Nové recepty

Obchodník bojuje proti ozbrojenému lupičovi s lízankami

Obchodník bojuje proti ozbrojenému lupičovi s lízankami


We are searching data for your request:

Forums and discussions:
Manuals and reference books:
Data from registers:
Wait the end of the search in all databases.
Upon completion, a link will appear to access the found materials.

Lupič mal pištoľ, ale chlap, ktorý hádzal lízatkami, vyhral

Wikimedia/DDGuy

Predavač bojoval proti ozbrojenému lupičovi hádzaním lízaniek.

Nemecký obchodník bol tento týždeň buď veľmi odvážny, alebo veľmi hlúpy, keď zistil, že ho lupič držal v zbrani: Namiesto toho, aby peniaze odovzdal, začal v sebaobrane hádzať lízanky. Predavač mal tiež veľké šťastie, pretože jeho záplava lízaniek fungovala.

Podľa denníka The Local bol predavač v práci vo štvrtok okolo desiatej večer, keď vošiel muž s maskou a so zbraňou. Muž požadoval všetky peniaze v registri, ale namiesto toho, aby mu to obchodník dal, údajne začal po maskovanom mužovi, ktorý naňho držal zbraň, hádzať lízanky. Predavač mal akosi obrovské šťastie a zmätený zločinec utiekol z paluby lízaniek bez toho, aby bol niekto zranený alebo zabitý.

Keď bol však vonku, lupič si údajne zložil masku a predavač si dobre pozrel do tváre. Lúpežníkom a jeho komplicom sa ukázali byť dvaja 15-roční chlapci z okolia. Polícia tvrdí, že keď skúmali chlapcove domy, našli masku a zbraň. Obaja chlapci boli zatknutí za pokus o lúpež.


Zákon je mätúci, pretože v niektorých štátoch existujú veci, ktoré sú zákonné, ale v iných štátoch zostávajú nezákonné. Mnoho ľudí nakupuje jedlé potraviny v Colorade. Tieto jedlá majú rôzne formy, ale v zásade sa vyrábajú infúziou THC do toho, čo by inak bol legálny recept na sušienky, cukríky atď. A tu je problém.

Gruzínsko má organizovaný zoznam drog, ktorých držanie je nezákonné. Plán I, II, III, IV, V a potom Nebezpečné drogy. Plán I je „najzávažnejší“ a Nebezpečné drogy (aj keď kontraintuitívne) najmenej závažné. Gruzínsko určilo, že THC používaný na infúziu týchto požívatín je liek zaradený do plánu I. Gruzínsko konkrétne definuje nezákonné THC v O.C.G.A. § 16-13-25 takto:

Tetrahydrokanabinol, kyselina tetrahydrokanabinolová alebo kombinácia tetrahydrokanabinolu a kyseliny tetrahydrokanabinolovej ktorý neobsahuje rastlinný materiál vykazujúci vonkajšie morfologické vlastnosti rastliny z rodu Cannabis. (zvýraznenie pridané).

V zásade, keď je marihuana (THC) taká koncentrovaná, že to už nevyzerá ako burina, stane sa zločinom. To znamená, že požívatiny, ktoré majú čo i len jeden, sú zločinom a často sú ako také obvinené prokurátormi v Newnane, Carrolltone, Fayetteville a na ďalších miestach v štáte Georgia.


Polícia v Baltimore City môže mať čoskoro ďalší zdroj na boj proti násilnej kriminalite v meste. V piatok 20. decembra oznámil komisár Baltimoru Michael Harrison spustenie špeciálneho pilotného programu, ktorý bude využívať dozorné lietadlá. Nad mestom by lietali lietadlá, aby monitorovali a zaznamenávali incidenty násilných zločinov v meste Baltimore City. Zhromaždené údaje a informácie by potom mohli byť použité na určenie stratégií prevencie a riešenia kriminality.

Toto nebude prvé lietanie monitorovacích lietadiel nad mestom. V roku 2016 bola polícia kritizovaná za uskutočnenie podobného programu bez informovania verejnosti. Program bol ukončený po rýchlom odsúdení obhajcov súkromia a Úradu verejného ochrancu v Baltimore.

Tento nový pilotný program bude trvať 120 až 180 dní od mája 2020. Komisár Harrison spolupracoval s operátorom lietadla na určení súboru usmernení, ktoré budú účinné a budú chrániť súkromie obyvateľov. Dohľad bude slúžiť iba na vyšetrovanie závažných zločinov, ako sú vraždy a ozbrojené lúpeže, a video nebude streamované naživo. Policajné oddelenie nebude mať priamy prístup k zhromažďovanému videu alebo údajom. Na konci programu budú údaje analyzované, aby sa určila jeho účinnosť.

Briefing médií: Komisár Harrison diskutuje o lietadle sledovania https://t.co/jjXXgTi0cu

- Baltimorská polícia (@BaltimorePolice) 20. decembra 2019

Na financovanie pilotného programu nebudú použité doláre daňových poplatníkov. Namiesto toho ministerstvo požiada o financovanie filantropické organizácie.

Mesto tiež usporiada sériu verejných stretnutí, na ktorých sa verejnosť pýta, ako a kedy budú lietadlá fungovať. Komisár Harrison uviedol, že lietadlá sú len ďalším možným nástrojom, ktorý by orgány činné v trestnom konaní mohli využiť v boji proti násilnej kriminalite v meste.

Čo si myslíte o sledovacích lietadlách? Radi by sme počuli vaše myšlienky v komentároch!


Muž bol odsúdený za zabitie majiteľa cukrárne

Tento blog sa bližšie zaoberá vraždou v meste.

Bruce Vielmetti z časopisu Sentinel

23-ročného muža usvedčeného z vraždy obľúbeného obchodníka v okolí brokovnicou odsúdili v utorok na doživotie, bez možnosti podmienečného prepustenia na 50 rokov.

Joevone Martell Jordan bola v októbri odsúdená za úmyselnú vraždu prvého stupňa a za pokus o ozbrojenú lúpež v súvislosti so zabitím Rolanda Haefnera. Haefner bol zabitý 17. júna 2009 v obchode Silver Spring Variety Store, 8305 W. Silver Spring Drive. Mal 77. Haefner vo svojom obchode predával cukríky, sódu a ďalšie položky a susedským deťom bol známy ako „dedko“.

Roland Haefner

Jordanova rodina ho predviedla na políciu po tom, čo jeho matka našla v posteli cukríky a bratrancovi povedal, že bol zapojený do Haefnerovej lúpeže a vraždy. Detektívi so súhlasom jeho matky prehľadali Jordanovu spálňu a našli odpílenú brokovnicu a maskovaciu bundu, ako jeden svedok opísal podozrivého ako nositeľa.


Bloglander

Koľko stačí na to, aby boli nevinní muži celí potom, čo strávili takmer päť rokov vo väzení za zločin, ktorý nespáchali?

Odpoveď je zrejme 2,25 milióna dolárov - suma, s ktorou poisťovateľ okresu Spokane súhlasil, že zaplatí za urovnanie federálnej žaloby za občianske práva, ktorá údajne obvinila „bezohľadnú“ detektívnu prácu a zasahovanie svedkov zo strany polície. Ale pre týchto troch mužov neprávom odsúdených za ozbrojenú lúpež v roku 2009 existuje v ich živote niekoľko dier, ktoré peniaze nikdy nezaplnia.

„Zničilo to mňa i moju rodinu,“ hovorí Robert Larson, jeden z troch neprávom odsúdených mužov. Larson hovorí, že napätie v jeho presvedčení prispelo k tomu, že sa jeho rodičia rozišli. Potom jeho otec zomrel len niekoľko mesiacov po prepustení Larsona a povedal: „Nedokážem to opísať.“

Larsona spolu s Paulom Statlerom a Tylerom Gassmanom prepustili z väzenia v roku 2012 potom, čo boli ich odsúdenia zrušené. Odvtedy pracujú na obnove svojho života a očistení mien.

„Nemyslím si, že je to dosť peňazí na to, čím si prešli, ale dúfame, že im to pomôže posunúť sa vpred a že úrad šerifa to bude brať veľmi vážne a podnikne kroky, aby sa tomu v budúcnosti nestalo,“ hovorí Micah. LeBank, advokát mužov.

