Justice Impossible

My name is George W. Humphreys, Sr. On February 2, 1984, I considered myself the luckiest man in the world. To explain exactly why, I must return to the spring of 1971 when I met my wife, Bridget. I was 28 at the time and employed as a Union wallpaper hanger-a family trade since my grandfather’s life in Ireland-and I made a good living. At that point, I had many relationships with girls-some serious, some not so serious. The only thing I knew for sure was that, "I sure did like ’em."

Rumor had it that "George is so into himself, no girl will ever hold him down," and I began to believe it myself. That’s when I met Bridget, and boy was I wrong. There she was-18 years old, blond, and in total possession of every single characteristic that I considered to be absolute perfection, "and I was an expert."

Bridget came from a poverty-stricken family of seven children-six girls, one boy-whose father placed more value on his fast-pitch softball talent than supporting his family. Bob and Nancy Burgman paid no attention to the children, but the entire family sat in the stands as Bob’s captive audience, their whole lives revolving around his ego. Consequently, a life of welfare and poverty was their fare, for they spent many years on public assistance.

Two daughters became pregnant, then married. Rather than being upset about the circumstances of the marriages, the parents were anxious to be rid of the girls before the age of 18 when welfare support ceases.

That Bridget didn’t fit into the rest of the family was obvious to me. "There were definitely reasons why I ran away from home three times in search of a life other than pregnancy and welfare," she told me. In my eyes, she was the Cinderella I’d never believed existed, and to this day, that description fits more perfectly than ever-better than any glass slipper.

Within a month, I offered her an engagement ring, and the following December 18th we were married. On October 29th of the following year, Bridget gave birth to our first son, George Jr. On May 20, 1977, our second son, Jason, was born. I worked to support the family, and Bridget took care of our home and our sons. Life was wonderful, and we were extremely happy-living the American dream.

On the morning of February 2, 1984, at 41 years of age, I was a respected husband, father, tradesman, homeowner, and little league coach, with no criminal record. Then, at approximately 4:30 p.m. on that same day, our lives turned into a nightmare of pure hell, seemingly ending on April 11, 1988, four years, two months, and nine days later, upon my release from prison.

During this process, I lost my reputation and the subsequent practice of my trade. My wife and I lost our savings, our possessions, and, finally, our home. But, thank God I didn’t lose the most important people to me-the love and loyalty of my wife and two sons who suffered along with me, for they knew I had committed no wrong.

Throughout the years following this episode, I thought about it often and wondered how it could possibly happen in America. I thought about it on holidays, such as Memorial Day, when we honor the sons and daughters who answered the call of liberty and gave their lives in support of it. I thought about the men at Valley Forge, who over 200 years ago, starved in the snow so that Americans could have a constitution and the rights that it guarantees to all. I thought about subsequent wars and the ultimate sacrifices of the young men who fought and died to preserve our constitution. I thought about the bodies of the men lying on the beaches of Normandy where their young lives ended so we, as Americans, could enjoy the freedom from oppression-our nation was founded upon that very concept. I thought about the words contained in the constitution clearly stating, "No man shall be denied life, liberty, or property without due process of law."

While attending fireworks displays on July 4th celebrations, I continued to think about it. When a helicopter flew over the area, carrying a large American flag, I couldn’t help but think about it. Lighted by the spotlights below, our American flag proudly blew in the wind, while music, and fireworks, and the sounds of thousands of proud screaming Americans filled the background.

I am, and always will remain, an American. It is with this in mind, and with the compelling desire to let the truth be known, that I’m spurred onward to write my book. In it will be revealed the tyranny of the abusive power of the police involved, their irresponsible and inaccurate reports to the news media, and the subsequent results. Allow your minds to follow the steps of corrupt, ambitious, and greedy men who required and demanded the co-operation of many to violate human ethics and their offices within the legal system. The same men who took oaths to protect and uphold our cherished constitution, placed their own desires, ambitions, greediness, and thirsts for power above it.

I will use real names in my true story. I’m sure there are those who will not like having the truth revealed, for they are the ones who compromised their honesty and violated their oaths of offices for their own personal gains. These are the same men entrusted by our democratic society to deal out "justice to all." These are the same men who made Justice Impossible for my family and me.