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Operation: Black Rose
Roebling riot backfires on the NJ State Police
*A
true story by Jamie Thompson
On the evening of
We finally found one several blocks away and hiked back to the
club. I carried my 1967 Gibson SG Standard electric guitar, switching
hands regularly so as not to cramp my fingers too much before performing
before the wild, raucous crowd that followed us wherever we went.
When we arrived at the Village Tavern it was brightly lit and
crawling with young people. Kids were standing around in the parking
lot, getting in and out of cars, and going in and out of the bar. The
party spirit was heavy in the air. “Hey Jamie!” said someone I
didn’t know. “Jamie, how ya doin?” asked another stranger. “Are
you ready to rock, my man?”
As we walked through the front door we were immediately assaulted
by a wave of hot, stale, humid air permeated with the smell of beer,
sweat, and cigarette smoke. The guy carding people at the door
recognized me right away, smiled and waved us in. The place was packed
to the gills! I had to hold my guitar case in front of me as I walked to
cut a path through the crowd. Joyce followed closely behind holding onto
my belt loop so we wouldn’t get separated. After four years of development it seemed that my band mates and
I finally found the right combination of people and music. Black Rose
was a hit and bar owners were falling all over themselves to get us…
and our following… into their clubs. From the spring of 1973 when I first started performing live
shows through the spring of 1976, when I graduated high school, I
performed at uncountable events: school dances, benefits, local clubs,
concerts, and scores of private parties. During that time my band mates
and I developed a huge loyal following - a virtual hoard of kids that
turned eighteen years old en mass during the years 1974 -1978.
The legal drinking age has always been twenty-one in
The idea for what eventually became Black Rose started in the
spring of 1975 when a friend of mine introduced me to a record called Delaney
and Bonnie On Tour With Eric Clapton. This “blue-eyed soul”
super group recording blew me away! After three years of thinking about
and developing rock bands I was inspired to create a new band that made
the kind of incredible sound that I heard on that record. I shared it
with my singer/guitar player friend, Jimmy, and he was just as inspired
as I was. So, we endeavored to use the Delaney and Bonnie super group as
a model for a group of our own.
Like the Delaney and Bonnie group, Black Rose was fronted by two
lead singers. We had Eddie on drums, Scott on keyboard, Gary on bass,
myself on guitar, and Jimmy & Mark on lead vocals.
We nicknamed Jimmy “Laggin' Jim” because he was so laid back all the
time. He was a nice looking guy with a cheery disposition. He had long
strawberry blonde hair that he usually pulled back into a ponytail. He
had thick, reddish “pork chop” sideburns that reminded me of Duane
Allman. The man could sing! I always thought that his natural talent
came from his Eastern European heritage. He had a thick voice with a
fabulous tone. Jimmy loved the blues and so he mostly sang the blues or
blues based songs in our repertoire. He also played some guitar and
harmonica.
Mark was the archetype Italian stallion - tall, dark haired, handsome,
muscular, good-natured, vigorous, athletic, hard working, and hard
playing. Mark was a team player and had a way of talking to people so he
usually took care of the band‘s business affairs.
Mark was
tough and seemingly fearless. I always felt safe in a rowdy bar whenever
he was around because I knew that he could, and would neutralize anyone
who tried to give any of us trouble. He had a lighter vocal style than
Jimmy: more “McCartney-esque.” Jimmy and Mark complemented each
other’s styles very nicely. This enabled us to perform a large variety
of songs that we all loved.
Typically Jimmy and Mark got into the spirit of performing by spending a
few minutes pretending to box and “slapping each other upside the
head.” Jimmy would approach Mark with his fists up, challenging him.
Mark would laugh and say something like, “You’re crazy, man! Don’t
make me hurt you!!” Jimmy would respond, “I’ll knock you in the
dirt!” and advance on him. Mark would then break into his Mohammad Ali
routine complete with fancy footwork and jabbing.
