I moved to CA to escape power abusing bigots

[On2whls]

One fine August morning 1984, while working at the U Lowell research foundation, a co-worker that didn't understand the protocol for entering and exiting that facility during summer break hours, exited through the front entrance setting off a silent alarm unbeknownst to me at that moment.  After finishing my work, I exited through the rear, setting the alarm on the way out.  However, it was a little too late as two police cruisers were already on the scene with a third just pulling in.  The officers approached, instructing me to freeze, frisked me for weapons or whatever, and proceeded on with their little reign of terror.  Their first order of business was to accuse me of stealing the car I had borrowed from a friend, but upon providing them with the owners name, address, and phone number which checked out, they had to abandon that path.   Next up, I was asked to present my identification.  The officer who obviously was phonetically challenged, butchered my name.  Upon my pronouncing it, his response was, "hey boys, we got ourselves a greaseball (derogatory expression for Italian) here.   He then inquired about the alarm and what my purpose was for being there.  I explained what I thought had happened to set off the alarm and informed him that I worked there.  He next instructed me to let him into the facility at which point I explained that by protocol he needed to be accompanied by campus police.  He then became perturbed and asked "well how the F do you get in".  After explaining to him that I had badge access, he grabbed my hair, pulled my face towards his chest, and stated, "that's the only f'in badge I need, so open the door punk".   I obliged and let him enter but was made to stay outside while his buddies barraged me with every old Italian joke I'd already heard a hundred times.  

When the officer returned, he asked me if I had anything to do with the room full of monkeys he saw.  I explained the reason they were there and also that my activities included preparing their food, cleaning up, occasionally weighing them, sometimes drawing and analyzing their blood, and making observations on their demeanor.   This led one of the officers to jump around feigning his interpretation of monkey sounds, periodically jabbing me, twisting his index and middle fingers at the same time, yelling "feed me monkey boy".   The rest of the officers not wanting to miss out on the fun played a game of "monkey see, monkey do", jabbing at my sternum repeatedly and occasionally slapping me in the side of the head.  This continued for about 10 very painful minutes after which they tired of the fun, and then for good measure, pushed me off the platform about five feet down onto a slight hill covered in deep wet grass.  The nice officers did say, have a nice day greaseball as they left.

Fast forward several hours,  I'm at my girlfriends house (nice local Irish girl) recounting the details for her and her dad, who as a life long Lowell resident,  was appalled at what he had heard  He left briefly returning in about 15 minutes with the Lowell Chief of Police (not so nice Irish man) whom (I had no idea) happened to live a couple houses down.  I was asked to explain the situation to him which I did in great detail.  He told (not asked) me to wait here a bit and left to call Gestapo Central to check on the story.  After about half an hour he returned, acknowledged that there was an alarm to which his officers responded quickly, in a professional manner, encountering nobody along the way.   He then turned to me and said "your kind might run crazy in the North End (reference to heavily Italian area of Boston), but you won't make it long in this town trying to discredit my boys".   Funny thing is, he hadn't asked me my name, so why the Italian reference?  I'm actually half Italian, half Irish, and don't have any sort of ethnic appearance.   

A few months later, while walking home with two of my room mates from a school sponsored mixer, a Lowell Police cruiser pulled up in front of us as we were cutting through a mostly empty parking lot.  The officer quickly got out of the car and immediately started accusing us of calling him a pig.  While trying to explain to him that there were other people yelling to friends passing by, I glanced at one of my room mates and before I could get my head turned back around, was on my back looking up at the stars.  He hit me so hard, my head hit at about the same time as my back.   When my focus returned, I was greeted by the sight of the officer standing over me, who subsequently coughed up a large batch saliva dripping it slowly right onto my face.  "This is what happens when you call us pigs" he said then got in his car and sped off.  

