by Allen Drury
“If he can,” Clem Wallenberg growled. “I’m pretty damned skeptical of these smart fellows who like to play with crowds. Crowds don’t stay hitched all that easy.”
“It will be a great temptation to demagogue,” the Chief agreed. “We’ll just have to see how it goes.”
For the first few minutes it went very calmly. Despite the hardworking efforts of the television crews roaming the crowd to incite something violent for their viewers’ edification, nobody took the bait. After the sixth or eighth attempt to encourage a provocative answer to a provocative question and stir up a little excitement, one of the roving reporters was told flatly by a black father of three, on-camera before the reporter had a chance to turn it away, “Look, man, why don’t you fuck off? We’re here to establish law and order and get us some justice, not get into a riot for you two-bit sensationalizing bastards.” This seemed to put an abrupt and lasting damper on the television crews, because their coverage of the crowd instantly stopped and the smooth voices of their anchormen took over, describing the weather (stifling), the throng (orderly) and the platform (filled with dignitaries and the bustle of great events about to begin).
There was also a lengthy and basically pro-Holgren recapitulation of the case. Then the cameras swung to the flag-draped platform and the temporary chairman said what everyone was waiting to hear:
“Ladies and gentlemen, Regard Stinnet!”
In the quiet, high-ceilinged room with its beautiful wood paneling, its antique furniture and oriental rugs, its portraits of early Justices, its book-filled shelves and air of infinite civility and civilization, there was a sudden sharp increase of tension among his nine most important and most concerned listeners. As if he realized this he looked straight into the camera for a second and a quick, triumphant smile flashed across his face.
“That’s for us,” Wally Flyte said as the smile was immediately succeeded by a grave and earnest expression.
“Yes,” Rupert Hemmelsford agreed. “A little private message not to get too big for our britches.”
“Which he isn’t,” Hughie Demsted remarked.
“In South Carolina we just call that being friendly,” Moss said with a bit of his old flippancy, and Clement Wallenberg said sharply, “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“I don’t know yet,” Moss replied with equal sharpness. “Suppose we have the courtesy to hear him out first.”
“Gentlemen,” The Elph said in a warning tone. “I can’t hear. Subside, please.”
Regard’s head came up, his expression of gravity deepened, he began to speak in an intimate, almost conversational voice to the now silent crowd. Only the distant clacking of a couple of television helicopters broke the stillness that gripped the vast throng on the Mall.
“My fellow believers in American justice!” he began (no dropped “g’s” or excessive drawl today. Regard was speaking to the world). There was a great roar of shouts and applause. “We are here today to make sure there is justice in America—that it is fair—that it is honest—that it is quick. We are here today to demand Justice NOW!”
Again the obedient roar responded.
“You see before you on this speakers’ stand forty-three of the fifty state attorneys general of the United States. You see thirty governors. You see members of the United States Senate and the House of Representatives. You do not see—”
“Oh, oh,” May McIntosh said. “Here we go.”
“You do not see,” Regard repeated, and his voice became suddenly heavier and more dramatic, “any of the nine members of the Supreme Court of the United States”—a wave of boos began to run through the crowd, starting simultaneously in many places and seeming to converge in one huge expression of disapproval just in front of the platform—“even though—even though, my friends”—and his voice rose suddenly to a near shout—“I called them personally two days ago and invited them to attend!”
The rolling wave of boos grew in volume and there was a quick cut to one of the cameramen in the crowd. This time he had found some cooperators. Directly in front of him a small group had turned to face down the Mall, its members shaking raised fists in the general direction of the Hill and the Court. Wally Flyte snorted sardonically and Clem Wallenberg said, “What crap!” in a loud voice.
“My friends,” Regard said, raising his arms to quiet them. “My friends, I would not want you to take this refusal by the Court as anything personal to me or to you. But I think it does show a somewhat interesting disregard for the very evident desire in this country for a fundamental change in the way the laws are enforced and adjudicated. It does show that the Court may perhaps be a little remote from the real concerns of the nation at this moment. It does show a certain arrogance. It does show, perhaps, that the law’s ultimate guardians consider themselves to be above the law.”
The boos grew still louder.
“This, my friends,” he said earnestly, “is a disturbing development for America. It makes even more important and imperative your participation in the judicial process. It makes even more necessary and vital that you show by your own actions what you want our courts—all our courts—to do. Let there be no mistaking where you stand! Let there be no doubt what Justice NOW! demands! Let it be made clear to all!”
“And let us storm the Court!” Hughie commented dryly. “Yaaay!”
“My friends,” Regard said, and now his mien was sober and judicious, “there will soon come before the Court a case which will be, in a sense, a litmus test of its willingness to respond fully to the great demand for real justice that is sweeping all across this troubled land of ours. That is the case of the convicted murderer, Earle Holgren, with which you are all familiar.
