“I fit, quite nicely, the description of an escaped convict who had already killed one cop and two civilians.”
In 1977, I found myself facing five armed police detectives. No guns were drawn but all five had their hands on their weapons and were in a ready to draw stance. I fit the description of a three time murderer who’d escaped from prison. Fortunately, I was on active duty and my military ID calmed things down. Must have been racism.
I was standing in a 7/11 looking at magazines when I heard the door open behind me. Paid no attention. One second later I had a 12g in the back of my neck, hands up, then thrown to the floor and cuffed, none too gently.
Meanwhile, the poor girl behind the counter, who had called me in, was having hysterics. The guy I was mistaken for had the day before waited till the other customers left, then robbed, raped and murdered a convenience store clerk.
The misidentification was cleared up pretty quickly, and the cops were friendly, though not exactly apologetic. They’d done their job, and I appreciated that.
I matched height, weight, and approximate age and clothing. I had a paperback book in my hip pocket, making a bulge that could have been a gun.
If I’d moved the wrong way when surprised, I suspect they’d have had a real mess to clean up in the store.
OTOH, I being a white guy, nobody would have cared except to say, “Too bad, so sad!” If I were black, it would have been an indictment of the racism of America and its legal system.