DOING TIME FOR THE PANTHERS
William A. Wisdom

Although a lot of people have been imprisoned for their work with the Black Panthers, I'm the only person I know whose support for the Panthers has put him behind bars. The story unfolds in several stages.

It was early in September of 1970, and the Panthers were holding a national convention in Philadelphia. The word had gone out through the progressive white community that there were several things they could do to be helpful. Even before the conventioneers got to town, they would need money for food and other supplies. So we spread out through the city and suburbs, collecting donations from our liberal, progressive, and Communist friends.

As the Convention was starting, some people were needed to buy large quantities of food and deliver it to a central kitchen for preparation. Because I had a van, I agreed to go to the Italian Market with several others to buy sacks of potatoes, onions, carrots, lettuce, cabbage, tomatoes, and so on. They spread out through the Market, making their purchases. Because there were no available parking spaces nearby, I stayed with the van. I was double-parked; but I wasn't concerned, because I wasn't blocking traffic. And due to the Panthers' presence in town, there were at least a dozen policemen around, any one of whom could have asked me to move if I was in anyone's way. But nobody said anything. We loaded our supplies and headed to the Panthers' temporary headquarters on North Broad Street. No problems.

Well...no problems for a week or so, until I received in the mail a summons to appear in Philadelphia Traffic Court at 10 a.m. the next Monday to face charges of double-parking, obstructing traffic, and several other heinous offenses. This was absurd! Why had not one of the policemen present said anything to me at the time? That was obvious enough, on reflection. It was clear to them that we had to be a bunch of white liberals working for the Black Panthers up-town. So the City was going to punish us as severely as they could. Unfortunately for me, I was the one with a license plate.

So I showed up at Traffic Court at 10, confident that this little misunderstanding would quickly be resolved as soon as I explained the situation--that I had never left the van, and that any number of policemen could have asked me to move if I were in anybody's way. I waited for my case to come up. And waited. And waited. At ten o'clock there were probably 60 or 70 miscreants in court waiting to plead their case and learn their fate. By about 3 p.m., there was only one miscreant left. The judge scanned the papers in front of him, read off a list of charges, and asked me if they were true. Before "Yes sir but..." was fully out of my mouth, his gavel came down to punctuate the words "Thirty dollars or thirty days!" I again tried to explain, but he shouted at me: "I'm not interested in anything else you have to say!"

So I went to the clerk's desk, only to discover that I had ten dollars and change in my pocket. I said that I'd drive home to Mt. Airy to get the thirty dollars, and would be back within the hour. "No good," the officer at the desk said. "It's thirty dollars or thirty days. Take your pick." "May I make a phone call?" "Yes; one." Fortunately my wife was home, and she said she'd bring me thirty dollars as soon as she could. I went to sit down on a bench in the office. But the officer growled at me: "Maybe you don't get it. You're going to jail until we get thirty dollars." I was led off to a cell, where I spent about two hours that felt like an eternity. At first I was miserable, lamenting the injustice of it all. But as time passed (and I knew that the thirty dollars were on their way), my mood changed to one of pride. Doing time for the Panthers! What a story!


Copyright © 2003, William A. Wisdom