Waverly Jones doesn’t have a Wikipedia entry.

Neither does Joseph Piagentini.

And why should they? They were just cops. And all cops are bastards, right? That’s what the hashtag means – ACAB – right? The one the young progressives are spraypainting all over town. That, and F12.

Twelve from “Adam 12,” a television show their grandparents watched, and F from, well, the favorite word of the enlightened left.

So F these two cops, just like all the rest of them, right?

They’re just an oppressive army of occupation, part of a structure of institutional racism inherent in American society and history.

That’s what they say on the evening news. That’s what they spout in the college classrooms. That’s what your children are being taught. That’s what one of our national political parties stands for.

And that’s what Anthony Bottom believed.

And he does have a Wikipedia entry.

It was Anthony Bottom and some of his woke friends, Black Panther Party guys, Black Liberation Army guys, and they called in a fake report of some man beating the hell out of a woman.

This was in the projects. At the Colonial Park Houses. At 159thand the Harlem River Drive.

And Waverly Jones and Joseph Piagentini took the call. Each had about five years on the New York Police Department.

It was 1971.

And, finding the call a hoax, they walked back to their squad car in the dark.

Two effing cops, right? Like the kind they spit on today. The kind they push up against in front of the Public Safety Building and threaten in vile terms, mostly white allies, with hatred in their hearts and shit in their brains. The product of a generation taught to hate its history and destroy its unity, acting out a consuming bigotry based on the fact some people wear a badge and a uniform. The Hitler Youth of the next Reign of Terror.

It was like that back then, for Anthony Bottom and his fellow soldiers. Racism was violence, right? And the only way to fight violence was violence, right? And so while some marched and petitioned and passed out voter registrations, some picked up guns and bombs. There was deniability and severability, and some kept their skirts clean, but in a revolution, somebody’s got to bleed.

And that was Jones and Piagentini.

It was a stone ambush. Two men walking to their squad car, completely unaware, mowed down in a hail of fire from behind.

Waverly Jones took the first round in the back of the head and went down face first, dead.

Joseph Piagentini was riddled, 13 bullet wounds, and he died halfway to the hospital.

Mrs. Jones had three children at home. Mrs. Piagentini had two.

It was an execution. The Black Panther Party, the Black Liberation Army, had drawn blood. The strike back against the colonizers had begun. Officer Jones’ gun would be used by activists to later try to kill a San Francisco police officer.

They caught Anthony Bottom that summer, in California, and he was brought back to New York to stand trial.

Which worked out pretty well for him.

Because they used to execute cop killers. But not in New York. Not in the 1970s, and not since. In New York, justice is the doormat of progressivism, then and now, and in the 1970s Anthony Bottom had his defenders, his salon liberals who silently cheered his action.

They had Che Guevara t-shirts back then, too.

So two butchered cops, two widows and five fatherless children translated to 25-to-life.

That’s how New York rolls. Indeterminate sentencing. An odd cheater of justice for victims and convicts alike. Nobody knows how long somebody will be imprisoned. Nobody knows who gets out early. Nobody knows who’s left to rot.

But now we know about Anthony Bottom.

Silently, without any public notification, the state of New York turned him loose, in Rochester, where protests against the police are sometimes a daily occurrence. Where the rhetoric that caused Anthony Bottom to aim and fire is taught in classrooms and embraced by jockeying politicians and journalists. Where the mayor and City Council and the occasional eastside millionaire will curse the police as hatefully as the entitled white kid with the affected dreads and a plywood BLM shield.

This is how the parole board and the state of New York say F12.

One of the most notorious cop killers of the last 50 years is dropped silently into Rochester and a population terrified of the progressive enforcers is unsure what to say. The older ones remember Shawcross, the younger ones want to embrace him as a hero. The progressive elites will dismiss any scattered upset as racism and Trumpism, and talk about rehabilitation and perhaps feel the slight arousal that the seduction of political violence brings to its enablers.

For the most part, there will be silence.

But here’s what should be said.

This guy should be dead. He should have died in a shootout with the cops he didn’t have the balls to challenge head on, and he should have been put down years ago by a state government that actually had a justice system and a willingness to get justice for victims.

And this city should be outraged. It should be indignant that this enemy of truth and freedom is allowed to walk its streets. It should demand that the state move him elsewhere, away from the tinder box of peaceful protesters who want blood so bad they can taste it.

He should not be allowed to be a living monument to brutality against police. He should not be allowed to be turned into a living hero for the liberation army of this day.

If he must be released, put him out in the country, or in a small town somewhere, to live out his days. But turning him loose in a city with an army of its own arrayed against the police is insulting and dangerous.

We don’t like cop killers around here.

And Anthony Bottom needs to go somewhere else.

Bob Lonsberry

About Bob Lonsberry