Arrested

Getting Arrested in Oregon — And Finding Strength in a Jail Cell

I got arrested. Once.

And I’ll tell you this: Oregon police, especially in Roseburg, were pretty cool. The sheriff were kind for the most part. I don’t think I encountered anyone rude during that jail stint. That’s the truth.

I kinda felt like I was Black in Eugene and more civilized in Salem, Oregon. You feel the difference county to county. You feel how you’re seen. In Eugene, I was a problem. In Roseburg, I was a person. In Salem, I became myself again.

I remember the sheriff taking me to Roseburg and I just sat and listened to the music while the Black guy in orange was cuffed and a weird guy sat looking scared. I wasn’t cuffed. I wasn’t scared. I was tired. Tired of being unhoused. Tired of being misread. Tired of being in my ashes.

I walked in the jail in Roseburg and they put me in a room. I’m going to tell you this because this is something I did — the room was nasty. So I flashed the camera. The door opened and they put me in a better cell, secluded. I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I was trying to be clean. I was trying to have dignity, even there.

I was there for awhile and I just played in the water. Made a pool on the floor. And that is when I started seeing my life flash before my eyes. Everything that I experienced in my life flashed. Heights Elementary. Mrs. Ealy. Track. My mother’s death. My car. The pool I got arrested at. All of it.

That is when I said my father was dead to me and I said Reverend Cecil Williams was my father. I actually saw the vision of Cecil. And then when I got to Salem, Reverend Cecil Williams passed away.

I remember for the first time feeling strong. I just said “Lord have mercy” everywhere and said my Godfather is Reverend Cecil Williams. I think I said that because in the 90s he was someone that was a father figure to everyone and I could relate to him.

I remember the first time meeting Reverend Cecil Williams. It was in the 90s and I went to the choir practice during the week at Glide Memorial. He sent me back to the choir and I remember singing and they put me in the choir section. But I lived in the East Bay and could not get on the train early enough for the early service. Those were the days.

So yes, I was in jail. But I was treated very well and it made me stronger and the person I am today.

That cell is where I stopped being afraid. That water on the floor is where I got baptized without a church. That vision of Cecil is where I chose a new father — one who fed the hungry, housed the unhoused, and didn’t care what Google said about you.

I could care less what anyone thinks of me and I don’t care what anyone ever says about me. Because that jail stint gave me strength and confidence in so many ways.

They can post my mugshot. I’ll post my miracle.

I went in broken. I came out butterfly.

Cathryn M. Murray

Salem, Oregon |