Po dohode to však povedal šerif okresu Spokane Ozzie Knezovich Hovorca-recenzia domnieva sa, že prípad sa mal dostať pred súd a „v prípade potreby až po Najvyšší súd USA“.

„Nemali žiadny prípad a je to zrejmé z toho, že každý dostal 750 000 dolárov,“ píše Knezovich prostredníctvom textovej správy. Vnútrozemec. „Každý prípad má hodnotu 15-20 miliónov dolárov, ak je to pravda. K vyrovnaniu dôjde, keď [žalobca] má slabý alebo žiadny prípad.“

Knezovich v čestnom svedectve pred osadou obhajoval prácu dvoch detektívov - Billa Francisa a Douga Marskeho - ktorých problematické vyšetrovanie viedlo k zlému presvedčeniu. Knezovich hovorí, že detektívi vykonali dôkladné vyšetrovanie, napriek tomu, že jeho vlastný seržant po internom preskúmaní urobil opak.

Reakcia šerifa je typická pre ostatné vysoko postavené osady s jeho kanceláriou.

Knezovič kritizoval vyrovnanie okresu v roku 2013 s 2 miliónmi dolárov s rodinou pastora v Spokane Valley zastreleného na jeho vlastnom pozemku zástupcom.

Nedávno, po vyrovnaní 1 milióna dolárov s rodinou teenagera zo Spokane Valley, ktorý zomrel potom, čo ho zrazilo vozidlo zástupcu pre prekročenie rýchlosti, využil Knezovich príležitosť zbaviť svojho zástupcu viny. Holykova matka Carrie Thomsonová tvrdí, že šerif od začiatku zavádzal verejnosť o podrobnostiach smrteľnej nehody.

„Úprimne povedané, myslím si, že naša komunita si zaslúži lepšie vedenie,“ hovorí Statler o reakcii šerifa na vyrovnanie v jeho prípade.

„Ten chlap by ani nemal byť tam, kde je,“ odpovedal Gassman na otázku o Knezovičovej odpovedi. „Dopustil, aby sa to stalo. Mám pocit, že je to jeho úlohou to povedať.“

Pokiaľ ide o samotný prípad, presvedčenie mužov záviselo od svedectva väzňa z väzenia, ktoré sa ukázalo ako nepravdivé. Šerifova kancelária Sgt. Tim Hines, ktorý sa zaoberal tvrdeniami, že detektív klamal a zasahoval do svedka vedúceho k nezákonnému odsúdeniu, označil vyšetrovanie za „mimoriadne zlú policajnú prácu“.

To zahŕňalo neschopnosť detektívov overiť dôležité dôkazy vrátane vyhlásení informátora väzenia.

„Pokiaľ ide o snahy potvrdiť to, nezdá sa, že by nejaké vyvinuli,“ hovorí Hines vo svojom prísažnom svedectve. Dodáva: „Nemal by som sa niekoho opýtať, či by som sa to mal pokúsiť potvrdiť? To by som vedel. To je zdravý rozum. "

Okrem federálnej žaloby by mohli byť na háku aj prešľapy detektívov vo výške asi 750 000 dolárov.

Tento rok krajský sudca v Spokane John Cooney vyhlásil, že muži sú „skutočne nevinní“, čo znamená, že podľa zákona o nezákonnom odsúdení štátu majú nárok na odškodné. Podľa právnika, ktorý sa zaoberá touto časťou ich prípadu, tento účet pre daňových poplatníkov dosahuje približne 750 000 dolárov.

Nie je však jasné, či tieto peniaze získajú Statler, Gassman a Larson. Washingtonský zákon hovorí, že jednotlivci sa musia vzdať práva podať žalobu, aby mohli získať odškodnenie od štátu.

LeBank verí, že ich štát stále zaplatí.

„Boli zistené skutkové okolnosti a právne závery, ktoré naznačujú, že majú nárok na peniaze podľa stanov,“ hovorí LeBank. "Štát teraz musí tieto peniaze zaplatiť a nič v stanovách im neumožňuje vyhnúť sa platbe. Pokiaľ sa štát rozhodne proti tomu bojovať, je to podľa mňa frivolné."

Počas telefonických rozhovorov s Vnútrozemec, každý z troch mužov vyjadril úľavu, že to konečne môžu dať za sebou.

Gassman pracuje v stavebníctve a hovorí, že sa teší na chvíle strávené so svojou rodinou.

Larson si našiel prácu ako poradca pre liečbu drogových závislostí a alkoholu a zameriava sa na výchovu svojich troch detí.

Statler tiež vychováva 2-ročného dieťaťa a hovorí, že pracuje na vydaní detskej knihy.

„Čas, ktorý sme stratili, nikdy nemôže nahradiť, ale som rád, že som mohol začať týmto skokom a pomôcť môjmu synovi posunúť sa vpred,“ hovorí. „Pokiaľ ide o mňa, chcem len zvýšiť informovanosť o tomto probléme a o nepoctivosti polície - dúfajme, že sa zmenia niektoré politiky.“

Tento príspevok bol aktualizovaný o vyhlásenia šerifa Ozzieho Knezovicha. Knezovich zásadne nesúhlasí s Vnútrozemský nadpis, ktorý hovorí: „Zrátaný a podčiarknutý text je [[]] nadpis nepravdivý, ale čo je nové? Je dobré, že pre tlač neexistuje proces IA. Našli by túto falošnú správu.“


Život násilia sa dotýka podozrivého vraha, 11: Zločin: Predstavitelia Chicaga sa domnievajú, že Roberta Sandifera popravila jeho banda potom, čo zabil dievča v tínedžerskom veku.

V meste, ktoré je podobne ako Los Angeles tak často otupené činmi bezohľadných vrahov gangov, bola sága o Robertovi Sandiferovi smutne známa-až na jeho nežný vek.

Robert bol predmetom trojdňového policajného pátrania a bol podozrivý zo zastrelenia jedného mladíka a zranenia ďalších dvoch osôb. Našli ho vo štvrtok skoro ráno, sám bol obeťou vraždy. Jeho telo ležalo tvárou dole pod viaduktom, streleným do zátylku.

Robert Sandifer mal 11 rokov.

Hľadali ho kvôli vražednej nedeli 14 -ročného Shavona Deana, ktorého zasiahla guľka zrejme určená pre člena gangu. Chcela byť kozmetičkou a v tú noc vykĺzla zo svojho domu, napriek matkinmu naliehaniu, aby zostala vnútri, navštívila cukráreň a precvičila si svoje schopnosti na vlasoch suseda.

Robert bol pre svoju lásku k sušienkam prezývaný „mňam“ a stál necelých päť stôp vysoký. Bol tiež členom Čiernych učeníkov, pouličného gangu, ktorého rady sa pohybujú v stovkách a údajne je zapojený do obchodu s drogami, krádeží áut, vydierania, prostitúcie a podvodov s kreditnými kartami. Polícia sa domnieva, že jeho vlastný gang, ktorý ho považoval za záväzok, ho popravil.

Bol to „tvrdý shorty“, ako tu členovia gangu označujú svojich členov s tvárou v tvári. Jeho osobný záznam o rapu uvádzal osem zatknutí v súvislosti so zločinmi od ozbrojenej lúpeže až po krádež auta.

Úrady pre služby deťom v Illinois pre neho hľadali zariadenie mimo štátu potom, čo ho 13 miestnych agentúr odmietlo pre jeho vek. Robert, povedal verejný strážca okresu Cook Patrick Murphy, „mal problémy od prvého počatia. Jeho rodina z neho urobila sociopata. “

Robert pochádzal z znepokojujúceho prostredia, ale, dodal Murphy, zďaleka to nebolo ojedinelé. "Ver mi," povedal, "vidíme to 100 krát týždenne."

Celoštátne, najaktuálnejšie štatistiky FBI uvádzajú, že v roku 1992 bolo z vraždy obvinených 267 detí mladších ako 14 rokov, čo je o 50% viac ako pred desaťročím. "Nie je to zmenšujúci sa problém." Bude to ešte horšie, “povedal George Knox, riaditeľ Národného centra pre výskum zločinu v oblasti gangov na Chicagskej štátnej univerzite.

