Turnbull: Based on a True Story

by Jonathan Jackson

Part VIII

  “Don’t let the door hit ya.”

  “Are you really going to send this?” Ahab questioned Eldred as he held a wet rag to Eldred’s bruised head with one hand and a newly written letter in the other. A few hours earlier he had been brutally attacked in the yard when the guards “weren’t watching” and some cash or favors probably changed hands. “It sounds like you’re begging that lawyer to let you loose.”

  “I am. They’re gonna kill me eventually. Only reason I got away today was I threw dirt in his eyes.”

  “That was a pretty good move if you ask me. Just next time don’t hit that brick in his hand with your head so much.” He tried to make light of the situation.

  “I was promised a new trial and then all of a sudden they don’t talk to me no more. My lawyer hadn’t come to see me or sent me no letters from the court.”

  “I told you these things take time.”

  “What time? They already done decided that I got a new trial.”

  “Maybe it’s a matter of finding a place on the docket. I know how that can be slow and I do know how it works.”

  “Heck with that, they promised. I told the Cap’n that I needed to see the Warden and he didn’t do nothing about it. I need to go to seg to stay safe.” Seg, meaning segregation was a place where inmates were kept isolated from other inmates for a variety of reasons. This was where some of those rapists and child molesters went. It’s also where they put the prison snitches. It’s also where marked men hid. That was Eldred. He was marked, all because of something someone else didn’t do twenty years earlier.”

  • • • •

  The Captain of the Guard was exiting the door of the Wardens’ office after a meeting when he was called back in by the voice within.

  “I almost forgot Captain, that Hardin fellow.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Segregate him. Send him now.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Just like that, Eldred was spared further violence in prison. The next two months bore little resemblance to the previous twenty years except for the ever present lack of information and progress. He didn’t see anyone he knew from the general population and they were prevented from seeing him obviously.

  Eldred didn’t realize that he would also have to cut ties with all of the people he considered to be his friends. They knew he went somewhere they couldn’t go. They all hoped he went to segregation. Secretly, Ahab wondered if his friend had already been killed and disposed of. His legal advice dried up thereafter for other inmates, unless of course they threatened him harm or offered him extra food from the kitchen.

  • • • •

  “So what about your work, didn’t the court take you seriously after that?”

  “Yes, they took me seriously but again it took a little time to get those wheels turning a second time. We had the hearing and got to present whatever witnesses we needed. Remember now, we weren’t having a hearing to determine if he killed the Doctor but to specifically address the allegations made in the Writ of Habeas Corpus, so it wasn’t as if he was on trial for the murder again.”

  “It looks to me like the roles sort of changed. You became the prosecutor and the State became the defendant and you were out to slap their wrists for doing wrong by your client.”

  “That much is true, of sorts, but still I was a member of the Bar and expected to behave in a manner befitting such. I wasn’t thrusting a banner in the air and running around the room.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I still had my conscience to defend as well. I found and submitted a lot of case law and I mean a lot, to the courts about the consequences of excluding blacks from juries all across the country. All of the case law showed that if this happened, the original verdict was voided.”

  “Thrown out on a technicality.”

  “Essentially, but I wish you’d stop using that word.”

  “What word, technicality?”

  “Yes, that one. It’s becoming offensive and the more I hear it the more it trivializes our Constitution and Judicial Process.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just what I’m accustomed to. We see it in all of the TV cop and court dramas.”

  “I know. That makes it all the worse. You young people get what you think is a legal education from scripted court dramas.”

  I raise my hand, “Guilty as charged!”

  He tsk-tsked and we continued.

  “So what did you do?”

  “I gave the court a way out, while still representing my client to the best of my abilities. I presented Hill v. Texas to them.”

  “Should I know what that means?”

  “No, but I’ve committed it to heart.”

  He began a recitation that made me jealous of his ability to do so. “How do these old men memorize such lengthy works so they can recite them back at will? Almost like a preacher quoting Scripture without a Bible in their hand.”

