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John Morin stories
John Morin is a former Lansing resident who now lives in Holt.
Shots at the fish fry
It was October 11, 2014, a beautiful Fall afternoon, shattered by multiple gunshots echoing from the direction of the fish fry on the corner of South Francis and Kalamazoo Street. I quickly told Sheri to retreat to the back room, to put more walls between her and danger. In my life, I have always ran to danger, so I found myself at our front door watching what developed. And sure enough, Sheri didn't listen to me at all, standing next to me at the door. We watched as a tan four door pulled just past our house and stopped. A white female was driving, a black male in the passenger seat. Suddenly two more black males ran from the fish fry area heading towards the tan car. Directly in front of our house they stopped, looking back the way they came, both pulled out semi automatic handguns from shoulder holsters. Both men commenced firing back toward the fish fry, unloading their guns. I was very concerned as the direction they fired, beyond the fish fry was a park where young kids would be at enjoying the day.
My reaction was swift, with phone in hand, dialing 911, I ran out to the road as the two shooters each opened a back door to the car and got in. As they sped away I told the 911 dispatcher to write this down, "DED". I was interrupted by the 911 operator telling me "We don't need that". I was reading off the plate number and when she said that they don't need it, I looked at the phone in disbelief. I told her there had been a shooting and I did not know if there were casualties. I failed to get the rest of the plate number when she said that. I returned to my house to await the police. When they arrived, there were numerous shell casings from the parking lot all the way to my driveway, three houses over. I was standing over some of the cases, waiting to have the police retrieve them. A tall lanky uniformed officer eventually headed my way. As he approached I could see his hands were cupped full of shell casings. As he approached me, his comment struck me like a brick. He said to me "you don't think I'm contaminating the evidence, do you"? He was carrying the shells in his bare hands. It was the day I realized that I had become a target of the LPD. What was wrong with his actions and comment was when my house was hit by a bullet in April of 2012, Officer Paul Beasinger had verbally attacked me for picking up the bullet that my dog was trying to get at. He had said that day that I "had contaminated the evidence". It started to make sense, the romper room laughter in the LPD squad room was about people like me, and they were not laughing about our good fortune.
My attempt was to do the right thing, but it seemed that both the 911 operator and the LPD officer went out of their way to show me that I was a waste of their time. The people involved in the shooting were eventually captured, and I was subpoenaed in May of 2016 for testimony, but the case was settled before the court date, so I never took the stand.
Like any city resident, I to was required to fill out a questionnaire for jury duty. Many times I had to take off work, hoping to get to the postage stamp size parking lot for jurors before it filled up. Then there is the hours long wait in a large room with very little to do. If you're smart, you have magazines or a book to read. It was on one of these days, having failed to get a parking spot in the lot, I was instead forced to feed a parking meter. I kept track of the time so I wouldn't wind up with a dreaded ticket. Before long, time was close so I headed to the door, and as I went through it, ran right into the bailiff. He asked where I was going, I said "to put money in the meter, it's about to run out, my car is right there, only take me a second". Not a good enough answer. He stopped me and stated that they were seating a jury right then and I was not to leave the building. Using logic I asked the ten dollar question, "what do I do if I get a ticket". He was in uniform and had authority which compelled me to take his advice. He told me that "if I get a ticket, just give it to the prosecutor and he can sign off on it". To me that was a good enough answer. I went upstairs with everyone else to find out who would be selected. It took very little time, and since I was not called up, myself and the others not picked were released. I was irritated but not concerned when I got to my car, and sure enough, a parking ticket on the windshield. Per the bailiff's advice, I tracked down the prosecutor. He was with someone else when I approached him, and ticket in hand, I explained what had happened. He told me that my only recourse was to go and pay the ticket. That he does not sign off on any tickets for anyone. Slightly angry now, I told him that if that was the case, he would need to find a different juror, I was not going to put myself through jury duty ever again. I left, paid the ticket on the way home. When I arrived home I called the Ingham County Jury Administrator and told him that in my neighborhood, I couldn't tell the cops from the crooks any longer, sad part is that I was being honest. That statement got me a lifetime ban from jury duty. One of the reasons I have compiled this embarrassing list of how bad life can be in Lansing, is that police officers who have sworn an oath, the people that we should trust above most others, are in truth failures. They have lied on police reports, thus aiding and abetting criminals. Destroyed evidence, for what purpose. And now you want me to trust what they say in court. How many times have they bent the truth to gain a conviction. And yes, police rise in rank by arresting people and getting them convicted. Another topic on an upcoming case, only this time, Sheri and I could end up in prison the rest of our lives.
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