The next night was "girlfriend" night and although I was trying to keep the incident on the low down, my girlfriend and her dad, had already heard of it through mutual friends.  Her dad, once again thinking he was helping, took it on himself to have a discussion with the Chief.   Upon arrival the Chief again asked me to explain the situation, which once again I did in detail, to the extent that I referenced the officer's name and badge number.  Same as last time, he disappeared to check it out.  Upon returning, he acknowledged the officer did stop to check out "suspicious individuals".   The officer's indication was that we were clearly "under the influence" posturing in a hostile manner, and in order to protect himself,  acted proactively to take out the ring leader, thereby defusing the situation.   It took every last bit of self control to bite my lip.   I grabbed my girl and took off, while he reproached her father for letting his daughter date a good for nothing guinea.............

Another couple of months went by with no incidence until I unfortunately landed as a material witness in a police investigation (very long and complex story) involving a street person that was tragically murdered in close proximity to a Gas Station I was working third shift at.  While I cooperated in the investigation, they were convinced I was withholding critical information that would have lead to resolution of their case and of course they were not happy.  

I decided to lay as low as I could, stopped going out, quit the gas station job, and did as much as I could to expedite completion of my graduate work so I could get the hell out of that town.  

In early Februrary, 1985, I accompanied my room mates and another friend to a fairly new sports bar across town, away from where we used to hang out.  I didn't know at the time, but should have figured, that this bar, like many others in town, had an affiliation with the police department.  By the grace of God, a lifelong friend of my girlfriend (although he had cop friends and didn't like me all that much) happened to be there, but apparently had "transcended" his bigotry, at least in this instance.  After we were there for about an hour he abruptly pulled me aside urging that I needed to "get my friends the F out of here right now and that I should stay the F out of Lowell".   We scurried out the side door leaving full cold beers on the table (hard to do) just as four guys (rumored to include off duty officers) came in through the front.  We got what I hoped would be a good head start, but they gave chase, and with a bit of traffic and a couple of lights they closed to maybe a  hundred yards away.  Then by the Grace of God again, I had probably the single greatest stroke of luck in my life.  As we were approaching a railroad crossing, the lights on the arms started flashing and the gates began to drop.  Everybody was in full panic mode and my three passengers nearly in unison yelled run it, run the F'in tracks.  Thank god it was a freight train.  I was so terrified that I hesitated a bit too long and while speeding across the tracks passed maybe 100ft in front of the train, clipping the arm on the opposite side a bit.   It was a good long train giving us time to get to the on ramp for the Lowell connector and make tracks for our hometown.   

Although my friends returned there, I was never comfortable setting foot in Lowell again.  I had to quit my job at the research foundation, could not complete all the experiments for my graduate thesis, had to meet my girlfriend discreetly in secret locations and was unable to hang with my friends.  All because bigoted cops, threatened only by an Italian sounding last name thought they had the right to treat me however they want.   I accepted a job in CA to start in April 1985, have never looked back, and will never go back.    

 

 

 

 

[ORabidOne]

1 hour ago, On2whls said:

One fine August morning 1984, while working at the U Lowell research foundation, a co-worker that didn't understand the protocol for entering and exiting that facility during summer break hours, exited through the front entrance setting off a silent alarm unbeknownst to me at that moment.  After finishing my work, I exited through the rear, setting the alarm on the way out.  However, it was a little too late as two police cruisers were already on the scene with a third just pulling in.  The officers approached, instructing me to freeze, frisked me for weapons or whatever, and proceeded on with their little reign of terror.  Their first order of business was to accuse me of stealing the car I had borrowed from a friend, but upon providing them with the owners name, address, and phone number which checked out, they had to abandon that path.   Next up, I was asked to present my identification.  The officer who obviously was phonetically challenged, butchered my name.  Upon my pronouncing it, his response was, "hey boys, we got ourselves a greaseball (derogatory expression for Italian) here.   He then inquired about the alarm and what my purpose was for being there.  I explained what I thought had happened to set off the alarm and informed him that I worked there.  He next instructed me to let him into the facility at which point I explained that by protocol he needed to be accompanied by campus police.  He then became perturbed and asked "well how the F do you get in".  After explaining to him that I had badge access, he grabbed my hair, pulled my face towards his chest, and stated, "that's the only f'in badge I need, so open the door punk".   I obliged and let him enter but was made to stay outside while his buddies barraged me with every old Italian joke I'd already heard a hundred times.  

