A few years ago a vacancy was left on our
small town’s court by Judge Falmouth who decided to retire and go into private
practice.
Weather Judge Falmouth knew it or not; drivers all over the county
breathed a collective sigh of relief. Not that upon his retirement closet
scofflaws hit the streets in an orgy of lawlessness that included parking next
to fire hydrants or driving on expired tags and the like. It had to do with the
fact that if you ever had the misfortune to appear before his bench it was an
experience you wouldn’t soon forget.
Small town judges have more freedom than higher courts to speed up the
process and keep cases moving through the system. He can fine you, award
punitive damages, compel you to turn over property, summon you to community
service, commit you to a psychiatric ward for observation, declare you
incompetent, indigent, take your license, garnish your wages, compel you to
attend driver education classes, submit you to detoxification treatment, and
finally jail you! And once judgment is rendered; that’s it! So, if you get a
resolute individual who is happy to use all the tools the state legislature has
given him; ‘you are inna heapa trouble.’
As for myself that morning I was in Judge Falmouth’s courtroom for a
speeding ticket. I was caught doing 25 in a 20 mph. school zone. Speeding in a
school zone is rightfully frowned on, and that morning I was running late for
work and got pulled over. I was apologetic, and polite, but still got a ticket.
The year before I got a traffic ticket for driving
on expired license plates, but that time it was in Dayton and they had a
completely different attitude about the whole thing. The Dayton cop who cited
me for expired tags smiled and explained:
”All you have to do is wait a week, call the courthouse and plead
guilty; and then send them the money.”
It was all very reasonable and grown up. The Dayton cop who cited me was
courteous and professional, and knew I was harmless. He had probably dealt with
real for sure criminals; and knew I wasn’t bad, just stupid.
But in our small town it is a totally
different story. Judge Falmouth’s court was swift and terrible. Traffic fines
play an important part in the city’s finances.
I hadn’t really looked closely at the ticket, and did not notice that a speeding
in a school zone required a court appearance.
Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t noticed on the
ticket a court appearance was set for three days later!
So there I was sitting at home waiting for a week to pass so I could
call in and plead guilty and send them a fine when a big cop came to my house
and arrested me and took me to jail. When I hadn’t appeared in court that day
they issued a bench warrant for my arrest, and picked me up that same evening.
The cop who arrested me was plainly embarrassed too, because a week
earlier I had donated some safety plaques he had presented to the school
crossing guards, with a picture and a story on the front page of our small
town’s newspaper.
It was all very friendly, but they still took a picture of me holding a
little sign with my arrest date and took the belt I had holding my pants up so
I wouldn’t hang myself in the cell.
I’ll never forget Patti holding our baby as the big old cop took me away
for a speeding ticket. It reminded me of one of those gut wrenching scenes from
‘The Grapes of Wrath’; and would have been poignant if it hadn’t been so silly.
After about forty five minutes in the cell, they let me go home without
posting bond, and made me promise on my mother’s eyes to show up for court in
the morning. I walked home humming ‘I Shot the Sheriff’ feeling dangerous after
doing some time.
Bright and early the next morning I was at the courthouse ready to pay
my debt to society. I walked in just as the cops were handcuffing one of my
cell mates to a chair, and he gave me a solemn nod like we were brother
gangsters.
The night before when they took me out of the cell, I suppose he thought
they led me to an interrogation room to beat me with rubber hoses and shine
bright lights in my face. He looked at me closely and I imagined he was looking
to see if they left any marks.
The night before when he asked me what I was in for I was strangely
quiet not wanting to let on I was so harmless. He must have supposed from my
reticence and unexplained absence I was thoroughly hazardous.
The bailiff came in and announced the cases would be heard in
alphabetical order; and for the first time in my life I was glad to be at the
end of the line.
The courtroom was full and the bailiff proceeded to address the
assembled evil doers in earnest. A squat dark little man, he stood with his
feet spread wide, his hands behind his waist, his demeanor military, an
ex-drill instructor or a Jack Webb wanna-be.
Not unlike a warm up guy for a TV show; he was there to set the tone and
get the audience in the right mood. And he thoroughly frightened us all:
“There
will be NO talking while court is in session, no gum chewing-;”
“Hey you!” He bellowed and pointed to an overweight middle aged woman
two rows behind me; “-SHUT UP!” Her mouth was still open, caught in
mid-sentence, verbally slapped in the face.