“You don’t get it, do ya? I’m the greatest of all time! Float like
butterfly! Sting like a bee!! I been whoopin’ chumps like you since
you were in diapers!!!” A flurry of slaps and jabs would commence
which usually ended with Mark tying Jimmy’s arms and legs into a knot.
Of course Jimmy would never admit defeat saying, “Okay chump, is it
uncle or do I have to hurt you some more?!” Mark would respond, “Do
you see this face? I’m pretty! And I’ll always be pretty because
chumps like you can’t touch me!” This wacky banter was their little
ritual that got them in the right mood for having fun on stage and
entertaining the crowd.
Ed
was a great character and a good friend. He had a ridiculous sense of
humor. I think that was primarily why we got along so well. I usually
stood near him when we were jamming. We smiled at each other and rocked
out. We usually shared a large glass of beer or water while we were on
stage and if the glass was with one of us, the other would say,
"Hey, share the wealth, share the wealth!" Ed and I really got
into the band's image. When we weren't performing we were usually over
at his house lifting weights or out running to improve our stamina. We
believed that if we were in good shape, then we could play longer,
harder… and we would look better.
Scott
was a real “music lessons” type. He had ear-length brown hair that
was usually a bit scruffy, and a peach-fuzzy beard that clung to his
chin like a light fungus. He
was new to all of us because he was only sixteen but he was already an
accomplished keyboard player. His years of practice and training enabled
him to play virtually anything from jazz to classical. Scott was by far
the most technical player in the band. But he also had an incredible
talent for improvisation. In Black Rose he played blazing solos that
left me awestruck. He could play complex bass lines with his left hand
while improvising with his right hand. I never saw anything like it
before or since! I had a blast complimenting his work with my guitar
playing. (Scott made excellent contributions to several tracks on my CD
It’s Been So Long. Thanks Scotty!) In those days, Scott's bane was alcohol. That was a problem for
the band because, even though he could legally work in a bar, he
couldn’t legally drink in a bar. He did anyway, though, and,
typically, by our fourth set he was skunk drunk and would sit in front
of his piano with his glasses drooped at the end of his nose… utterly
unable to play! When that happened we all looked at each other knowingly
and then one of us would sneak up behind him and turn his amp down all
the way. For the record, I want to say that Scott gave up drinking long
ago and for many years he has been a successful, professional keyboard
player and a body builder… not to mention a fine fellow. Everyone has
some kind of compulsion or addiction. I know I do. I only mentioned
Scott’s former drinking problem because it played a central role in
how this story plays out.
Anyway, back to the night of On the evening of On this particular night the agents stood in the shadows and
watched as our Scotty acquired and then drank a pitcher of beer during
our first break. That was all that they needed. We had just started our second set when suddenly, from our
perspective, there was confusion in the crowd over by the bar as the
agents flashed their badges and confronted the owner/bartender who had
given Scott the suds. Next they went directly to Mark, the apparent leader of the band,
and demanded to see Scott’s identification. Mark tried talking to the
ABC officers, hoping that Scott would, perhaps, use the moment to
acquire a valid id from someone (This was before the days of picture
id’s). One of the officers was cordial but the other one got cocky
with him and gave him a hard time. I can still see Mark’s face as he
tried to reason with the guy. “Hey, look pal. I’m twenty-three years
old. I have every right to be here and to drink or not to drink as I
please. It so happens I’m not drinkin’. That’s because I’m
workin’. You ain’t got nothin’ on me.” In the meantime, Scott
was unable to dig up an id on the spot so, after the agents finished
with Mark they confronted Scott. When he was unable to produce proof of
being over eighteen, they arrested him and took him away. What we didn't
know was that they apparently expected the band to stop playing and that
the cocky ABC agent was angry because Mark stood up to him. Once they were gone and the crowd settled down we decided, after
some deliberation, to finish up the gig without keyboards. Meanwhile,
out in the parking lot, Scott was being loaded into a paddy wagon as a
large contingent of NJ State Troopers arrived. The cocky ABC agent told
Sgt. Devlin all about his dealings with Mark. When they heard the band
start playing again Sgt. Devlin was enraged and marched his men into the
bar. Objectives: get Mark, stop the band, and disperse the crowd. We were in the middle of a faithful rendition of Bring It On
Home To Me when suddenly the door flew open and a squadron of New
Jersey State Troopers entered the room. They were wearing black leather
jackets without badges, black steel-lined gloves, blue riot helmets, and
they were holding clubs over their heads! They moved swiftly and
aggressively through the room shoving anyone who got in their way...
