My tales of defusing potentially bad situations:
Back in the early 80s I worked as a cook at Coffeehouse Extempore on the West Bank of the University. I cooked dinners and baked brownies and cookies praised on air by Garrison Keillor. I lived off Franklin Avenue not far from where the Light Rail runs these days, close enough to walk home after work if I took my short-cut behind the high rise complex and cutting across some railroad tracks onto a quiet back street.
Late one Saturday night after work I had just crossed the tracks onto the side street when I noticed a tall, dark man following behind me. He soon caught up to me and announced, “I’ve got a gun.”
I didn’t actually see a gun, which I may have noted unconsciously. Consciously I was mostly aggravated that this guy would choose to mess with me. I turned and put my fist on his heart and started lecturing him about treating women with respect.
Eventually he shook my hand. I offered him some of the chocolate treat I was bringing home with me. I was surprised to hear he had wanted to rob me. If I’d had any money would I be walking when I might’ve called a cab? At any rate, I made my way home from there on an adrenalin high.
[image error]
On another occasion I was at a party with friends, but grew tired and bored and decided to walk home rather than wait around for a ride. It meant walking down Franklin Avenue at an hour when the bars had recently closed. The night air was refreshing, but the loneliness of the street started to make me nervous. I started thinking about self-defense, and the little knife I carried.
The knife had a cloisonné sheath and hilt and was far more decorative than practical, but I realized that the reason I thought of it as a defense was because of my fear. And I asked myself how a potential attacker would react if I threatened him with my knife. (If he didn’t just laugh), he might be at least a little fearful of being cut. And if my fear made me prone to violence, adding more fear to the equation wasn’t likely to make things better. So I tucked my little knife away.
I was still only a few blocks from home when I noticed a group of three large, (larger than me anyhow) drunk guys walking down the other side of the street, approaching me. They were loud-talking and one of them had a baseball bat and banged it against the occasional sign post and trash receptacle. They crossed the street to start following behind me.
Just as they came close, I turned and tapped out a drum-beat on the side of a newspaper-dispenser, turned to the guy walking ahead of the others and started telling him about a music video I’d seen recently, in which a drummer used his sticks to ‘play’ the street like a set of drums. He played against the street, mail-boxes, sign-posts, etc. Very cool. (If not exact video, something similar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TND-LQBRHow)
When we’d established conversation, the guy asked about walking with me, but I told him I just wanted to go home – alone. He and his friends turned back and went off the way they’d originally been going.