“You will stand before the bench right here-” he indicated with a thick
sheaf of arrest reports;
“You will not lean on the bench; (indicating
Judge Falmouth’s combination desk, lectern and chopping block). “You will not
put your arms on the bench; you will not touch it in any way.”
“After you have been adjudicated-“(his tone said screwed); “-you will
move to this side of the bench immediately.” After a short pause to let this
sink in he added:” Now, do you understand?” I half expected a chorus of male
voice to shout back ‘Yessir!’; but it didn’t happen.
The bailiff raised his voice to a deafening pitch “ALL RISE! The
honorable Judge Harold Falmouth presiding—“
Even his voice was drowned out with the sound of 150 lost souls rising
unsteadily to their feet.
And now it was time for the main event and Judge Falmouth quickly walked
up to the bench from offstage, his long black robe flying behind him. He hit
his chair and spun round to face the bailiff and said: ”Let’s get started.”
I was
startled and impressed with the speed he plunged through the traffic cases. He
commenced the proceeding at nine AM sharp and was through by lunch. A thin man, with pale complexion and white
hair framed as he was by the black robe he was at once terrifying and
compassionate.
One of the first cases that day was a greasy long haired kid with a
marijuana T-shirt, permanent slouch, and a crummy attitude. After the bailiff
out the circumstances of his arrest; a DUI stop where he refused a breathalyzer
test; he added he was driving with his license suspended for previous DUI
arrest.
“Judge Falmouth focused his fiery eyes on the kid and began; “Well, what
do you have to say for yourself about---“
The kid didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence and leaning his
elbows on the bench he slurred out: “Well you see it was like this, uh, I had
to get to work, and younno, like I wasn’t gonna walk—“
Everybody in the courtroom knew he didn’t stand a chance in Hell because
that was where we were.
The Judge let him stammer and mumble a while before it was his turn to
interrupt.
“I remember you now! Didn’t I tell you last time if I ever saw you again
you had better bring a toothbrush?”
The kid stood transfixed, he only blinked his eyes and tried to say
something even more stupid; but the judge turned to the bailiff and said:
“Six months in the Cincy workhouse!”
He refocused his baleful eyes on the kid and snarled:”--Next.” The
captive audience seemed to stiffen up all over as the kid was led off in cuffs.
Sweat broke out on my forehead and upper lip and I thought:
“Jesus, I prayed, if you get me outta this, I aint going to do nuthin’
never, I’ll go to church, an-,an-“
As a rotten and cruel alphabetical circumstance would have it, the old
lady that sat next to me was called next. I had exchanged a few pleasantries
with her before the bailiff started the proceedings and we still had a shred of
courage left. She was obviously somebody’s sweet old mother and had dressed up
for her day in court with fresh makeup, and an immense handbag. She was an
innocent housewife who had made a rolling stop at a four way.
Given the tone of the judgment just rendered, it was no wonder that she
looked like she was on the verge of a stroke. My heart went out to her as she
shakily walked up to the bench, it was apparent to everyone her nerves were
frayed to the limit.
Judge Falmouth looked down on her, and she seemed to be swaying slightly
as she stood there, and instantly his demeanor changed.
After reading the arrest report and a synopsis of her driving record he
asked gently:
“When did you get your last ticket?”
The old ladies voice quavered a little, trying hard to remember, trying
hard to be concise; “I think it was a few years ago. The Fall of 2012.” She
cleared her throat now and stammered out-: “45 in a 35 zone.” Clearly ashamed
of herself.
“According to our records this is all the violations you have. How long
have you been driving?” The judge’s face was almost kindly now.
“Maybe 20 years; youronner.” The old ladies voice was almost in tears.
“Well, we will just let this one go, but next time be more careful; OK?”
Businesslike, he turns to the bailiff and adds : “-Skip the court costs too.”
For a
moment the old lady seemed rooted to the spot, and the bailiff took a step
closer as if to lead her off by the arm, then stopped and exchanged quick
nervous glances at the judge. The bailiff was clearly surprised, and seemed
undone something, and was clearly at a loss for what to do.
Everyone in the courtroom was curious as to what had just occurred,
enjoying the bailiff’s cocky attitude evaporate and his anxious sideways
glances for help from anyone around him.
An uncomfortable moment passed, and presently the old lady turned
without a word, and jerkily walked from the bench, her legs strangely bow
legged; avoiding everyone’s eyes.
It wasn’t until my turn came that I was close enough to where she stood
to see the carpet looked wet, and while I was thinking about this riddle I got
a 70 dollar fine.
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