Robert bol druhým zo siedmich súrodencov. Keď mal 3 roky, štát vzal Roberta, ktorý bol pokrytý popáleninami od cigariet a pomliaždeninami, ktoré boli zrejme spôsobené predlžovacím káblom, z väzby svojej matky. Bol odovzdaný jeho babičke, ktorá ho s malou disciplínou vychovávala v dome, ktorý v rôznych časoch obsahoval až 19 ďalších detí, povedal Murphy.

"Ak bolo toto dieťa chránené pred piatimi rokmi, zachránite dvoch ľudí," povedal starosta Richard M. Daley v stredu pred nájdením mŕtvoly Roberta. "Zachrániš mladú ženu, ktorá bola zabitá, a zachrániš mladého páchateľa."

Tieto dve deti žili v bloku od seba v časti Roseland na ďalekej južnej strane a mali niečo, čo jeden z príbuzných nazýval „vzťah na rozlúčku“. Vo štvrtok sa susedia pohybovali tam a späť medzi svojimi domami, kde boli vyrobené provizórne svätyne pre každý z nich.

"Milujem ťa, Shavon," bratranec nakreslil na transparent visiaci z cyklónového plotu v ráme domu mŕtveho dievčaťa. "Nebo je miesto pre anjelov, ako si ty." Kytice slnečníc a klinčekov už vädli. Na chodníku horeli vo ružových vázach sviečky.

V Robertovom dome vystúpilo päť chlapcov, aby napísali svoje mená modrou fixkou na kus lepenky pripevnený k kovanému zábradliu verandy, kde sedela jeho stará mama Janet. Vyskočila zo stoličky.

"Prečo si nechal moje dieťa tak ísť?" zakričala na nich. "Prečo ste všetci nechali Yummy shot?"

Nemí, čeľuste brúsené pod zovretými zubami, dokončili podpisovanie. Potom sa stiahli uličkou, zatiaľ čo dvaja muži chytili rozrušenú babičku pevne okolo jej rúk a vtlačili ju do domu.

"Robert nie je žiadny symbol," povedala jeho teta Bay Sandifer. "Dnes večer budú pravdepodobne strieľať."

V nedeľu sa určite strieľalo.

Popoludní bola 16-ročná členka gangu zastrelená 9-milimetrovou poloautomatickou zbraňou. Robert bol počas útoku hľadaný na výsluch.

O 20:30 odpálila rovnaká zbraň skupinu mladistvých, ktorí hrali s futbalovou políciou a tvrdia, že mohli byť tiež členmi gangu. Ďalší 16-ročný chlapec bol zranený na nohe a Shavon Dean, ktorý sa pred niekoľkými minútami preplížil z domu, bol zabitý.

Pri pohľade na Robertov spis, povedal Murphy, mohol predpovedať „bolo len otázkou času, kedy bude mŕtvy alebo niekoho zabije. Stalo sa to skôr, nie neskôr. "

Illinoiské oddelenie pre deti a rodinné služby prvýkrát nadviazalo kontakt s Robertovou matkou v roku 1984, keď ešte nemal ani rok. Situácia sa znova skúmala v rokoch 1985 a 1986 predtým, ako bolo päť detí prepustených z domova kvôli „nedostatočnému dohľadu a riziku ublíženia na zdraví“, uviedla hovorkyňa rezortu Martha Allenová. Robertova matka, povedala Murphy, bola závislá na cracku.

"Ako plynul čas," povedal Allen, "bolo nám zrejmé, že babička tiež dostatočne dohliadala na deti."

Jeho prvé zatknutie, vo veku 8 rokov, bolo za krádež v obchode. Potom v rýchlom slede došlo k zatknutiu za poškodzovanie majetku, lúpež, pokus o ozbrojenú lúpež. Pochválil sa svojim postavením v Čiernych učeníkoch.

On a starší brat často utekali z domu svojej babičky. Koncom minulého roka z nich urobili ochrancov štátu. Robert bol umiestnený do diagnostického centra na vyhodnotenie. Tam sa pobil s učiteľom a v marci ušiel.

Vyzdvihli ho v apríli v ukradnutom aute.

Úrady ho umiestnili do detenčného centra pre mladistvých. Krátko po júlovom prepustení opäť potrápil okolie. 17 -ročný Eli Roberts povedal, že „Mňam“ rozbil okno na svojom bielom Oldsmobile 88. Odvetil sa tým, že vyhnal bicykel mladšieho chlapca na ulicu.

O niekoľko dní neskôr „Yummy“ chytil zo zadného sedadla Oldovcov plechovku s benzínom, nalial ju na sedadlá a zapálil zápalku.

"Vzlietol, ako vždy, keď vie, že má problémy," povedal Eli Roberts. "Nevideli sme ho týždeň tu."

Sudca pre mladistvých Thomas R. Sumner do týždňov nariadil štátu, aby našiel Robertovi domov za hranicami Illinois. Do tej doby sa rozhodol pre námietku štátu, vrátiť Roberta do opatery svojej babičky.

Do konca mesiaca bol Robert zatknutý ešte dvakrát-za vlámanie a ozbrojenú lúpež.

Polícia špekuluje.

"Tieto organizácie sú veľmi sebecké," povedal Police Supt. Matt Rodriguez na tlačovej konferencii. "A bol dokonalým príkladom niekoho, kto očividne robil ponuky gangov a je mŕtvy, pretože bol postradateľný." Úrady sledujú to, čo nazývajú „dobrí vodcovia“, a tvrdia, že si myslia, že vedia, kde bol Robert počas dní, keď vypadol zo scény.

Matka Shavona Deana, Debra, sa osudu údajného vraha netešila. "Je mi ľúto, že sa to chlapcovi stalo," povedala.

Keď hovorila, všimla si ženu v čiernej koženej bunde, ktorá podpisovala Shavonov transparent. Bola to Robertova teta.

O chvíľu si obe ženy spolu povzdychli.

"Musíme s týmito gangstermi niečo urobiť," povedal Sandifer. "Je to hrozné, nedáva to zmysel."


Sprievodca pre začiatočníkov ako obmedziť úzkosť koronavírusu s kanabisom

V dôsledku pandémie koronavírusu štúdie ukázali, že Američania v poslednom čase dávajú svojim zlozvykom viac ako kedykoľvek predtým, a my to chápeme. Uprostred týždňov strávených v sociálnej izolácii, miliónov stratených zamestnaní a veľmi depresívneho 24-hodinového cyklu správ by bolo neobvyklé, keby ste neboli pociťuje určitú formu úzkosti alebo prinajmenšom kabínovú horúčku.

Aj keď mnoho odborníkov na duševné zdravie obhajuje dôležitosť dodržiavania dobrých návykov, drastické zvýšenie predaja čohokoľvek, čo súvisí s neistotou-od sexuálnych hračiek po alkohol-, ukazuje, že všetci hľadáme malé rozptýlenie. Údaje spoločnosti Nielsen pre prieskum trhu v skutočnosti naznačujú, že predaj alkoholu v USA v týždni končiacom sa 21. marca vzrástol o 55 percent, pričom online predaj stúpol na ohromujúcich 243 percent. V prieskume spoločnosti Alcohol.org 1 z 3 respondentov uviedol, že pravdepodobne zvýši konzumáciu alkoholu izolovane.

Výmena stretnutí za športovým barom za šťastné hodiny zoomu môže ponúknuť veľmi potrebnú úľavu na mieste, ale obracanie sa na alkohol v čase stresu má aj veľké nevýhody. Zbavenie sa príliš veľkého množstva alkoholu môže znížiť schopnosť vášho imunitného systému bojovať proti infekčným chorobám a okrem toho má aj depresívny účinok - dočasne zvyšuje hladiny serotonínu, aby ich v dlhodobom horizonte znížil, a v dôsledku toho spôsobuje alebo zhoršuje depresiu.

Pointa je, že unca alebo dve na skalách sú v poriadku, ale zvýšené používanie alkoholu v priebehu dní alebo týždňov môže potlačiť imunitné reakcie alebo viesť k väčšej náchylnosti na zápal pľúc.

Vstúpte do ľavej fázy: konope, preukázateľne bezpečnejšia alternatíva, s niektorými ďalšími výhodami.