  “Hill v. Texas states clearly says that a prisoner, whose conviction is reversed by this court need not go free if he is in fact guilty, for the state may indict and try him again by the procedure which conforms to Constitutional requirements. But no State is at liberty to impose upon one charged with crime, a discrimination in its trial procedure which the Constitution, and an act passed pursuant to the Constitution, alike forbid. Nor is this Court at liberty to grant or withhold the benefits of equal protection, which the Constitution commands for all, merely as we deem the defendant innocent or guilty.”

  I applaud quietly as he bows his head in acceptance and winks.

  “So you’re telling me that while you did everything you could to hold the court to task on the Constitutional Issues, you also made it clear that they should retry him for his crime instead of letting him go free.”

  “Exactly!” He shouts pointing a finger at me.

  “So that’s what you did. Why have you spent so much time battering yourself over this?”

  “Obviously my daughter did get to you.”

  Busted! I thought. “Yes, she told me this case has haunted you.”

  “It’s simple really. Once they read my brief, the Judge issued his ruling.”

  • • • •

  Every sound at night made Eldred flinch, even though he knew that he was locked up safe. He put his head at the foot of his bed and he could see the free night sky through the small window in his door. When he laid just right, the small door window lined up with the window high up on the wall and he could see out. He would stare at the stars and wonder if he’d ever get to sit outside as a freeman and look up at them. Outside the wall, quite a distance away, a firework exploded sending a shower of colored sparks in a large soundless umbrella.

  Eldred let out a very soft “oooh.”

  He was surprised when he heard a voice from outside of his door. “It’s Independence Day today. Too bad it’s not yours.”

  A guard, who he didn’t particularly like and who certainly didn’t like him, was talking.

  “Maybe one day,” He said in response, wondering if he would be dragged out and punched for his insolence.

  “Doubtful,” he heard the guard reply as he walked off.

  He continued to watch through the window hoping to catch another glimpse of fireworks but all he saw were hints of color flashes against clouds of billowy smoke from the display.

  Several days go by and his routine doesn’t change. His depression increases and his anxieties get worse. He asks for the window to be covered so he can’t see the sky at night.

  The woman in his head talks a lot more using his mouth, not just his mind. This draws the anger of the other people in segregation as well as the guards stationed there. Eldred is in a downward spiral and letting the wh
ole world know it rather loudly.

  About 5 am, although he didn’t know the time, his cell door flies open and a dark figure tells him to come out waking him from a fitful sleep. He feared this moment and he knows he’s been making everyone around him really mad.

  “They’s here to kill you Eldred. You missed da gas. You missed da lectricity. You ain’t gonna miss da angry men.” He feels in his heart that he’s about to die.

  “You’re not going to get me to walk to my own death!” He shouts as he throws his shoes from the floor toward the shadowy figure. Two burly guards rush into his cell and grab him by the arms and stand him up while a third shoves all of his possessions into a pillow case.

  “I didn’t do nothing! I didn’t do nothing! Let me stay!” he pleads. The guards only laugh and drag him along.

  “Shut up you kook!” one of them says under his breath. “We were told not to wake the others,” but eyes were already beginning to come to the windows. Eldred makes eye contact with many of them, pleading with his eyes and with his struggles for help.

  He soon finds himself in a room he’s never been in before and a uniformed guard he’s never seen before is pushing papers at him. They are all being really nice to him. He doesn’t understand.

  “Sign here and here and here. Pick up that pack. Sign there. Take this. Sign here. Good luck to you.” A paper sack is pushed into his hands as well, with some clothing, fifty dollars and a suit coat.

  In a blur, he was dressed in his new tan suit, money in his pocket and standing outside of the gate of the Prison watching the sun rise in the East over Nashville. A taxi pulls up and out steps his attorney, with his hand outstretched holding a small stack of papers.

  “Eldred, let’s take a ride.”

  “Where are we going?” Eldred was still suspicious. After twenty years imprisoned he didn’t trust anyone.

  “I think we’re going to take you home.”

  Eldred collapses to the ground.