When the officer returned, he asked me if I had anything to do with the room full of monkeys he saw.  I explained the reason they were there and also that my activities included preparing their food, cleaning up, occasionally weighing them, sometimes drawing and analyzing their blood, and making observations on their demeanor.   This led one of the officers to jump around feigning his interpretation of monkey sounds, periodically jabbing me, twisting his index and middle fingers at the same time, yelling "feed me monkey boy".   The rest of the officers not wanting to miss out on the fun played a game of "monkey see, monkey do", jabbing at my sternum repeatedly and occasionally slapping me in the side of the head.  This continued for about 10 very painful minutes after which they tired of the fun, and then for good measure, pushed me off the platform about five feet down onto a slight hill covered in deep wet grass.  The nice officers did say, have a nice day greaseball as they left.

Fast forward several hours,  I'm at my girlfriends house (nice local Irish girl) recounting the details for her and her dad, who as a life long Lowell resident,  was appalled at what he had heard  He left briefly returning in about 15 minutes with the Lowell Chief of Police (not so nice Irish man) whom (I had no idea) happened to live a couple houses down.  I was asked to explain the situation to him which I did in great detail.  He told (not asked) me to wait here a bit and left to call Gestapo Central to check on the story.  After about half an hour he returned, acknowledged that there was an alarm to which his officers responded quickly, in a professional manner, encountering nobody along the way.   He then turned to me and said "your kind might run crazy in the North End (reference to heavily Italian area of Boston), but you won't make it long in this town trying to discredit my boys".   Funny thing is, he hadn't asked me my name, so why the Italian reference?  I'm actually half Italian, half Irish, and don't have any sort of ethnic appearance.   

A few months later, while walking home with two of my room mates from a school sponsored mixer, a Lowell Police cruiser pulled up in front of us as we were cutting through a mostly empty parking lot.  The officer quickly got out of the car and immediately started accusing us of calling him a pig.  While trying to explain to him that there were other people yelling to friends passing by, I glanced at one of my room mates and before I could get my head turned back around, was on my back looking up at the stars.  He hit me so hard, my head hit at about the same time as my back.   When my focus returned, I was greeted by the sight of the officer standing over me, who subsequently coughed up a large batch saliva dripping it slowly right onto my face.  "This is what happens when you call us pigs" he said then got in his car and sped off.  

The next night was "girlfriend" night and although I was trying to keep the incident on the low down, my girlfriend and her dad, had already heard of it through mutual friends.  Her dad, once again thinking he was helping, took it on himself to have a discussion with the Chief.   Upon arrival the Chief again asked me to explain the situation, which once again I did in detail, to the extent that I referenced the officer's name and badge number.  Same as last time, he disappeared to check it out.  Upon returning, he acknowledged the officer did stop to check out "suspicious individuals".   The officer's indication was that we were clearly "under the influence" posturing in a hostile manner, and in order to protect himself,  acted proactively to take out the ring leader, thereby defusing the situation.   It took every last bit of self control to bite my lip.   I grabbed my girl and took off, while he reproached her father for letting his daughter date a good for nothing guinea.............

Another couple of months went by with no incidence until I unfortunately landed as a material witness in a police investigation (very long and complex story) involving a street person that was tragically murdered in close proximity to a Gas Station I was working third shift at.  While I cooperated in the investigation, they were convinced I was withholding critical information that would have lead to resolution of their case and of course they were not happy.  

I decided to lay as low as I could, stopped going out, quit the gas station job, and did as much as I could to expedite completion of my graduate work so I could get the hell out of that town.  

