Brandon Tatum - Beaten Black And Blue: Being A Black Cop In An America Under Siege

A BOMBARDIER BOOKS BOOK

An Imprint of Post Hill Press

ISBN: 978-1-64293-851-7

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-64293-852-4

Beaten Black and Blue:

Being a Black Cop in an America Under Siege

2021 by Brandon Tatum

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by Tiffani Shea

This is a work of nonfiction. All people, locations, events, and situations are portrayed to the best of the authors memory.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Post Hill Press

New York Nashville

posthillpress.com

Published in the United States of America

Table of Contents

I decided to write this book after years of trying to talk myself out of it. I had fears like most. I felt it may not be received well and could possibly fail given that this would be the first book I have ever written or even read in its entirety. Trust me, I am in no way a writer. Never wanted to be either. However, over the last few years, this drive, hunger, and motivation for me to change the world and give police a voice at all costs has come bursting out of my heart.

Have you ever been asked if you had one wish, what would that wish be? Ive thought a lot about that recently. If I had a magic genie come to me and decide to grant me just one wish, I would wish for people to truly, and deeply, understand the American police officer. I mean that. I am tired of seeing only the negative side to this profession. I am tired of the smear campaign against cops in nearly every city in our country. Whether its in the news, on social media, or coming from everyday citizens, I believe there is a great misunderstanding of police officers. Beyond the sensationalized cases and the headlines good or bad, right or wrong there are real people who go out every day to serve their community. Those are the people you need to understand. These are the people I hope I can speak for, because they cant always share their own stories. Their stories are good stories, and they deserve to be told.

So, here I am. Writing my first book. This book will change your life. I am sure of it. You will gain insight into who I have become, by the grace of God. The most interesting part will be the insight you gain from my journey as a black man who happened to fall in love with policing in America. My experiences will surprise you. Buckle your seat belt, make sure your life insurance is active, and have everyone in your will that you truly love. LOL. JK. Lets get into this.

W e all have challenges in life; none of us get to escape difficulties. Not one person. If someone tells you any different, that person is being disingenuous at best. Stay far away from them. Believe it or not, yours truly is far from the exception. I was born into a broken family. My parents did not live under the same roof. So on and so on. Its the same story we hear all too often in the black community. But make no mistake, Im not here to start a pity party and hope you feel sorry for me. Whats the point in that? I dont think complaining about the hard times I had growing up will do much good for you or for me. The takeaway is that I made it through and, after a few missteps, took on the personal responsibility of making choices that would help me, not harm me.

Lets get back on the topic of my parents for a minute. Neither of them had a close relationship with their fathers. And even though my parents marriage ended in divorce, my daddy was always in my life. I was blessed even before I knew it, and that has made all the difference. Let me explain what Im talking about when I say I was blessed.

I was around eight years old at the time. I was being a typical knuckleheaded kid: not making the best choices and spending way too much time kicking it with my cousins, who were not any better at making choices. My mama and daddy didnt think much of it because they grew up doing similar things to what we were doing.

One day my older brother and several of my cousins decided to go into a vacant house in the area to smoke weed. We knew doggone well we shouldnt have been there. We had to sneak into the house through grass that hadnt been cut in months. There were needles everywhere and clear signs that crackheads had been in there doing all kinds of nefarious stuff. So, one of my cousins had the weed, and another had a few Black & Milds for us to smoke until they rolled up the weed. I will never forget my oldest cousin mentioning that he heard noises. We all told him to stop being scared like a punk. He was adamant, but no one took him seriously. Maybe two minutes later, police came storming through the front door and windows with guns drawn like they were doing a SWAT raid on some dudes on Americas Most Wanted.

I was absolutely terrified. I never thought they would shoot us, but I wasnt going to take any chances. Keep in mind, I was the youngest at eight; one of my cousins was nine. My brother was there; he was ten. And the oldest cousin was only seventeen. It was a mess. Kinda funny, too, though. Wait, I have to tell you this part. I was going to leave it out, but I couldnt. So, check this out. My nine-year-old cousin I mentioned before was kinda heavy, which is a nice word for fat. Well, as the police came barging in, this fool decided to run and hide in a closet. The problem was, he was too fat to fit in the closet; his backside was halfway out, and the only part of him in the closet was his head and maybe his chest. I will never forget my oldest cousin yelling at him, saying, Get yo fat a** out that closet before they shoot you. I am laughing right now as I am writing this.

Fast-forward, after the cops got us out of the house, they handcuffed all six of us and piled us into the back seat of one police car. We were five across and then another one lying across the top of us. They laughed at us and said we looked like sardines. Today, thats pretty funny. But at the time, we were all bent out of shape about it. They proceeded to take us a short distance away to a parking lot, where they let us out and took down our information. They then put us back into the patrol vehicle three by three and drove us to the juvenile detention center.

My brother and I just knew that they were going to call my cousins parents, who were much more lenient, and we were going to forget this ever happened. Lord forbid if they were to call my daddy! Guess what they did? They called my daddy, Mr. Tatum! My daddy showed up at that substation like Hulk Hogan. He literally yelled, Where they at? I am going to kill them! My brother and I looked at the detention officers like, Are yall going to let him take us home acting like that?!

Believe it or not, we didnt even get a whoopin. My father did something I never expected him to do, yet it was one of the most profound moments of my life. When we were driving homeI will never forget itI was seated in the middle row of my dads minivan, the kind of van that had the extra room at the top, with a TV and seats that lay down like a bed. It was white, which faded into gray, with aftermarket rims on it. It was so quiet that you could hear a rat fart. My dad slightly turned to me while he was driving and asked me point-blank what I wanted for myself and how I wanted my life to turn out. He waited for the answer, even though he already knew it. Like a lot of young boys where Im from, I had dreams of playing in the NBA. I wanted to be just like Michael Jordan. Not only would it allow me to Be like Mike, but it would also provide me a ticket to a better life with all the money and the finer things I dreamed of and saw on television. Maybe a mansion, fancy cars, nice clothes. Maybe even my own plane! Because I took too long to answer, my dad went ahead and stated in a calm voice, You will never play in the NBA if you continue down this path. He was truthful with me and said I had to decide right then about the kind of life I wanted. It was up to me to make the choices that would lead me down whatever path I chose for myself.