code white
Leo’s meltdown
You never forget the sound of someone screaming in a hospital at around one in the morning. Not pain, not fear, just raw, mean anger bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hallway. That’s how I remember Leo that night at Douglas Memorial Hospital.
Let me start by saying that other than the name ‘Leo’, every word you are about to read is true. I changed Leo’s name, you’ll figure out why soon enough.
Anyways, it all happened one August evening in 1985. I didn’t know what code white meant then. I do now. It means somebody’s losing it. A patient in a Hospital is being aggressive or has become violent. And Leo, well, Leo was past halfway there the moment he walked through the sliding doors and into the E.R.
The night had started as a promising Friday evening with four teens heading across the Peace Bridge to Buffalo, New York. We’d been talking all week about how great it would be to go there, grab some beers, meet some of my friends and see what the “American fun” I talked about was all about.
Leo’s father lived in Florida. He talked and talked about how great America was. He was talking like we were going to Vegas or something. Instead, we ended up driving through a part of town that looked like the set of a crime show after the detectives have already zipped up the body bags.
The drive down Niagara Street to Broadway Avenue felt longer than it should have. Buffalo at night has that glow, off-white sodium streetlights shining off of pavement. Everything looking like a scene that should have a cop car somewhere not far off. I was the only one that knew where we were going.
Rob was at the wheel, blasting Motley Crue on a stereo he’d installed in his ‘74 Toyota Corolla not long before. The wooden stereo speakers he’d crammed into the back window of the car gave off some wattage and some bass. We’d smoked a few joints before we headed over and our mouths got looser every few blocks. “Buffalo’s my kind of town,” Leo said. “Rough around the edges. My people.” The other three of us in the car were busy taking in the sights.
When we finally parked, I don’t think the place looked anything like what Leo, Rob or Brian had expected it to look. Rommel Avenue and Broadway. Buildings with boarded up windows, half-lit signs, and garbage tumbling across the sidewalk like tumbleweeds. This is where she lived though. And if it were up to me I would, and had made it there on foot to see her. Eight and a half miles, about a three hour walk.
I thought her friends were pretty cool too. We got to meeting up with each other pretty quickly. We were talking about music, sipping on beers and doing some shots out of bottles. Smoking some joints together, the night had the makings of a good time. I don’t know why but Brian and I started punching road signs. Stop signs and no parking signs. Leo loved it, of course. Then, as two of them were walking past us on the sidewalk, he started throwing the “N” word around. Loud enough to get them to turn around.
He punched one of them in the face. They retreated to go and get some friends to come back with. Rob and I shot each other the same look. Brian muttered under his breath, “We’re dead.” Our street wise American friends suggested we call it a night, get in our car, and get ourselves out of there while the getting was good. They were leaving and we weren’t welcomed to come with them.
Just like that, the night turned. We piled into Rob’s ‘74 Toyota Corolla and started making the trek back to Canada. Leo was in the front passenger seat of the car, cursing and laughing. Rob pointed the headlights north towards the Peace Bridge. I remember looking back at the city glow behind us like a fire we’d just barely escaped.
We thought we were making a slick getaway. Soon we would be back in the safe confines of Canada. Or so we thought. It started on Broadway. I’m not sure when the first time Leo jumped out of the car at a red light was. But I know by the time we were on Niagara Street every red light he was jumping out of the car to yell at, and challenge whoever was standing on the corner to fight him.
Usually they were young African American black men. Leo was calling them the derogatory ‘N’ word that you aren’t supposed to say. Why he didn’t get shot, or beaten I’ll never know. At one red light a couple guys started moving towards the car and Rob, justifiably panicked, and started driving forward. How it happened I don’t know, but he ran over Leo’s right foot.
He slammed on the brakes and one of the wooden stereo speakers sprung free and cracked into the back of Brian’s head. I think he was damn near out cold. Just sitting there moaning and groaning. Leo was yelping and carrying on about his foot. He got into the car, Rob started driving again, running the red light. We were chased on foot for a while, maybe a block. I was on the passenger side in the back seat wondering if they were going to drag me out of the car and kill me too - or just kill Leo.
Somehow we made it to the Peace Bridge, paid our toll and drove across the bridge to the customs booth. No sooner had the guy simply asked us our citizenship then Leo started yelling at him “these N’s are after us man! They tried to kill us man! They are going to kill us man!” Needless to say, we were pulled over to secondary inspection.
A customs officer started dealing with us. Wanna know what he found? A joint in Leo’s pocket. I still remember what he said as he was trying to get out of it. He said the officer could keep it, smoke it, or give it to his kid - all Leo knew was that ever since he put sun in into his hair earlier that summer his life had been chaotic. How the hell they let us go I will never know. They did though. Incredibly. Our next stop was the Emergency Room at Douglas Memorial Hospital in Fort Erie.
We parked in the side parking lot by the E.R. entrance. Leo hobbled inside. Rob, Brian and I sat in the waiting area pretending to read three year old magazines, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. After a while Dr. Gleason was walking out with Leo whose right foot was now in a tensor bandage. I don’t remember if they X-rayed him or what, but the doctor said, “good news, your foot’s just bruised. You’ll be fine in a few days.” That’s when the switch clicked.
Leo’s face went from relief to rage in a heartbeat. “A bruise?” he yelled. “You think I came all the way here for a bruise?” Before any of us could react, he grabbed Dr. Gleason by the lapels of his white coat and shook him roughly. The three of us jumped in at once, prying Leo’s hands off of the doctor. Shouting his name, trying not to make it worse.
I remember Rob yelling, “Let go, man! You’re gonna get arrested!” Leo finally stepped back, eyes wild. The doctor just straightened his coat, and quickly hightailed it away from us. We got Leo out of there, I don’t even remember how. He was grinning like he’d won something. Rob wasn’t impressed. “You almost went to jail, man,” he said. Leo just laughed, this weird, barking sound that didn’t sound human.
No one said much for a while. The roads in Fort Erie were dark and empty, tunes emanated from the stereo. The occasional glare of headlights from the opposite lane passed us. Leo kept rambling about how the doctor was an idiot, how he should have kicked his ass
I remember thinking, this is a guy who should not be alive right now. He should’ve been cuffed. Shot. Beaten. Tossed in a cell. Any of which would’ve been just. But instead, he sat there in the passenger seat with a bruised foot. Laughing into the darkness. When we finally dropped him off, he slammed the door and limped up his driveway, still muttering to himself.
He made it up his porch steps, and for a second, I saw him look back at us. That stupid grin still on his face, the one that made you wonder if he knew something we didn’t. The next day, it felt like it was all a dream. One of those nights you don’t tell your folks about because they wouldn’t believe you anyway.
What Leo did was racist, and wrong. I don’t remember ever hanging out with him again. I’d see him somewhere from time to time. We never talked about that night. I still think about him jumping out of the car at those red lights to yell at whoever was within earshot. Threatening to fight anyone who was willing to, while we sat there watching Leo’s meltdown. The strangest part of all? He never did get in trouble for any of it. Not that night. Not ever.