On 14 Sep 2003 19:20:16 GMT, in rec.games.chess.misc, ospam (Jerome Bibuld)
wrote:

Dear Relatives, Friends and Associates in the World of Chess:

Heil Dubya!

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. Wilson, who used to tell
us how wonderful it was to live in the United States. her favorite reason was
that, while people had to carry identification at all times in other countries,
we could walk the streets with no identification at all and, as long as we were
peaceful, we were safe from governmental interference. Oh, well, tempus fugit.

Infringement of Human Rights and False Arrest in Grand Central Station

On Wednesday morning, 10 September, I went to New York, as I do almost every
Wednesday, to coach S. S., a dear friend, in chess. This is one of the small
pleasures of my life, particularly because my friend is 97 years old and keeps
alive in me the hope that I shall be as vital as she, if and when I reach my
98th year.

I planned to stop in Mount Vernon, on my way back, to visit another friend, so
I purchased three tickets at the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) station
in White Plains, where I live: one from White Plains to Grand Central Terminal;
one from Grand Central Terminal to Mount Vernon; and one from Mount Vernon to
White Plains. The charges were $4.00 for the first ticket, $3.50 for the
second ticket and $1.00 for the third ticket. (I am 75 years old, so pay
reduced fares, as a “senior citizen”.)

As often is the case, I enjoyed myself so much at the home of S. S. that I left
it much later than originally intended. I called my Mount Vernon friend, who
found a late visit inconvenient, so we cancelled our appointment and arranged
another date and time to meet. As the saying goes, “No problem.”

When I arrived at Grand Central Station, of course, I went to the ticket office
to exchange my two tickets (GCT to MV and MV to W, as they were designated on
the tickets) for a single ride to White Plains – and a fifty cent refund.
There, the clerk asked me for identification.

“Why?” I asked. “Where is it written?”

I don’t remember the exact response, but I do remember that my questions were
not answered. Instead, I was ordered to provide identification, if I wanted to
exchange my two tickets for one ticket and a fifty cent refund. Those were the
regulations, I was told, and they didn’t have to show me where it was
written.

I refused to provide the ordered identification.

The clerk told me to move on, if I wouldn’t show identification. I refused
to do this, too, so we were at a brief impasse. This didn’t last long,
because the clerk left her window to get a supervisor, who, when he arrived,
supported the clerk’s position that identification was required, because
those were the regulations: no identification, no exchange of tickets and no
refund. (He also ignored the question about “where was it written.”)

I refused again, so the supervisor repeated the injunction of the clerk: move
on. When I stood my ground at the ticket window, he summoned the MTA police.
I am of average size (five feet nine inches and 185 pounds), so only four
members of the force showed up. They wore badge numbers 2273, 2337, 2461 and
2480.

They tried to “reason with me”. Essentially, their points were that it
wasn’t worth my trouble to refuse to show identification over a fifty cent
refund; that, were I to be arrested, it would be a terrible inconvenience for
me and that I would be put in jail, probably overnight, with felons and other
miscreants. (The former was their word, but I supply the latter.) Why not be
a good boy (None of them was old enough to be, normally, my child; I believe
all could have been my grandchildren.), show the identification and go home to
White Plains. I think they did achieve one goal; they got me away from the
ticket window.

After a brief discussion, we went our separate ways and I returned to the
ticket window where the quiet scene of five to ten minutes earlier was
repeated. This time, when the MTA police were called, only two showed up.
Apparently, they had met the enemy and decided that it was not imposing enough
for four officers. This time, there was little discussion. I was arrested and
brought to the MTA police station. It was an uncomfortable – but not
frightening -- experience. What I disliked most was being handcuffed behind my
back, with cuffs that were rather too tight (and left an impression on my skin,
which I noticed when they were removed).

