!” he ordered the sergeant who controlled Paul Revere’s mount. “But not you!” he said to its rider.

“Dismiss me as well.”

“I will not!”

Patterson turned his head. Loring and Browner had already crossed the road. They were scrambling over a rail fence. On the other side, bracing himself, Browner extended a hand to assist the peddler.

Ejecting blasts of gas, Patterson rushed to join them.

“I admit I cannot carry you. But I will not release you! Let the consequence be what it may,” Mitchell declared.

They started up again. They advanced no faster than a vigorous walker.

By now, Revere thought, Sons of Liberty in Concord would be removing the last of the cannon and powder. This time he had not warned them; he was confident that Prescott, or Dawes, had. He had been taken out of it; he would not entertain thoughts of what they might do to him. What that would be he would accept. With dignity. With pride. Rousing the temper of this belligerent officer had given him satisfaction; it would have to be his recompense. Because he had alerted the countryside, because his name inspired anathema throughout General Gage’s cadre, and, most importantly, because he had infuriated this man, nothing, not even the likelihood of capture, would induce the officer to release him.

He was mistaken.

A sudden burst of musket fire halted them.

“What does that mean?!”

“It’s a single volley. To summon Lexington’s minutemen.”

The Major slapped his reins against his saddle. Gritting his teeth, he cursed.

The sergeant controlling Revere’s horse grimaced. Revere saw fear in the soldier’s eyes.

“How far is it to Cambridge?!”

“Twenty miles,” Revere exaggerated.

“Is there another road to Cambridge?!”

“No.”

“Then, … be it so!”

The officer glared at the soldier holding Revere’s reins. “Is your horse tired, sergeant?!”

“Yes sir, he is.”

“Then take this man's beast!” he declared. “Take it!” he shouted.

Averting his face, one of the officers took Revere's reins. The sergeant stripped his own horse. A second officer slapped its rump. Showing no emotion, the first officer ordered Revere to dismount. The sergeant eased himself into Revere’s saddle. His back legs stiffening, the horse, Revere's excellent steed, urinated.

Major Mitchell’s patrol disappeared.

Revere did not dwell on his good fortune. He studied the rocky, wooded hillside north of the road. Going in that direction, cutting across the burying ground, he could save fifteen minutes. If Adams and Hancock had not left the Clarke house, he would have something new and amusing to tell!

Recalling Hancock in robe and slippers wanting Lowell to polish his sword, Revere laughed.

****

This ends my posting of chapters from Crossing the River. Below are links to Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com should you be interested in purchasing either a paperback or electronic copy of the novel or of my second novel Alsoomse and Wanchese. – Harold Titus

Crossing the River

https://www.amazon.com/Crossing-River-Harold-Titus/dp/1614344779

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crossing-the-river-harold-titus/1105685142

Alsoomse and Wanchese

https://www.amazon.com/Alsoomse-Wanchese-Harold-Titus/dp/1632637790

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/alsoomse-and-wanchese-harold-titus/1128798601

 

Crossing the River, Chapter 10, Section 2

 

Characters Mentioned

Clarke, Rev. Jonas – Lexington minister and influential political leader

Browner, Solomon – 18 year old Lexington youth, one of three men sent to scout the road west of Lexington, captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party

Eaton – Lexington militiaman at the meetinghouse

Gage, General Thomas – commanding general of British forces stationed in Boston

Gove – Tory farmer temporarily holding Josiah Nelson captive

Harrington – Lexington militiaman at the meetinghouse

Johnson – Lexington militiaman at the meetinghouse

Loring, Jonathan – One of a party of three Lexington men captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party

Nelson, Josiah – Lincoln farmer captured by Major Mitchell’s party

Parker, Captain John – Lexington militia captain

Patterson, Elijah – Lexington cabinet maker. One of a party of three captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party

Porter, Asahel – Woburn citizen who volunteers to scout the road east of Lexington

Winsett, John – Lexington youth exploding gunpowder outside the town meetinghouse

Chapter 10, “My Name Is Revere,” Section 2

The sound of the bell had brought most of Lexington’s militiamen to the Meeting House. Told by their captain, John Parker, that the redcoats were marching, malcontents had started a contentious argument.