In early Februrary, 1985, I accompanied my room mates and another friend to a fairly new sports bar across town, away from where we used to hang out.  I didn't know at the time, but should have figured, that this bar, like many others in town, had an affiliation with the police department.  By the grace of God, a lifelong friend of my girlfriend (although he had cop friends and didn't like me all that much) happened to be there, but apparently had "transcended" his bigotry, at least in this instance.  After we were there for about an hour he abruptly pulled me aside urging that I needed to "get my friends the F out of here right now and that I should stay the F out of Lowell".   We scurried out the side door leaving full cold beers on the table (hard to do) just as four guys (rumored to include off duty officers) came in through the front.  We got what I hoped would be a good head start, but they gave chase, and with a bit of traffic and a couple of lights they closed to maybe a  hundred yards away.  Then by the Grace of God again, I had probably the single greatest stroke of luck in my life.  As we were approaching a railroad crossing, the lights on the arms started flashing and the gates began to drop.  Everybody was in full panic mode and my three passengers nearly in unison yelled run it, run the F'in tracks.  Thank god it was a freight train.  I was so terrified that I hesitated a bit too long and while speeding across the tracks passed maybe 100ft in front of the train, clipping the arm on the opposite side a bit.   It was a good long train giving us time to get to the on ramp for the Lowell connector and make tracks for our hometown.   

Although my friends returned there, I was never comfortable setting foot in Lowell again.  I had to quit my job at the research foundation, could not complete all the experiments for my graduate thesis, had to meet my girlfriend discreetly in secret locations and was unable to hang with my friends.  All because bigoted cops, threatened only by an Italian sounding last name thought they had the right to treat me however they want.   I accepted a job in CA to start in April 1985, have never looked back, and will never go back.    

 

 

 

 

You SHOULDA come SOUTH! We LUUUUUUV Italians, especially thems wid BIG ASS hOOters!

[On2whls]

5 hours ago, ORabidOne said:

You

 

5 hours ago, ORabidOne said:

You SHOULDA come SOUTH! We LUUUUUUV Italians, especially thems wid BIG ASS hOOters!

There were no on campus interviews from companies south of NC.  The company I went to had a plant in Millidgville GA that they shut down and transferred 6 guys out west.  They were all good guys and dramatically improved the company softball team,. We recruited LOL

[Horsefly]

8 hours ago, On2whls said:

One fine August morning 1984, while working at the U Lowell research foundation, a co-worker that didn't understand the protocol for entering and exiting that facility during summer break hours, exited through the front entrance setting off a silent alarm unbeknownst to me at that moment.  After finishing my work, I exited through the rear, setting the alarm on the way out.  However, it was a little too late as two police cruisers were already on the scene with a third just pulling in.  The officers approached, instructing me to freeze, frisked me for weapons or whatever, and proceeded on with their little reign of terror.  Their first order of business was to accuse me of stealing the car I had borrowed from a friend, but upon providing them with the owners name, address, and phone number which checked out, they had to abandon that path.   Next up, I was asked to present my identification.  The officer who obviously was phonetically challenged, butchered my name.  Upon my pronouncing it, his response was, "hey boys, we got ourselves a greaseball (derogatory expression for Italian) here.   He then inquired about the alarm and what my purpose was for being there.  I explained what I thought had happened to set off the alarm and informed him that I worked there.  He next instructed me to let him into the facility at which point I explained that by protocol he needed to be accompanied by campus police.  He then became perturbed and asked "well how the F do you get in".  After explaining to him that I had badge access, he grabbed my hair, pulled my face towards his chest, and stated, "that's the only f'in badge I need, so open the door punk".   I obliged and let him enter but was made to stay outside while his buddies barraged me with every old Italian joke I'd already heard a hundred times.  

When the officer returned, he asked me if I had anything to do with the room full of monkeys he saw.  I explained the reason they were there and also that my activities included preparing their food, cleaning up, occasionally weighing them, sometimes drawing and analyzing their blood, and making observations on their demeanor.   This led one of the officers to jump around feigning his interpretation of monkey sounds, periodically jabbing me, twisting his index and middle fingers at the same time, yelling "feed me monkey boy".   The rest of the officers not wanting to miss out on the fun played a game of "monkey see, monkey do", jabbing at my sternum repeatedly and occasionally slapping me in the side of the head.  This continued for about 10 very painful minutes after which they tired of the fun, and then for good measure, pushed me off the platform about five feet down onto a slight hill covered in deep wet grass.  The nice officers did say, have a nice day greaseball as they left.