In the police station, I was searched and had everything removed from my
pockets. My money was removed from its wallet and, after being counted, was
stuffed into my shirt pocket. Everything else was kept by the MTA police. I
believe the arresting officer intended to keep all my medications, but I
appealed to the sergeant on duty, who allowed me to have my nitroglycerine. I
was told to remove my shoes, which they kept, and locked up. Despite having my
identification, the arresting officer asked me several questions, to identify
me, such as name, address and date of birth. The poor man was most annoyed.
Here, he was, stuck arresting a 75-year-old eccentric, when, as he told me, he
was needed for more important duties, like “the war on terrorists”. (“You
are taking us away from serious things, like 9-11” and other such words of
opprobrium, which I tuned out, after the first sentence,)

The sergeant who allowed me to keep my nitroglycerine, seemed to want to get
rid of this nuisance, so he asked me if I would go home quietly – not return
to the ticket window – if I received a ticket to White Plains and fifty
cents. I told him, “Of course. That’s what I wanted from the
beginning.” He told me he would see what he could do. About a half hour or
a little more later, he returned with the ticket to White Plains, the fifty
cents and a summons to answer a charge of “DISCON” at 314 W 54 St, Summons
Part AR 6, on 15 October 2003. I plan to plead, “Not guilty”, of course.
I also plan to sue the MTA for infringement of my human rights and for false
arrest. (If anyone knows a lawyer who is willing to take these cases on a pro
bono basis, I would appreciate a contact.)

(“Dammittohell!” in my favorite exclamation of Nils’s Uncle Chris. The
15th of October is a Wednesday and I shall miss my date with S. S.)

Heute Uhmuhrikkka, Afghanistan und Irak. Morgen die ganze Welt!

Uhmuhrikkka, Uhmuhrikkka uber Alles!

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Franternally (or lovingly, as the case may be),

Jerome Bibuld (or the Old Man)
gens una sumus


Did you try stomping your feet or holding your breath until you turned blue?

Jerome Bibuld wrote:

Dear Relatives, Friends and Associates in the World of Chess:

Heil Dubya!

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. Wilson, who used to tell
us how wonderful it was to live in the United States. her favorite reason was
that, while people had to carry identification at all times in other countries,
we could walk the streets with no identification at all and, as long as we were
peaceful, we were safe from governmental interference. Oh, well, tempus fugit.

Infringement of Human Rights and False Arrest in Grand Central Station

On Wednesday morning, 10 September, I went to New York, as I do almost every
Wednesday, to coach S. S., a dear friend, in chess. This is one of the small
pleasures of my life, particularly because my friend is 97 years old and keeps
alive in me the hope that I shall be as vital as she, if and when I reach my
98th year.

I planned to stop in Mount Vernon, on my way back, to visit another friend, so
I purchased three tickets at the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) station
in White Plains, where I live: one from White Plains to Grand Central Terminal;
one from Grand Central Terminal to Mount Vernon; and one from Mount Vernon to
White Plains. The charges were $4.00 for the first ticket, $3.50 for the
second ticket and $1.00 for the third ticket. (I am 75 years old, so pay
reduced fares, as a “senior citizen�.)

As often is the case, I enjoyed myself so much at the home of S. S. that I left
it much later than originally intended. I called my Mount Vernon friend, who
found a late visit inconvenient, so we cancelled our appointment and arranged
another date and time to meet. As the saying goes, “No problem.�

When I arrived at Grand Central Station, of course, I went to the ticket office
to exchange my two tickets (GCT to MV and MV to W, as they were designated on
the tickets) for a single ride to White Plains – and a fifty cent refund.
There, the clerk asked me for identification.

“Why?� I asked. “Where is it written?�

I don’t remember the exact response, but I do remember that my questions were
not answered. Instead, I was ordered to provide identification, if I wanted to
exchange my two tickets for one ticket and a fifty cent refund. Those were the
regulations, I was told, and they didn’t have to show me where it was
written.

I refused to provide the ordered identification.

The clerk told me to move on, if I wouldn’t show identification. I refused
to do this, too, so we were at a brief impasse. This didn’t last long,
because the clerk left her window to get a supervisor, who, when he arrived,
supported the clerk’s position that identification was required, because
those were the regulations: no identification, no exchange of tickets and no
refund. (He also ignored the question about “where was it written.�)

I refused again, so the supervisor repeated the injunction of the clerk: move
on. When I stood my ground at the ticket window, he summoned the MTA police.
I am of average size (five feet nine inches and 185 pounds), so only four
members of the force showed up. They wore badge numbers 2273, 2337, 2461 and
2480.

They tried to “reason with me�. Essentially, their points were that it
wasn’t worth my trouble to refuse to show identification over a fifty cent
refund; that, were I to be arrested, it would be a terrible inconvenience for
me and that I would be put in jail, probably overnight, with felons and other
miscreants. (The former was their word, but I supply the latter.) Why not be
a good boy (None of them was old enough to be, normally, my child; I believe
all could have been my grandchildren.), show the identification and go home to
White Plains. I think they did achieve one goal; they got me away from the
ticket window.

