A True Hero
There is a lot of “stuff” going on that demands news headlines. That’s been a given for most of my adult life—said adult life beginning approximately day before yesterday. This is a space for what hits the gut. The Big Picture is out there, and that’s why they put windows in houses. The Iranians will still have nukes tomorrow morning. Traitors will continue to run American policy decisions. Radical Islamists will still want to kill us day after tomorrow.
Come December, Dad would have been 100 years old.
I have written here in the past about my father’s murder. If that seems a bit obsessive or compulsive, fine. You go live with it. I watched my mother die in a state of paranoia because the serial killer was never caught. I sleep with a firearm within arm’s reach, and it’s been 22 years since Dad fell. Thank you, so-called “.22 caliber Killer”. Your legacy lives on. Some of us never forget.
This isn’t about my father. Constant readers know the facts, and the outreach is always there for you. Given 1980s investigative sciences and the incompetence of the Cherokee County Sheriff’s Department and the GBI [Georgia Bureau of Investigation], only my father will know the face of his killer, while I pick feuds with “law enforcement" agencies statewide.
Having gotten my plug for unrequited justice in, this isn’t really about my father. This is about a black man in Detroit named Leonard Sims.
In the 1940s, the Army was segregated. Despite earlier heroics by folks like the free men who composed the bulk of the 54th Massachusetts regiment, and other African-Americans who served America because they believed in the dream, in the stressed-out years of War II black soldiers were still regarded as second-class troops. Like their forebears, they were relegated to scut work. The logistical accomplishments of the Red Ball Express in the European theater are legendary. Many of those truck drivers were African-American. Equally legendary are the Tuskegee Airmen, black pilots with the right stuff who put the lie to the myth that blacks lack something related to duty, honor, and country.
At the OK Corral, an unarmed Ike Clanton pleaded for his life. It’s documented that Wyatt Earp told him to “get a gun and get into the fight”. After Pearl Harbor, many black men wanted to get a gun and get into the fight. They were initially denied, and, like Avis car rental, they had to try harder and prove themselves.
After War II, black men came home with a new perspective, and leveled the playing field. They refused the status quo, and like the rising tide, they raised all boats. Ironically, their courage enabled the current “gangsta” psychopathy that grips younger blacks.
I have no background on Leonard Sims, so I’ll take some guesses. He either drove for the Red Ball Express, or he was a Navy “mess boy”. Either way, he paid his dues. This is one tough dude.
So, at the age of 91, he goes to get into his car, and he’s suddenly pinned by a carjacker who slams the driver’s door into his chest, pinning him against an adjoining car. The punk then proceeds to work Mr. Sim’s head like a speed-punching bag in a gym, pounding the elderly man mercilessly.
This is totally out-of-bounds, even to the criminal mentality. Hey, you want the car that badly, give Pops a gentle shove and take his keys. This guy knows war and death; he’ll hand you the keys. Take the car; it’s “stuff”, and can be replaced. There is no call to pound an old man into the asphalt.
What exacerbates this atrocity is that a number of able-bodied citizens stood by and watched. Paces away from what was happening, they did nothing.
I know Detroit, where the incident occurred. It’s a city overrun by packs of savage animals that prey on the weak. That’s not unique to big cities in America, and we’re not doing racial profiling here. Crime is a fact of life.
A psychologist on national TV made excuses for the inaction of the onlookers. “Our instinct is to process danger…he may have had a gun…”
I certainly don’t live in Detroit, or any other city. If, however, I was yards away from something like the beating of Mr. Sims, I’d be rolling, literally. I live in a wheelchair, but I can hoist and stand when necessary. That would include grabbing a punk’s shirtfront, and using my 6’3” advantage to start pounding back on behalf of a 91-year-old man. Hopefully, this would shame the more able-bodied into action. If not, I’ve taken a few brawl losses in the past, so nothing is lost if I divert the thug’s attention from Mr. Sims.
Mr. Sims has done an interview I’ve seen. He looks good, he looks feisty. The swelling on his face has gone down, and the bruises will fade. This guy is a double hero; his actions in War II speak for themselves, and his transcendence of this later-life event is extraordinary.
I hope his assailant, whose name will not be honored here, will attend a state-run gladiator academy for a number of years. Even criminals have families, and someone who thinks he’s a bad-ass for beating up a 91-year-old man may be in for some bad news. There is a form of street justice that exists in prisons, and the authorities have no control over it. In this case, not that there’s anything wrong with that. In addition to the prison sentence, I hope this thug enjoys having his head used for a speed bag.
Mr. Sims lives to enjoy the fullness of his days. No punk could put him down. No system of racial inequality could suppress him. This is a man who was never intimidated.
I stand to attention; I salute.
Come December, Dad would have been 100 years old.
