I had a rib cracked when a policeman kicked it (I was unable to dodge the blow because at least two of his comrades were pinning me) during a public disturbance many, many years ago. The odd thing is, I had not personally been engaging in egregiously provocative conduct--the folks who were throwing things were behind me; I wasn't even hurling invective, but was within easy reach. I remember the most extraordinary moment of moral clarity, as distinct from moral courage, hard upon the kick: I must so arrange my life that I never find myself in this position again.

Of course I am today a respectable-looking citizen of middle years, whereas at the time of this episode I was a skinny kid with an equally thin goatee and hair down not quite to the small of my back: no further provocation was required to the cop mind of that era. I'm accordingly much less likely to be manhandled today, but ya know--that lesson sticks with me. If the cop says "Lick my boot," I do not respond, "I know my rights as a citizen, you cur," but rather "Would you like me to start with the top or the sole?"

cravenly,