The Wheel of Life

By Richard Hannibal

It was a chance meeting as I drove my patrol car through Albertson's parking lot. First there was suspicious eye contact followed by faint smiles. I stopped, rolled down my window, and said, "How ya doing?" Here I was, an aging police officer looking into the soft brown eyes of an aging dark skinned black man with white beard and dreadlocks. We exchanged tentative but pleasant words and went on our way. Thus began a brief friendship and a long evolution of thought.

I was raised in the East Los Angeles area and though I was acquainted with the Hispanic culture, I had absolutely no contact with African Americans. My parents were not prejudiced, but to them black folks were invisible. And that was who I was until I became a police officer in Los Angeles County.

I was a kid-cop with little or no exposure to African Americans and suddenly I was thrust into a tough black gang area. The poverty and despair of the "projects" was palpable. As a white police officer I was subjected to the vilest hate that I had ever known. I was soon drawn into the violence of the times and of the area. A couple of shoot-outs with black gang members resulted in graffiti being sprayed on decaying walls, "Hannibal, wanted dead or alive," signed by one of the local gangs. Throughout my L. A. County career, because of the area I worked, about the only contacts I had with African Americans were negative—an arrest, a riot, or other violent confrontation.

One day I was handed a photograph depicting me innocently standing at the scene of a routine traffic citation. I did not know that someone had taken my picture. The police officers told me they had just raided the local Black Panther Headquarters and this 8 X 10 photograph was sitting on top of a desk. There was little doubt that I was marked for death. My anxiety, along with my dislike for blacks in general—the Black Panthers in particular—grew. It was further fueled by police officers getting shot and killed by Black Panthers in the vicious confrontations of the times.

With the help of friends—black, white and brown—I evolved through the years. I mellowed and gained wisdom that only age can bring. And then, I was brought to this moment; this meeting with an aging black man named John Walker. John Walker and I stopped and visited every time we saw each other. I would see him straining to see through the reflections on my police car windshield and when he saw it was me, he would light up with a big smile. And I did the same. I got to know John Walker better than most folks during my casual meetings on the street. I was introduced to Gretchen, the love of his life. And I learned that Mr. John Walker, in his youth, was an active member of the Black Panther Party. I tried to reconcile how this mild-mannered man with the soft brown eyes and generous smile could have engaged me in a fatal confrontation so many years ago. Then, I realized how far I had come since those times. Life went full circle, from an angry, young black man and an angry young cop to gentle brown and blue eyes gazing at each other.

Time went by and I intended to spend some off-duty time with John Walker. I wanted to hear where he had been through the years and share where I had been. I wanted to hear about his evolution and tell him about mine. We continued to meet, me in my police car and him at the post office, or in a parking lot, or merely passing each other and waving. I grew to be very fond of Mr. John Walker. Every time I saw him I made a mental note to arrange a time when he and I would sit down and talk. Life is so busy and the 'time' never came. A couple weeks ago I came to work and learned that Mr. John Walker passed away in his north Morro Bay home, the result of a medical condition. This ended the opportunity for the angry young black militant and the angry, young white cop to ever share the years and what had brought them to this point of understanding, love, and acceptance.

Since then, Gretchen and I have been close through her grieving period. I was comforted to hear that John liked and respected me. I certainly liked and respected him. And though our friendship was brief, I really miss him and the opportunity to learn from each other. My deepest regret is that I put off what could have been a sacred visit with this man.

Gretchen has since moved away. On her way out of town she stopped by the police station to see me. She gave me a photo of John and a copy of his favorite music CD. And, with tears in our eyes, she handed me a beautiful, wood carved, black panther.

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