I have written here in the past about my father’s murder. If that seems a bit obsessive or compulsive, fine. You go live with it. I watched my mother die in a state of paranoia because the serial killer was never caught. I sleep with a firearm within arm’s reach, and it’s been 22 years since Dad fell. Thank you, so-called “.22 caliber Killer”. Your legacy lives on. Some of us never forget.
This isn’t about my father. Constant readers know the facts, and the outreach is always there for you. Given 1980s investigative sciences and the incompetence of the Cherokee County Sheriff’s Department and the GBI [Georgia Bureau of Investigation], only my father will know the face of his killer, while I pick feuds with “law enforcement" agencies statewide.
Having gotten my plug for unrequited justice in, this isn’t really about my father. This is about a black man in Detroit named Leonard Sims.
In the 1940s, the Army was segregated. Despite earlier heroics by folks like the free men who composed the bulk of the 54th Massachusetts regiment, and other African-Americans who served America because they believed in the dream, in the stressed-out years of War II black soldiers were still regarded as second-class troops. Like their forebears, they were relegated to scut work. The logistical accomplishments of the Red Ball Express in the European theater are legendary. Many of those truck drivers were African-American. Equally legendary are the Tuskegee Airmen, black pilots with the right stuff who put the lie to the myth that blacks lack something related to duty, honor, and country.
At the OK Corral, an unarmed Ike Clanton pleaded for his life. It’s documented that Wyatt Earp told him to “get a gun and get into the fight”. After Pearl Harbor, many black men wanted to get a gun and get into the fight. They were initially denied, and, like Avis car rental, they had to try harder and prove themselves.
After War II, black men came home with a new perspective, and leveled the playing field. They refused the status quo, and like the rising tide, they raised all boats. Ironically, their courage enabled the current “gangsta” psychopathy that grips younger blacks.
I have no background on Leonard Sims, so I’ll take some guesses. He either drove for the Red Ball Express, or he was a Navy “mess boy”. Either way, he paid his dues. This is one tough dude.
So, at the age of 91, he goes to get into his car, and he’s suddenly pinned by a carjacker who slams the driver’s door into his chest, pinning him against an adjoining car. The punk then proceeds to work Mr. Sim’s head like a speed-punching bag in a gym, pounding the elderly man mercilessly.
This is totally out-of-bounds, even to the criminal mentality. Hey, you want the car that badly, give Pops a gentle shove and take his keys. This guy knows war and death; he’ll hand you the keys. Take the car; it’s “stuff”, and can be replaced. There is no call to pound an old man into the asphalt.
What exacerbates this atrocity is that a number of able-bodied citizens stood by and watched. Paces away from what was happening, they did nothing.
I know Detroit, where the incident occurred. It’s a city overrun by packs of savage animals that prey on the weak. That’s not unique to big cities in America, and we’re not doing racial profiling here. Crime is a fact of life.
A psychologist on national TV made excuses for the inaction of the onlookers. “Our instinct is to process danger…he may have had a gun…”
I certainly don’t live in Detroit, or any other city. If, however, I was yards away from something like the beating of Mr. Sims, I’d be rolling, literally. I live in a wheelchair, but I can hoist and stand when necessary. That would include grabbing a punk’s shirtfront, and using my 6’3” advantage to start pounding back on behalf of a 91-year-old man. Hopefully, this would shame the more able-bodied into action. If not, I’ve taken a few brawl losses in the past, so nothing is lost if I divert the thug’s attention from Mr. Sims.
Mr. Sims has done an interview I’ve seen. He looks good, he looks feisty. The swelling on his face has gone down, and the bruises will fade. This guy is a double hero; his actions in War II speak for themselves, and his transcendence of this later-life event is extraordinary.
I hope his assailant, whose name will not be honored here, will attend a state-run gladiator academy for a number of years. Even criminals have families, and someone who thinks he’s a bad-ass for beating up a 91-year-old man may be in for some bad news. There is a form of street justice that exists in prisons, and the authorities have no control over it. In this case, not that there’s anything wrong with that. In addition to the prison sentence, I hope this thug enjoys having his head used for a speed bag.
Mr. Sims lives to enjoy the fullness of his days. No punk could put him down. No system of racial inequality could suppress him. This is a man who was never intimidated.
I stand to attention; I salute.
posted by Robert at 3:54 PM
3 Comments:
I truly hope that they put the punk who did that in with the general population...so he can learn the true meaning of being a punk.
They probably will, too...
I would think the young punk will have more than a few of the more morally upstanding fellow prisoners teach him some manners while he does his time in our prison system. Failing that, I know my fellow employees will be watching out for him, in any case.
Any punk who thinks he's cool cause he can whoop a 91-year-old needs to have his face rearranged by someone his own age... and hopefully it will happen before he dies and God Himself has to do it!
Post a Comment
<< Home