A Walk In The Park

I put down my pencil and closed my sketch book and flipped to a clean page in my yellow legal pad. 

I almost missed my cue, so fascinated was I with the Court Reporter’s elegant fingers tapping her machine as though it was a miniature piano and she was performing the Goldberg Variations. The artistic problem was to express that motion in two dimensions, but a problem for later. For now the Assistant District Attorney was about to reach the main theme of his summation that of the dishonesty of the defendant. The lines were drawn for a contest of credibility, trial by combat, crossed swords, a duel behind the cathedral at dawn. This would be the hill where one of us would survive to fight another day and the other perish.  Figuratively speaking, of course. 

I braced myself and then winced as the ADA pushed ahead with his remarks. A man of average height, I imagined him as a diminutive  aboriginal hunter of the rain forest and the defendant, his prey, a colored bird with his breast plumage made of brilliant  concentric circles like a summer camp archery target. No bow and arrow to fear but a blow gun and a sack of delicately fletched darts tipped with curare enhanced with a tincture of other mysterious jungle venoms. The Defendant and I would share the pain equally as the first darts were launched. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury you have heard the witnesses, the police as well, and from the defendant himself. ” Unfortunately, the State, as enumerated, had established their prima facie case.

The first dart was a conundrum. “ Ladies and gentlemen it is for you to determine was he lying then or his he lying now.” Ouch! Not a good choice for the defense. Personally I preferred that any lies were in the past. Generally it’s good policy to be truthful once you get to Court. My adversary was clearly trying to pave two paths to lead to the same guilty verdict.

Next dart was pictorial. “The Defendant has fabricated an elaborate tissue of lies.” Oh no the the old  “tissue of lies” smear. Why not call it a tapestry, but you always hear it called a “tissue”, so negative sounding. 

Nevertheless the prosecutor was making himself plain with the intended effect. Both poison darts had found their mark and leaked their toxins in the center yellow spot on the helpless bird’s chest.

 

What was next from the hunter’s pouch?

This time the the shot came as an aphorism in rhyme. “As Shakespeare said, “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

Someone in the Courtroom shouted the word “Scott” I heard heard it distinctly and looking around for the source of this rude interruption it turned out it was me.  

Our Judge, known to severely disfavor interruptions, looked in my direction but more in surprise than annoyance. The ADA was equally desirous of an explanation in preference to an apology. 

“Counselor you had something to say?”

“Not really, Your Honor, I apologize for the interruption.”

“I distinctly heard the word ‘Scott’.  Were you calling to someone in  the Courtroom? Not trying to signal to one of the jurors I hope? That would be very poor form, not to mention a breach of professional ethics, not to mention illegal ”

“No Your Honor. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Can you enlighten us what you were thinking?”

“Well your honor I was thinking that the ADA was mistaken in quoting Shakespeare. I felt it was misleading.”

“Counselor, I think it’s you are who are mistaken. I’ve been a Judge for twenty years. I hear lawyers quote Shakespeare day-in,day-out. I’m fairly certain I know Shakespearean language when I hear it. 

 “No. Not Shakespeare this time Your Honor. Scott. Sir Walter Scott.” 

“Wow. I didn’t see that coming. Do you have anything to justify your confidence. A library card maybe, perhaps an actual librarian to vouch for you.”

“Your honor. It’s from Marmion. By Sir Walter Scott, a story of 16th century Scottish history, you might call it, I would call it, a tapestry, a beautiful tapestry told in verse, published in 1808, I believe, by Ballantyne.”

“Frankly, I’m astounded by your erudition especially for a lawyer repping a petty criminal. Excuse me, “alleged” petty criminal. How did you get to be such an expert on Scott?”

“I would not call myself an expert. I read the Waverly novels, Ivanhoe and Marmion in college and did some research tracking errata in the early printings which I’ve updated from time to time.  I also attended some symposia on Scottish literature. I pass the Marmion exit on the Pasadena freeway almost every day on my way here to Court and that tends to refresh my memory. I bet you pass it yourself. My wife and I once looked at a house there which we both still regret not trying to buy. Did I mention the Gathering of the Clans.”

All at once there was a unified sound of throat clearing from jurors and attachés competing to put in their two cents on the subject. 

