To me one of the most fascinating things about Dr. Fred Johnson's story is that he went on to love this nation, and serve it as a Marine captain. He went on to study it and become a US history professor. And now he aims to serve America as a US Congressperson as a passionate champion of the middle class.
At the age of 15 in 1974 in Maryland, Fred Johnson was attacked and brutally beaten by Prince Georgy County police officers for no other discernible reason he can figure out other than the color of his skin. And he got back up and fights to make America better every day.
In the summer of 1974, I rode home on my bike from Landover Mall (in Landover, Maryland in Prince George's County, just about 1/2 hour to 45 minutes outside of D.C.). In the neighborhood of Glendarden, a Battle of the Bands concert was being held. It was being sponsored by the town fathers who wanted to reward the recent HS grads for a job well done. I didn't want to be in the midst of the crush of humanity so I relaxed on the lawn of the Town Hall, watching from afar as the festivities rolled on. After a while, a P.G. County cop car streaked down the road. Moments later this was followed by another P.G. cop car, a Md. State Police car, one from the National Park Police, and still yet another P.G. cop car.
The throng of people at the B of B concert grew nervous. I got my bike to get on and ride away when I was met by a mass of people moving my way. I turned to go in another direction when I saw a line of cops moving swiftly toward the people who were seemingly being herded into one great gathering.
The cops were dressed in their riot gear Sunday best: riot helmets, nightsticks, barking, snarling dogs, face shields, everything. They moved toward us in a disciplined, military fashion.
He saw a girl dragged by her hair across the grass. He saw a dog, unleashed on some kid to tear at his legs. He saw the men in riot gear going after people, kicking and hitting.
Please help us fight >>
I got on my bike to ride the out of there when I was hit broadside and knocked to the ground. Four cops proceeded to beat me with their nightsticks. I curled up on the ground, begging them to stop, asking them what I had done. They stomped, kicked, and spat on me.
They beat him until his was unrecognizable to his own sister, later when he finally made it home. They destroyed his bike. The called him nigger, jungle bunny, jigaboo, burr head, watermelon, boogie.
I saw through their hail of sticks one of them, or maybe it was another one, either way a cop was jumping up and down on the new bike my mother - a single mom with little money - had bought me for my birthday the year before.
They left me on the ground and went after others. I don't recall how long I lay there. My entire body was on fire with pain. Blood, snot, and tears seemed to be running everywhere. Somehow (I don't know how or when), I dragged myself home, carrying the battered bike on my shoulders.
I knocked on my older sister's downstairs window so she could let me in sight unseen by my mother. She would've flipped if she'd cast her eyes upon me. My sister did not recognize me and I had to work to convince her that it was me.
That convinced me that there was no way I could stay at my house. I straggled over to my best friend's house and hid under his roof for a day or so. When I finally went home, my mother saw me and, well, she flipped. Several days later, the swelling still hadn't gone down. People who knew me well, neighbors, didn't recognize me.
No one ever reported the incident. No cops were ever charged. There's little chance that County officials would have investigated even someone had reported the event.
It's years later and I still don't know why.
Eventually he would join the Marines to defend his nation.
His friends couldn't understand his decision.
He worked at an automobile plant, and in airplane brake manufacturing to put himself through college, and earned his higher college degrees. He's an author and is a history professor at Hope College.
And now he's running for US Congress against Bill Huizenga... a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth. A man taking the vote of West Michigan for granted. A man who has known little other than privilege, who hob-nobs with the elite. He holds $250 a plate fundraisers in Grand Rapids, not even his own district.
Meanwhile, Dr. Fred Johnson is on the ground, meeting regular people every day...trying to pull this region from under the thumb of what I see as the right wing, overfunded elite.
This man is the only one who can represent West Michigan. He's the only one. Huizenga is utterly clueless to the plight of people who happen to not be millionaires.
We need some progressive help here in West Michigan. Help us fight! $5...$20...we need THIS guy in office.
I am proud to say I am a paid blogger to get this man into office.