24 April, 2003
Bisbee, AZ

Often, on a Friday night in Bisbee, I go to Roka for dinner, the Grand for cribbage or pool, and Elmo's for dancing. Bisbee is technically a city, but most think of it as a town (pop. 6,326 including me). Nonetheless, there is not the nightlife range of say, Brooklyn, to choose from. However, I love my Friday nights here. At Roka there is a jazz trio playing with a singer who's voice is both honey and hot sauce. The lovely food from Rod and the staff always make one want to go out and be happy after eating.

Last Friday night, I had a lovely dinner, and on a sojourn outdoors-for my cigarette-I met a pleasant young man who asked me to join him for a game of pool. After dinner I went to the Grand, which has the most famous tables here, and played a few games. My young man's name was Brian, and he was with three friends, Mabry, Bobby, and one other, all from Fort Huachuca, the largest military spy base in the country. Some call it "intelligence"; others, "communication". The base is relatively unknown, unless you live here. Brian is a 25 yr. old "intelligence" man with the 304th Battalion, who speaks Korean and German, and possibly French, fluently, and was here with three friends from the Fort. He asked me fifteen questions in seven minutes flat. These included whether I was single and would I go out with him. I deferred, but played pool and well. Perhaps it was my skills that impressed him. He continued to ask me out. His three friends had gone down to Elmo's, where mine were waiting, so we joined them there. My ex-, J., his sister, S. and several other of my friends were at the best table. I sat there with them while he joined his Fort buddies lined up against the wall on barstools.

Brian was charming. He reiterated how "progressive" and "free" Bisbee was, how glad he and his friends were to get away from the Fort. I thought it odd, because we have been known as a predominantly anti-war city, with the mayor and city council supporting our protests. Only 30 minutes away, our military base has not been appreciative. Brian decided to keep playing pool while I went and danced. Unfortunately, G., a lovely, dirty-blond 21 yr.old in a white tube top, was in a severe drunk, which I soon realized was a blackout. She was in good hands, because there wasn't anybody in the place, except the Fort boys, who didn't know her. The band was hot and we all danced like mad.

I sat with my, J., and S. and introduced the Fort boys to them. The other three were very reserved, only drinking, no interacting. When I asked each in turn to dance, they lowered their eyes and said either, "i'm married", or, "wait for Brian." Soon Brian noticed G. She had pulled her shirt down and he went after her. We told him twice that she was not sober enough for him to take advantage and he got mad. "Why are you breaking up my fun?" he asked, "I thought you were all progressive." I explained that a drunk child was not fun and to leave off. I went back to our table. S. told me "he's an asshole" and I should stay away. I did. I was still in a dancing mood.

Brian came back and sat with us, trying to talk to me, and I couldn't hear him over the band. Suddenly he began shouting at me like a platoon leader, "I DON'T FUCKING LIKE TO FUCKING SHOUT WHEN I'M IN A FUCKING BAR," spitting on the table, then walked away. Nonplussed, I turned to S. who said, "I told you he was an asshole." It was obvious at this point. The Fort had come looking for fun and were going to get it-in any way, shape, or form. And they were after blacked out G. who couldn't help showing off her sweet young breasts. I went looking for dance partners and found a great Brit, who hailed from london, touring AZ in a car for weeks, this was his last night before going back across the Pond. We had a terrific dance or two, and while putting dents in the floor, came near Brian. I thought he looked slightly jealous, but when I felt his hand on my ass, I reached down to push it away. Instead, I felt a boot, and turned around to find he had planted his black military dress shoe on my blue skirt. I steered my partner to the other side of the room and thought it was over. I don't like fights.

The song ended and we came back panting, laughing, looking for a drink. Something had been happening because, S. said, "Don't call me a bitch," and Brian said, "Bitch." She flicked her cigarette at him and he took a swing. A full roundhouse, fisted punch at a women weighing in at 115. His friends pulled him off, and her brother held her back. Frankly, S. is tougher than most people I've met, and she would have enlisted in a heartbeat if it wasn't for her little boy. Several of us jumped in the middle, and I talked to Brian; I thought I had calmed him down. As I went for water, he lunged past his friends and slammed a table full of drinks on S. The bouncer was already coming, the singer jumped off the stage, though the band kept playing, and there was glass and liquid covering the floor. G., barefoot as usual, oblivious, was still dancing. I grabbed her and made her put on her shoes. When I turned back, the bouncer was falling back from Brian appearing to shove him, then the Fort boys were running out the stage door to the street where G. had just run. I wasn't sure if it was a hit n'run or a possible gang rape. The band kept playing.

Bouncer lay on his back moaning. I was an idiot holding the cup of water I had tried so hard to get, offering it to him several times. Within minutes the police and paramedics were there and Bouncer was trussed up and taken to E.R. I told the owner I could identify by name, all four of the Fort boys. He presented me to the police officer, and I gave their first names, Fort Huachuca, "intelligence", and what I remembered as Brian's Battalion number. The P. O. looked me in the eye and walked away while I was still talking. There were at least ten witnesses and the Police after hearing the first witness, me, say, "Fort Huachuca, Intelligence..." almost ran out of our friendly Bisbee bar, where bands play for free and people simply enjoy themselves.

I hate the attitude that local is better, after all, I had the most fun that night with a Brit (and I didn't judge him for Tony's position, nor did he ask me where I stood with George), however when Fort Huachuca boys know that they can get away with hitting a girl, molesting another girl, and have the Bisbee Police Department, the Sierra Vista Police Department, and the Federal Government on their side, during "war time", what's a peaceful, fun loving, small town to do? Take it? Or protect themselves.