Napriek tomu, že alkohol pôsobí ako znižujúci účinok, je dokázané, že burina zmierňuje úzkosť, nespavosť a fyzické bolesti a bolesti. Zatiaľ čo tí, ktorí sa im zvyčajne páčia, dostali zlý rap, pretože boli leniví, chichotaví a nenásytne hladní, kanabis je často lekársky predpisovaný tak, aby pomohol zvládnuť nevoľnosť a chudnutie, a môže sa použiť na liečbu glaukómu.

Nedávne titulky však varovali pred nebezpečenstvom fajčenia cigariet a buriny, pretože koronavírus útočí na dýchací systém, a ich zvyk môže zvýšiť riziko vážnejších komplikácií v prípade, že sa nakazia vírusom. Dobrou správou je, že existuje veľa spôsobov, ako si dopriať zábavu, ktorá nevyžaduje žiadnu vdýchnutie, od konzumácie jedlých potravín až po používanie CBD oleja lekárskej sily.

"Zdá sa, že jedlé potraviny zatiaľ s dýchacími cestami nič nerobia," povedal pre Refinery29 Albert Rizzo, MD, hlavný lekár Americkej pľúcnej asociácie. "Poskytujú vám niektoré rovnaké psychoaktívne účinky ako fajčenie, ale nepredstavujú pre vás žiadne zvýšené riziko, ak dostanete COVID-19. Bol by som radšej, keby všetci moji pacienti namiesto fajčenia používali jedlá. “

Pre tých z vás, ktorí využili časť času navyše doma na experimentovanie v kuchyni, tu je váš pokyn. Využite svoje novonadobudnuté schopnosti na rýchle vybitie kanabalu a otvorte niekoľko nových receptov, ako je tento na ribeye s chimichurri napustené burinou.

Nepredbiehajte však: najskôr musíte poznať svoje kmene.

Na boj proti úzkosti

V prípade pacientov so špecifickými ochoreniami vám odporúčame zavolať do licencovaného ambulancie, pretože vám budú môcť poskytnúť najlepšie odporúčanie. Môžeme povedať, že tí, ktorí zažívajú nárast každodennej úzkosti, by sa mohli chcieť pozrieť na niektoré hybridy indica alebo indica (mix kmeňov, ktoré sú dominantne indické). Indika, postavená na relaxáciu, je ideálna na duševnú aj svalovú relaxáciu.

Kmene Indica sú nielen perfektné na dekompresiu po dlhom dni, ale majú aj váš chrbát (doslova), pokiaľ ide o bolesť svalov, či už spôsobenú náročným cvičením alebo celodenným sedením na jednej stoličke. Indica dodáva telu silu, ktorá vám dodáva ťažký, uvoľnený pocit a zároveň zvyšuje hladinu dopamínu.

Miestna ambulancia Herbal Alternatives odporúča kmene ako Pincher’s Creek, ktoré opisujú ako „sladký kmeň so skvelými, dlhotrvajúcimi účinkami“ a údajne pomáhajú pri zlepšovaní nálady a dodávajú energiu po celý deň, aby pomohli v boji proti úzkosti a depresii. Na večerné použitie odporúčajú kmeň s názvom Humble Pain. Ideálne na boj proti depresii, dodáva vám „takmer euforický a povznášajúci pocit“.

Chytanie niektorých kvalitných Zzzs

Potrebujete ďalší dôvod, prečo si pred fajčením vybrať jedlá? V skutočnosti pôsobia oveľa pomalšie, pretože najskôr ich treba stráviť a spracovať v pečeni. Toto pomalé spaľovanie ich robí účinnými v tom, že vám pomôžu spať celú noc.

Podľa odborníkov na HelloMD sa jeden z najlepších kmeňov, ktoré vás majú uspať, nazýva Harlequin, čo je vlastne sativa-dominantný hybrid. "Harlekýn má vysoký obsah CBD a je známy svojou schopnosťou zmierňovať bolesť, stres, úzkosť a depresiu." Napriek tomu, že je harlekýn dominantný v sativách, je známe, že je upokojujúcim kmeňom, ktorý pomáha ľuďom zaspať a zaspať. Je obzvlášť dobrý pre ľudí s nespavosťou spôsobenou úzkosťou, pretože má veľmi malú až žiadnu psychoaktivitu. ”

Medzi ich ďalšie obľúbené spánok navodzujúce patrí Cookie Jar, hybrid známy tým, že pomáha pri bolestiach hlavy a poskytuje relaxačné účinky na celé telo, a tiež White Widow, ktorá bojuje proti nespavosti, vyvážený hybrid oceňovaný pre svoje mozgové, relaxačné vlastnosti.

Keď je práca na práci

Pokúšate sa cez víkend vstať z postele a zacvičiť si doma? Trápi vás obávaný poludňajší prepad? Práve tu žiari sativa, známa svojou energizujúcou silou.

Aj keď každý pociťuje účinky kanabisu inak, sativa sa najlepšie používa na oživenie kreativity a dokonca môže ešte viac zaostriť, takže je ideálnym miestom na pozitívne myslenie potrebné na preštudovanie niekoľkých ďalších desiatok e -mailov. Stáva sa to preto, že sativa zvyšuje hladinu serotonínu, chemikálie, ktorá sa cíti dobre, a ktorá pomáha regulovať učenie, náladu, spánok, úzkosť a chuť do jedla.

Jedným z najlepších kmeňov duševnej čistoty, ktoré prináša Herbal Alternatives, je Classic Jack, sativa-dominantný kmeň, ktorý je známy tým, že poskytuje maximum, vďaka ktorému sa budete cítiť „blažene, čisto a kreatívne“.

Kde kúpiť

Kým štáty ako Kalifornia a Colorado dali zelenú predaju rekreačného kanabisu, DC bolo uväznené v akejsi šedej zóne. V roku 2014, keď bola schválená iniciatíva 71, sa držanie až dvoch uncí marihuany stalo legálnym pre kohokoľvek nad 21 rokov, ako aj prenos až jednej unce na inú osobu, pokiaľ sa nevymieňajú žiadne peniaze.

Tí, ktorí chcú ísť oficiálnou cestou, môžu požiadať o zdravotný preukaz a potom navštíviť jeden zo siedmich ambulancií DC pre lekársku marihuanu, ktoré sú stále otvorené, pretože sa považujú za základné služby. Metropolitné wellness centrum, Capital City Care a Národné centrum celostného liečenia sú všetky možnosti.

Máte už svoju kartu? Minulý týždeň primátorka Muriel Bowserová a ministerstvo zdravotníctva vyhlásili aj núdzové pravidlo, ktoré teraz umožňuje registrovaným pacientom objednať si z ambulancií kanabis priamo do svojich domovov.

Ak sa vám žiadosť o kartu zdá príliš únavná, ďalšou možnosťou je mnoho doručovacích služieb v DC, ktoré ponúkajú burinu ako „darček k nákupu“, aby boli v súlade s miestnymi zákonmi, ako je vysokorýchlostné alebo spoločné doručovanie. Iste, možno nebudete potrebovať žiadne nálepky, kravatové ceruzky alebo dokonca inšpiratívne citáty, ktoré vám budú povedané nahlas, ale za to technicky zaplatíte, keď vám doručia púčik alebo jedlá.

A povedzme si pravdu, rozhodne nie je na škodu počuť v týchto ťažkých časoch motivačné slová Johna Lennona alebo Mayy Angelou, zvlášť keď sú sprevádzané veľmi špeciálnymi dobrotami Rice Krispies.

Tento článok bol predstavený vInsideHook DC spravodaj. Zaregistrujte sa teraz a získajte ďalšie informácie o Beltway.


Zrušená veta Cornella McKaya spochybňuje svedectvo očitých svedkov

Stačí identifikácia očitého svedka, keď všetky ostatné dôkazy ukazujú na niekoho iného - a porota to nikdy nepočuje?