Fast forward several hours,  I'm at my girlfriends house (nice local Irish girl) recounting the details for her and her dad, who as a life long Lowell resident,  was appalled at what he had heard  He left briefly returning in about 15 minutes with the Lowell Chief of Police (not so nice Irish man) whom (I had no idea) happened to live a couple houses down.  I was asked to explain the situation to him which I did in great detail.  He told (not asked) me to wait here a bit and left to call Gestapo Central to check on the story.  After about half an hour he returned, acknowledged that there was an alarm to which his officers responded quickly, in a professional manner, encountering nobody along the way.   He then turned to me and said "your kind might run crazy in the North End (reference to heavily Italian area of Boston), but you won't make it long in this town trying to discredit my boys".   Funny thing is, he hadn't asked me my name, so why the Italian reference?  I'm actually half Italian, half Irish, and don't have any sort of ethnic appearance.   

A few months later, while walking home with two of my room mates from a school sponsored mixer, a Lowell Police cruiser pulled up in front of us as we were cutting through a mostly empty parking lot.  The officer quickly got out of the car and immediately started accusing us of calling him a pig.  While trying to explain to him that there were other people yelling to friends passing by, I glanced at one of my room mates and before I could get my head turned back around, was on my back looking up at the stars.  He hit me so hard, my head hit at about the same time as my back.   When my focus returned, I was greeted by the sight of the officer standing over me, who subsequently coughed up a large batch saliva dripping it slowly right onto my face.  "This is what happens when you call us pigs" he said then got in his car and sped off.  

The next night was "girlfriend" night and although I was trying to keep the incident on the low down, my girlfriend and her dad, had already heard of it through mutual friends.  Her dad, once again thinking he was helping, took it on himself to have a discussion with the Chief.   Upon arrival the Chief again asked me to explain the situation, which once again I did in detail, to the extent that I referenced the officer's name and badge number.  Same as last time, he disappeared to check it out.  Upon returning, he acknowledged the officer did stop to check out "suspicious individuals".   The officer's indication was that we were clearly "under the influence" posturing in a hostile manner, and in order to protect himself,  acted proactively to take out the ring leader, thereby defusing the situation.   It took every last bit of self control to bite my lip.   I grabbed my girl and took off, while he reproached her father for letting his daughter date a good for nothing guinea.............

Another couple of months went by with no incidence until I unfortunately landed as a material witness in a police investigation (very long and complex story) involving a street person that was tragically murdered in close proximity to a Gas Station I was working third shift at.  While I cooperated in the investigation, they were convinced I was withholding critical information that would have lead to resolution of their case and of course they were not happy.  

I decided to lay as low as I could, stopped going out, quit the gas station job, and did as much as I could to expedite completion of my graduate work so I could get the hell out of that town.  

In early Februrary, 1985, I accompanied my room mates and another friend to a fairly new sports bar across town, away from where we used to hang out.  I didn't know at the time, but should have figured, that this bar, like many others in town, had an affiliation with the police department.  By the grace of God, a lifelong friend of my girlfriend (although he had cop friends and didn't like me all that much) happened to be there, but apparently had "transcended" his bigotry, at least in this instance.  After we were there for about an hour he abruptly pulled me aside urging that I needed to "get my friends the F out of here right now and that I should stay the F out of Lowell".   We scurried out the side door leaving full cold beers on the table (hard to do) just as four guys (rumored to include off duty officers) came in through the front.  We got what I hoped would be a good head start, but they gave chase, and with a bit of traffic and a couple of lights they closed to maybe a  hundred yards away.  Then by the Grace of God again, I had probably the single greatest stroke of luck in my life.  As we were approaching a railroad crossing, the lights on the arms started flashing and the gates began to drop.  Everybody was in full panic mode and my three passengers nearly in unison yelled run it, run the F'in tracks.  Thank god it was a freight train.  I was so terrified that I hesitated a bit too long and while speeding across the tracks passed maybe 100ft in front of the train, clipping the arm on the opposite side a bit.   It was a good long train giving us time to get to the on ramp for the Lowell connector and make tracks for our hometown.   