One of the alternate jurors exclaimed “What a coincidence. I grew up on Ivanhoe Drive. They made an Ivanhoe movie and we all went. Walter Scott was mentioned in the movie credits.”. 

Her neighbor was quick to add that her supervisor lived on Rowena Drive in Los Feliz. “I think that had something to do with Ivanhoe.”.

Another juror or grabbed the stage. “My aunt used to be a waitress at the  Great Scot.”

This time the ADA asking what’s that got to with anything

“Didn’t Walter Scott write under the name Rob Roy, I forget. I know they featured Rob Roys at the Great Scot. “

The personal vignettes had begun to deteriorate. Time to return to reality. 

“Judge it’s your prerogative to rule on foundational issues, but to me it’s irrelevant who wrote Marmion. The point is that the ADA misrepresented the author of his quote, the quote he used to attempt to persuade the jury. It’s an insult to people who love Shakespeare, revere Shakespeare, regard him as a moral authority equal to the ancient Greek philosophers, Euclid, Pythagoras, Zeno of Elea and the list goes on. I won’t say it, I would never impugn my opponent’s motives, but others might say he was attempting to be tricky. He was trying to pull a fast one, but worse luck for him, I was just a little bit faster. I think the DA should be reprimanded and the jury should be admonished.”

Without hesitation the Judge drew his sword and prepared to cut the baby in halves.  

“Counselor, the whole room is now well aware that the Shakespeare attribution is probably erroneous. However I don’t think the District Attorney was intentionally trying to mislead. I think  he’s just ignorant. Let’s try to finish this thing with nobody admonished. OK with you? If I start reprimanding lawyers who deserve it, I’m going to have to delay retirement.”

Order restored it was time to resume my pencil rendering of the courtroom scene. 

Duly chastened the ADA continued but limping noticeably without the tools of metaphor and verse. It seemed like he wanted to close with the proverb “Honesty is the best policy” but was worried that he might be challenged on its origin. He got out the word “honesty” but the rest died on his lips. 

Who knew where all this left the defense. I did have the advantage of having had my opponent declared an ignoramus, but I considered that there were men languishing on death row who had been sent there by ignoramuses. With two darts having hit the bullseye there could be no let-up in my battle plan.  

“Ladies and gentlemen. You’ve been told my client admitted his guilt to the Park Ranger. Does that seem likely? That cop did not see anything. He did hear some screams which could have easily been someone’s television set. You’ve been told that the Defendant spontaneously confessed to a random woman, yet my client has told you that he was trained from childhood to never speak to strangers. As to the bicyclist, the only thing he saw were two jumpy individuals vaulting over a fence and then fleeing. The destruction to the flower beds was likely simple vandalism. There are known youths living in the vicinity of the park, probably juvenile delinquents. Lastly my client has denied emphatically that on the evening in question in the park, Mordred was ever off leash even for an instant.”

I allowed a moment for this brilliant debunking of the circumstantial evidence to sink in.

  

“Now, I want you to look at my client at the Counsel Table. To you I’m sure he looks nonchalant, even dapper, a smooth operator, but you cannot know the cares that sit on his shoulders, the disappointments that lacerate his heart, the uncertainties that trouble his mind. Try to look past the studs, the piercings, the tattoos to find the soul within. Is this young man someone who would be, could be, careless with the custody of a docile pet with no prior record of recent canine misbehavior and would he lie to cover up? No. No. No. You’re looking at man who would no sooner come into court to speak falsehoods than he would park in a handicapped parking space.”

“Fate has deputized me to speak for him, but, I’m sure, if he were to address to you directly himself, if he could keep his voice from breaking with emotion, his message, not including begging to be let off the hook, would be a message of  love, love for humanity, love for justice, and, of course, love for Mordred.”

And as the poet says, “Love me, love my dog.”

I had an immediate feeling that the Judge, at least, understood that what he had heard was something special, something for the ages.

“Ok. Counsel, is that it?”

Not sure what the Judge meant. “Do you want more?

“No, and speaking for the room, nobody else does. By the way, for my own information, who was the poet you just mentioned?

“Oh yeah, the poet. Right. The poet. You would know him. You know, the one that writes all those poems. That one.”.

                                                                                                     The End