Having been tailed by cops a few times growing up in Los Angeles, Andre "Dray" Wilmore reacted instinctively on May 19, when an officer pulled behind him as he pedaled his Mongoose dirt bike to a Downtown-area post office.
Artwork tucked under his arm, he tried to appear dutiful, not menacing. "I just kept riding," Wilmore says.
Maybe he fit the profile of a suspect, he thought, but since he wasn't doing anything wrong, he figured there was no reason to fear. Besides, he's one of the good guys, an artist who took the city up on its offer to move Downtown and set up galleries—he's exhibited throughout town and at McCarran Airport, is on the First Friday Advisory Committee and done paintings for the Girl Scouts and the city's Centennial celebration—part of a collective working to revive an area long defined by prostitution and drug deals.
"It was 3:50 p.m. and I was headed to the post office in the White Cross drugstore that closed at 4," Wilmore says. "I was running late but wasn't breaking any laws. I had artwork under my arm because I was going to mail it off to a client."
He never got the chance.
Wilmore claims the cop tailed him as he rode south on Casino Center toward Wyoming, disappeared as he neared Oakey, re-emerged behind him as he neared Oakey and stopped him for making an illegal U-turn. Wilmore says the charge was base-less; an oddly angled median at Oakey prevents U-turns. "Why would I turn around? I needed to put my artwork in the mail."
Thinking he was being racially profiled, Wilmore gave the officer his spiel about helping the neighborhood. Surely the artwork in his hands and paint on his jeans were proof enough.
"I told him I was on my way to the post office to mail off something that was very important," he says. "I also told him I have a gallery right down the street. There was no need to run a background check on me because I knew I was clean."
Turns out, he wasn't.
Three traffic-related warrants from 2000 popped up on the screen: nonresident driving privilege; no proof of insurance; unregistered vehicle; the three totaled $2,700 in fines. Must be a mistake, Wilmore told the officer. No dice. The cuffs were on. Wilmore spent two days in jail before a friend posted his $1,000 bail.
Sitting in his 1300 S. Casino Center gallery/home days later, Wilmore is reticent about making a bigger issue of his arrest. Last thing he needs is to be Downtown's Police Enemy No. 1. Last thing this area needs is fewer people like him taking a chance on living Downtown. Last thing he wants is to hamstring law enforcement from battling real criminal riffraff.
But each time he replays the incident in his mind—getting pulled over, having his hands placed on the hot hood of the police car, being cuffed and held in a cramped jail holding-tank with 30 other arrestees—Wilmore comes to the same conclusion: He was a victim of biking while black.
That he had warrants for unresolved traffic issues is a moot point, he contends—though some of his friends don't think so—because he says he didn't deserve to be stopped. His arrest report, on which he's since doodled, lists the warrants but not the original infraction—the illegal U-turn.
Unlike in other cases of biking while black where police stopped black suspects in response to reports of crime—cops in Eastpointe, Michigan, stopped, searched and handcuffed more than 100 black youth ages 11 to 18 between 1995 and 1998 on claims that black youth were stealing bikes taking them to Detroit; only 40 white cyclists were stopped during the same people—Wilmore says he was doing legitimate business. The artwork under his arm was headed to a client. If he doesn't mail it, he doesn't get paid.
"If I had these warrants, why was I even issued a license?"
Kevin Malone, a public information officer for the state Department of Motor Vehicles, says it's possible that Wilmore's infractions in California weren't entered into Nevada's Problem Driver Pointer System (PDPS) before he applied for a driver's license. In April 2000, shortly after moving here, Wilmore's van was impounded—no registration. His report came up clean when he applied (and received) a driver's license three years later.
"Nevada doesn't check PDPS again until the person comes in for renewal after four years. So when the infractions do come up, a pointer is put up on the PDPS and if things aren't taken care of, warrants can be issued. We check PDPS; law enforcement doesn't," Malone says. "I've seen issues like this before, but they're not particularly prevalent."
Las Vegas police spokesman Eric Roberson wouldn't comment on the specifics of Wilmore's arrest, but says that cyclists must follow the same rules of the road as motorists and can be stopped for infractions.
There are no local or state statistics on biking while black and federal information is nearly nonexistent. Most racial profiling data focuses on motorists. Passed in 2001, AB 500 authorized the Nevada attorney general's office to analyze police traffic stops statewide to determine if racial profiling was a problem. Conducted in 2002, the study showed that blacks comprised 11 percent of people pulled over in 386,000 monitored traffic stops, but were only 6 percent of drivers. The study also noted that Las Vegas police officers handcuffed blacks at a higher rate than other motorists during routine traffic stops—5 percent, compared to 3.5 percent for Hispanics and 2.5 percent for whites; police later revised handcuffing policy (now it mainly pertains to suicidal or violent people and situations in which there is probable cause that a crime has been committed).
During an NAACP-sponsored forum last week inside Clark County Commission chambers, members of the American Civil Liberties Union of Nevada railed at Las Vegas police over its history of racial profiling. But Dean Ishman, president of the local branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, says racial profiling incidents comprise a small portion of the complaints the civil rights group receives. A former cop, Ishman says people often give police the ammunition they need to detain them.
"We do an illegal act and it escalates. Not knowing the specifics of the bike incident, it sounds a bit strange that he would have been stopped. However, once the officer makes that legal stop, if you haven't taken care of your business, such as taking care of warrants, that can haunt you," Ishman says.
"I'm not saying that something wrong didn't happen (with regard to the reason for the traffic stop), but how the officer reacts (whether he or she cites you, arrests you or lets you go) usually is fueled by the actions of the person stopped. Sometimes you may get a racist cop and you do have some stupid laws on the books. If people feel they have been wronged, they can go to Internal Affairs or the Civilian Police Review Board."
It's Wednesday afternoon and an elderly white couple stops into Dray's Place, ogling the paintings in his living room, particularly the one of the naked woman on the wall—it was donated to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. They'd heard about First Friday and about Dray and stopped in for a look-see. "That didn't happen before," Wilmore says as they leave, referring to unannounced visits by admirers.
Outside the gallery, Dray takes his Mongoose dirt bike off the porch and pedals to the front of his house, which is adorned by a painting of a half-naked woman.
"I'm not sure if I feel comfortable riding anymore," he says.
What worries him even more is his June 20 court date, how he's going to pay the $2,700, repay his friend for posting the $1,000 bail. Had he mailed the artwork, he would've received a nice check last week. Even more sobering is the thought he might have to do more jail time. The Social Security number on his arrest report is wrong.
"Instead of painting, I was listening to people recite recipes on how to cook crack cocaine," he says. "I could've caught a case in there for fighting or gotten raped. There goes my career."
Wilmore insists he isn't trying to demonize an entire police department for the actions of an officer he thinks made a mistake in judgment.
"There used to be a drug dealer next door, but now he's gone," Wilmore says. "The cops know who the bad guys are."