“Yes, my friends, Earle Holgren!” he repeated as the booing took on an uglier, personal note. “Bomber and murderer! Twice convicted by the courts of South Carolina, about to come up on appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States. Earle Holgren! The individual who symbolizes everything that is wrong with our criminal justice system today—the individual who has been sentenced to die and who must die, because to reverse his sentence or even to soften it would say to the whole world: There is no justice in America! Criminals are free to pillage and plunder and murder as they please in America! No one dares enforce the law in America! There is no law, there is no justice in America! There is only justice that is injustice—law that is mockery—and crime unchecked and uncontrollable, everywhere in America!”
He paused dramatically.
“Is that the kind of message America wants to send the world?”
Dutifully the great throng roared back:
“No!”
“Is that the message we want to send to our own decent, law-abiding, desperately frightened citizens?”
“No!”
“Is Earle Holgren to be the symbol of American justice, the emblem of American democracy?”
“No!”
“Should his appeal be denied by the Supreme Court of the United States?”
“YES!”
“Should Earle Holgren die?”
“YES-YES-YES!” roared the crowd, falling into a rhythm. “YES-YES-YES!”
“And should he die swiftly as ordered by the courts of South Carolina?”
“YES, YES, YES! YES, YES, YES! YES, YES, YES!”
“Then, my friends,” he said, his voice suddenly dropping and theirs instantly hushed in response, “here is how it will be done…
“I hold here in my hand”—he took it from his coat pocket and brandished it high in the steamy heat—“an order signed by the Honorable James Perle Williams, judge of the Court of General Sessions of the State of South Carolina. It says, and I quote: ‘Pursuant to request of the Attorney General of the State, and by virtue of the authority vested in me, it is hereby ordered that the execution of the convicted murderer, Earle William Holgren, be held on July 4 in the city of Columbia, South Carolina; that said execution be conducted in such a place and under such circumstances that all who wish may a
ttend and bear witness to the swift and just carrying-out of the law; and that in order further to strengthen justice, reinforce the laws and serve as a warning to all who might wish to transgress against the law-abiding citizens of this country in any way, shape, manner or form hereafter—and to protect the public’s right to know under the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States—said execution shall be conducted in the presence of television cameras and shall be freely broadcast throughout the nation and the world by any and all who wish to do so.
“‘Given under my hand and seal on this twenty-third day of June in Columbia, South Carolina. Signed, James Perle Williams, Judge.’”
There was a wild triumphant shout, interrupted only when Regard once more raised his hand and waved for silence.
“I am further pleased to tell you,” he said, “that I have been informed by many of my fellow attorneys general, led by my good friend the co-chairman of Justice NOW!, Ted Phillips of California, that they intend to ask their judges and legislators to adopt the same procedure in their states. Thus will justice be served throughout the land!”
And now the enormous crowd was wildly jubilant, the television anchormen were too stunned and too uncertain of what their networks’ official position would be to do much but stutter, and in the Conference Room of the Supreme Court nine grave faces looked at one another in stunned surprise.
“Son of a bitch,” Justice Wallenberg said softly at last. In a jail in Columbia, South Carolina, a stocky bearded figure, glued to a television set, mouth drawn back in a sardonic smile—because now he thought he had them—said, with different intonation, the same.
“The final triumph of our technological progress,” Ray Ullstein remarked with a rare bitterness. “The crowning achievement of our age. The apogee of American civilization.”
“And what, pray the Lord and John Marshall,” Justice Flyte inquired of no one in particular, “are we going to do about that one?”
“My friends,” Regard concluded in an earnestly thoughtful tone, “it is clear that you agree with this order of our good friend Judge Williams.”
Again, more excited than ever, the chanted triple YES.
“We hope and expect that the great majority of our countrymen will also agree with it.”
And yet again the triple YES!
“And we hope and expect that the Supreme Court of the United States will not dare to interfere with the people’s sovereign will.”
This time the response was overwhelming, an elemental cataract of sound that burst from the screen: “NO-NO-NO! NO-NO-NO! NO-NO-NO!”
“So let us make our wishes, and the wishes of America, known. Let us make very sure that the will of the people is carried out. Let us continue to agitate, to insist, to keep watch. Let us remain vigilant—let us stay on the job—let us never weary or slacken in this great crusade to give America Justice NOW!”
A last volcano of sound—a last panorama of the tumultuous throng, stretching into the far distance toward the Lincoln Memorial—a last picture of a triumphant Regard, surrounded by crowding, congratulatory dignitaries on the platform—and Tay stepped forward and turned off the set.
For several moments no one said anything. Then the Chief spoke in a thoughtful, analytical tone.
“He’s very clever, very shrewd. He’s not only put us on the spot and guaranteed that we’ll probably have around-the-clock vigils up here until the matter is decided, but now he’s enlisted the networks on his side—”
“Oh, surely not!” May McIntosh exclaimed, shocked.
