[FNU LNU]

I met an ancestor of this judge back in the 50s in the Texas panhandle. I was in the 5th grade and had a paper route. One winter day the snowplows had made ridges of snow 3 feet high in the curbs. I had an Allstate motor scooter (made by Cushman), and had a cloth paper bag to hold all my papers on the handlebar.

I had thrown a paper at a customer’s porch, and missed, so I parked my scooter, walked up to the customer’s house, and placed the paper on the porch.

As I returned to my scooter at the curb, a kid was messing with my paper bag and scooter, so I told him to stop. He didn’t, and as I cocked my fist and approached him, he shouted, “YOU CAN’T HIT ME—I’M PATROL,” referring to the white helmet and diagonal belt across his chest. He was overseeing the crosswalk in front of the school across the street.

He shouldn’t have said that: In two seconds he was lying in the snowbank, belt and all.

Now, 50 years later, one of his descendants says, “You can’t pepper spray me, I’m a judge.”

[oh8eleven]

Now, 50 years later, one of his descendants says, “You can’t pepper spray me, I’m a judge.”
Quite reluctantly I moved to Rochester (suburbs) 50 years ago. When I moved here, the city was safe, vibrant, and a fun place to live and hang out.
Fifty years later it's now a virtual cesspool ... one of the poorest cities in the country; one of the most violent; HS grad rate under 40%; etc., etc., etc.
And guess what class of people is responsible.