apparently trying to provoke the crowd. People began to swear at them.
The band stopped playing in the middle of the song and Mark spoke
reassuringly into the microphone, “It’s all right. Everybody calm
down. If we all just produce our id’s and cooperate, then everything
will be cool.” As Mark spoke, Sgt. Devlin approached him and grunted, "Get
the hell away from that microphone!" Mark turned to face him,
his hands gestured compliance as he said, "Okay, I don't want any
trouble." Mark turned away from Sgt. Devlin toward Jimmy and said,
“What the hell is going on?” We were all confused because, as far as
we knew, the ABC guys left with Scott and that was that. Now, all the
sudden, the place was crawling with belligerent cops. Then suddenly,
inexplicably, Sgt. Devlin stepped up onto the stage and sucker punched
Mark on the left side of his head with his steel-lined glove. From that
moment on everything seemed to move in slow motion. Mark reacted
instinctively and instantaneously in self-defense. Before anyone could
think or say anything, he spun around and punched Sgt. Devlin square on
the chin, sending him sprawling backwards off the stage and onto his
butt on the floor! Then someone threw a bottle that bounced off of a cop
helmet and it was all over. The cops went berserk and started clubbing
anyone who was in reach as more cops crashed into the room through every
door and window in the place! (This real scene inspired a similar
fictional moment in my wacky short story called News Flash! Guess Who
Came To Dinner?) The crowd answered the attack with a volley of
bottles and whatever else could be used to repel the club happy cops! A half-dozen Cops appeared out of nowhere and descended upon
Mark. One grabbed him from behind with a club around his throat. They
dragged him across the stage, bashing him with their batons, while
knocking over microphones, band members, guitars, drums, and lights.
Jimmy’s guitar case was trampled and crushed. I just happened to have
been on the other side of Mark as this event unfolded so I didn't get
trashed in the melee like the others did. Since I had no weapon or body
armor it was obvious that there was nothing that I could do to help
Mark. Not being the brawling type I looked upon the riot in utter
amazement… All hell had broken loose!! The cops were viciously
clubbing anyone within reach and trashing the entire room in the
process!! My mind turned to survival. I tore off my guitar and threw it
into its case just as the mob of policemen who were beating up Mark
knocked over our light tree on the other side of the stage. I watched in
horror as it toppled over and smashed through a window sending a shower
of sparks into the air! Fearing the possibility of a fire I dove for the
power cords, which happened to have been on my side of the stage, and
yanked them out of the wall. At this same moment, my friend Kevin (who hosts this website)
watched in amazement from the back of the room as the light tree went
down with it’s shower of sparks and decided that the situation was way
out of control. Luckily for him, and a few of his friends, they were
standing next to a window that had just been bashed out by a cop
breaking into the room from the porch outside. Kevin and his friends
slipped out the window and escape unnoticed. Meanwhile, Jimmy saw me throw my guitar into it’s case and
tried to make it over to his guitar so he could get it out of harm’s
way when suddenly he was blocked by the most amazing sight: a State
Trooper dressed in a hockey outfit! He wore a helmet with a mesh
facemask and padding on his elbows and knees. He wore a baseball cap
underneath the helmet with the visor sticking out the back! He had a
much bigger club than the other cops: about 4 feet long… the kind that
one can wield with two hands. What a psycho! Apparently he was dressed
for an evening of fun clubbing people! Jimmy tried to explain that he
just wanted to put his guitar in a safe place but the hockey trooper
threatened to bash his head in if he tried to pass. Then Jimmy looked
