Judge denies New Port Richey’s motion to dismiss lawsuit from Black Lives Matter protester

It’s been over a year since a jury acquitted Marlowe Jones of felony obstruction and battery on a law enforcement officer.

click to enlarge Marlowe Jones marches through downtown New Port Richey during a BLM demonstration. - Dave Decker
Dave Decker
Marlowe Jones marches through downtown New Port Richey during a BLM demonstration.
It’s been over a year since a jury acquitted Marlowe Jones of felony obstruction and battery on a law enforcement officer, and a judge just denied the City of New Port Richey’s motion to dismiss a lawsuit, meaning it will have to face him in court.

It was July 24, 2020, when New Port Richey Black Lives Matter organizer Marlowe Jones jumped between a drunk man punching a female activist in the face during a peaceful BLM rally in downtown New Port Richey. According to court records, an intoxicated white male, Patrick Oshnock, came out of a local bar yelling “white lives matter” at Jones and the other protestors. Then Oshnock jumped activist Stephanie Hinkle, punching her in the face and pulling her down to the pavement. Police arrived moments later and arrested Oshnock for disorderly conduct. After speaking briefly with law enforcement, Jones, a father with young children, went home to his family.

One week later, at 11 p.m., approximately 20-30 New Port Richey police officers arrested Jones at the New Port Richey Police Department. Jones was there filing a missing persons report for Hinkle after he was told she was missing. He was charged with felony obstruction and battery on a law enforcement officer, but the city had bad evidence and even worse witnesses.

“I was surrounded by about 30 stormtroopers all in tactical gear,” Jones told Creative Loafing Tampa Bay, as he recalled his arrest. “They grabbed me by the neck. They grabbed me by the wrist. I thought I was gonna be shot and killed.”

In the video, Jones repeatedly asks the cops why he’s being arrested. More than three minutes pass. An officer tells him that NPR police officer Nicholas Rickus claimed Jones pushed or tapped him during the July 24 altercation. Rickus didn’t have his body camera turned on that night, breaking city protocol. And once in court, he couldn’t remember where Jones had tapped or pushed him on July 24. His claims, which were the entire basis for the state’s case, fell flat in court.

On May 5, 2022, almost two years after his arrest, a jury found Jones not guilty. Last summer, he filed a civil suit against the city.
Jones and his legal team amended a 42-page complaint last month because, as attorney Kevin K. Ross-Andino told CL via text message, some individuals previously named in the suit became “problematic” to serve.

He says as many as seven attempts were made for individuals in the lawsuit, including City Manager Debbie Manns and former police chief Kim Bogart, who retired early this year after spending time defending cops who made Holocaust joke and prayed with Proud Boys.

As a result, the complaint removed Manns, Bogart, Detective Timothy Berge, Operations Lt. Christopher Mellecker, Rickus, and NPR Mayor Robert Marlowe, though all are mentioned at length. The Jones complaint also says there was never an arrest warrant issued for Jones “at any time.”

Jones is asking for $2 million in damages.

Last week Judge Kathryn Kimball Mizelle, who’s presiding over the case, denied NPR’s motion to dismiss the Jones complaint in its entirety. Judge Mizelle accepted the amended Jones complaint from last month, which dropped the individual parties from the case. No court date has been set as of publication.

“It started hell for me,” Jones said. “I still have nightmares about that night. If I hadn’t won, I’d be in prison because the police department doesn’t like Black Lives Matter.”

Jones, who works as lead organizer for Pasco County’s Faith in Florida , and his attorney Ross-Andino, said this case is about accountability.

Oshnock, who punched activist Stephanie Hinkle and dragged her to the ground, got 30 days in jail. Hinkle hadn’t gone missing but was arrested for allegedly having a concealed handcuff key in her pocket when cops searched her on July 24. Originally charged with a felony, Hinkle later agreed to a plea deal for six months of probation, $625 in fines, and a letter of apology according to court records. Rickus, the NPR police officer who falsely claimed Jones touched him, resigned from law enforcement in October 2021, under no investigation.
After Jones was acquitted, text messages obtained via public records requests by CL show NPR City Councilman Jeff Starkey telling City Manager Debbie Manns, “He’ll never let the city live this down.”

Manns replied: “Not happy.”

CL asked Manns for comment and received an email saying she couldn’t comment on pending litigation.

In Jones’ lawsuit, CL reporting is cited as evidence of wrongdoing by the City of New Port Richey at length. That coverage includes a laundry list of offenses by NPRPD in recent years, including posing in front of a confederate flag, making jokes about Anne Frank while searching a Jewish woman’s home, turning off a body cam to fondle a minor, and praying with hate group the Proud Boys. The defense previously filed to dismiss those claims, citing those same CL articles as “asserting the media posting as if authoritative.”
The City of New Port Richey retained Safety Harbor attorney Andrew Dayes as legal counsel. CL reached out to Dayes for a statement but didn’t get a response before publication.

“This is about accountability and doing what’s right,” Jones said. “Because if these people don’t go or are not held accountable, the ship will continue to sail.”

Jones’ family moved to NPR in 1925 from Georgia. Almost a century later, his family was part of Pine Hill, one of the first Black subdivisions.

“My family has strong ties to this place,” Jones said. “I can’t just leave, I have to stay here in this community where let’s be honest, they still run the show.”

What Jones went through is extraordinary, but it’s also part of a long history of racism in NPR and Pasco County (and nearby Polk County), where documented hate groups like the Proud Boys and the Ku Klux Klan (google Moon Lake) have long had a foothold.

“It’s scary because these people can make up a lie about you,” Jones told CL. “One affidavit can turn into two years of your life. You have to fight on a jury trial to clear your name. That’s how dangerous they are.”

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UPDATED
07/17/23 3:23 p.m. Updated to make clear that Jones works as lead organizer for Pasco County’s Faith in Florida.

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