Ben and Me_ From Temperance to Humility - Cameron Gunn [64]
Despite the fact that this trial had all the ingredients of a Hollywood movie, the real story was less dramatic yet far more compelling. The family of a murder victim can never be restored to normalcy. They can’t be put back in the position in which they were before the crime. Part of my job, I think, was to prepare them for what lay ahead.
And here is where my hubris at the symbolic victory of the previous day met up in a dark alley with irony. My hubris took a tremendous beating.
The accused in the murder trial, a man who had apparent mental health problems, was returning from a psychiatric exam. The appearance in court was to last no more than a few minutes. A report would be filed and a date set for a hearing on the issue of his fitness to stand trial. Not much for me to do (given that I was what is referred to as “second chair”—kind of Robin to the other prosecutor’s Batman). That was what I had told myself. But I forgot about Justice. I omitted to confer the benefits that were my duty.
One of my jobs, in a system that is complex, overburdened, and confusing, is to be a guide. I should have explained, directed, and managed expectations. I should have prepared the family for what could possibly occur, not what probably would occur. I had led the family to believe that this would be a quick appearance—an “in and out.”
Instead it was a circus.
The accused used this quick appearance to put on a show. Real or contrived, he went on a rant. He tried, unsuccessfully, to fire his lawyer, he taunted the victim’s family, and he rambled at the judge.
Of course, I didn’t know that any of this was going to happen, but I should have known it might. And knowing this, I should have told the family. It would not have changed anything, but at least they would have been forewarned. It was a benefit owed to them, a duty imposed on me. I denied them their benefit and, thus, in the Franklinian sense, did an injustice. It was not even something of which I could make light.
Oh, that the day could have ended there.
As soon as the supposedly short appearance was over, I had to rush to a different courtroom. The circumstance was far less gruesome, the loss less significant. A man with his own emotional issues, and a growing propensity to defraud local businesses, had swindled a hardware store out of several thousand dollars in merchandise. The accused was to have gone to trial on this day but had obtained the services of a legal-aid lawyer. The lawyer was certain, after a brief perusal of the file, that his new client would be pleading guilty but needed more time. Knowing the length of the day’s docket, the likelihood that the judge involved would grant an adjournment whatever my position, and the likelihood of an eventual guilty plea, I agreed to the lawyer’s request. The only thing remaining was to explain what had happened to the business owner and his employees.
My explanation was anything but satisfactory. As I listened to a mild harangue from the business owner about delays and his general lack of faith in the justice system, I was quite certain that I had been a major disappointment to Ben Franklin on this day. I had slipped in the other virtues; my chart was full of transgressions. This, however, was the first time that the failures meant more than something about which to write. This was a real virtuous malfunction.
As I continued to subject myself to an earful from the business owner, I tried to look on the bright side. At least I was getting to hear what the victim thought about Justice.
Old Knees but Young Hearts
Call this an ode to faded glory or a song for fleeting youth.
{ He that won’t be counseled can’t be helped.}
On the weekend of the week dedicated to Justice, I took part in one of the oldest