Strandâs neighborhood who saw a man walking the streets in the early morning hours after the murder.
*Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â *
W EDNESDAY , A UGUST 27
Lisa and her friends stop talking as Officer Phil and I enter the room. The buzz-kill is as sudden as if a switch had been flipped.
Phil is wearing an expensive, elegantly tailored suit that fits his athletic body like a glove, making him look like a movie star. His short hair is brushed back and glistens with a gel I recommended to him. He is ruggedly handsome and gentle at the same time. The hetero girls in the room are experiencing heart palpitations, like me, and even the lesbian girls must be wondering why a gorgeous hunk like Phil would associate with an ungainly old transwoman like me.
I keep my face neutral but give my brain permission to gloat.
Phil is here to talk to a congregation of young transsexual womenat TransRising about interacting with the police department. He is masterful in the role, speaking without notes, encouraging spontaneous questions and comments.
Many of the young women in attendance have lived on the street and some still do. Their feelings about the police are complex and often negative. Several issue sharp criticisms of the Chicago PD and one is outright confrontational. Phil fields their barbs gently, his voice and face filled with compassion. The confrontational girl issues an obscenity-laced tirade about how the police treated her when they arrested her for stealing money from a john when in fact the first crime was the john stiffing her on payment after she serviced him. Phil doesnât point out that the first crime was actually prostitution. Smart. To a kid whose alternative is going hungry and sleeping in a doorway, prostitution is no more of a crime than breathing air or drinking water.
Instead, Phil talks about what sets off cops in those situations and how a citizen can conduct herself in a way to take the edge off. He tells cop stories about dealing with violent altercations and cops getting shot, stabbed, or beaten when they try to do the right thing. He paints a vivid image in our minds of what itâs like to be a cop, walking cold into a confrontation, having no idea who is right or wrong, or who is dangerous, and trying to restore order without making an arrest.
At the end of his forty-minute presentation, most of the girls in the room are in love with him. God knows I am, but thatâs nothing new.
Lisa leaps from her seat to take control of the meeting. It had to be agony for her to surrender the podium to me to introduce Phil, but she didnât know him. She thanks Phil, asks him to wait a moment, then closes the meeting. She and her friends cluster around him, offering thanks, cooing approval for his presentation, batting eyelashes. I canât help thinking Phil is going to get laid tonight by the beautiful young woman of his choice.
After a polite period of time, Officer Phil thanks the girls, says he would love to do this again, says he is late for a date with a gorgeous redhead. As he says it he walks to me and offers me his arm. I am overwhelmed. He called me gorgeous. And even though he didnât mean it, he left several truly gorgeous young women standing there, watching me lace my arm through his and leave with the man of our dreams.
Phil takes me to a wine bar near the Loop. I thought he was just using me to shake free of my adoring sisters, but it turns out he had hoped Iâd be available. Be still my heart!
We order glasses of red. I cross my legs as daintily as I can. We are sitting on stools at high tables and there is just enough room for a six-foot woman to get one leg over the other without dumping twenty dollars of red wine on her host. I try to pull the hem of my dress lower. I was doing sidewalk demos today so the dress is short, top and bottom. Iâm showing a lot of leg and enough cleavage to make Philâs eyes roam. I know heâs not interested in me, per
*Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â *
W EDNESDAY , A UGUST 27
Lisa and her friends stop talking as Officer Phil and I enter the room. The buzz-kill is as sudden as if a switch had been flipped.
Phil is wearing an expensive, elegantly tailored suit that fits his athletic body like a glove, making him look like a movie star. His short hair is brushed back and glistens with a gel I recommended to him. He is ruggedly handsome and gentle at the same time. The hetero girls in the room are experiencing heart palpitations, like me, and even the lesbian girls must be wondering why a gorgeous hunk like Phil would associate with an ungainly old transwoman like me.
I keep my face neutral but give my brain permission to gloat.
Phil is here to talk to a congregation of young transsexual womenat TransRising about interacting with the police department. He is masterful in the role, speaking without notes, encouraging spontaneous questions and comments.
Many of the young women in attendance have lived on the street and some still do. Their feelings about the police are complex and often negative. Several issue sharp criticisms of the Chicago PD and one is outright confrontational. Phil fields their barbs gently, his voice and face filled with compassion. The confrontational girl issues an obscenity-laced tirade about how the police treated her when they arrested her for stealing money from a john when in fact the first crime was the john stiffing her on payment after she serviced him. Phil doesnât point out that the first crime was actually prostitution. Smart. To a kid whose alternative is going hungry and sleeping in a doorway, prostitution is no more of a crime than breathing air or drinking water.
Instead, Phil talks about what sets off cops in those situations and how a citizen can conduct herself in a way to take the edge off. He tells cop stories about dealing with violent altercations and cops getting shot, stabbed, or beaten when they try to do the right thing. He paints a vivid image in our minds of what itâs like to be a cop, walking cold into a confrontation, having no idea who is right or wrong, or who is dangerous, and trying to restore order without making an arrest.
At the end of his forty-minute presentation, most of the girls in the room are in love with him. God knows I am, but thatâs nothing new.
Lisa leaps from her seat to take control of the meeting. It had to be agony for her to surrender the podium to me to introduce Phil, but she didnât know him. She thanks Phil, asks him to wait a moment, then closes the meeting. She and her friends cluster around him, offering thanks, cooing approval for his presentation, batting eyelashes. I canât help thinking Phil is going to get laid tonight by the beautiful young woman of his choice.
After a polite period of time, Officer Phil thanks the girls, says he would love to do this again, says he is late for a date with a gorgeous redhead. As he says it he walks to me and offers me his arm. I am overwhelmed. He called me gorgeous. And even though he didnât mean it, he left several truly gorgeous young women standing there, watching me lace my arm through his and leave with the man of our dreams.
Phil takes me to a wine bar near the Loop. I thought he was just using me to shake free of my adoring sisters, but it turns out he had hoped Iâd be available. Be still my heart!
We order glasses of red. I cross my legs as daintily as I can. We are sitting on stools at high tables and there is just enough room for a six-foot woman to get one leg over the other without dumping twenty dollars of red wine on her host. I try to pull the hem of my dress lower. I was doing sidewalk demos today so the dress is short, top and bottom. Iâm showing a lot of leg and enough cleavage to make Philâs eyes roam. I know heâs not interested in me, per
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