In 1995 I suffered from a heart attack which occurred while I was at work. After recovering, the following is a little thing I wrote for my co-workers.

Had you asked me only a few days ago if it were possible to believe that excessive force could not only be used but would even be condoned by high-ranking staff members present at the scene, I would have scoffed at you. Certainly not in this day and age! And certainly not inside the very police station itself! Unfortunately, gentle reader, it is all too true!!!

Yes, it has happened here. And no, this is not simply rumor. I was there. I saw it. I FELT it! Sure, it may not have been an actual police officer who administered the force, but brutality was, nevertheless, used. And it was used with a maliciousness that shocked, nearly stunned me! And was there provocation? No, I tell you, NO! A thousand times NO!

It all came about one common, unexciting work day. There I was, as meek and mild as always (it is not unusal for me to be mistaken as Superman's alter ego, Clark Kent, except Kent has a harsher, more abrasive personality), just walking along, thinking the good thoughts, fantasizing about the wonderful things I would soon be able to afford when the next cost of living raise came through, when an officer seized me, threw me to the floor, and, I presume in order to confuse me) shouted in my ear, "Don't worry, we've got you!"

Don't worry? Don't worry!?! Hey, no problem! I couldn't have worried if my life had depended on it. I was WAY past any ability to worry! This was full-out panic time! The next thing that I can remember, some thugs, dressed as medical emergency types, are being given the opportunity to get involved in an assault on an inocent citizen. One yells out, "No brachial, no radial, no femoral pulses." It occurs to me to think to myself, "what does he mean, no femoral pulse? How would he know that?" It is then that I realize the ugly truth: I have been violated! I begin to feel dirty, used, a victim of some sexual predator. Then the next thought arises in my head, oh my gosh! Could it be? Could I have possibly forgotten my mother's constant advice: "Always wear clean underwear, son. You just never know if you might be in an accident!'

Some other thought drums away in the back of my mind. What is it? Why does it seem so insistent? Then it breaks through. Whoa, isn't there supposed to be something significant about the whole 'no pulse' thing? I really began to wish I had paid a whole lot more attention back in those biology classes to more than just the section on human reproduction.

Next, some young, good-looking lady leans over me, puts her face only inches from my own (Hey, maybe concentrating on that one chapter in the biology book is going to finally pay off!!), says with a sweet, soft smile, "This may cause you some slight discomfort," and then uses her closed fist to begin to beat on my chest with the strength of some long-repressed anger. Between blows I can clearly hear her humming snatches of "I am woman, hear me roar". I want to know just what she thinks I did to her! I'd never even seen her before this day!

Meanwhile, crowded around and cheering her on are a group of officers I once thought were my friends. But no, they were definitely on her side. "Hit him harder!" Hit him again!" "Oooh, that's gotta hurt!" One kind soul says, "But they have a beat restablished, why is she continuing to hit him?" "So," says another, "what's your point, rookie?" "Here, let me try my new expandable baton," enthusiastically cries out another 'friend'. At this point, the indentation in my chest could easily have served as a punch bowl with a capacity suitable for an embassy reception for one of the smaller countries.

Now, I am not one known for harboring vengeance or retribution in my heart, but I have to admit to having thoughts of getting my own back at that merciless menace to mankind. It comes to mind that what is good for the goose might indeed be great for the gander. Yessiree, I can see it all happening now: She is flat on her back and I am having MY way with HER chest! This, I feel, is true justice! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a chest for a chest! Oh well, reluctant though I am to digress from these pleasant visions of revenge, I must return to the facts of the case.

Finally, hating to quit beating on me, but growing aware of her failing strength, this angry angel of assault decides to switch over to high technology. Quickly she attaches one electrode to my back and one to the pulpy remnants of my chest, yells out, "CLEAR!" and throws the switch. The lights of the city flicker intermittently as the current shoots through my body time and time again. I can barely make out the laughter of the medics over the loud cries of my friends. "Awesome!" "Far out!" "Wow, who would have thought a spark could jump that far!"

Inevitably, but fortunately for me, the enthusiasm died out and reluctantly they decided to cease their entertainment and transport me to the hospital to have the electrical burns treated with salt and the concavity in my chest measured for possible trophy purposes. I know that this probably disappointed a large number of sadists, but you can't please all the people all the time.

Obviously, the above has been written tongue-in-check (a side effect, you realize, of the electrical charges) and this lingual position makes it somewhat difficult to say things. Probably the most difficult is how grateful I am for the care and concern displayed to me and my family. To those of you who visited me in the hospital, sent cards, gifts, telephoned, etc, I say thank you. It is a good feeling to have friends. It is a greater feeling to have good friends. And it makes a man mighty humble to have great friends. I feel really, really humble right now and want you all to know that you have a special place in the bosom of my heart. What's that you ask, 'where is the bosom of my heart?' Oh, it's easy to find, just look for the salad bowl-sized concavity in my chest. Room for everyone!