My biggest fear, in recounting what happened to me August 19, 2005, in New Orleans, is that people will be sure I am embellishing the facts or outright lying. None of this is the case. Everything I state here happened as I say it.

I am a 60-year-old, recently retired pharmaceutical rep, with three grown sons. I have a particular fondness for trains, and riding on Amtrak. Friday morning, August 19, I departed Houston on the Sunset Limited, bound for Pensacola, Florida, for a short vacation. The train had a layover of several hours in New Orleans, so I thought I would kill some time taking photographs of the terminal and Amtrak facilities. I had taken a lot of photographs along the way, and I have started a photographic album intended to document the Sunset Limited all the way across Louisiana. There is no way to know how much longer Amtrak will run this train.

It is important to know that there are no signs on the platform forbidding passengers from walking down the platform into the area beyond where the lead engine would be, and no signs that prohibit passengers from taking photographs. There are “No Trespassing” signs on the gate to the Amtrak maintenance facility, on Earhart, but they are not visible on the platform. Two female Amtrak employees drove by and asked me what I was doing. I said I was taking photographs, and that rail photography was a hobby of mine. They admonished me to “watch out for the Amtrak police.” I did not take that warning seriously, because I was not doing anything wrong. I joked that maybe “they would beat me up, so I could file a multi-million dollar lawsuit.” That, being an idea so ridiculous, anyone would know it was meant in a humorous vein. I walked a little further down where I encountered a young guy, who was also an Amtrak employee. He inquired as to why I was photographing the switcher, and I explained to him that I was just a railfan, and I wanted photos of the Amtrak equipment. I asked if I could walk further down the platform to take a couple more photographs. He said he preferred I wait until he could get someone to accompany me down there. I said “fine,” and I waited. By then the two female employees had returned and we were all standing around talking and waiting for whoever was supposed to come to see about my request. After a while an Amtrak policeman arrived. I figured he would say I could or I could not go further down the platform. When he got out of his car, I could see he was already in a highly excited and agitated state. He was not in the mood to dialogue. He explained I was trespassing on private property (remember, no signs), and was not supposed to be taking photos. I was not about to argue with him, or be the least bit confrontational, knowing the reputation of New Orleans police, but this was an AMTRAK policeman, and I was an AMTRAK passenger. I merely inquired if this was not public property, since Amtrak is a publicly supported entity. At that he told me to turn around, and he handcuffed me.

I naturally protested that I had done nothing wrong. But he was determined to handle things the way he had, I believe, decided to handle them before he ever showed up. He took me up to his office, and contacted someone, who I assume was his superior. He gave the person an embellished and almost completely false account of what happened. For instance, he stated I had said, “This is public property, and I can be here if I want to be.” I begged the policeman not to take me off the train, but he continued to repeat that I was “going to jail.” I really got upset at this point and insisted he let me talk to someone in the Amtrak office. After asking him over and over to let me speak with someone, he finally put an agent on the phone. I told agent at the terminal I had done nothing wrong, and to please come get me out of this mess. The agent said he could not override the policeman, and generally conveyed the attitude that he did not give a damn what my predicament was. The policeman ran my ID, and, of course, it came back that I had never been arrested, and that I had no criminal record. He was unfazed by that information, and instructed the agent to remove my bag from the sleeper room I had occupied. In the stress of the moment I forgot about my large hanging bag that was in the lower level rack. It made it to Orlando, and I will get it back this week.

As we were driving out of the terminal area, on the way to the Orleans Parish Prison, he pointed out the “No Trespassing” sign on the chain link gate, which is not visible to any passenger on the platform of the terminal. Upon arrival at the jail, I was processed in, and at that point the Amtrak officer committed a gross violation of procedure, by keeping my wallet, camera, and a pocketknife that the jailer had taken out of my pocket. This was to have major ramifications, later, when I finally had the opportunity to bail myself out of the facility. He had also erased certain photographs in my digital camera, while up in his office, a violation of my civil liberties. While waiting for him to show up I had photographed two A-10s that were flying over. He wanted to know why I had photographed the A-10s. I responded, “Because I’m a pilot.” I do hold a private pilot’s license, but my response seemed to stun him slightly, and he moved on.

The Orleans Parish Prison is one of the worst jails in the country. The jailers there treat all inmates with contempt, disdain, and do everything they can to make you feel there is no light at the end of tunnel. My charge, incidentally, was criminal trespass. You cannot bond out until you are “processed.” For hours I watched other inmates come and go, while my name was never called. Earlier, in an odd difference in procedure, the watch captain said, “O.K. Bourgeois, go to that window.” I thought I had it made, but when I got there, the first thing they wanted was a photo I.D. Too bad, it was in my bag at the Amtrak police office. So, I had to be put through a nationwide fingerprint search, which added more time to my stay. I went in the jail at 6:30 p.m. on Friday, slept (what little I could) on the concrete jail floor, instead of the Viewliner bed I had on the Sunset Limited, and at four o’clock Saturday afternoon I was still in jail. I could have been out at 11 a.m. of the same day, but with no money, or debit card (remember, they were taken from me) I could not bond out. So, along with about 60 other inmates, I was put in the orange suit and moved to the big prison, with the big cellblock, just like you see in the movies.

By the grace of God I had done one thing right. I had managed to get a phone book and write down the number of my cousin, who lives in New Orleans. All phone calls out had to be collect, and you had to have the number. I can remember exactly two phone numbers in my head, one being my brother who lives in Lake Charles. I was finally able to get in touch with my sister-in-law, and she made numerous phone calls for me; most importantly to my friends in Pensacola, who by now, were frantic. Not to mention my youngest son, who lives here in Houston, who was sent into a tailspin. My cousin, who had been gone when I first called, was home now, and around 6 p.m., she came down and paid my bond. In the manner of doing things at the Orleans Parish Prison, I walked out of the jail at 12:30 a.m. Sunday morning. I recovered my belongings the next day at the terminal.

My vacation I had looked forward to was destroyed. My friends and family had been traumatized, as only you can be when you cannot account for the whereabouts of someone. The lasting psychological effect of this is hard to predict. I have been quite depressed since I came home. The overwhelming fact is I COMMITTED NO CRIME. You cannot arrest someone for trespassing, when there is not even a sign saying “no trespassing,” and you cannot arrest someone for taking photographs. The entire amount of time that the officer spent with me on the platform could not have been over one minute. What motivated him to arrest me, when he could have easily said, “You cannot be here – go back to the train,” I cannot say. What really bothers me is he obviously felt he could get away with this gross example of false arrest, and deprivation of civil liberties. That points to something rotten in the system, itself. Combine that with the total disregard of my welfare by the Amtrak agent, and there is ample room for an investigation, and action to be taken. The officer should be terminated, for sure, and following him out the door should be the agent. The officer’s superior who allowed him to perpetrate this outrage, should also have to answer.

There is no stone I will leave unturned to get justice for this. As I sat in jail my most consistent thought, after “I have to get out of here,” was “I have to make this count for something.” This should never happen to anyone, again.

March 10, 2006