  • • • •

  “Wait! I don’t get it! You sound as if you were happy he got released from Prison. Why drag him out of the cell in the middle of the night?”

  “I was happy that we did what was right. The dragging out of the cell was the Warden’s idea. The guards and the other cons now thought that Eldred had been dragged out and given his just rewards. Someone had made him ‘disappear’ and no one was the wiser. That way they wouldn’t ever come looking for him if they got the chance. They thought he was fertilizing the prison bean patch or something of the like.”

  “But he was guilty of murder!”

  The old lawyer hanged his head. “Yes he was, but our system was guilty of much worse. They didn’t allow him to be treated like a true citizen.”

  “Why was he let go?” I thumbed rapidly through my notes looking for the reference I remembered. “I thought he was supposed to get a new trial. You gave them the out with the Texas versus someone case.” I thumbed through my notes furiously, knowing I had it written down. “He could have been retried and served his sentence!”

  • • • •

  Ham made his way back to the Judge’s office, the newly arrived order in his hands. “I’m here to see the Judge.” He told the secretary somberly, knowing this wasn’t going to be a glowing moment in the history of the court.

  She smiled politely and picked up the telephone on her desk. He heard it ring in the inner office and answered by the Judge. “Mr. Claude is here to see you Judge.”

  She hanged up the phone. “He says you can come in Mr. Claude.”

  “Thank you” he said as he walked past her to the inner door. He’d made this walk many times over his decades of service but today felt especially bleak.

  The Judge greeted him warmly, “Good morning Ham. What brings you up here so early?”

  He pulled back a chair and sat down heavily, his shoulders sagging. “I’m the bearer of bad tidings today Your Honor. This was just filed with my office.”

  He handed the documents to the Judge who took them with concern on his face. “Did someone die?”

  “Yes, twenty years ago.”

  “Oh, it’s that case.”

  “Yes, that case.”

  The Judge read the order. “This is pretty much what I expected. We’re going to have to have a new trial,” he paused, pensive, “Or we can just turn him loose.”

  “Yes, that’s about the short of it.”

  “We’ll make it work Ham. You don’t need worry excessively over it.”

  “I’m getting too old for this Judge. I think it’s time for me to start thinking about retiring somewhere.”

  The Judge laughed politely, “Retire? Never! You know as well as I do you’ll work until your last breath.”

  The aging Clerk stood from his chair, “You’re probably right.”

  “Don’t fret over this. I’ll get with the D.A. and we’ll figure it out. I know we can still get all of the witnesses back together if need be.”

  “That’s what worries me. That’s what got us in this mess to start with. It’s going to get expensive and the newspaper is going to get hold of it. I wonder what the more righteous action really is.” He knew that he wasn’t in a position to influence this and rightfully so, but he had an overwhelming need to have said that.

  The Judge just nods at him, turning his chair to look out the window, the document in his hand absently being tapped against the arm of his chair.

  • • • •

  “He had his new trial then and was still found not guilty?”

  “Nothing of the sort happened. The Judge met with the District Attorney, who in turn called me to a meeting to discuss the potentials for a new trial. I had actually hoped it would go to trial. I wanted justice to be served. I wanted his release to be because the Court acknowledged a wrong was done to him, not because they just made the decision over coffee one morning.”

  “What happened?”

  “The DA was a good fellow. I still respect him. He, the Judge and I sat down over coffee of all things. They laid it out to me, spelling out every aspect of the impending trial. We were laying out the procedure and what must be done to the letter of the law.”

  “Did they intimidate you?”

  “No! Certainly Not! This was purely an academic meeting. Since none of us were involved in the original conviction we really were able to be objective about it; them more than I. None of us wanted any mistakes at this point. I just wanted a chance to take it to trial and let the truth come out.”

  “How did they take that?”

  “I don’t know. Once I said that, our meeting was more or less over.”

  “Did the trial last a long time or was it just a few days like the first one?”

  “It never happened. Somewhere along the line, they decided that it wouldn’t be feasible to hold a new trial. There was too much difficulty in evidence. There was too much expense involved. They elected not to retry him but take the second option. They ordered him to be released. I won the case.”