After a brief discussion, we went our separate ways and I returned to the
ticket window where the quiet scene of five to ten minutes earlier was
repeated. This time, when the MTA police were called, only two showed up.
Apparently, they had met the enemy and decided that it was not imposing enough
for four officers. This time, there was little discussion. I was arrested and
brought to the MTA police station. It was an uncomfortable – but not
frightening -- experience. What I disliked most was being handcuffed behind my
back, with cuffs that were rather too tight (and left an impression on my skin,
which I noticed when they were removed).

In the police station, I was searched and had everything removed from my
pockets. My money was removed from its wallet and, after being counted, was
stuffed into my shirt pocket. Everything else was kept by the MTA police. I
believe the arresting officer intended to keep all my medications, but I
appealed to the sergeant on duty, who allowed me to have my nitroglycerine. I
was told to remove my shoes, which they kept, and locked up. Despite having my
identification, the arresting officer asked me several questions, to identify
me, such as name, address and date of birth. The poor man was most annoyed.
Here, he was, stuck arresting a 75-year-old eccentric, when, as he told me, he
was needed for more important duties, like “the war on terrorists�. (“You
are taking us away from serious things, like 9-11� and other such words of
opprobrium, which I tuned out, after the first sentence,)

The sergeant who allowed me to keep my nitroglycerine, seemed to want to get
rid of this nuisance, so he asked me if I would go home quietly – not return
to the ticket window – if I received a ticket to White Plains and fifty
cents. I told him, “Of course. That’s what I wanted from the
beginning.� He told me he would see what he could do. About a half hour or
a little more later, he returned with the ticket to White Plains, the fifty
cents and a summons to answer a charge of “DISCON� at 314 W 54 St, Summons
Part AR 6, on 15 October 2003. I plan to plead, “Not guilty�, of course.
I also plan to sue the MTA for infringement of my human rights and for false
arrest. (If anyone knows a lawyer who is willing to take these cases on a pro
bono basis, I would appreciate a contact.)

(“Dammittohell!� in my favorite exclamation of Nils’s Uncle Chris. The
15th of October is a Wednesday and I shall miss my date with S. S.)

Heute Uhmuhrikkka, Afghanistan und Irak. Morgen die ganze Welt!

Uhmuhrikkka, Uhmuhrikkka uber Alles!

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Franternally (or lovingly, as the case may be),

Jerome Bibuld (or the Old Man)
gens una sumus

Bwaaaaaaaaaahawhawhawhawhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaha.
bwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaahaaaaahaaaaaaaaaahahahahaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaahahahahaye
olde geezer hehehe..

Priceless, Jerome, I'm sorry I haven't fully read 'every' word, but I'll
get back to it. Absolutely priceless, clearly you are still alive. Very
funny. hehehehehe..

http://www.cafeshops.com/cp/store.aspx?s=warposter

ospam (Jerome Bibuld) wrote in message ...
When I was in the sixth grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. Wilson, who used to tell
us how wonderful it was to live in the United States. her favorite reason
was that, while people had to carry identification at all times in other
countries, we could walk the streets with no identification at all and,
as long as we were peaceful, we were safe from governmental interference.
Oh, well, tempus fugit.

"The author of the saying 'Tempus fugit' was, I think, an idle man.
The more I have to do, the readier Time is to wait for me."
--Wilkie Collins (The Legacy of Cain)

Dear Mr. Bibuld,

According to "Decade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s" by
Francisco Balderrama and Raymond Rodriguez (1995: University of New Mexico
Press), the United States summarily (without due process of law) deported
about one million persons of Mexican heritage (*most* of whom were United
States citizens, who *should* have been legally protected from being deported)
to Mexico in order that more jobs could become available for "real Americans"
in the 1930s. Many of the deported persons lost their homes and properties
in the United States without being given any compensation. In some cases,
even seriously ill persons were forcibly removed from hospitals in the United
States and then dropped off across the border in Mexico.

Infringement of Human Rights and False Arrest in Grand Central Station
(snipped)
The poor man was most annoyed. Here, he was, stuck arresting a 75-year-old
eccentric, when, as he told me, he was needed for more important duties, like
"the war on terrorists"....

