In Game: vs. Fordham
Posted: Mon Feb 19, 2024 3:03 pm
Continuing with the "humor in the courtroom" thread-starter theme:
As I said earlier, summer law clerks often provided me with amusement or bemusement. In this short tale, I'll let the reader decide.
We were awaiting a jury decision in yet another criminal trial. As usual, the DAs presented me with some guilty pleas while we waited for the jury to return. The first case was the type of felony that made my skin crawl more than any other crime: a child sexual offense case. The victim was a four-year-old boy who had been abused by what I termed a "funny uncle," someone who was a friend of the family but not an actual relative. He fit the pattern of the prototypical child abuser: small in stature, a bit beyond middle age, meek, and obviously maladjusted, yet just as obviously intelligent. He was pleading guilty to a series of first-degree sex offense charges and was looking at the likelihood of spending the rest of his life in prison.
My law clerk for this particular summer was a University of Tennessee grad who had played outside linebacker all four years at UT and he was now enrolled at Elon Law School. He was a great kid, gentle as a lamb, despite being the size of a bear. My bailiffs were impressed.
Because he'd been in custody since his arrest and indictment, the victim's family hadn't seen the defendant in quite some time. The mother and father were present, but not the four-year-old male victim. The father was a long-distance truck driver and had just gotten off the road to be present for this hearing. He was a huge man, well over six feet and probably 300 pounds. He wore his hair long, tied back in a ponytail, and sported a Civil War-era beard. He was wearing a Lynard Skynard tank top. He and his wife were seated on the first row of the audience, separated from the front of the courtroom by a metal railing.
The bailiffs led the handcuffed defendant into the courtroom and stood him before me at the defense table, his attorney beside him. The instant the father laid eyes on the little man who had done such terrible things to his young son, he stood up, vaulted over the metal railing, and grabbed the guy. He spun him around and snatched him up with one hand while pummelling him in the head and face with his free hand. The defendant started squealing piteously and crying for help. The bailiffs, initially slow to react, tried to pull the enraged father off the defendant, but there was no stopping such a large man. They all crashed to the floor in a heap and the father never let up.
My law clerk had been sitting in the vacant jury box on the other side of the courtroom. Seeing this thrashing pile of men awakened the linebacker instincts in him. He jumped over the jury box and in a flash, was coming to the bailiffs' aid. Meanwhile, a deputy sheriff with a canine appeared, the dog snapping and snarling. I was horrified at this unfolding scene, and all sorts of bad-outcome scenarios flashed through my mind, most of which involved my clerk getting hurt in some way. I screamed for him to stop and to get out of the bailiffs' way; by this time, tasers were flashing out and two bailiffs were shouting for their comrades to step back out of the way. The tick-tick-tick of the tasers' voltage could be heard as the coiled leads shot into the broad target of the assailant's back. He stopped hitting the defendant, straightened up with a look of surprise on his face, and fell over in a heap. In the momentary lull, a bailiff yelled, "Don't you move!" And from the floor, just barely audible above the defendant's whimpering, I heard, "Don't you worry ... I ain't movin'".
For the first time, I stood up and ordered my law clerk back to his seat in the jury box, with instructions to stay put. Calls were going out to EMS to tend to the defendant, who appeared to be in a bad way; in fact, I later learned that not only had he been beaten black and blue, but he also suffered a heart attack. We obviously couldn't resolve his charges that day. After the EMS personnel extracted the taser leads from the father, I had him taken into custody. The next day, he was brought back before me. I said, "Look part of me can understand why you did what you did, and I can feel some degree of empathy, but you gotta know that I'm going to have to hold you in contempt of court for what you did in my courtroom yesterday. Thirty days contempt of court, and you will not be allowed to attend any subsequent court proceeding involving this defendant. It will be up to the DA to decide to take out any assault charges." (He never did.)
The father was very contrite. He said he understood I had to hold him in contempt but that frankly, it had been worth it. He would stoically do his time. As for the defendant, it was about thirty days before he could recover from his injuries and his heart attack. I made sure the father wasn't present for the defendant's next court appearance.
As for my UT linebacker law clerk, I told him how dangerous his reaction to the melee was, and how he could have gotten accidentally shot, tased, or bitten by the snarling canine, which probably would not have discerned the difference between the good guy and the bad guy. He apologized, of course, but said his football instincts kicked in when he saw that swirling pile of men. I doubt if he was truly repentant, though, and I can't say I blame him. He now had a great story to tell his law school buddies when he returned to classes in the fall.