into the crowd and saw our friend Lori trying to stop a cop from
clubbing one of her friends. The cop clubbed her in the head to shut her
up and she went down. Much to Jimmy’s amazement she got up again and
got right back in the cop’s face… so he cracked her in the head
again. She went down again… and she got up again! So the cop clubbed
her in the head again!! Fearing for her life, Jimmy called out to her,
“Lori! Stay down!!” While this was happening I was looking frantically for Joyce. I
finally caught sight of her and I couldn't believe my eyes! She was
apparently drunk and standing right behind a pair of cops who were busy
clubbing people. "Stop that!” she slurred. “That isn't very
nice!! Cut that out!!” I bolted into the fray, grabbed her by the back
of her collar, dragged her back to my side of the stage, threw her into
the corner, sat on her, and propped my guitar case up in front of both
of us! From that vantage point I witnessed one of the most brutal events
I have ever seen. Those six, or so, cops had dragged Mark over to the
opposite wall. One had him by the hair and was bashing his head against
the wall while the others were beating his entire body to a pulp with
clubs. His brother was screaming and thrashing while several of his
friends held him back from jumping in. Meanwhile, in the middle of the
room, the other cops were having the time of their lives clubbing
everyone they could get close to. That’s when I saw the psycho cop in
the hockey outfit. He screamed like a banshee as he bounced his weight
from foot to foot and then lunged into the crowd to inflict a blow. Some
kids were laying on the floor bleeding, crying, bruised, battered and
hysterical. Others were stumbling around bleeding, hacking, crying, and
trying to get away from the relentless blows. It was absolute mayhem!!
Joyce and I were very lucky to have ended up pretty much hidden behind
the PA stack and my guitar case. When the insanity finally subsided, the cops herded everyone out
of the room. A cop caught sight of me behind the guitar case, walked
briskly over, pointed his club in my face, and grunted, "Get outta
there!" We stood up and walked out in front of the stage just in
time to see Mark as they took him away. He was barely conscious or
recognizable as two cops dragged him out by his arms with his feet
dragging. He was bleeding, sputtering, and gasping for air. Every
visible part of his body was black, purple and red with blood and
bruises. Joyce started crying and I just stood there horrified,
wondering if I would ever see him alive again. The police set up a table at the front door of the bar and
checked everybody's id before they left. Those who had appropriate
identification were allowed to leave. Those who didn't were arrested.
Joyce was only sixteen at the time and she clung to me desperately as we
approached the table. She did not want to go with those crazed cops!
When we arrived at the table Joyce started crying again as she explained
that she was underage but that she was with the band. I nodded and held
up my guitar case as Joyce begged them not to arrest her. For some
reason the cops let her go. I never could figure out why, but I sure was
glad. Joyce probably would’ve gone hysterical if they tried to take
her away and who knows what would’ve happened then! Meanwhile, out in the parking lot, Mark and several dozen other
kids were being loaded into the paddy wagon with Scott. They handcuffed
Mark to some drunken character that kept mouthing off to the cops when
they weren’t looking. Thinking that Mark was the one mouthing off,
Sgt. Devlin, who sucker punched Mark in the first place, responded by
beating him some more. After a few of these incidents Mark finally said
to the drunk guy, “WOULD YOU SHUT UP?!!” Then Mark
faced Sgt. Devlin and said, “You think you’re tough sucker punching
me and then ganging up on me with your girlfriends and now hitting me
while I have handcuffs on. You’re a coward! I could still take you on!