In the United States, there are some honest people who are still prepared to
stand up and fight to uphold the principles of the United States Constitution
against the continuing evident abuses of them by the United States government.
To these hard-pressed champions of 'civil rights and liberties', your case may
appear as a distraction from their much more important cases.

I plan to plead, "Not guilty", of course. I also plan to sue the MTA for
infringement of my human rights and for false arrest. (If anyone knows a
lawyer who is willing to take these cases on a pro bono basis, I would
appreciate a contact.)

In any general conflict, operational decisions should be made according to the
priorities of need. With all due respect, your case seems near the end of the
queue. Perhaps you should approach the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU).
Yet please consider whether a 'civil rights' lawyer's (limited) pro bono time
could be better spent on your case or someone else's.

Here's an excerpt from an article, 'Big Brother takes grip on America' by
Paul Harris, in 'The Observer' (7 September 2003):

"The US's response to 11 September has been an unprecedented clampdown on
the rights of its own citizens....

The government refuses to number the amount of foreign nationals it holds
without charge. But even those released and deported are still victims.
The shadow of being detained for suspicion of terrorism is not easily lifted.
Certainly Akil Sachveda is suffering. He is now a part-time pump attendant
in Toronto. He used to own a petrol station, a bar and a pool hall in New
Jersey, until one day the FBI came looking for an ex-employee who was a Muslim.
The man had left but they arrested Sachveda instead on suspicion of Islamic
terrorism, despite the fact he is a Hindu. He was held for five months and
given no access to a lawyer. Prison guards threatened his life. Eventually
he was deported to Canada. He was never charged, but he had lost everything.
'It is so painful. It was terrifying, but you can't fight the government',
he said. Sachveda now can't get a full-time job. His spell in prison puts
off employers....Sachveda is not adjusting well to his newfound poverty and
exile from his adopted home. 'I lost everything. It would have been better
if I had never come to America', he said."

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/inter...037090,00.html

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Please consider the differences in historical context between Germany in the
1930s and the United States today.

"The attraction of a Marxist theory of history is that it appears to offer an
explanation for a very wide range of phenomena in terms of a comparatively
small number of basic factors. The importance of Marxism for non-Marxist
historians is obvious; and it has changed fundamentally and irreversibly the
kind of questions which historians ask. What it does *not* always do is to
supply the answers. When, for example, we look at which economic groups stood
to gain from war and which to lose, we are struck not only by the difficulty
of determining the exact points at which these groups actually influenced
governments but also by the complexity and divergence of interests within the
capitalist world, a divergence which by no means corresponded to the divisions
between national states. Even if it were accepted that war is inherent in the
nature of capitalism, because capitalism developed the spirit of competition
and the conditions for an armed struggle for the maintenance of profits by a
fe financiers and other capitalists, there is still a gap between this type of
explanation and the analysis of July 1914 in terms of specific decisions by
particular individuals. While Rosa Luxemburg's argument that imperialism
colours the whole range of moral as well as economic values of a society draws
attention to the connections between imperialism, protectionism and militarism,
it still leaves many stages to be filled in before one can decide in what
precise way Wilhelmine Germany or Edwardian England were imperialist societies
and how this explains the actual decisions of 1914."
--James Joll (The Origins of the First World War, pp. 204-5)

'The great end of history is to show how much human nature can endure or
perform.'
--Charlotte Lennox (The Female Quixote)

--Nick

Mr. Bibuld,

I like your posts 9 out of 10 times, and it is nice to hear a personal (and
well-written and relevant to the times) story of someone who`s experienced
the "new and improved" USA, and after reading it I hate to say it, but...
what exactly does this have to do with chess? rec.games.CHESS.misc :-)

- Joshua B. Lilly




"Jerome Bibuld" wrote in message
...
Dear Relatives, Friends and Associates in the World of Chess:

Heil Dubya!

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. Wilson, who used to
tell
us how wonderful it was to live in the United States. her favorite reason
was
that, while people had to carry identification at all times in other
countries,
we could walk the streets with no identification at all and, as long as we
were
peaceful, we were safe from governmental interference. Oh, well, tempus
fugit.

Infringement of Human Rights and False Arrest in Grand Central Station

On Wednesday morning, 10 September, I went to New York, as I do almost
every
Wednesday, to coach S. S., a dear friend, in chess. This is one of the
small
pleasures of my life, particularly because my friend is 97 years old and
keeps
alive in me the hope that I shall be as vital as she, if and when I reach
my
98th year.

