Violence is a growing trend in America that is bred out of pure necessity; necessity to live and to be noticed-two statements that are one in the same. Whether it is by force of economic adversity or by overwhelming indifference and disrespect, American violence has become a rising share in a bull market. The academic community of Poughkeepsie has become submerged in a haven of batteries, burglaries, and assaults. The perpetual omnipresence of hostility in the Poughkeepsie area has some citizens looking over their shoulders on the way to their driveways. Once the capital of New York State, Poughkeepsie has since been selectively transformed into a perfect cross section of modern day America-filled with an ever growing economic gap that promotes violence and segregation. The Marist College community lies just to the northwest corner of Poughkeepsie and over the past few decades has become an intricate part in restoring wealth to the impoverished city center. However, the academic community has also bared an onslaught of violence in the after hours of the Poughkeepsie night.
Over the past year criminal activity towards the academic community has become a recurring trend, and cases where force is used are no longer scarce. The average Marist student knows someone, or 'knows of someone' who has been accosted in the city of Poughkeepsie. Most of the recent incidents of criminal violence have occurred outside of school grounds, but that is not always the case.
Friday 13; a day infamously known for conjuring up events of utter-misfortune did just that this past April for Jim Mearns, a senior and employee of ResNet at Marist College. At about 1:30am that Friday night Mearns was walking back from Mahoney's behind the train station and towards the small steel bridge off of North Water Street. Before he reached the steel bridge a black Honda Civic stopped in front of him and he noticed one man exit from the car. His optimistic nature followed first and he said assumed the strangers had good intentions until the headlights suddenly switched off revealing the shadows of two more men. Mearns began calling out to the men and then, as much quickly as instinctually, raised his voice to a shout in hopes to cause some intimidation in the approaching shadows.
A cut above Mearns's eyebrow comes into light as he begins to recall the events of the night, "The first guy hit me in the back of the head." He had been surrounded like a pride of lion's savoring over a gazelle. "I just went to the ground and they repeatedly hit me in the face. I remember six to seven full blows."
With a hail of fists blurring his thoughts and sight Mearns managed to grab his wallet and "raised it up in the air" as an offering towards his assailants. The men grabbed his wallet and took off toward the car before speeding away. They got away with all of Mearn's important forms of identification, his credit card, and twenty dollars.
Despite the severity of the case, the incident was never reported by Marist College and students never received any email discussing the events.
John Gildard, Director of Safety and Security at Marist College, said "timeliness" was the issue in Mearns's case. Gildard did not hear about the incident until after the weekend was over and thus the academic community did not receive an email about the crime. "[Marist is] only required to [report] incidents on campus," adds Gildard. Marist has reported criminal activity off-campus in the past, but only does so as a common curiosity to the academic community.
"I walked to security straight [towards] Donnelly," said Mearns. A report was filed with the police and Mearns was sent to Saint Francis where Mearns said, "It [took] two or three hours for the doctor to see [him]." Once in the doctors' care the blood was swabbed away and a healing adhesive was applied to wounds on his upper right eyebrow, upper lip, and upper left forehead by his hairline.
Five weeks prior, a similar group of men confronted two Marist College students on Delafield road. Just like in Mearns's case, the academic community was never notified about the incident.
At 2:30am on March 4 Marist College seniors, John Oehm and Brendon Van Wasbeek, had decided to take a short walk from 93 Delafield back to Marist College. According to Oehm's official police report, as the two students approached intersection where Delafield Street and Route 9 meet they spotted three black males walking in the opposite direction. The tallest of the three men walked a couple of feet in front of the others as they passed the Marist students-both and Oehm and Van Wasbeek thought nothing at first but held some caution. Oehm said, "As this guy past Brendon he grabbed [him] from behind. The other two men then grabbed me and pulled me off the sidewalk onto the ice covered grass." Van Wasbeek and Oehm reacted quickly and Oehm managed to put one of the assailants into a headlock while Van Wasbeek scuffled with the others. "[One of them] started yelling he had a gun and I could feel something pressing against the back of my head," said Oehm, "I was afraid that he did have a gun so stopped fighting."
Van Was Beek, a South African citizen hailing from Johannesburg, doubted the criminal's threat and quickly pointed out that if they had a gun that would have been the first thing they would have used. The three black men that held them up make an intriguing parallel to the racial tension that exists in South Africa. Johannesberg has long been a city plagued by crime and deadly carjacking; a crime that got so serious citizens were handed the option of mounting a powerful flamethrower underneath their cars that, by command, would spit a wall of fire into the air quickly deterring if not altogether disposing a carjacker.
Both of the students held out their wallets away from their body and their assailants took out their money and handed the wallets back to them. According to Oehm's official police report he lost about 26 dollars. The men were last seen making a right onto Spruce Street at which point Oehm notified the police.
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