Fotografia Wesleyho zákona

Cíti pach jedla a myslí na plechovky krmiva pre mačky, ktoré dostanete v Family Dollar. Cornell McKay bol 16 mesiacov zamknutý na tomto námestí z betónu a ocele v justičnom centre mesta St. Louis a čakal na súdny proces bez dychu. Toľko je trápne: „Môžu prísť doslova o 4 ráno a musíš pre nich byť nahý, roztiahnuť zadok, aby sa uistil, že tam hore nemáš nôž,“ hovorí svojej babičke. "A to musíš urobiť pred 100 ďalšími nahými smradľavými chlapmi." Hovorí sa mu „biblický bijec“, dostáva sa do bitiek a má obavy, kto s ním bude neskôr hodený do cely. Je to ako so psami na libru, hovorí - čo urobí malá Chihuahua s pitbulom? Ak sa vráti, bude mať ešte väčšie problémy a už sa pozerá na 10 až 30 rokov. Myslí si, že sa nedožijem ani 30 rokov. Musím s tým bojovať. Všetko, čo potrebujem, je niekto, kto nie je debil, aby počul tento prípad. Číta všetky výpovede, sumarizuje dokumenty, ako by bol študentom prvého ročníka práva. Keď sa rozhliada, myslí si, že tu nie som, aby som sa stretával s vami, priatelia. Idem domov. A potom sedí na súde a zdá sa mu to ako Hunger Games, ako keby tam bol pre zábavu všetkých ostatných, všetko preto, že vyzerá ako nejaký iný chlap. A jeho právnik sa nemôže dostať ani k slovu a buchnutie kladivom.

Detektívom v deviatom obvode metropolitného policajného oddelenia v St. Louis to vyzerá jednoducho:

Okolo 20:35 hod. 10. augusta 2012 sa Jane Doeová postavila pred svoj bytový dom Central West End a začala vykladať potraviny. Mladý, tenký, čisto strihaný Afroameričan v khaki šortkách a svetlom tričku pristúpi a vyhráža sa jej striebornou pištoľou. Keď naňho uprela zrak, zhrozila sa, že bude zastrelená, daruje mu 50 dolárov a biely mobilný telefón HTC EVO a vbehne dovnútra.

Jej manžel, ktorý bol na prechádzke so psom, ju našiel v byte bez zhasnutých svetiel. Keď opisovala mladého muža, s trhnutím si uvedomil, že to musí byť ten istý chlap, s ktorým sa pozdravil - dokonca urobili krátky očný kontakt - a neskôr ho videl behať. Volá 911.

Jane Doe sľubuje polícii, že pomocou svojho online účtu bude sledovať všetky hovory uskutočnené prostredníctvom jej ukradnutého telefónu. 13. augusta vloží prvú dávku telefónnych čísel a časov do tabuľky programu Excel a odošle ju e -mailom do deviateho okresu. O niekoľko dní pošle ďalšiu dávku.

V tú sobotu 18. augusta okolo 2:20 popoludní je o dva a pol bloku ďalej ďalšia ozbrojená lúpež. Obeťou je Megan Boken, temperamentná blond volejbalistka, ktorá sa vrátila na turnaj Alma mater na Univerzitu Saint Louis. Keď sa vzoprie a zakričí, lupič jej vystrelí z blízka na blízko krku a hrudníka dve guľky. Potom skočí na sedadlo spolujazdca v bielom Pontiac Sunfire, ktorý spomaľuje.

Svedkovia opisujú mladého, tenkého a čistého muža z Afriky.

Mobil Boken sa odmietol vzdať klamstiev v kaluži krvi mimo svojho Volkswagenu. Krv rozstrekuje jej opálenú koženú kabelku, popruh jej zlomil v boji a zaliala jednu z jej modrých žabiek. Predviedli ju do Barnes-židovskej nemocnice, kde ju vyhlásili za mŕtvu.

To, že sa niečo také hrozné môže stať za bieleho dňa v susedstve historických tehlových meštianskych domov a svetlých záhradných dáždnikov, mrazí jeho obyvateľov. Upokojujúci tweet starostovho tlačového tajomníka však hovorí, že obeť a jej útočník „sa zrejme poznajú“.

Je to unáhlený záver, pravdepodobne založený na skorom odhade, že vrah mohol byť vo vnútri auta - a je to zle.

This was not a drug deal or a secret romance it was panicked brutality—the senseless murder of a young woman because, on a sunny afternoon in a public place, she resisted being robbed. Mayor Francis Slay apologizes personally to the Boken family. St. Louisans extend hot sympathy and outrage. The story stays at the top of the news for days.

The cops need to find this guy fast.

On August 20, homicide detective Jerone Jackson calls the Ninth District and asks about similar armed robberies in the area. The Ninth District comes up with a few, one of them the Jane Doe case from eight days earlier.

Ninth District detective Anthony Boettigheimer is assigned, that very day, to the Jane Doe case. He runs the phone numbers in the Excel file through something called the Crime/Matrix database. Lamont Carter’s name shows up. Boettigheimer does a link analysis, and the computer spits out 15 or 20 names connected in some way to Lamont Carter.

Narrowed by physical description, the stack funnels down to one young, thin, clean-cut African-American male: Cornell McKay. He’s a high school dropout on probation for burglary.

Boettigheimer and two other detectives drive to Jane Doe’s condo and show her six photos stuck in a single frame. McKay and one other man are relatively light-skinned the other four men have darker skin.

She identifies McKay without hesitation. Her husband cannot identify any of them.

Police officers start calling around, looking for McKay. He comes to the station the next morning. Detectives handcuff him to a table in an interview room and grill him about his recent whereabouts, hoping for a double solve.

His alibi for Boken’s murder holds strong, but his account of that Friday evening (now 11 days ago) is a wobbly sequence, remembered after he’s had some time to think, of borrowing money from his mother for a haircut, buying a soda and chips at a candy store, and visiting family friends. When police ask the store owner whether she remembers him coming in that evening, she says no.

The next day Jane Doe is shown a physical lineup of McKay, 20, and three other men (two of them more than 30 years old). She identifies McKay, and this time her husband does, too. She also checks the box that states, “I am certain that I have made a correct identification of the subject.” Her husband does not.

McKay is booked and charged with first-degree robbery and armed criminal action. Another detective later tells Boettigheimer that McKay was uncooperative and verbally abusive while they booked him, and as he entered the Justice Center he yelled to other inmates that he was a member of the Ones, a gang in his old Plymouth and Hodiamont neighborhood.

At least for the armed robbery, they figure, they’ve got their guy.

Once more, but from McKay’s point of view: “I never even povedal že. Why the hell would I tell the police I’m a member of the Bloods? [Ones are Bloods.] When they had me in handcuffs, some people I knew yelled, ‘What they got you locked up for, blood?’ All just ghetto. They’re saying, ‘That’s f—ked up, man. They lock you up for that white girl?’ In my neighborhood, that’s how they talk to you. They’ll say ‘cuz’ or ‘blood’—it’s their trávnik. It’s that you’re od there.”

And yeah, for sure he’s furious when they book him: “Man, this is bullshit. I ain’t hotový nothing.” He’s never been locked up, and he’s scared. Here he comes to the station willingly, not even knowing why, and sits there waiting 90 minutes for the detectives to show up, every second a minute long. Then they cuff him to a table and start grilling him. He’s already heard about the Boken murder—he remembers his grandma’s voice on the phone, resigned and worried at once: “They’ll be looking at every young black man in St. Louis.” His stomach does a roller coaster drop. Is that what this is about? With relief, he tells them that he wasn’t even in St. Louis this week. They say this is something that happened the week before, and suddenly he’s arrested.

Sure, he’s friends with guys from his old neighborhood. Had to be. He’d gone to grade school and middle school in Affton, but when his stepdad died and his mother couldn’t pay the rent, she and her three sons had to move to a little apartment in one of the roughest parts of the city, Plymouth Avenue near Hodiamont. “Gangs and drugs and everything else you see in movies about the ’hood” is how he sums it up. His life got chaotic fast.

He’s no angel—but he’s not a deceiver, either. His problem’s more that he blurts stuff out. He’s always been quick with a comeback—his mom used to call him her little Bart Simpson—and his teachers never appreciated the wordplay. He’s not stupid—he loves art and books and writing, and religion’s always interested him—but he can’t do math to save his life. Just after his 18th birthday, he dropped out of school.

One evening that spring, he hung out with a friend of his cousin’s: “Wrong crowd, everybody young and dumb and broke, and one dude had the bright idea to break into Langston Middle School and steal some computers. When we saw him go in and come back out carrying one, everybody else went in.” McKay didn’t get caught—others did—but when he decided to get himself into a GED program, he showed up at the police station for a record check and there was a warrant waiting for him.