I planned to stop in Mount Vernon, on my way back, to visit another
friend, so
I purchased three tickets at the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA)
station
in White Plains, where I live: one from White Plains to Grand Central
Terminal;
one from Grand Central Terminal to Mount Vernon; and one from Mount Vernon
to
White Plains. The charges were $4.00 for the first ticket, $3.50 for the
second ticket and $1.00 for the third ticket. (I am 75 years old, so pay
reduced fares, as a "senior citizen".)

As often is the case, I enjoyed myself so much at the home of S. S. that I
left
it much later than originally intended. I called my Mount Vernon friend,
who
found a late visit inconvenient, so we cancelled our appointment and
arranged
another date and time to meet. As the saying goes, "No problem."

When I arrived at Grand Central Station, of course, I went to the ticket
office
to exchange my two tickets (GCT to MV and MV to W, as they were designated
on
the tickets) for a single ride to White Plains - and a fifty cent refund.
There, the clerk asked me for identification.

"Why?" I asked. "Where is it written?"

I don't remember the exact response, but I do remember that my questions
were
not answered. Instead, I was ordered to provide identification, if I
wanted to
exchange my two tickets for one ticket and a fifty cent refund. Those
were the
regulations, I was told, and they didn't have to show me where it was
written.

I refused to provide the ordered identification.

The clerk told me to move on, if I wouldn't show identification. I
refused
to do this, too, so we were at a brief impasse. This didn't last long,
because the clerk left her window to get a supervisor, who, when he
arrived,
supported the clerk's position that identification was required, because
those were the regulations: no identification, no exchange of tickets and
no
refund. (He also ignored the question about "where was it written.")

I refused again, so the supervisor repeated the injunction of the clerk:
move
on. When I stood my ground at the ticket window, he summoned the MTA
police.
I am of average size (five feet nine inches and 185 pounds), so only four
members of the force showed up. They wore badge numbers 2273, 2337, 2461
and
2480.

They tried to "reason with me". Essentially, their points were that it
wasn't worth my trouble to refuse to show identification over a fifty cent
refund; that, were I to be arrested, it would be a terrible inconvenience
for
me and that I would be put in jail, probably overnight, with felons and
other
miscreants. (The former was their word, but I supply the latter.) Why
not be
a good boy (None of them was old enough to be, normally, my child; I
believe
all could have been my grandchildren.), show the identification and go
home to
White Plains. I think they did achieve one goal; they got me away from
the
ticket window.

After a brief discussion, we went our separate ways and I returned to the
ticket window where the quiet scene of five to ten minutes earlier was
repeated. This time, when the MTA police were called, only two showed up.
Apparently, they had met the enemy and decided that it was not imposing
enough
for four officers. This time, there was little discussion. I was
arrested and
brought to the MTA police station. It was an uncomfortable - but not
frightening -- experience. What I disliked most was being handcuffed
behind my
back, with cuffs that were rather too tight (and left an impression on my
skin,
which I noticed when they were removed).

In the police station, I was searched and had everything removed from my
pockets. My money was removed from its wallet and, after being counted,
was
stuffed into my shirt pocket. Everything else was kept by the MTA police.
I
believe the arresting officer intended to keep all my medications, but I
appealed to the sergeant on duty, who allowed me to have my
nitroglycerine. I
was told to remove my shoes, which they kept, and locked up. Despite
having my
identification, the arresting officer asked me several questions, to
identify
me, such as name, address and date of birth. The poor man was most
annoyed.
Here, he was, stuck arresting a 75-year-old eccentric, when, as he told
me, he
was needed for more important duties, like "the war on terrorists". ("You
are taking us away from serious things, like 9-11" and other such words of
opprobrium, which I tuned out, after the first sentence,)

The sergeant who allowed me to keep my nitroglycerine, seemed to want to
get
rid of this nuisance, so he asked me if I would go home quietly - not
return
to the ticket window - if I received a ticket to White Plains and fifty
cents. I told him, "Of course. That's what I wanted from the
beginning." He told me he would see what he could do. About a half hour
or
a little more later, he returned with the ticket to White Plains, the
fifty
cents and a summons to answer a charge of "DISCON" at 314 W 54 St, Summons
Part AR 6, on 15 October 2003. I plan to plead, "Not guilty", of course.
I also plan to sue the MTA for infringement of my human rights and for
false
arrest. (If anyone knows a lawyer who is willing to take these cases on a
pro
bono basis, I would appreciate a contact.)

