University of Virginia Library

FBI In Action — A Study In Justice

By Mike Russell
Cavalier Daily Staff Writer

—Ed.)

(Various jail sounds: door
shuts with metallic thud,
pimply adolescents shout
obscenities, County jailer
sneers as he jams his head
against the bars, "If you
hippies here at this time
tomorrow you get a haircut or
spend time in the hole.")

A tray of slop slides through
a metal slot, Norman turns
"Oh Well", the theme of our
trip so far.

Being processed into the
Tulsa Jail is an experience to
be remembered. As we sat in
the cell waiting to be put
through, other inmates
wandered by.

"Whatcha in for?"

"Non-possession of
Selective Service Cards."

"Far out."

Others seeing our hair,
beards and clothing raised a fist
or flashed the V. We wondered
about the stories we'd heard
surrounding County Jail.

The Cops

Then we met the cops. They had
us empty our pockets, they frisked
us, and then they proceeded to run
their fingers through our long loose
locks, looking I suppose for hidden
weapons.

Everything we put on the
table they wrote down and put into
an envelope for which we're given a
receipt. We were then moved into a
smaller room, ordered to strip to our
underwear and socks and given
Tulsa County Beige for our own
splendid threads (U.S. Army rejects)

Spending another hour in the
visiting cell on broken chairs, we're
finally taken out, shown some dirty
mattresses from which to choose our
bed, given a course liner and a
dusty blanket and taken down to
"A" tank eighth floor-The
Penthouse.

At the beginning of our three
day visit in the Tulsa County Jail
we were too shocked to be entirely
coherent. We'd taken a Drive-a-way
car from Chicago and were in the
process of driving along Route 66
to deliver the car in Los Angeles
when the friendly local FBI officer
pulled us over.

"Where's your draft card," says
he.

I gave him my drivers license,
after all, when one is stopped for a
traffic violation (the car had no
tags, but a legitimate 30 day
temporary registration in Illinois)
one is usually asked for drivers
license.

Inspection

"Where's your draft card?" He
repeated.

"I don't have one with me."

"Get back in the car" which I
did

Other Agent: "How old are
you?"

"21."

"Why aren't you in the Army?"

"They haven't tried to induct
me."

Norman gives them substantially
the same answers. They run a
computer check. The car's not
stolen, there are no warrants or
hold orders for either of us. Two
more FBI cars pull up. We now have
five agents personally inspecting the
automobile, our belongings, the
trunk, everything short of being
frisked.

A Highway Patrol Car pulls up.
Officer X confers with Agents A, B,
C, D, E, then looks over our papers,
mumbles something about "not
looking official" - "gotta impound
your car until you provide 'proper
registration'; could charge ya
witmore, but I'm not going to;
gotta taken you down to the
courthouse."

We go to the courthouse. "Oh,"
mumbles X "these fellas want to
talk to ya."

Friendly Agents A, and B
reappear.

"Where are your draft cards"
(Norm's off with agent A, B's
interrogating me)

"Don'tcha hafta inform me of
my rights?"

"Ohyea. Here read and sign
this."

He hands me a paper with the
synopsis of my rights at the bottom
is a paragraph for me to sign
agreeing to waive my rights to
remain silent and have a lawyer
present.

"I won't sign this; I want time
to get a lawyer, You've got no
cause to even ask me these
questions.

"I suspect," Says B, "That you
two are either deserters, or have
refused induction somewhere. If
you don't answer my questions I
am going to get the U.S. Attorney
to indict you for NON-POSSESSION.

"Now will you answer my
questions?"

"No"

Arrest

Five minutes later we're under
arrest. Taking us to the Federal
Building, we're allowed to make
our phone calls, and then
questioned again. Sensing that this
might, unfortunately prove to be
the place where I "do my thing" in
Court. I agree to tell him
everything.

"Where are your Selective
Service cards?"

"What's Selective Service?"

"You know, your Draft cards."

"I wasn't aware that there was a
draft in a free society."

Agent A pops his head around
the corner, "You work for War
Resisters League too."

B looks at me and says again,
"Where are your cards?"

"Senator Tydings has them, I
refuse to carry them."

We're taken to the
Commissioner who reads us the
charges, we haven't yet spoken with
an attorney, and we refuse to allow
anything to proceed until we've
talked to one.

"Lock em up." At which point
we're handcuffed and taken to the
Tulsa County Jail, where we started
this story.

Tank door slams behind us.
"Choose a cell, call out the number,
I'll open the door" that's W, our
cellkeeper for the evening.

Two guys in 2, that's the only
open cell, "Open two' says T-,
the man on the bottom bunk.

"Open Two" we say.

(To Be Continued)