A man pouring motor oil down a city sewer grate was apparently caught in the act around 5:00 pm yesterday by a passing police cruiser. By the time I noticed what was going on, the man had been placed in the back seat of the cruiser, and the officer questioning him through the cruiser window had contacted the fire department. Not long afterward, a fire engine arrived, and the situation was reviewed; the police officer described seeing the suspect finishing off the emptying of two cans, somewhat hidden behind a parked car (not his; pictured).
Each time the officer reviewed this story, he made the same motion, both elbows out, shaking out the remaining contents of the cans. Pouring such material into the city sewer "is against the law, for a number of reasons," I heard the officer explain to my neighbor, when she asked if she could move the car. (No, she couldn’t, because photographic evidence had yet to be collected at the time.)
Various agencies’ representatives arrived in a dramatic cascade of activity, blocking off the street for the time being, at the dinner hour. I felt a sense of gratification that my street could no longer be used as a cut-through as I watched numerous vehicles having to turn around. My immediate neighbors were fine with it. For us it was all dinner theater.
When a detective finally arrived close to 7:00 pm, he took photos of the house where the incident took place, the cans as left by the suspect, the pools of oil that had spread far down the street in melting snow-puddles, and he snapped a shot of the suspect himself, just before letting him go.
One agency guy took evidence away in a big plastic bag: a large absorbent cloth that had been swooshed around in the most concentrated oil puddle, as well as the two cans.
This morning, I happened to run into the owner of the house and told him he missed all the excitement yesterday evening. His tenants are up to a lot of auto work in the driveway, I told him. They also don’t bother to clean up the litter in front of the house. They have reassured him that they will, he said, but I pointed out to him how they just sweep it all up onto the tree belt—visible again under the melting snow. The man who was held by the police yesterday doesn’t live in the house, but he seemed to be friends with the tenants, and they had been perhaps changing oil as well as bringing back some new slim-profile tires with very special rims they had just purchased. The neighborhood is sometimes like one giant auto garage, especially so when the weather is nice, but really year-round.
That may be the way folks want to treat the place, but the fact remains that such activity—and treatment of the environment—is illegal, and ought to be reported when observed. Slowly, I am learning that reporting things like this really does get a response, after years of a) not knowing any better about either the law or my role in its process as a resident, and b) feeling overwhelmed, once aware of the law, with the perception that so many people around me seem not to care about obeying the law, and c) feeling afraid that reporting other people’s illegal activity or ordinance violations will somehow put me in hot water, and they will instantly know who pointed the finger.
I’m not over all of those items but as I said, I’m learning. Watching what went down yesterday gave me added confidence that law enforcement is alive and well on my street, and I’m grateful to the officer who pulled over.