Although my friends returned there, I was never comfortable setting foot in Lowell again.  I had to quit my job at the research foundation, could not complete all the experiments for my graduate thesis, had to meet my girlfriend discreetly in secret locations and was unable to hang with my friends.  All because bigoted cops, threatened only by an Italian sounding last name thought they had the right to treat me however they want.   I accepted a job in CA to start in April 1985, have never looked back, and will never go back.    

 

 

 

 

Wow!  That's one heck of a story.  Glad to hear things worked out for you in CA.

[AztecPadre]

11 hours ago, On2whls said:

One fine August morning 1984, while working at the U Lowell research foundation, a co-worker that didn't understand the protocol for entering and exiting that facility during summer break hours, exited through the front entrance setting off a silent alarm unbeknownst to me at that moment.  After finishing my work, I exited through the rear, setting the alarm on the way out.  However, it was a little too late as two police cruisers were already on the scene with a third just pulling in.  The officers approached, instructing me to freeze, frisked me for weapons or whatever, and proceeded on with their little reign of terror.  Their first order of business was to accuse me of stealing the car I had borrowed from a friend, but upon providing them with the owners name, address, and phone number which checked out, they had to abandon that path.   Next up, I was asked to present my identification.  The officer who obviously was phonetically challenged, butchered my name.  Upon my pronouncing it, his response was, "hey boys, we got ourselves a greaseball (derogatory expression for Italian) here.   He then inquired about the alarm and what my purpose was for being there.  I explained what I thought had happened to set off the alarm and informed him that I worked there.  He next instructed me to let him into the facility at which point I explained that by protocol he needed to be accompanied by campus police.  He then became perturbed and asked "well how the F do you get in".  After explaining to him that I had badge access, he grabbed my hair, pulled my face towards his chest, and stated, "that's the only f'in badge I need, so open the door punk".   I obliged and let him enter but was made to stay outside while his buddies barraged me with every old Italian joke I'd already heard a hundred times.  

When the officer returned, he asked me if I had anything to do with the room full of monkeys he saw.  I explained the reason they were there and also that my activities included preparing their food, cleaning up, occasionally weighing them, sometimes drawing and analyzing their blood, and making observations on their demeanor.   This led one of the officers to jump around feigning his interpretation of monkey sounds, periodically jabbing me, twisting his index and middle fingers at the same time, yelling "feed me monkey boy".   The rest of the officers not wanting to miss out on the fun played a game of "monkey see, monkey do", jabbing at my sternum repeatedly and occasionally slapping me in the side of the head.  This continued for about 10 very painful minutes after which they tired of the fun, and then for good measure, pushed me off the platform about five feet down onto a slight hill covered in deep wet grass.  The nice officers did say, have a nice day greaseball as they left.

Fast forward several hours,  I'm at my girlfriends house (nice local Irish girl) recounting the details for her and her dad, who as a life long Lowell resident,  was appalled at what he had heard  He left briefly returning in about 15 minutes with the Lowell Chief of Police (not so nice Irish man) whom (I had no idea) happened to live a couple houses down.  I was asked to explain the situation to him which I did in great detail.  He told (not asked) me to wait here a bit and left to call Gestapo Central to check on the story.  After about half an hour he returned, acknowledged that there was an alarm to which his officers responded quickly, in a professional manner, encountering nobody along the way.   He then turned to me and said "your kind might run crazy in the North End (reference to heavily Italian area of Boston), but you won't make it long in this town trying to discredit my boys".   Funny thing is, he hadn't asked me my name, so why the Italian reference?  I'm actually half Italian, half Irish, and don't have any sort of ethnic appearance.   

