Word: jailing
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Malik Hakim lay in his bed in the jail ward of Boston City Hospital. A young black woman sat in a chair beside him, her head and body bent forward as if to allow her to physically absorb what he was saying...
...quietly, punctuating his words with whichever hand he was not using to prop up his head. Finally, he stopped talking and leaned back against the pillows piled at the head of his bed. The woman bent further forward, kissed him on the cheek and then walked over to the jail ward's wire-mesh door. As a red headed state policeman negotiated the lock, the young woman looked back at the bed where Malik Hakim, torn tendons in both his legs, lay. Hakim touched his dark, long-fingered hands together, and inclined his head towards them and her with...
...guard was right. There was something regal about Hakim's presence. Even as he lay in a jail ward bed, a torn hospital night shirt hung loosely about him like a toga, his uncombed hair greying at the temples and behind his ears. Hakim exuded an easy hegemony. However, it was not the regality of a king at court, but of a condemned king held in the Tower...
...nothing more to do with the cops' scheme, so they bust Farm on a trumped-up charge to force his hand. J.'s choice is excruciatingly simple: blow the whistle on the junkie, who will have him killed, or spend the rest of his sorry life in jail for trafficking in heroin...
...achieved a certain amount of publicity last year, when in the middle of Spiro Agnew's speech at a Boston Republican dinner, he stood up (because, he said later. "I couldn't just sit there and listen to that") and was promptly tackled by guards and carted off to jail. He has a reputation for doing things that are somewhat out of the ordinary and his presence at many a City Council meeting has both embarrassed the slower-witted Councillors and provided excitement for other spectators...