That’s the burglary—unarmed—on his record. He’s not proud of it. He pleaded guilty. The only other mark on his record is, at 16, riding MetroLink without paying.

As for Lamont Carter, he and 20-year-old McKay are linked in the police database because two years earlier, McKay was shot in a drive-by on Plymouth Avenue. McKay was living at home with his mother, at 5963 Plymouth. The shooting took place a few doors down—closer to 5944 Plymouth, where Carter’s mother lived—and McKay was injured. (He was friends with Carter’s younger brother and is pretty sure Lamont, 10 years older, wasn’t even living at home then.)

Lately, McKay’s been living with his grandmother and riding his bike to the Covenant House program, trying to get his GED. This week he’s been in Washington, Mo., staying with the Rev. Chris Douglas, a youth minister he met at Covenant House. Somebody in Douglas’ congregation knew of a job at Ziglin Graphics & Sign, and McKay worked long days boxing up thousands of brake pads and made $500. He was thinking he’d celebrate, maybe take himself out to eat at Panda Express.

Douglas has been showing him how to save money, how to register a car. How to do stuff the right way, by the book, and not just slide by because nobody ever showed you anything different. He’s pulling his life together.


Before & After : Things Didn’t Work Out as Expected for Former Santa Ana Stars

George Tuioti sat down to write a letter last August. His wedding was approaching and thoughts drifted back. There was a lot to remember.

Had it been seven years already? Those days with Scootie, Bobby, Robert and all the guys he had grown up with, played sports with, from the Jerome Center until they graduated from Santa Ana High School in 1988. They had been winners. More importantly, they had been friends.

Most were coming to the wedding.

Scootie Lynwood was coming. He wouldn’t miss it. He had always been their leader, their voice and, of course, their point guard. When they wanted to do something, anything, they cleared it with Scootie. He had been an author of the pact. They would always attend the weddings. Yeah, Scootie would be there.

Bobby Joyce would be missing. Man, no one played basketball like Bobby Joyce, with those long arms and that big grin. At one time, you said Adam Keefe, Don MacLean and Bobby Joyce in the same breath. Two are now in the NBA. Bobby is now a rumor. People have seen him here or there. He has done this or that.

Robert Lee, the best friend a guy ever had, also would not be there. He was the greatest running back in the world--so Tuioti thought at one time. Didn’t he outplay Glyn Milburn one night? Milburn is now in the NFL. Robert stopped running after high school, at least with the football.

“We’ve been through so much, all of us,” Tuioti said. “There was never a nickel between us. We ate at each other’s houses. We slept at the houses. I had to let Robert know I still loved him.”

Tuioti, who provides security at a juvenile halfway house, wrote to Lee, who is serving a five-year sentence for armed robbery at Ironwood State Penitentiary in Blythe. The Himalaya-like crevice that separated their lives didn’t matter. They were still best friends. The memories were there. Good memories.

They didn’t lose a football or basketball game as freshmen in 1984-85. They won a Southern Section football championship as sophomores, reached a second title game as juniors and the semifinals as seniors. In basketball, they won three Century League titles and reached the section semifinals as seniors.

On graduation day, they huddled under a tree, crying.

“This is it, this is it,” Lynwood kept repeating.

Joyce stopped him and said, “No, we’ll never be apart.”

Athletics would take them far, that had always been the plan. But they would stay together. That, too, was the plan.

Tuioti finished the letter. . . . If you were here, Robert, you’d be my best man . . .

Tuioti got married that week. But there were gaps in the wedding party. No Robert. No Bobby.

Jerome Center All-Americans

It’s rough at Jerome Center.

The first time Rick Bentley took that fifth-grade basketball team there, he also took the police. The court was cleared for two hours while his youth team practiced. The routine lasted for a week and the message got through. For two hours each day, the Sixers had the court in the older residential area, north of Santa Ana Valley High.

It made the Sixers special.

Lynwood, Lee and Willie Lane were the first to join. They had been in diapers together. Then Lynwood brought in Joyce, a lanky kid who spoke Spanish. Tuioti and the others followed. They were the Bills when they played football in the fall. They were the Sixers the rest of the year.

“There were guys I knew who had been in and out of jail,” Tuioti said. “They would just hang out on the street and the cops would hassle them. They always told me, ‘You got the sports and you got the grades. This is not for you.’ They pushed us all away.”

Tuioti would walk to Lee’s house, then they would pick up Lynwood, then Joyce and the others. Gang turf changed with each block--Bloods, Crips, F-Troop. But no one shot at them, no one even hassled them. Sometimes they would run, but not out of fear. It was training.

Even before high school, they were local legends. They did not lose a football game from the sixth grade through junior high. The Sixers went 180-2 during that time. They swore they would go to the same high school.

“You heard these kids were coming,” said Century basketball Coach Greg Coombs, then at Santa Ana. “When they were freshmen, we would walk into gyms and people would be talking about this freshman class at Santa Ana.”

As freshmen, they were 10-0 in football and won their first basketball game, 128-37, and didn’t come close to losing all season. It was heady stuff.

Said former Santa Ana assistant Greg Katz: “We always told them, ‘Don’t be a Jerome Center All-American.’ ”

Dale Jordan, who works at Valley Liquor in Santa Ana, has known Lee for years. As kids, Lee, Lynwood and Lane would come into the store to buy candy. So Jordan knew the face that night in 1992. He just didn’t recognize the man.

Lee stumbled in, shot in the leg and side.

“He was dripping blood and I said, ‘Robert, what happened?’ ” Jordan said. “He didn’t say a word. He grabbed three half-gallons of liquor off the shelf and walked out.”

Jordan said the police were waiting outside, but Lee struggled and yelled that he didn’t want to go to the hospital.

“He was flying,” Jordan said. “It’s pretty sad. He had everything going for him.”

Lee’s fall was epic, and tragic.

It was hard to find a better high school running back. He gained 4,401 yards in three seasons, still the sixth-best total in Orange County history. As a sophomore, he gained 602 yards in four playoff games, including 231 in a 31-21 victory over Mission Viejo in the Southern Section title game.

When he didn’t have football, the problems began.

When Lee was in the seventh grade, his father died. The Sixers’ basketball team showed up at the funeral, in uniform. He had his friends. Yet they weren’t enough.

No one recruited Lee his senior year. They came to see Tuioti.

“On every recruiting trip I had, I asked them about Robert,” Tuioti said. “I tried to hustle Nebraska. I told them I will not go unless Robert goes.”

Lee tried to play at Orange Coast College, but quit after three days. The spiral began.

Lee ordered pizza on March 6, 1992, then refused to pay. The delivery man knocked on the door and Lee came out with a knife. Lee was convicted of two counts of second degree armed robbery and received a five-year suspended sentence. He was picked up for probation violations twice and tested positive for cocaine twice.

Lee spent three months in the Orange County jail. Two days after his release, his sister called the probation office and said Lee was smoking crack cocaine at home, according to probation department reports. Lee was picked up, but refused to submit to testing.

His probation was revoked and he is now at Ironwood State Prison in Blythe. The State Corrections Department is not allowing inmates to be interviewed while it reviews the policy.

“I asked him about the drugs one time and he blew up at me,” Lane said. “That wasn’t like him. I was his friend. You have to have a strong mind to get out.”

Tuioti played linebacker with viciousness and quarterback with finesse. In basketball, he was a power forward. He came from a stable home, with two parents, and had good grades.

There was no doubt about it, Tuioti was a recruiter’s dream. He signed with USC. Then high school ended.

First, he failed to make the required score on the Scholastic Aptitude Test. Then, he tore knee ligaments before the Orange County All-Star game.

He went to San Diego State and sat out a year. A doctor examined the knee and told Tuioti to not play football again.

“They told me I could clean up tables and stuff,” Tuioti said. “I wasn’t going to embarrass my family by taking a free ride like that. If I was going to do janitor work, I might as well get paid to be a janitor, earn it like my father.”

Tuioti went to Rancho Santiago, and played football and then went New Mexico State, where he was an All-Big West defensive end. He received a degree in criminal justice and came home to Santa Ana.

“I knew a lot of people who were getting in trouble,” Tuioti said. “I saw kids in high school who were just like myself, getting into the gang situation. The heroes kids have aren’t the local high school star, like when I was growing up. Their heroes are Reebok, Nike and a Raiders jacket. I had to help.”

