The  Beat: True Stories From the Streets

Page  22 by Harry Martin Polis
                Artwork by Jaynee Levy-Polis
The Six Foot White Rabbit

 This true story occurred over 30 years ago when justice was meted out by police officers.   The times were different from today and so was the mentality of those in charge of keeping order.  The Six Foot White Rabbit is a morality tale from the 1960s.  
 Sometimes justice comes in strange ways.  The tale I am about to tell is about street justice.  To some it is fair, a payback, but to others, the story is appalling, and they see it as brutality.  Many years ago, there lived in one of our cityís neighborhoods a young girl who recently came from Europe to settle here with her new husband.  The young woman was rather pretty except she had a strawberry birthmark that covered half her face.  Sometimes those blemishes are called Port wine stains.  Even with the stain, she was attractive, and in addition, she had a lovely personality.  Every weekend her husband would get drunk and beat her, blackening her eyes, for no reason.  Later, we found out he could not bear to see the birthmark on his wifeís face.  When he was drunk, he possessed false courage and the willingness to feel his revulsion and resentment toward his wife.  
 In the Police district where he lived, there was another drunk who was a regular lock up on the weekend.  In other words, he was found facedown on the street drunk and then taken into custody overnight for his own protection.  He was kept until he sobered up.  Around Easter time, this drunk dressed up as the Easter Bunny, in a white rabbit suit.  He was a six-foot Easter rabbit.  That weekend, he was drunk as usual, but he was wearing his six-foot Easter Bunny outfit.  He was taken into the district and placed in the cell.  His costume was put away for him.  The next morning he was sent home but he forgot his rabbit costume.  The following night the pretty wife with the port wine birthmark came in with another black eye.  But this night was to be different for her husband.  Heíd been let go many times, but the investigators were sick and tired of his getting away with abusing his wife.  They took him upstairs to the interrogation room where, in the corner was a childís hobby horse that had been stolen and found by the police.  They were holding it until the owner could pick it up.  All of a sudden, the door swung open and in walked a six-foot white rabbit with a nightstick.  The rabbit ordered the wife abuser to rock on the kidís horse, stating the wife-beater must be a kid to hit someone smaller and so vulnerable.  First he refused, so the rabbit hit the manís legs with the club.  He soon got on the hobbyhorse and with a few more whacks, he started to rock back and forth.  The rabbit told him that was what he got for beating his poor wife.  He was made to rock for some time and finally taken to a cell.  In the morning, after heíd sobered up, he approached the front desk sergeant to file a complaint about the beating and humiliation heíd received.  They asked him who beat him and he stated his abuser had been a six foot white rabbit.  Everyone in the station house laughed at that and the desk sergeant had the man escorted out to the street.  He never beat his wife again.  In a time when wife beating was not taken seriously, he was one abuser who experienced behavior modification!  Street justice 101. 
Copyright 2002 by Harry Martin Polis
Harry is available for lectures and entertainment with stories and poetry.  Contact SCOOP USA, or e-mail Harry.


A cloud has covered my sunbeam, left tears and a broken heart. 
And in counting all my moments
Has left me torn apart
A once tall, sturdy willow
Would bend in the fiercest wind
I canít begin to tell you
Whatís happening within
I know just who I am
And what Iíve grown to be
But left in searing ashes
Is more than the oak is free
Having fought all my battles
As far as the eye can roam
I now face reflecting mirrors
Reflecting back on home
Imprisoned in a prison not made by my own choice
And grieving in sad poetry
My long in agoned voice
Around, around
I travel this sad and winding road
Looking for the princess and kissing lifeís hard toad
With a broken heart I travel
It leads me where it will
A medicine I swallow
Itís just lifeís bitter pill
A soldier of misfortune
A leader of the line
Crack-step in his devotion 
And kicked in his behind
He tore his heart in pieces
Exposed it to the sun
Left screaming his emotions
Exhausted in the run
Alone, alone
I am alone 
And realize in my time
And by Godís grace and beauty
I realize in my rhyme.
I look for the words to speak it 
To lift me from this case
But I am staggered to my core
I dare say to my base
Alone on a sea of broken hearts
No poet
Castle fair
Just a moving mass of molten 
Ripping at his hair
To end my tale
I tell it while looking for a sail
And just like Jonas in the bible
Been swallowed by the whale

Copyright 2002 by Harry Martin Polis
Harry is available for lectures and entertainment with stories and poetry.  Contact SCOOP USA, or e-mail Harry



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