A few months later, while walking home with two of my room mates from a school sponsored mixer, a Lowell Police cruiser pulled up in front of us as we were cutting through a mostly empty parking lot.  The officer quickly got out of the car and immediately started accusing us of calling him a pig.  While trying to explain to him that there were other people yelling to friends passing by, I glanced at one of my room mates and before I could get my head turned back around, was on my back looking up at the stars.  He hit me so hard, my head hit at about the same time as my back.   When my focus returned, I was greeted by the sight of the officer standing over me, who subsequently coughed up a large batch saliva dripping it slowly right onto my face.  "This is what happens when you call us pigs" he said then got in his car and sped off.  

The next night was "girlfriend" night and although I was trying to keep the incident on the low down, my girlfriend and her dad, had already heard of it through mutual friends.  Her dad, once again thinking he was helping, took it on himself to have a discussion with the Chief.   Upon arrival the Chief again asked me to explain the situation, which once again I did in detail, to the extent that I referenced the officer's name and badge number.  Same as last time, he disappeared to check it out.  Upon returning, he acknowledged the officer did stop to check out "suspicious individuals".   The officer's indication was that we were clearly "under the influence" posturing in a hostile manner, and in order to protect himself,  acted proactively to take out the ring leader, thereby defusing the situation.   It took every last bit of self control to bite my lip.   I grabbed my girl and took off, while he reproached her father for letting his daughter date a good for nothing guinea.............

Another couple of months went by with no incidence until I unfortunately landed as a material witness in a police investigation (very long and complex story) involving a street person that was tragically murdered in close proximity to a Gas Station I was working third shift at.  While I cooperated in the investigation, they were convinced I was withholding critical information that would have lead to resolution of their case and of course they were not happy.  

I decided to lay as low as I could, stopped going out, quit the gas station job, and did as much as I could to expedite completion of my graduate work so I could get the hell out of that town.  

In early Februrary, 1985, I accompanied my room mates and another friend to a fairly new sports bar across town, away from where we used to hang out.  I didn't know at the time, but should have figured, that this bar, like many others in town, had an affiliation with the police department.  By the grace of God, a lifelong friend of my girlfriend (although he had cop friends and didn't like me all that much) happened to be there, but apparently had "transcended" his bigotry, at least in this instance.  After we were there for about an hour he abruptly pulled me aside urging that I needed to "get my friends the F out of here right now and that I should stay the F out of Lowell".   We scurried out the side door leaving full cold beers on the table (hard to do) just as four guys (rumored to include off duty officers) came in through the front.  We got what I hoped would be a good head start, but they gave chase, and with a bit of traffic and a couple of lights they closed to maybe a  hundred yards away.  Then by the Grace of God again, I had probably the single greatest stroke of luck in my life.  As we were approaching a railroad crossing, the lights on the arms started flashing and the gates began to drop.  Everybody was in full panic mode and my three passengers nearly in unison yelled run it, run the F'in tracks.  Thank god it was a freight train.  I was so terrified that I hesitated a bit too long and while speeding across the tracks passed maybe 100ft in front of the train, clipping the arm on the opposite side a bit.   It was a good long train giving us time to get to the on ramp for the Lowell connector and make tracks for our hometown.   

Although my friends returned there, I was never comfortable setting foot in Lowell again.  I had to quit my job at the research foundation, could not complete all the experiments for my graduate thesis, had to meet my girlfriend discreetly in secret locations and was unable to hang with my friends.  All because bigoted cops, threatened only by an Italian sounding last name thought they had the right to treat me however they want.   I accepted a job in CA to start in April 1985, have never looked back, and will never go back.    

 

 

 

 

Wow nicely done.  You told it with great detail.  I would have been double screwed in Lowell being that Im half Sicilian and half Mexi.  I have heard too many stories like yours from my family back east.  South Boston was a big one.  So was the South.  Hey wait, whats the common denominator here?  Lol