Angie Dickinson and Porky Pig, Parts One and Three

It was a nite like any other nite in Reseda CA. The usual suspects were hanging out on the sidewalk and accomplishing a whole lot of nothing. Smoking some pot and making fun of each other. Talking about better days that were sure to come. Sometimes I still think they will. I was time to smoke a little more so a few of us hopped into a car. The other three had beers, I was just in it for the weed. Just as we got done smoking the cops pull up. I can't say that it worried me. At most it would just be a ticket.
We were all asked to get out of the car and sit on the curb. I was feeling good and mellow and was more than happy to comply. It seems as tho they didn't pick up on the aroma of the weed and just wrote tickets to the others for open containers. Unfortunately on of the other guys wasn't really happy about. He kept calling the Police Women, sir. The more she corrected him the more defiantly he called her sir. Never did find out what crawled up his butt, but after a few belligerent minutes he was put in cuffs and given a seat in the back of one of the cruisers. After he calmed down they released him and handed him his citation, Angie Dickinson riding off into the sunset.

It was gravity that pulled us apart, but destiny that brought us back together about a week later. Dale and I were kicking back on a lazy afternoon, sitting in my '63Corvair Greenbriar (not the one in the pic. Mine was a faded beach yellow with some bitchin rims.) smoking some Indica. Alas, here comes the fuzz! Two cruisers pulled up and we stepped out on the sidewalk to talk with them. There stood Angie Dickinson in all her police woman glory. For some reason she gave me the stink eye. Then she said "Oh, you were the tough guy giving us a hassle last week". Well I wasn't about to correct her so I let it slide. Fortunately another cop from the previous shake down was there and spoke up. "No, it wasn't him." So then the pat down. Porky (I call him this because he actually resembled Porky Pig) searched Dale, Angie searched me. The only reason I recall this is that Dale's pat down took about ten seconds. Mine seemed like two minutes. I remember dale and I smirking at each other while Angie was on her knees checking below my waist. We made small talk and one of the officers looked in my front seat. "Whats this?" he said as he pulled out my Chilum (a strait pipe often used in India). "Just a little green bud" I replied.
"I know that, but what are you smoking out of? How do you use it?" I took it from his hand, cupped my hands together with the stem tucked between my knuckles. I showed him how it was used and handed it back to him. He put it right back where he found it. At that time Porky chimed in. "You guys would have loved being with us a little while ago. We busted this guy with four pounds fresh off the vine. I could see you two pulling out that Cheech and Chong album and rolling one big joint." It was really quite an experience.

At that point in time the local police were mainly concerned with crack heads and burglars. I guess one in the same. You know with the Rodney King incident and other beatings, cops, L.A. cops in particular, get a real bad rap. They have to put up with a lot of anal brains, and most of the people beaten have it coming. So don't be a fool and they'll be cool...most of the time. Even Charlie Manson treated the police politely. When being arrested for the last time in Oct of '69 he stepped out and said "Hi, I'm Charlie Manson".