  “So the doctor goes unavenged?”

  “Unavenged?” He got rather animated. “Son, that’s not our purpose! Our job is to see that justice is served and it has been! He served twenty years in the penitentiary where he was regularly assaulted by his peers and occasionally by the guards. He is mentally ill but received no treatment. Yes he killed that Doctor and I am so very sorry for that but anything I do can’t undo that….”

  He stopped and stared hard at me. “Why are you sitting there with that fool grin on your face?”

  He didn’t realize that he’d risen from his chair and was scolding me about how well he’d done his job and that it wasn’t his fault a murderer went free. He’d seen justice
done. He’d always been the man that he wanted to be. He just never would admit it to himself.

  He froze in place, his face taking on a purple color. “Molly!” He yelled, “Molly come in here!”

  His daughter came running in. “What’s wrong Papa? Are you ok?”

  He turned an angry eye toward me. “Get this person out of my office! Now!”

  Stunned I looked at her and stood up; not sure what I’d done but I gathered my things and followed her out. She closed the office door as I walked past. Behind us we could hear things being thrown and breakable things being broken.

  “What did you do in there?” She asked me, exasperation in her expression.

  “I have no idea. I just smiled at him because he was proving a point that he refused to see. I didn’t say a word. I swear.”

  “You’d better tell me what happened.”

  Just as I started to share the story with her, it became very quiet in the closed office. We looked to the door, wondering if we should go in and check on him.

  The secretary stood up from her chair, also waiting for the next rush of the storm.

  “You two come back in here.” He said to us as he opened the door and stepped out. His suspenders were off of his shoulders and his shirt tail was hanging out. His hair was a mess and his eyes were red.

  “Papa was that a tantrum or a stroke?”

  “You just come in here and sit down a minute while I compose myself.”

  We edged past him and made our way toward the two chairs. He grabbed me by the arm rather forcefully and said, “Wait a minute.”

  I stopped and looked at him, not quite sure what else to do. I made eye contact with those cold, hard eyes.

  “I was wrong to act like that, and I’m truly sorry. You made me admit something and it was, er, challenging to do. That case has been a shield for me for so long, and a sword….” He trailed off leaving me to connect the dots.

  I was holding eye contact with him, afraid to do anything else. A moment of silence passed and he purposefully glanced down, causing me to do the same. He had held his hand out between us for me to shake. I took it and shook it with a firm grip.

  “It’s quite alright.”

  “No it’s not. Have a seat and let me properly apologize to both of you, with an explanation.”

  • • • •

  “Molly, you didn’t need to have me over again for dinner. I really should be getting back to school. I’ve skipped three days of class already. I should at least be prepared on Monday.”

  Molly Leonard brought a platter with a steaming roast to the table. I changed my mind quickly, smelling it, and asked about the extra place setting at the table.

  “Nonsense, Son, you’ve earned a place at my table this week,” the old lawyer responded for his daughter, “After what I’ve put you through, it’s the least we could do.

  “Besides, my granddaughter is coming home for the weekend,” he continued with his hand on my shoulder holding me in my seat. “She should be here shortly for dinner.”

  He looked at his watch and then at the clock on the wall. “Is that right?” He gave his pocket watch a shake and putting it to his ear.

  Rolling her eyes at her father, Molly smiled at me. “I called her like you suggested and she agreed to come home this weekend. She’s just been really busy teaching and all.”

  “Teaching?” I begin to ask as we hear the front door open.

  “Mama, I’m home. Where is everybody?”

  “We’re in here dear, in the dining room. I have someone I want you to meet.”

  I stood up, ever trying to be the gentleman and around the corner walks my Creative Writing teacher.

  Her mother begins, “I’d like you to meet…”

  She recognizes me and smiles. “We’ve already been introduced.”

  All I can do is laugh.

  Fin

  “Where ya been? I’ve been waiting...”