Tuioti applied for a job with the Orange County probation office, then the county went bankrupt. He now works for a company contracted to run security at a center that houses juveniles who are about to be released from custody.

In the afternoons, Tuioti is an assistant coach for Foothill.

“My dad worked two jobs to support us,” he said. “He told me to do what I had to do on the field and he would take care of the bills. I was lucky.”

Can I Have Cheese With Mine?

The 39-cent hamburger stand was the place to be. Lynwood would demand the group’s money, all of it, and order the hamburgers. Each guy got the same, whether he chipped in 39 cents or $5. That was just the way it was and always had been.

“We used to call Scootie our cumulus cloud,” Katz said. “If he was up, we were going to have a great practice. If he was down, get out the umbrellas.”

His father left when he was 5. His mother split without a word when he was in high school. Moody? Coaches were lucky he had “up” days.

If there is a blueprint for failure, Lynwood held the patent. Bad neighborhood, no parents, a teen father.

Yet, this spring he will receive his associate arts degree from Rancho Santiago. He has applied at USC, Southern Methodist, Howard and Long Beach State and intends to study business administration.

“I was always going to succeed,” Lynwood said. “No matter what I did or what came up. It was never a question.”

Lynwood had help from an eclectic group.

“My kindergarten teacher would pick me up every day to go to school,” Lynwood said. “I lived with Coach Bentley for a while. I lived with this lady, Della Dunning, who bought me clothes. I would mow the lawn and she let me stay for free.

“I’ve been blessed. It’s like I’ve been a car on a highway and along the way there have been lots of gas stations.”

That’s not to say there haven’t been a few pot holes.

Lynwood was kicked off the basketball team as a junior for several violations. When he returned as a senior, the team reached the semifinals.

“We knew that this was a group, that control-wise, we were going to have to sit on them,” Coombs said. “We wanted them to have the opportunity to go on if they had the talent.”

Lynwood had the talent. He was one of the top point guards in Southern California. But when his high school career ended, he didn’t want the opportunity.

He had a daughter, who now lives with her mother in Atlanta. Lynwood was determined to be involved with his child. He played one season at Fullerton College, then went to work.

“I had no ambition to be a basketball player,” Lynwood said. “I had responsibilities and those took over.”

He worked on the loading docks for a newspaper for five years and is now a delivery man for an overnight mail company. He has reconciled with his parents and tried to be a good one himself.

Said Lynwood: “I may come back after college and coach. I can’t give to the people who helped me, but I can give to someone else.”

I Got Stuff. They Need It More.

Coombs got a call two years ago from Bobby Joyce.

“He wanted to know if he could help coach,” Coombs said. “I told him to come by. He never showed up.”

Lynwood got a telephone call a year ago. It was Joyce.

“He said he needed to talk with me and it was real important,” Lynwood said. “He never came over.”

Joyce’s life has become shrouded in rumors.

“We all felt Bobby was the one who was going to make it,” Tuioti said. “He was a man as a child. If he wanted to dunk on you, he would just do it.”

Joyce, a lanky 6-7, was considered one of the top basketball recruits in the nation. He was also the flash point of their last games as a group.

Santa Ana seemed to have El Toro beat in the football semifinals in 1987. But, with seconds remaining, El Toro quarterback Bret Johnson heaved one last pass from midfield in a hard rain. Joyce went for the interception instead of just flicking the ball away. El Toro’s Adam Brass grabbed the ball from Joyce’s hands and scored. El Toro won, 13-12.

Months later, the Saints were playing MacLean’s Simi Valley team in the section basketball semifinals. Joyce and a Simi Valley player got into a fight in the third quarter and both were ejected. Without Joyce, Santa Ana lost, 76-61.

“Those will always be the two things people remember about Bobby,” Tuioti said. “It’s a shame. There was so much more to him.”

Coombs remembers Joyce getting money for his birthday as a senior. He went out and bought an expensive toy fire truck and donated it to a children’s charity.

“They were asking for $5 Christmas gifts and this truck must have cost $25-$30,” Coombs said. “I told him that was too much. He said, ‘I got stuff. They need it more.’ That’s the Bobby I want to remember.”

Joyce played a season at Riverside Community College, then transferred to Nevada Las Vegas. He sat out the 1991 season--when the Rebels won the national championship--then sat on the bench the next.

He put on weight and got married, then disappeared. Joyce left the team for personal reasons in October, 1992.

Dennis Scallman, a bus driver who has looked after Joyce for nearly 20 years, is the only old friend to have seen Joyce recently. Scallman had to bail him out.

Joyce was arrested in Las Vegas for battery with intent, battery and robbery last November. Scallman sent bail money.

It’s not the first time Scallman has come to Joyce’s aid. There was the night Joyce said someone was trying to kill him and asked Scallman to get him to the airport. Another time, he was playing basketball in Mexico and some trouble occurred. Scallman never asked, he just sent money.

“I believe Bobby was embarrassed,” Lynwood said. “How could he come back and just be Bobby? If he wasn’t Bobby the basketball player, who was he? I think he lost his identity.”

“People still talk about those guys,” Coombs said. “It was as talented a group of athletes as I’ve seen in one class.”

Lane works two jobs and helps with his brother’s rap career. Leo Leon is married with four kids. Donovan Mauga is a chiropractor. Sergio Rocha died of a heart attack.

Lynwood has a kid. Tuioti got married.

Those who made the wedding were survivors. Those who were missing . . .

“When I think of Robert Lee and Bobby Joyce, I’m just glad they are alive,” Lynwood said. “So many guys we knew are dead. Robert and Bobby can still make it.”


Lawyer says his mob client claims to have helped bury Jimmy Hoffa

Alfonso “Little Al” D’Arco, acting head of the Luchese crime family, was the first mob boss to turn government witness. He flipped for the feds in 1991 and helped send more than 50 mobsters to prison. Now in witness protection, D’Arco shared his story with reporters Jerry Capeci and Tom Robbins for their new book, “Mob Boss.” Here D’Arco reveals details of one of New York’s most storied pizzerias, Ray’s. While the name became famous, its real business wasn’t pepperoni and cheese — it was heroin.

In 1959, a lean, dark-haired young hoodlum from Little Italy named Ralph “Raffie” Cuomo was released from prison after serving a stretch for armed robbery. He’d been caught robbing a posh restaurant across the street from the Waldorf-Astoria. A shootout erupted. One of Cuomo’s pals was shot dead and a cop wounded. Cuomo took a pistol-whipping from police. His picture ran in the papers, blood streaming down his face, a patrolman tauntingly pointing a gun at his head.

But he served less than three years. Back home and looking for a new start, Cuomo opened a pizzeria on the ground floor of an old tenement at 27 Prince St., where he’d grown up. He used recipes his mother had brought from Italy. He called the place Ray’s Pizza. (He would later explain that “Ralph’s Pizza” sounded too “feminine.”) He was a good cook. He had a white pizza, no tomatoes, that drew crowds. The restaurant became popular, the name famous. But sauce and mozzarella were only a sideline.

The shop’s real trade was drugs.

The chef’s supply chain for narcotics came via a notorious family that lived around the corner on Elizabeth Street. The DiPalermo brothers were all leading members of the Luchese crime family, the Mafia borgata of which Little Al D’Arco would later become acting boss.

Police pose with Ralph “Raffie” Cuomo (right) and Joseph Benanti following a failed Prince Street holdup in 1956.

Oldest of the clan was Joseph “Joe Beck” DiPalermo, a short, wispy man with thick horn-rim glasses considered by law enforcement to be “the dean of the dope dealers.”

Younger brothers Charles “Charlie Brody” and Peter “Petey Beck” DiPalermo served as able assistants. After Charlie Brody married Raffie’s older sister, Marion, Cuomo was welcomed into the family business.

Al D’Arco had always been wary of Raffie Cuomo, considering him too wild to be trusted. Today, from witness protection, D’Arco recalled, “He was a stickup guy, taking chances on armed robberies.”

But the pizza parlor and its adjoining clubhouse soon became headquarters for “the Prince Street crew,” a prime gathering spot for local mobsters.

“Raffie went into business with Charlie Brody and the rest of the Becks moving heroin,” D’Arco said. “He became a big narcotics guy.”

