Brown Shoes

Earl Banks learns of his son’s murder.

I think one of the most powerful scenes in the entire series that doesn’t focus mostly on Starsky and Hutch is the scene in Terror on the Docks where Starsky and Hutch go to tell Earl Banks his son has been murdered. It’s a brilliantly acted scene especially by the actor who plays Earl. And the fact that the camera focuses mostly on him and a father’s trying to understand what the police are telling him brings me to tears each and every time.

Murder is an ugly word. One I’ve heard on the news and seen in newspapers. But it’s always other people who get murdered. Not your child. But isn’t every murder victim someone’s child? I can’t think, can’t focus except…

My shoes. My brown shoes that cost thirty two dollars. I ask the cops about them. Was Teddy wearing them?

The blond cop speaks softly, kindly. What does he think of a father who asks about shoes when his son was murdered? How often do they tell people their child was murdered?

The dark haired cop—the one with curly hair—is asking more questions. He, too, uses a gentle voice.

I tell them about the bums Teddy hung out with. Where did I go wrong? I don’t ask them that but it keeps ringing in my head. Maybe I wasn’t good enough.

Sal left me when I got out of the Navy—left me for a salesman and took off for parts unknown. Teddy was six and didn’t understand where his mom went. I did the best I could, made sure he had clothes on his back and food ins his belly, a roof over his head, and went to school to learn more than his old man ever did.

But maybe—maybe I wasn’t there enough. Maybe he needed his dad more than he needed new clothes. Maybe.

He thought he knew more than me, Teddy did. He didn’t listen. He always was headstrong that way. Like Sal. Or maybe like me who ran off and lied about his age to join the Navy.

The cops leave and I see Teddy losing his first tooth, hitting his first home run in a pick up game, learning to shave, bringing home his first pay check—so proud of that money. I told him he needed to stay in school—he was smart, my Teddy was. He could have gone to college. Imagine that, my boy in college, learning with all them fancy people.

But…

My Teddy is dead. My boy, my light, my flesh is dead. Murdered.

Teddy is dead. When your only child dies, does that mean you aren’t a father any more?

Around me there are the sounds of dishes clinking, people talking, but the only thing I hear are those words–“Mr. Banks, your son is dead.” and “No sir, he was murdered.”

I need…I need my brown shoes. Maybe if I can get my shoes back, I will always have a piece of Teddy with me. I have to go…somewhere. Have to…Teddy? Why didn’t you listen to your old man?