GO CATS!
As I said earlier, summer law clerks often provided me with amusement or bemusement. In this short tale, I'll let the reader decide.
We were awaiting a jury decision in yet another criminal trial. As usual, the DAs presented me with some guilty pleas while we waited for the jury to return. The first case was the type of felony that made my skin crawl more than any other crime: a child sexual offense case. The victim was a four-year-old boy who had been abused by what I termed a "funny uncle," someone who was a friend of the family but not an actual relative. He fit the pattern of the prototypical child abuser: small in stature, a bit beyond middle age, meek, and obviously maladjusted, yet just as obviously intelligent. He was pleading guilty to a series of first-degree sex offense charges and was looking at the likelihood of spending the rest of his life in prison.
My law clerk for this particular summer was a University of Tennessee grad who had played outside linebacker all four years at UT and he was now enrolled at Elon Law School. He was a great kid, gentle as a lamb, despite being the size of a bear. My bailiffs were impressed.
Because he'd been in custody since his arrest and indictment, the victim's family hadn't seen the defendant in quite some time. The mother and father were present, but not the four-year-old male victim. The father was a long-distance truck driver and had just gotten off the road to be present for this hearing. He was a huge man, well over six feet and probably 300 pounds. He wore his hair long, tied back in a ponytail, and sported a Civil War-era beard. He was wearing a Lynard Skynard tank top. He and his wife were seated on the first row of the audience, separated from the front of the courtroom by a metal railing.
The bailiffs led the handcuffed defendant into the courtroom and stood him before me at the defense table, his attorney beside him. The instant the father laid eyes on the little man who had done such terrible things to his young son, he stood up, vaulted over the metal railing, and grabbed the guy. He spun him around and snatched him up with one hand while pummelling him in the head and face with his free hand. The defendant started squealing piteously and crying for help. The bailiffs, initially slow to react, tried to pull the enraged father off the defendant, but there was no stopping such a large man. They all crashed to the floor in a heap and the father never let up.
My law clerk had been sitting in the vacant jury box on the other side of the courtroom. Seeing this thrashing pile of men awakened the linebacker instincts in him. He jumped over the jury box and in a flash, was coming to the bailiffs' aid. Meanwhile, a deputy sheriff with a canine appeared, the dog snapping and snarling. I was horrified at this unfolding scene, and all sorts of bad-outcome scenarios flashed through my mind, most of which involved my clerk getting hurt in some way. I screamed for him to stop and to get out of the bailiffs' way; by this time, tasers were flashing out and two bailiffs were shouting for their comrades to step back out of the way. The tick-tick-tick of the tasers' voltage could be heard as the coiled leads shot into the broad target of the assailant's back. He stopped hitting the defendant, straightened up with a look of surprise on his face, and fell over in a heap. In the momentary lull, a bailiff yelled, "Don't you move!" And from the floor, just barely audible above the defendant's whimpering, I heard, "Don't you worry ... I ain't movin'".
For the first time, I stood up and ordered my law clerk back to his seat in the jury box, with instructions to stay put. Calls were going out to EMS to tend to the defendant, who appeared to be in a bad way; in fact, I later learned that not only had he been beaten black and blue, but he also suffered a heart attack. We obviously couldn't resolve his charges that day. After the EMS personnel extracted the taser leads from the father, I had him taken into custody. The next day, he was brought back before me. I said, "Look part of me can understand why you did what you did, and I can feel some degree of empathy, but you gotta know that I'm going to have to hold you in contempt of court for what you did in my courtroom yesterday. Thirty days contempt of court, and you will not be allowed to attend any subsequent court proceeding involving this defendant. It will be up to the DA to decide to take out any assault charges." (He never did.)
The father was very contrite. He said he understood I had to hold him in contempt but that frankly, it had been worth it. He would stoically do his time. As for the defendant, it was about thirty days before he could recover from his injuries and his heart attack. I made sure the father wasn't present for the defendant's next court appearance.
As for my UT linebacker law clerk, I told him how dangerous his reaction to the melee was, and how he could have gotten accidentally shot, tased, or bitten by the snarling canine, which probably would not have discerned the difference between the good guy and the bad guy. He apologized, of course, but said his football instincts kicked in when he saw that swirling pile of men. I doubt if he was truly repentant, though, and I can't say I blame him. He now had a great story to tell his law school buddies when he returned to classes in the fall.
GO CATS!