There were a few business setbacks. In 1969, Cuomo was caught with $25 million worth of heroin in his car trunk. He served a few years, then went back to the pizzeria and started dealing all over again.

None of the Prince Street crew used drugs themselves. But they had another addiction that drove them to ever-larger heroin deals. “They were all degenerate gamblers. Each one of them. They would gamble a hundred thousand dollars, lose it, and then have to do another dope deal,” D’Arco revealed.

Most nights, Cuomo was somewhere laying down a bet. “He’d be at the racetrack three or four times a week, the Meadowlands. And he was at the casinos in Atlantic City all the time, didn’t matter how much he lost.”

He still had enough loot left over for side investments. The chef ran a sports-betting operation, specializing in weekly football sheets. He also loaned cash to those in need. “He was a shylock, he had a lot of money out on the street,” said D’Arco.

The drugs and the cash were handled in the pizzeria’s unfinished basement, directly beneath the ovens. “The place had whitewashed walls and like a dirt floor.” Tree trunks, polished but untrimmed and dating from the turn of the century, held up the floor joists.

“They had one of Joe Becky’s kids, Anthony, going over to the East River Savings Bank at Lafayette and Spring Street with bags of bills. They had a guy in the bank on their payroll who handled the money for them. They made millions in babania — heroin. All the brothers and Raffie did. That’s what they were all about. They never stopped dealing. They were at it night and day.”

They also tutored D’Arco in the trade. He tried several heroin deals with the crew, hoping to score some of the big money for himself. But he was less successful. One shipment was rejected by customers as worthless. Another buyer turned out to be a federal drug-enforcement agent. Arrested and convicted in 1983, he served three and a half years in prison.

When Al D’Arco got back to Little Italy, he found Raffie Cuomo and the Prince Street crew still flourishing. Only now their drugs were being sold locally, to neighborhood kids. Even two of Al’s children had become users.

D’Arco was irate. “I blamed the Prince Street crew, Petey Beck, his brothers, and all of them.”

He wasn’t the only one. Drugs had been sold out of a small Puerto Rican-owned bodega down the street from St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral School, the Catholic grade school on Prince and Mott streets.

“They were selling drugs out of that store and their own grandchildren were going to the school on the corner. This nun from the school went out and screamed at them, right in front of their club there on Prince Street.”

Al D’Arco wasn’t about to become a crusader. He was a gangster. Drugs sold and consumed elsewhere, he rationalized, had nothing to do with him. But the line had been crossed when his gangland pals had let it be peddled on their own streets.

Selling drugs was supposed to be against mob rules, a potential death penalty for violators. But that was mob make-believe, Al knew. Mafia members and crews broke the rule regularly, with apparent impunity. Leaders of his own Luchese crime family had been caught in massive drug schemes, without suffering any consequences. It was business, he figured. Making money.

But he hadn’t seen needles going into the arms of friends, or rent and food money going to feed the addictions of parents instead of their children. He’d been spared the robberies and break-ins afflicting neighborhoods where junkies did anything for a fix. That was someone else’s world. Not his own. Now it was in his own family, flowing into the veins of his own children.

“When I found out what was happening in the neighborhood, the first guy I grabbed was Petey Beck. And I took him to a luncheonette on the corner of Mott and Spring. I told him, broadly, like, ‘You know, if I ever get the f–king c–ksuckers pushing drugs through these Puerto Ricans in this neighborhood, I am going to kill every f–king one of them.”

Mob protocol prohibited D’Arco from accusing DiPalermo, but the mobster got the point. “He was a made guy. A captain. I wasn’t going to say nothing direct at him. Him and his brothers and Raffie, because of all their gambling and need for money, were pushing it to the kids. How could you do that?”

The warning had little effect. A few weeks later, Cuomo called Al into the club next to the pizza parlor.

“Raffie tells me he has four kilos of heroin to sell. I didn’t scream at him. He was a made guy, too, just like me. I just looked at him and said I wasn’t interested. That I was on parole and couldn’t take the chance.”

Meanwhile, Ray’s Pizza was a bigger hit than ever, the name now synonymous with the city’s best pies. Cuomo briefly branched out, opening another Ray’s on the Upper East Side, but he soon sold it. Others rushed to capitalize on the connection, each claiming to be the original. There was Famous Ray’s in Greenwich Village, Original Ray’s Pizza on First Avenue, a One and Only Famous Ray’s in Midtown, even a chain with parlors around the country.

At one point, Cuomo tried to cut himself into the profits from the fad he’d launched, seeking to trademark his now-celebrated name. A complicated legal battle ensued, and he dropped it. But when reporters came knocking on Prince Street to ask what he thought about what he’d started, Raffie Cuomo, an apron tied around a growing paunch, scoffed at the pretenders. “Their pizzas give us a bad name,” he said. “There’s nothing like our ‘Ray’s.’ ”

He shyly refused to pose for photos. He had no interest in having his picture in the papers again. What he also didn’t say was that competition didn’t really worry him. He was doing just fine with drugs. Often, he didn’t even bother to hide it.

One day, D’Arco watched with surprise as Cuomo bolted out of the pizzeria to his Cadillac parked in the lot next door. “He says, ‘I gotta make a delivery,’ and runs out.” But he wasn’t delivering pizzas. “He pops the trunk, pulls out a bag with a couple of kilos and walks right into the street with it. Then he jumps in another car and takes off.” The pie man returned an hour later, acting as if nothing had happened.

It was no mystery to law enforcement what was going on at the heralded pizzeria. But proving it was another matter. Three times, the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office planted bugs inside the pizza parlor and on the street outside in hopes of catching Cuomo and his pals in the act. It was close, but no cigar.

Wiretap affidavits submitted to court by DA Robert Morgenthau during a one-year-long probe in 1989 stated there was “reasonable cause to believe” that Cuomo, D’Arco and other Luchese crime-family associates were “committing the crimes of criminal sale of a controlled substance.”

On a late February night that year, investigators watched as Cuomo put a white shopping bag — filled with narcotics, they believed — in the trunk of his car and invited D’Arco and a fellow Luchese mobster over to look.

Detectives saw D’Arco reach inside the trunk, then lick his fingers. It was “a gesture that indicates the ‘tasting’ of narcotics,” prosecutors claimed in a court affidavit. But this time, they were wrong, D’Arco said. “Nah, that wasn’t dope. That was food. Raffie made a big tray of sausage and peppers. That’s what I was tasting. It was delicious.”

When he wasn’t cooking up heroin deals, Cuomo still liked to work in his kitchen. D’Arco, who was justly proud of the fare at his own nearby restaurant, La Donna Rosa, regularly stopped by Ray’s for a bowl of Italian soup — pasta e fagioli. “Every Wednesday, he’d make this pasta fazool. It was the best I ever had, I gotta give it to him.”

D’Arco told the FBI that story and many others when he broke with the Mafia in the fall of 1991 after learning that his Luchese-family bosses were plotting to kill him. A couple of years later, another Luchese defector who had carried out multiple major heroin deals with Cuomo provided even more details.

In October 1995, drug-enforcement agents arrested the Ray’s Pizza founder, charging him with operating a vast narcotics network from New York’s most famous pizzeria.

Cuomo delayed the inevitable for several years, finally cutting a favorable deal, agreeing to serve four years. At sentencing, his attorney made a last-ditch effort to reduce the term further, arguing that prison stress could kill his 62-year-old client, who was ailing from heart disease, diabetes and recent back surgery. Prosecutors pointed out that the pizza artist seemed to be in decent shape. He’d spent the previous night betting at the Meadowlands.

He survived that third prison term, returning to Prince Street after doing his time to oversee his still popular restaurant. That’s where he was in April 2008, when complications from the diabetes and the heart ailment did him in. Services were held across the street at Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Three years later, Ray’s sold its last pies when Cuomo’s family shuttered the landmark pizzeria.

As things turned out, the real estate was almost as profitable as the drug sales. In 2011, Cuomo’s heirs sold the five-story tenement at 27 Prince St. with the old tree trunks in the basement.

Adapted from “Mob Boss: The Life of Little Al D’Arco, the Man Who Brought Down the Mafia” by Jerry Capeci and Tom Robbins. Out Oct. 1 from St. Martin’s Press.


Pozri si video: Smrť Slováka v Belgicku pri policajnom zásahu s hajlovaním. (December 2022).