Something is Always Happening on Monroe

I've just been out - called away by another singing of "Sweet Caroline," down at Oxford's.

Out for a smoke and paying attention to the little comedies and dramas that Last Call always brings with it, I got lured away down the Avenue by the fateful flashing lights of police cruisers.

The Rochester Police Department (RPD) has been closing down Monroe Friday and Saturday nights after two a.m. We had a little episode of gun play down the next block one night and a kid from the suburbs was killed. He came between a gunman angry at having been put out of an establishment called Mark's Texas Hots - an all night diner, one of several along the avenue that caters to an after closing crowd. The bullet was intended for Mark's bouncer (all-night diners here hire bouncers to keep people from crowding in over code) but this suburbanite died in his stead. Since then, and one or two other incidents, the RPD has been turning out in force to keep the Avenue quiet. Partial roadblocks slow traffic and other cruisers and cops are up and down the length of the trouble blocks, Averill to Meigs to Goodman (the next cross-street down from here). The Hip-Hop Kids can come to eat at Gitsi's, Country Sweet, Mark's and Sal's New York Pizza - but they can't gather in the parking lots any longer and play their car stereos and they can't park on the Avenue and just hang out on the sidewalk. There is too much chance fights will break out and drive-bys settle scores that grow out of arguments and punches thrown.

I walked down into the zone of flashing lights as far as Sal' s and watched as the RPD gathered in gangs on the sidewalks at points that have been visited by flashes in the past. Their blue and white cruisers are prominently parked in spaces that formerly would have been occupied by SUV s and tricked out rides with stereos pumped up to frame shaking volume. People were crowding into Mark's and Sal's, as usual, but calm and quiet prevailed out on the street.
I made my way back up to Goodman where a cruiser with overhead's flashing sat across the two north bound lanes. I commented to the two officers standing in front of it, "Keeping things reasonably quiet?"

"We're not waiting for things to get out of hand. We're being pro-active about things these days."
By stepping out into Monroe to ask my question and nod my head, I had missed the crossing signal on Goodman. I might have crossed though - the kid in the only car waiting at the light had closed his eyes for a moment and was late finding that the light was green. I wondered if the two officers had noticed what I had. I'd think one would have to have some level of impairment to pull up to a light with a cop car sitting right there with overhead's going and not keep your eyes open for the light to change.

But, if they did they let it go by.

Maybe their attention was already focused in on what was developing just up the avenue. A car was approaching the opposite comer and a cruiser had lit him up from behind. The car, lime green with black flames, pulled into the curb alongside the Chase bank just as I got light to go ahead and cross to that comer. As I started to walk several cruisers had already emptied out behind the car and officers were approaching it from both sides with an order to,
"Show us your hands! Let's see your hands, gentlemen!"

I noticed I was walking with the officers from the Goodman roadblock.

There was, too, a young guy out walking his dog on a leash. They were coming down the Goodman side of the bank ahead of me. As they near the comer I thought I'd best warn him,
"You might not want to walk up that way," assuming he was going to turn up the Avenue.

He looked over at me with a question on his face but let the dog draw him on past the building and turned to put a letter in the post box out on the comer. Reining in his pet, he turned and asked me with wide eyes,
"Ho! What's goin' on?"
He was about 5'6", same as me, perhaps a little shorter, wore a CBGB gray tee and looked to be about twenty-five.
"Felony stop," I told him.

We stood a moment on the comer by the post box and watched as cops surrounded this car occupied three times by young black males. The driver had his hands on the wheel, having already given his license to the gray haired cop who was out of the first cruiser, the one that had lit him up. His passenger in the front seat had his hands on the dash and the passenger behind was leaning forward with hands out stretched over the arm rest between seats. All three looked scared.

"Do you think they'll let us up that way?" CBGB asked.
The dog was pulling on the leash in that direction. All dogs and gray bearded old guys with cigars have an enthusiasm for flashing police lights.
No guns were drawn. The two officers on the sidewalk were standing back with their flashlights trained on the occupants of the car.
So, I thought,
"We can try. If they want us stopped they'll tell us." We started up the street.
The gray cop was saying,
"That doesn't matter. This," he held up the kid's license, "doesn't match up with the registration," waving it toward the registration stick in the comer of the car's front window.
The two cops standing back by the guard rails along the bank: parking lot didn't even look at us as we passed between them and the car. The older cop was pointing with the license to the rear of the car and saying,
"Your plates don't match with the sticker. Is this your car?" and a moment later, "How do I know that? Your plates don't match this registration."
As I went by, I noticed, too, that some Hip Hop Kids were partying back along the high board fence at the rear of the Bank: parking lot.
The building just the other side of the lot is Enright's Thirst Parlor and some of the late drinkers in that establishment were standing in the front window of the place watching what was happening out on the street. It takes a lot to get the drinkers off their stools at Enright's.
We two stopped just past the bar door and stood and talked as we watch the scene unfold.
The gray haired cop ordered the driver out and told him,
"Put your hands on the top of the car! Put your hands on the top of the car. You take your hands off the top the car again and the cuffs go on."

Eventually, the driver was put in the gray cop's cruiser until his license and registration were checked out and the other two were brought out and patted down, as well.

I learned that my young companion of the dog, Daisy, was from Michigan and had moved to Rochester last year. He was living up on Goodman, someplace closer to Park. I explained to him how the RPD is closing down the Avenue after two, keeping the young people who come here to eat after closing time from allover the city from getting into trouble. He approved.

"You know its getting insane. Some guy got shot here at the Bagel place (comer of Goodman and Monroe across from the bank:) the other night. "
"It's been ever since that kid from the suburbs got killed two months ago.
They've been closing down the street on a regular basis since then. They're not going to allow suburbanites who come down here to drink to get killed."
"Oh, yeah, yeah! Down at Mark's, that was insane!"

I told him the RPD wasn't about to let the Avenue get a bad reputation and pointed out how the side streets back of Monroe, between Park and Monroe were inhabited by the kind of people who want to come to Monroe and not get involved in gun play.
"Oh, yeah, yeah, up where I live, everybody is like going to college or got degrees!"

They let the driver go back to his car and his passengers back in with him. Daisy was getting restless and CBGB walked off as the gray cop, even before the car he'd checked out turned over its engine, was shouting,
"Okay, gentlemen, get a move on!"
I thought he meant the lime green and black flame car but he shouted,
"Okay, there in the lot! Time to move on!" and pulled his cruiser into the bank lot with the over heads still flashing.

Across Monroe, where something like six young officers were standing in a bunch watching the scene, a couple of young black men walked by them going up toward Show World. The one in the long white jersey eating something kept moving right along and, eventually, crossed over to our side toward Gitsi's but the one in the red jersey lagged behind and must have said something. The cops followed after him en masse and one of them wanted to know,
'" Ju say something to us?"

A magic word must have been spoken in response, though not loud enough for me to heard, and Red Jersey's hands were quickly behind his back and he was, as quickly, led away back up the Avenue to the cruisers for the pat down and, probably, a quick ride to the Public Safety Building.
Something is always happening on Monroe. If you don't believe me, take it from CBGB - it's insane!

by - paulfrasca