("Dammittohell!" in my favorite exclamation of Nils's Uncle Chris. The
15th of October is a Wednesday and I shall miss my date with S. S.)

Heute Uhmuhrikkka, Afghanistan und Irak. Morgen die ganze Welt!

Uhmuhrikkka, Uhmuhrikkka uber Alles!

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Franternally (or lovingly, as the case may be),

Jerome Bibuld (or the Old Man)
gens una sumus

Jerome Bibuld wrote:

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Kristallnacht was 'the other way around': 9/11.

--
Anders Thulin http://www.algonet.se/~ath

"Jerome Bibuld" wrote in message
...

Tell me what I'm missing. A reasonable request was made for evidence in
writing. This was not forthcoming. OP stood up for himself instead of just
doing what he was told. The response in this NG is generally: 'You must obey
without question'. I thought the point of Stanley Milgram's experiments was
to connect slavish unquestioning obedience to Second World War genocide. See
also 'Hitler's Willing Executioner's'. See also 'The Ascent of Man'. See
also 'Lisa the Vegetarian':

Lisa: Uhh, Miss Hoover? I don't think I can dissect an animal. I think
it's wrong.
Hoover: Okay Lisa, I respect your moral objection.
[Presses the "Independent Thought Alarm" button under her desk.]

cheers

dd

In article 20030914193408.17956.00000988@mb-
m05.aol.com, says...
In Michigan personal identification costs $10. It should be free to tax p=
ayers.

In the UK David BlunderKit our blind Home Secretary is=20
planning to introduce special compulsory ID cards costing=20
=A340 each. I suspect this has more to do with news=20
management than tackling crime.




Regards,

Simon.

--
"My country is so far out of order at this time as doth=20
require severe remedy, and in every commonwealth severity=20
used with indifferency of justice to all men is more=20
commended than lenity."

(David Lewis to Francis Walsingham, 3 January 1576).

ospam (Jerome Bibuld) wrote in message ...

snip

Heil Dubya!


big snip

Heute Uhmuhrikkka, Afghanistan und Irak. Morgen die ganze Welt!

Uhmuhrikkka, Uhmuhrikkka uber Alles!

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Franternally (or lovingly, as the case may be),

Jerome Bibuld (or the Old Man)
gens una sumus

Dear Jerry

I may be wrong, yet I fear that the above inflammatory language
(however well-motivated) may have made its own small contribution to
the tale which you related with otherwise customary eloquence.

Nick's post is typically lucid and balanced. Do read it.

"It's the good advice
That you just didn't take
And who would have thought
It figures..."

Alanis Morisette

Take care.

FraternAlly

Mark

Dr. Mr. Bibuld,

I admire your stance. I'm 30 years younger, and would not have had the
stamina to fight into the night as you did.

Well done!

John

Jerome Bibuld wrote:
Dear Relatives, Friends and Associates in the World of Chess:

Heil Dubya!

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a teacher, Mrs. Wilson, who used to tell
us how wonderful it was to live in the United States. her favorite reason was
that, while people had to carry identification at all times in other countries,
we could walk the streets with no identification at all and, as long as we were
peaceful, we were safe from governmental interference. Oh, well, tempus fugit.

Infringement of Human Rights and False Arrest in Grand Central Station

On Wednesday morning, 10 September, I went to New York, as I do almost every
Wednesday, to coach S. S., a dear friend, in chess. This is one of the small
pleasures of my life, particularly because my friend is 97 years old and keeps
alive in me the hope that I shall be as vital as she, if and when I reach my
98th year.

I planned to stop in Mount Vernon, on my way back, to visit another friend, so
I purchased three tickets at the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) station
in White Plains, where I live: one from White Plains to Grand Central Terminal;
one from Grand Central Terminal to Mount Vernon; and one from Mount Vernon to
White Plains. The charges were $4.00 for the first ticket, $3.50 for the
second ticket and $1.00 for the third ticket. (I am 75 years old, so pay
reduced fares, as a “senior citizen�.)