  The mourners had spent more than two hours filing past the open casket holding the earthly remains of Doctor Theodore Blakely and then paying respects to his lovely, grieving wife.

  “He looks so good. It’s such a terrible shame to go that way.” One mourner said to her as she took her hands and kissed her cheek. “I was just at your wedding and you two made such a handsome couple.” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and moved on, letting the next in line comfort the widow.

  The Reverend entered the church and ushers began suggesting that people take their seats so the service could begin. Finally, the last of the mourners made it by the Widow Blakely, and allowed her to take her own seat beside her family and her husband’s.

  The minister began, “We are gathered here today to say goodbye to the dearly departed, our brother and friend, Theodore Blakely. I knew Dr. Blakely to be a man of God and a man dedicated to serving all people, no matter who they are. He was a patient man, loved by all, revered by many. He was an outstanding role model for our young men and women.”

  The Reverend took a deep breath and laid his bible on the podium. “I have a card here that arrived this morning with that beautiful floral wreath,” He points out a large wreath beside the casket, “from Judge Clement about our brother Theodore. I felt it appropriate in the eyes of God to read it to you all, before we let his kin start their eulogy.”

  He cleared his throat as he unfolded the note from his inside suit pocket and hanged his glasses over his ears and nose. He cleared his throat one more time.

  “The colored race has lost a good Doctor; the entire community has lost a valuable citizen. He died in the line of duty, while on an errand of mercy to minister to the sick and afflicted.”

  The reverend replaced the card in his pocket. “He said more about justice being meted out in proper manner. We thank the Judge for his compliments and for his gracious showing of respect for the good brother.” Eulogies and the sermon following went on for a while, met by moist eyes and quiet sobs all around the room.

  • • • •

  “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. So says the Lord.” Recited the Pastor standing beside the flower adorned casket and grave.

  “Amen?” He asks.

  “Amen,” the mourners respond.

  “Lord, today we commit the Earthly remains our brother Theodore to the ground. We know his soul is with you at your feet, ready to do service, as he was in this life before.”

  The pastor nods his head at four men holding ropes on either side of the casket, who then begin to slowly and gently lower it into the grave. A quartet of women standing behind the minister begin a mournful version of Shall We Gather at the River.

  Lucille stops the Sheriff as he walks past the family paying respects.

  “Did he do it Sheriff? Did that man kill my husband?”

  The Sheriff looked into her young, sad eyes, “He said he did and I believe him, but only The Lord knows the truth.”

  The Sheriff lingered behind to talk to the Reverend. Approaching him slowly with an outstretched hand, the Sheriff greeted him. “That was a beautiful service. I’m sure Doc Blakely would be very proud to know so many people cared for him in such a way.”

  “You’re right Sheriff. He would have been proud but would have been too proud to show it.” They both nod somberly. “So you think you have the one who did it?”

  “You’re not the first person to ask that question today.” He looks up into the October sky. “Yes sir, I do, but I like what you had to say about justice. We do what we can, but God does deliver just rewards.”

  The much older, colored preacher put his hand o
n the Sheriff’s shoulder. “We do what we can here and pray we do it right.”

  “Amen to that.”

  • • • •

  The dust felt warm and powdery between Theo’s bare toes in the middle of the old road. The sun was shining warmly on his neck and the cicadas were buzzing contentedly in the willows to the sides. Clouds were skidding across the crystal blue sky in great billowy shapes resembling people and animals.

  He looks around. He soaks in the experience and hums the melody of a song he learned in his father’s church.

  “Hey, Theo!” He hears yelled into the breeze from further down the road. He sees Tug running toward him, a pair of fishing poles shaking wildly behind him, held over his shoulder.

  “Hey Tug!” Theo yells in reply and gallops forward to meet his best friend and adopted bother.

  They collide in a huge hug, laughing and circling around. They patted each other on the back and rubbing the tops of their heads, each smiling broadly with eyes shining. Behaving like true boys they separate and start walking down the road, kicking small rocks, cane poles bobbing. Tug puts his arm around Theo’s shoulder.

  “Where ya been, buddy? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  END