Careful with cops

I had mixed feelings about Lucky (Fortunato) Rao announcing over the bullhorn that "they've arrested a baby!" At fifteen, I certainly didn't feel like a baby, but the result of Lucky's announcement was that the squad car was surrounded by strikers, and strike supporters, and then rocked to within an inch of what the shocks could absorb. The officer in the front seat radioed frantically for reinforcements.

Gidon Industries produced mufflers in the far reaches of Rexdale, quite a trek for my sister Suki and I from downtown Toronto. Gidon had hired Driver Pool to recruit strike-breakers and drive them at high speed across a picket line that striking Gidon's employees had set up. Strike-breakers huddled inside Driver Pool cars, while the drivers knocked over strikers as they roared through the line. Suki and I were among strike supporters helping the small Steel Workers' local at Gidon exercise their right to bargain without intimidation. Part of bargaining meant communicating with would-be strike-breakers to convince them not to cross the line, which required the crowd to hold each car in place for a few moments of intense conversation. Since the Driver Pool drivers were trying to ram through the picketers, holding a car in place involved some vigorous rocking. Some parts of some cars' trim didn't make it through, presumably part of why Gidon paid Driver Pool the big bucks.

Just after one such scrum, I was collared and pushed into the back seat of a police car, along with a striker who didn't look much older than me. Several minutes of the crowd rocking the squad car ended when police reinforcements arrived and made a path out. I ended up in a west-end cop shop with two police, one being the officer in charge of juveniles (like me). The juvenile officer gave me stern lectures on how much damage I had allegedly caused to the Driver Pool vehicle. The other officer made friendly digressions into how enlightened labour disputes were in Australia. I didn't really know how to respond to either, so I didn't.

The officers wouldn't release me into the custody of my sister, even though she was an adult. They insisted on summoning my mum, who arrived very late for work, and very annoyed. She had a note passed in to me: "Danny, don't say anything to the police, since they will try to get you to say things that can be used against strikers who are old enough to be tried as adults."

She had nailed the situation exactly, almost as if she had watched the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine the two officers had used over the last few hours. I remain in awe of her judgement.

My situation was sorted out in Juvenile Court some weeks later. The law at that time involved determining whether one was, or was not, a Juvenile Delinquent. This meant considering your family situation, your school situation, and (most notably) no real evidence of any crimes committed or otherwise. Coming into police custody was enough to bring you before the court. I was terrified of the tales I had heard of the treatment newcomers got at Bowmanville, so I was very relieved to get a suspended sentence. The judge did ask me what I was doing at 6 am in front of Gidon Industries, so I told her. After I left I realized that I hadn't asked her what the vehicle I had supposedly vandalized (some company different from either Gidon or Driver Pool was named owner) was doing there.