Is It a Crime? by Carla Damron

It was a typical Friday morning; I was down in my home office writing and drinking (worshiping) my coffee. Around ten, as I climbed the steps for a refill, I glanced out our dining room window. A young man ran down our porch steps and across the lawn. A delivery guy, I decided, so I opened the front door expecting a package. Nothing was there.

I watched the young man bolt across the street to a house which is being renovated. He climbed the front steps and tugged on the door knob. He then ran to a side door and attempted to open it. Unsuccessful, he moved behind the house.

I grabbed my cell and dialed 9-1-1.  “I think someone’s trying to break into a house,” I said. The kid reappeared and approached the brick ranch next door to the home he’d just tried to enter, again trying to open a side door.

“Can you describe the suspect?” the 911 operator asked me.

“I’m looking right at him.” I watched him scurry around to the front and pull on the knob to that door. “White kid, dark sweatshirt and dark pants, thin, has short black hair. And now he’s crossing the street again and going to my next-door neighbor’s.”

This kid was not a subtle crook.  I wondered if he was very desperate (drug seeking?), or simply not very smart.

“Police are on their way,” the operator said.

Ten minutes later, a police officer arrived and asked me to again describe what I saw. I repeated what I’d told the operator.

“We already have him. He was running up the road. He says he came to rake yards.”

“I didn’t see a rake,” I said.

The officer shrugged. “Neither did we.”

“Let me call my neighbor.” I should have done that immediately. I dialed Gloria’s cell phone and told her what happened.

“I’m not at home,” she said.

“Did you hire anyone to rake your yard?”

“Yes. A teenager who lives up the street. Bobby Johnson (Not his real name). He’s emotionally disturbed. Autism, I think.”

I described the “suspect” and Gloria said that sounded like Bobby. “Maybe he came to the house and when I wasn’t there he tried the other houses,” Gloria said.

So now I felt terrible. This kid with autism had come to rake and I’d called the police on him. When I ran up the road to explain the situation, I found six police officers surrounding the pale, very scared looking teen. He looked at me and said, “Hey, Miss Gloria.” Clearly, he was confused. I felt relieved when I saw they hadn’t handcuffed him.

I pulled an officer and his captain aside and explained what I’d learned. The captain told the other officers, “Special needs, guys,” and the tone immediately changed. An aggressive, “What were you doing at those houses?” turned into “You can’t try to open people’s doors. It can get you in trouble. It isn’t even safe to do that.”

Bobby’s mom was called. No charges were filed.

That afternoon, his mother called me. We had never met. I worried she’d be angry about what happened, but instead, she wanted information. We ended up having a forty-five minute conversation in my front yard. She explained how Bobby was only recently diagnosed. He’s a highly intelligent, yet very disabled young man, who functions socially between the ages of five and eight. He attends a special school program Monday-Thursday where he receives an hour of therapy every day.

“But I now see I can’t leave him unsupervised on Fridays,” she said.

After his encounter with the police, Bobby had spent the afternoon in bed crying. I tried to imagine how terrifying his experience had been. My guilt about calling the police quickly dissolved; he needed to learn how his behavior was dangerous.

There are several ways this could have gone horribly wrong. For example, Bobby is lucky that he is white. Had he been an African American young man, dressed in dark clothes, attempting to enter houses—would the police response have been more hostile? I want to say no. I want to think we are all treated the same, but that isn’t always the case, is it?

Would my response have been any different?

Also, we live in a “stand your ground” state. Had Bobby tried to open the wrong door, something catastrophic might have happened.

Lastly, Bobby has a mental illness. For years, people with mental illnesses have ended up in jails and prisons; it’s even said among mental health advocates that Richland County’s Alvin S Glenn Detention Center is the largest psychiatric institution in our state. But Bobby didn’t go to jail. Once the police learned of his autism, they showed concern and sensitivity in how they dealt with him. They backed away. They used a gentler, more paternal tone. They wanted him to see that what he did was wrong, and could get him hurt.

I feel for Bobby and his family as they come to terms with his disorder. He does have a habit of “sneaking into places,” his mom told me. I hope what happened will discourage that behavior. It may, or may not; Bobby processes information in a different way than you and I. If he does have future interactions with law enforcement, I pray they treat him like the officers did that afternoon--as a confused kid who needs help.

Your thoughts? 

(Another version of this blog appeared in the NASW-SC Newsletter December, 2014)