As often is the case, I enjoyed myself so much at the home of S. S. that I left
it much later than originally intended. I called my Mount Vernon friend, who
found a late visit inconvenient, so we cancelled our appointment and arranged
another date and time to meet. As the saying goes, “No problem.�

When I arrived at Grand Central Station, of course, I went to the ticket office
to exchange my two tickets (GCT to MV and MV to W, as they were designated on
the tickets) for a single ride to White Plains – and a fifty cent refund.
There, the clerk asked me for identification.

“Why?� I asked. “Where is it written?�

I don’t remember the exact response, but I do remember that my questions were
not answered. Instead, I was ordered to provide identification, if I wanted to
exchange my two tickets for one ticket and a fifty cent refund. Those were the
regulations, I was told, and they didn’t have to show me where it was
written.

I refused to provide the ordered identification.

The clerk told me to move on, if I wouldn’t show identification. I refused
to do this, too, so we were at a brief impasse. This didn’t last long,
because the clerk left her window to get a supervisor, who, when he arrived,
supported the clerk’s position that identification was required, because
those were the regulations: no identification, no exchange of tickets and no
refund. (He also ignored the question about “where was it written.�)

I refused again, so the supervisor repeated the injunction of the clerk: move
on. When I stood my ground at the ticket window, he summoned the MTA police.
I am of average size (five feet nine inches and 185 pounds), so only four
members of the force showed up. They wore badge numbers 2273, 2337, 2461 and
2480.

They tried to “reason with me�. Essentially, their points were that it
wasn’t worth my trouble to refuse to show identification over a fifty cent
refund; that, were I to be arrested, it would be a terrible inconvenience for
me and that I would be put in jail, probably overnight, with felons and other
miscreants. (The former was their word, but I supply the latter.) Why not be
a good boy (None of them was old enough to be, normally, my child; I believe
all could have been my grandchildren.), show the identification and go home to
White Plains. I think they did achieve one goal; they got me away from the
ticket window.

After a brief discussion, we went our separate ways and I returned to the
ticket window where the quiet scene of five to ten minutes earlier was
repeated. This time, when the MTA police were called, only two showed up.
Apparently, they had met the enemy and decided that it was not imposing enough
for four officers. This time, there was little discussion. I was arrested and
brought to the MTA police station. It was an uncomfortable – but not
frightening -- experience. What I disliked most was being handcuffed behind my
back, with cuffs that were rather too tight (and left an impression on my skin,
which I noticed when they were removed).

In the police station, I was searched and had everything removed from my
pockets. My money was removed from its wallet and, after being counted, was
stuffed into my shirt pocket. Everything else was kept by the MTA police. I
believe the arresting officer intended to keep all my medications, but I
appealed to the sergeant on duty, who allowed me to have my nitroglycerine. I
was told to remove my shoes, which they kept, and locked up. Despite having my
identification, the arresting officer asked me several questions, to identify
me, such as name, address and date of birth. The poor man was most annoyed.
Here, he was, stuck arresting a 75-year-old eccentric, when, as he told me, he
was needed for more important duties, like “the war on terrorists�. (“You
are taking us away from serious things, like 9-11� and other such words of
opprobrium, which I tuned out, after the first sentence,)

The sergeant who allowed me to keep my nitroglycerine, seemed to want to get
rid of this nuisance, so he asked me if I would go home quietly – not return
to the ticket window – if I received a ticket to White Plains and fifty
cents. I told him, “Of course. That’s what I wanted from the
beginning.� He told me he would see what he could do. About a half hour or
a little more later, he returned with the ticket to White Plains, the fifty
cents and a summons to answer a charge of “DISCON� at 314 W 54 St, Summons
Part AR 6, on 15 October 2003. I plan to plead, “Not guilty�, of course.
I also plan to sue the MTA for infringement of my human rights and for false
arrest. (If anyone knows a lawyer who is willing to take these cases on a pro
bono basis, I would appreciate a contact.)

(“Dammittohell!� in my favorite exclamation of Nils’s Uncle Chris. The
15th of October is a Wednesday and I shall miss my date with S. S.)

Heute Uhmuhrikkka, Afghanistan und Irak. Morgen die ganze Welt!

Uhmuhrikkka, Uhmuhrikkka uber Alles!

(Was 11 September 2001 Kristaloncht or the date of the Reichstag fire?)

Franternally (or lovingly, as the case may be),

Jerome Bibuld (or the Old Man)
gens una sumus