The Car Tire
By: Matthew A. Holt


	My childhood was like no one else's, it was always overwhelmed by pain and misery. I grew up on the North Side of St. Louis, and we were the only white people in our neighborhood. I don't know if you've been there or not, but truthfully you don't want to be. It gets worse every day. The drug dealers are the leading executives where I'm from. You awake to sound of gunshots in the distance, and see the corruption of your once known friends affected by the sorrow s of the streets. 
	Our place of residence was a crowded, three-story apartment complex. The whole place was a dump. I lived with my mother, father, and my two brothers. The building was located on the corner of the street. Neither of the two streets on the north or east sides of the building had much traffic, because one of them was a one way, beside it was highway 70.  Across the street was a Baptist Church.  It was always peaceful and had many inhabitants.
	One day, no different from any other, my older brother and I were walking from our bus stop back to the house, we noticed a car tire leaned up along the fire hydrant next to the church. We approached it, and not a second before we could look inside Moms was yelling at us to get in the house. She acknowledged us not to go near it. We didn't quite understand, but as the days progressed it became clear.
 The tire was being used to sell drugs. The dealer would come by swoop by every morning about 3:30. He was pick up his drug money, and then distribute more profit into it. Moms said everyday while we were at school there would be a numerous amount of addicts, who would drop by, and dispose of what money they had into the tire.
For weeks upon end this would go on everyday. Until one evening for some reason or another a cop investigated it. I guess he got a tip from someone else who was living in the apartment. He looked upon what was inside and confiscated it for evidence. He then walked to his car and called for backup. In a matter of minutes there were three other cop cars sitting in front of our building. For twenty minutes they did nothing but sit and converse with one another. I guess they knew that they were being surveillanced, because they were patiently waiting for the right time to approach the tire. When they finally built up enough courage to remove it, they placed it in the back seat of the police vehicle. 
Suddenly four black Pontiacs pulled up out of no where. They opened rapid fire on the officers; not giving thought about whom might be watching. With one officer down the other three began to return fire. The crooks cowardly fled, still firing. They were not caught. 
The officer would had been shot was almost instantly rushed into an ambulance. He soon after died on the way to the hospital. Approximately three days later his funeral was hosted. Everyone in our family attended. It was the least we could do. He gave his life to protect us. 
Soon after the occurrence we packed up and moved out of the city. We immigrated to North County. That is currently my place of residence. Once we got settled in our new house, we began going to church again. If this would have never happened, say if I had grown up in the suburbs, Christ may have not ever saved me. So I am grateful, and always look up to the officer as a hero. Another thing I will always have is family. It seems the more money a household contains, the more problems a household contains. So in some way it's a good thing that I arose from the poverty level, because I wouldn't be the soldier that I am today.