It Could Happen: Levar Burton's Traffic Stop

This may or may not have ever happened to Mr. Burton, but it is an "after the fact" story.  It follows in every detail a story that a friend told me in the 1980's. 

Once upon a time, Levar was driving to have lunch with a producer at the producer's home in Beverly Hills.  Levar was driving his own car, a late model BMW 528M.  He's a conservative driver, no flashy stuff, and he wasn't expecting any problems.

He was spotted by Beverly Hills police, a team of two in a marked car.  They noted the car, and they noted the color of the driver's skin.  The car was a perfect fit for Beverly Hills; the driver, in their eyes, was not.  They pulled him over. 

Levar knows what to do in those situations, and he went through his own drill.  He took off his sunglasses and hat, put his wallet on the seat next to him, and put his hands on the wheel, at ten and two o'clock.  One of the policemen approached the driver's side. 

Levar smiled and made eye contact.  "Good afternoon, officer." 

"Please exit the vehicle," said the officer.

Levar took his wallet with him and got out.  "Please step to the back of the car." 

The policeman asked to see Levar's license and registration.  Levar took the license out of the wallet and said to the officer, "the reg is in the glove compartment, should I get it?" 

The officer called his partner over.  "Is it okay if my partner retrieves the registration from the glove compartment?" 

"Sure," said Levar, "help yourself." 

The partner approached the car.  He closely examined the interior and opened the passenger side door.  He opened the glove compartment and took all of the contents out, putting them on the passenger seat.  He went through everything, found the registration, and returned to the rear of the car. 

Levar was a little annoyed, but he made every effort not to show any feeling about it.  He figured that this would be a short stop and everything would be fine.  After all, he was actually Levar Burton, the name on the license, this was actually his car, the license plate of the car was a vanity plate that said, "LEVAR1," the picture on his license was a good likeness, and he was on a legitimate mission to visit a resident.  Maybe they'd even recognize him from his film and TV work. 

"Please put your hands on the car and spread your feet." 

"Is this really necessary?" 

"Sir, put your hands on the car." 

The officer frisked Levar comprehensively while his partner took the license and registration back to the police cruiser to call in a document check. 

"Please sit on the curb, and put your hands behind your head." 

"Officer, really," he said, sitting down on the curb, "obviously this is my car.  I have a lunch appointment at the home of (redacted), he lives over on (redacted)." 

"Sit quietly, sir, and keep your hands on your head." 

The officer thought for a moment and took out a pad and a pen.  "What was that name again?  And what is the address of your destination?"  Levar repeated the information and the officer made notes.  He took the pad to the car and handed it to his partner, who got back on the radio to check the information. 

"Officer, how long is this going to take.  I have somewhere to be." 

"We're checking now, sir.  Please remain seated." 

Some time went by. 

"Is there a problem, officer?"

"There's no answer at the home with the address that you gave us." 

"I have his office number, if you'd like to try that." 

"Please be patient, sir."  The officer stood a few feet from Levar with his hands on his hips.  He was a tall, well formed man in a sharply pressed uniform.  He was wearing mirror shades. 

After almost a half hour, Levar was getting angry.  "Officer, this is ridiculous, there's no problem with my paperwork, you can follow me to the house if you like, I don't know why they're not answering the phone but they are expecting me.  Haven't I been sitting here long enough?" 

The officer put the heal of his hand on the handle of his pistol and flexed his fingers.  "Just sit tight," he said, "you don't want to have any accidents." 

The partner took a radio call and then got out of the police car.  The two officers spoke briefly and the first officer said, "you can get up now.  Thank you for your cooperation.  You're free to go." 

"About God-damned time," Levar mumbled as he rose from the curb.  The officer gave him back his license and registration. 

"Have a nice day." 

"Humph!" 

This actually happened to that friend of mine.  The BMW, the vanity plate.  My friend was going to the home of his parents, his dad was a doctor and his mom was a lawyer, a real-life Huxtable family.  Black, though, which was and remains a problem. 

A deadly problem for the Trayvons of the world. 

Black readers know all of this already, but you white folk, you should really try to walk for a mile in a black man's moccasins.  It's a trip.