You think you’re tough? Then take off these cuffs and let’s go at it
one-on-one right now. I’m half dead but I’ll take you apart! Then
we’ll see what kind of big man you really are!!” Joyce and I made it back to my car and we got out of that town as
fast as we could. We saw a lot of our friends on the road leading to the
highway but no one acknowledged us. I saw Jimmy getting into to his car
so I stopped, rolled down my window and yelled, “Hey Jim! Do you know
anything about Mark?” Jimmy looked grim and said, “I don’t know,
man, but I hope they take him to a hospital!” Scores of kids showed up at area hospital emergency rooms to have
their injuries treated. Some of them were serious. News of the incident traveled fast and our local paper carried
the story the next day. I couldn’t believe it! The New Jersey State
Police lied about everything!! The newspaper account depicted an
outnumbered, helpless police force responding to a complaint. They said
that they had no choice but to defend themselves against an irrational,
drunken, angry mob that viciously attacked them for no reason. Thankfully, Mark survived. After arriving at the police station
he was still bleeding so they took him to the hospital where he spent
the night. He went home early the next morning. Ed and I went over to
his house to visit him. His head was totally misshapen from swelling. He
had two black eyes and every square inch of his entire body was covered
with welts, cuts, and bruises. After “the brawl,” Black Rose became taboo. Bar owners in the
area stopped hiring us because they didn't want their places trashed
plus, no one was making big money from having us anymore because the
hoards of kids that used to come to see us dwindled to only a few dozen. Scott was warned by the cops not to return to a Years after the event Jimmy discovered one day that one of his
co-workers lived in Roebling. Jimmy asked him if he remembered the
brawl. The guy said he remembered it very well and that the whole town
hated the Village Tavern, Black Rose, and the kids who followed us
around. Upon reflection, Jimmy remembered that there was always one table
of young women from Roebling who sat in the same spot every time we
performed there… except for the night of the raid... for some reason.
Apparently the whole event was a town conspiracy designed to get rid of
us once and for all. You can't fight city hall, right? WRONG!!! Mark was the only one
of all who were arrested that night who didn't plead guilty to whatever
they were charged with just to put an end to it. In the months after the
brawl Looking back from my current perspective, I’m sure that I
wouldn’t be happy if there was a rowdy bar in my neighborhood with
people peeing on my car, throwing bottles and cans on my yard, and
passing out on my front lawn. On the other hand, none of the members of
Black Rose condoned such activities. We had no control over the people
who came to see us. All of these things may have been a public nuisance
but they pale in contrast to a State Police force that would enter a
properly licensed private business establishment under the authority of
the state and incite a riot so that they could beat everyone up so they
would never come back. After all, the cornerstone of this great country
is that we live under the rule of law. What Sgt. Devlin and his buddies
did that night was the kind of thing that the Gestapo did in
totalitarian Nazi Germany. No one from After five years of calling Mark in and out of court, basically
trying to force him to drop his not guilty plea by dragging him through
endless bench warrants for nothing, he finally had his day in court. It
turned out that Sgt. Devlin already had several complaints of police
brutality filed against him. Devlin lost his temper in court while being
questioned and started yelling about how tough he is, how he lifts
weights, and how he doesn’t take any crap from punks…
Mark was acquitted… Lawsuit time! The New Jersey State
Police settled with Mark quickly and quietly out of court. It's nice to
know that every once in a while something good happens in the world! For many months after “the brawl” I was gripped with fear
every time I saw a police officer or a squad car. It was my first real
taste of tyranny at the hands of those who are, at the same time, evil,
corrupt… and sworn to serve and protect the public and to tell the
truth under oath. In the years that have passed I have realized, thankfully, that
most cops are good cops and that I have nothing to fear from them. In
fact, I have developed great respect for those who put their lives on
the line for the public good… especially since 9-11. I have also learned that, as long as I have nothing to hide, I
can stand against bad cops, abusive people, and scam artists when I
encounter them. The same spirit inspires them all… and as long as I
stay right with God, His Spirit will prevail in any situation. The End
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