“We don't even know they're marching!” one militiaman shouted, addressing Parker. “It's been what, an hour, since you sent out your last scout? We should have heard something by now!”

“Maybe he was arrested! Think, why don’t you?!”

“We don’t know nothing!”

“I'll send out another scout, right now, if any of you be willing!” Parker answered.

He watched them turn their heads, a curious movement of hats, quick to criticize, not quick to volunteer!

“I will,” a voice sounded. Parker located the young man, Asahel Porter, leaning against the back wall. Porter was from Woburn. He motioned Porter to come forward. As they conferred, the arguers continued.

“We can stay here, and wait. Or we can go over t'the Tavern. It's warm there. It's just one night!”

“Some of us, Jonas, live too far away. Our families are goin’ t’need us, close by.”

“One night! What’s one night?!”

“Say that again, Johnson! These ears don’t believe they heard what you said!”

“I said my wife and children need me, close by.”

“Horse crap! You want t’be gone, before they get here!”

“If you lived where I live, Harrington, you'd do the same! Don’t be so quick to judge!”

“Talk all you want, Johnson. Once you leave here you’re not comin’ back! I’ll wager anyone a crown!”

“Judas, those of you leavin’, you'll all get back! We'll be firin' a musket, beatin' a drum!”

“That’s if'n our scouts do what they’re supposed to do!”

“We'll know soon enough!” Captain Parker bellowed. “Stop all this bickering!”

He witnessed again their redirection of heads. Damn them! He would make them listen! “No more talk about whether they’re coming! They are! When they do, I expect every last one of you to be here waiting!” He dared them to object.

“What I have t'decide,” he said, having daunted them, “is what we do once they get here!” Again, the hats. “Do we form up lines and stand against 'em?” It was the key point the Reverend had told him to advance.

“I say we stay out o' the way and watch 'em! What can we do against five, six hundred?”

“Get ourselves killed! That's your answer!”

“If they molest us, insult us, then we fight! Otherwise, …”

“We should stay over at Buckman's. Then go follow ‘em up the road.”

“That’s right, Eaton. Follow ‘em wagging our tails!”

“Listen! If there’s trouble at Concord, we'll be able t'help! Damn little we can do here!”

“Enough!” Parker’s fierce demeanor silenced them. “Having fought the French,” he roared, “I know better'n most of you what it’s like standing against superior numbers!” He hooked his thumbs over the front of his belt. “When the time comes, we'll see what we have t'do. It seems t'me, though, that we should let them know what we think o' them, what they're doing!”

“You mean fire on them?!”

“No! Stand our ground! Show them we've got principle! We’ll stand aside in good order if they move at us.”

He watched them twist about.

“I'm not for hidin' here or hidin’ at Buckman’s like some cornered weasel!”

“If we just stand there, in plain sight, showin' them we aim not t'shoot …”

“They'll fire on us! Count on it!”

“Ah, go home t'yer wife, Samuel.”

“Go hide under your bed! Like Johnson here!”

Three proponents continued to speak. It was clear to Parker that most, because they were silent, favored watching the redcoats pass leaving open the option to follow at a safe distance. It was what he would have decided, had he …

“As I said,” he shouted, “when the time comes! When our scouts let us know the British are near! Then we'll decide!”

“What good'll that do?!”

“I’m for decidin' now! The hell with all this jabber!”

“All right!” Parker raised his right hand. “All right! Then here it is!” Several standing men sat down. “If we don't change our minds, we'll not meddle with 'em! Sounds t'me that's what most of you want. We'll let them pass, if they don't abuse us.” He looked across the room at their attentive faces. “Those that want t'leave do so now. But listen for a drumbeat! Get back here then as fast as you can! Meeting over!”

