Jacob Miller is a successful lawyer from Minnesota. His mother became a lawyer later in life and his father is the chief of police in one of the emerging metropolitan areas outside of Minneapolis/St.Paul. He came down to New Orleans to serve the role of best man in the wedding of his former law school roommate and his wife-to-be. Jacob had been down to New Orleans years ago, when he was in his junior year of college. He remembers that time fondly, a mix of college-age rowdiness and quiet walks around the city, visiting the paths less traveled by tourists.

The night of his friends wedding, Miller and the groomsmen went to Bourbon Street, planning to celebrate their last Howrah – they were now all married and their lives would now change; gone was the ‘good-ole-days’ of minor responsibilities and now they were men responsible to their careers, their wives and their families. Walking back from his hotel, he was approached by a man asking for money. Jacob ignored him, feeling uncomfortable by the shaking of the vagrant man, unsure if he was a drug addict or simply a vagrant down on his luck. He didn’t want to take a chance, having heard of some of the violence that was plaguing New Orleans at the time.

As he got to the corner where the streets met, two other men were waiting. It occurred to him that he had walked into an attempted money-making scheme. He attempted to ignore it, trying to simply walk past the men, but they blocked his path, taunting him. Admitting that his earlier celebrating had gotten the best of him, Miller fought back, exchanging punches and kicks with the three men.

“Liquid courage. I thought I could fight them off and they wouldn’t bother me or anyone else for the rest of the night. I fully admit that wasn’t the wises of decisions made.” Miller says, sheepishly taking responsibility.

In the middle of the fight, a police cruiser drove by, stopping, pulling Miller away and slapping cuffs on him. He tried to explain to the officer what had happened, but it was the word of three men against his and Miller suspected that at least one of the three men knew the officer based on their interactions. The three that had targeted Miller fled with their freedom and Miller was taken to Orleans Parish Prison.

Upset that the perpetrators had gotten away, Miller told the deputies at Orleans Parish Prison that he was an attorney and knew what his rights were. In hindsight, he wishes he wouldn’t have offered that fact; it was the driving force behind what happened next.

“I’ll put you in the restraints,” he was warned by the deputy, a young man who Miller says looked at him with spite and hate.

“You have no reason to put me in restraints. Again, I KNOW my rights,” Miller contended, feeling outraged that this was happening.

“That’s it boys, buckle him down,” the deputy said, calling for assistance from other officers. After they restrained him in the chair, they took him to a cell, and placed him in five point restraints. He was left alone in a cold room, buckled down, freezing. He had asked to go to the bathroom, but was ignored. After an hour he could no longer hold it and was forced to urinate on himself.

He finally fell asleep, to be woken by two guards beating him, punching him. Laying on the table, strapped down, his body served as a human heavy bag.

“You ain’t no body here bitch,” one officer screamed in his ear, punching him repeatedly on the jaw line.

“You here, bitch. You ain’t got no rights, ” the other officer said, punching Miller in the stomach, then in the genital area.

The next day, he was taken to the doctor, he said nothing of his injuries. His chart read that he was a suicide risk, something Miller did not understand, so he was placed in a cell on the mental health ward.

“We heard them beat you last night, man,’ a toothless man said to him, ” you didn’t even scream, baby. Most of the time, they scream. You tough fan.”

“Does this happen often?”

“Yessir, every day.” the man said.

Miller had a hard time negotiating this, his background in law with seeing what happened when the system sent someone to jail, or when the justice system didn’t work. He was bonded out by friends the next day, but has never really gotten over the experience. Charges against him were eventually dropped.

“For several days, I grew really withdrawn. I do not know if I want to practice law anymore, which maybe that isn’t a bad thing. I do not understand how this can happen with such regularity and nothing is said. If I do ever go back to New Orleans, the next time I see a cop, I will run the other way. What was supposed to be a time of celebration turned into a nightmare. New Orleans will never mean the same thing to me again.”