He heard the sound of their weight on the plank floor. Sharp words were exchanged as they crowded toward the exit. He had not convinced them, but he still had time. Questions. So many questions. What had happened to Patterson, Loring, and Browner? What would they say, when they returned, that would muddy the water?

Musket shots outside the Meeting House startled him. For an instant the room was deathly quiet. What the hell! he thought. Outside, he found several young men, inside a growing circle, grinning.

“We'll put 'em all on the ground, Captain!” one of them, brash John Winsett, shouted.

“Just a little practice, Captain. Sorry about that,” the boy next to Winsett shamefacedly said.

Josiah Nelson was awakened by his wife Elizabeth shortly before 3 a.m. Twice he rolled over on his right side only to be jabbed by her bony elbow.

“I heard horses,” she said just as he was about to speak.

Nelson rose. Yawning, he guided his callused feet through his farmer’s frock pant legs. A Lincoln minuteman, he had been assigned to watch the Concord road. Upon receiving evidence of a British expedition he was to ride to Bedford to alert that town’s militia. Two hours earlier a young man on a horse had warned him that regulars had crossed the Charles River bound for Concord. Believing that he would be warned a second time, he had returned to his bed to rest.

Opening his front door, he felt instantly the post midnight chill. Men on horseback had indeed stopped. They were wearing dark cloaks. Because they took no notice of him and because there were too many of them, he concluded that they were not express riders but farmers traveling to market. Had they just learned something from a passerby? Hatless, without shoes, he stepped out onto the path to hail them.

“Have you heard anything about Gage’s regulars? Are they coming out?” he asked the closest rider.

Turning his horse around, the man halted Nelson with a menacing stare. “We will let you know,” the man declared. “Be certain of that!” Down upon the top of Nelson’s head came the flat side of the officer’s hanger.

Nelson was aware that he was lying on his back. His scalp throbbed. He reached to touch it. Strong hands grasped his biceps.

They lifted him.

He was bleeding.

His legs labored to support his weight. His mind rebelled. Lie down. Decide what has happened. The hands gripping his arms prevailed.

He remembered.

He willed his body to stand.

“Take him along,” he heard somebody say. They were soldiers. British officers. One of them had tried to kill him.

He was propelled forward. His bare feet found ruts and stones. He fell to his right knee but was lifted, supported, goaded, lifted again, dragged. His right hand stanching his wound, he realized that he was being driven the several miles to Lexington. Why? How much farther would they do this before they abandoned him, believing he would bleed to death?

“I can’t walk as fast as you ride. I’m lame,” he said.

“We’ll not be riding as slow as you walk,” the officer closest to him, refusing to look, said.

“He slows us. Interminably.” The officer that had spoken, the one that had struck him, lowered his bony face. Never had Nelson seen in a man’s eyes such ferocity.

To Nelson’s handlers -- three Tory farmers -- the officer said: “Detain him! After the regulars pass, do what you will with him!”

They escorted him off the road.

The soldiers galloped out of sight.

Hoof-beats sounded behind them. Nelson’s captors pulled him behind two thick pine trees. More soldiers, and three or four county men, galloped past.

He concluded that the county men were clandestine guides. Seated on a flat surfaced boulder, supporting his drooping head with raised hands, he refused to speak.

Minutes passed. The Tory farmers remained silent. Twice he heard them stand and walk about. He sensed a festering irritation. Their leader, a prosperous farmer named Gove, eventually spoke. “You need bandaging.”

Nelson raised his head.

“If you’ll go home and not light a light, we’ll let you go.”

Nelson didn’t answer.

“But if you give any alarm, or light a light, we’ll burn your house down, over your head!”

He heard their departing footsteps. Fawners! Trucklers! Craving their goose-down beds! He stared at the road a good half-minute. Teetering, he stood.

Maybe because they had pitied him, but more probably because they were tired and cold, they had abandoned him, but not so far, he thought, that going back he would faint. Crawl to his door if he had to, he would have his revenge! While his wife bandaged him, he would marshal his strength. Afterward, he would ride to Bedford, to Fitch Tavern, where angry militiamen would thereafter swiftly congregate.