“You wait and see,” The Elph predicted. “You just wait. He and his friend Perlie have wrapped them in the First Amendment, which makes it respectable; and now the veniality can begin. Who will make the first request for advertising time, I wonder? Mobil? Exxon? IBM? It will be the most prestigious show since ‘Masterpiece Theatre’—more so, because this will be real. Real life. Real death … unless,” he said, and his tone hardened, “we stop it … Moss”—his voice took on a hard-boiled practicality they did not often hear from their gentle leader, “I hate to stick you with this as Circuit Justice of the Fourth Circuit, but I think I’m going to cast that vote for early adjournment that I withheld on Friday and leave you alone to handle the appeal. I agree with Wally now—I think our best strategy is to get out of town and play for time in the hope that these inflamed passions will diminish a bit before we have to hand down a decision.
“I don’t presume to tell you what to do, Moss, but I think it would be helpful if you could delay things a bit. A stay of two or three weeks—even one, if that’s all you can manage conscientiously. Then when it comes to the full Court we can delay still further, using the excuse of the need for intensive study of a case so complex and issues so far-reaching—maybe a month or more. And by then things may be a little quieter and the decision a majority may vote for may be a little easier to get past Mr. Stinnet and his impatient millions… Does that make sense to the rest of you?”
“It does,” Hughie Demsted said slowly, “except that you’re making two fundamental assumptions, Chief, that may or may not be correct. One is that the majority may make a decision Stinnet won’t like.”
“And the other?”
“You’re assuming that Moss is going to grant a stay,” Hughie said, staring at their colleague. “Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s going to go for the Roman carnival. Right, Moss?”
But Moss only gave him a long, moody stare, face expressionless, and said nothing.
“Well,” Duncan Elphinstone said finally, “in any case, I cast my vote for adjournment now.” He smiled wryly and repeated, “Adjournment NOW! Has anybody changed, or does that make it five to four?”
No one spoke.
“Very well. Moss, it’s up to you. For now.”
And still Moss said nothing, and still no expression crossed his face; nor did he in any way indicate what he would do as they bade one another good-bye until tomorrow at 10 a.m., and went down from the Hill.
***
Chapter 3
“You know what I think, Superstar?” her client said as Regard’s triumphant face, the solemn reverent crowd and the last strains of “The Star-Spangled Banner” faded from the screen. “I think you’d better get your pretty little tail up there just as fast as you can and file that appeal before those lily-livered old ladies—of whom,” he added scornfully, “I think there are nine, not one—let Yahoo scare them to death to the point where they can’t give me a fair decision based on the law.”
“I’m going this afternoon,” she said with some asperity, “as you very well know. It’s taken a little while to frame the appeal. I haven’t been sitting around doing nothing!”
“Well, well,” he said with a chuckle. “There’s real spirit for you. I know you haven’t. I just think we’ve got to move, now, that’s all. Particularly when he’s handed us the perfect issue on a platter. Kill me on TV, will they?” His face darkened. “He’s a damned fool. He won’t kill me anywhere, let alone on TV. All that’ll do is give the Court one more excuse to strike down the death penalty and reverse the decision. Not that they’d need any, if they had an ounce of guts. But I suspect they haven’t.”
“I have more faith in them than you do,” she said. “Your arrest was illegal, the trial was a farce, the evidence is all circumstantial, the verdict was obviously rendered under hysterical public pressure. They don’t need the TV angle.”
“They don’t need it,” he said, “but they’re damned glad they have it. You wait and see. Some of them will hide behind it. It’s convenient.”
“What do you care, if it gets you off?” she inquired dryly. “I didn’t know you had any principles about how it’s done.”
“I don’t,” he said with a cheerful grin. “I just want to see those bastards be honest with themselves and the country, that’s all. They’re supposed to uphold ‘equal justice under law,’ aren’t they? Okay, let’s see ’em do it—if they have the guts. Anyway”—he shrugged—“I’m
home free.”
“I’m glad you’re sure of that. Maybe I shouldn’t bother even going up there. Maybe I should just mail in the appeal with a stamped, self-addressed envelope.”
“Don’t be smart,” he said with a sudden sharpness, eyes darkening again. “People get in trouble, being smart.”
“Was that what happened to Janet?” she inquired like a flash, and though he made as if to grab her wrist she snatched it away and stood up, just as the guard looked in.
“Any trouble, miss?” he inquired.
“No more than usual,” she said with a tight smile. “Thank you, guard. I’ll call if I need you.”
“I’d suggest you plain holler, miss,” he said, giving Earle a contemptuous look. “With this one.”
“Fuck you,” Earle said calmly. Then he dismissed him and turned back to Debbie again. “Don’t be smart,” he said again, softly. “Just don’t be smart. Who do you appeal to up there? The whole Court?”
“First to Pomeroy,” she said, remaining on her feet, well away. “He’s presiding judge of the Fourth Judicial Circuit, which includes South Carolina.”
He made a grimace.
“If he rejects it, and I’m not so sure he will, then we go to whoever I think will help us the most. There are at least four liberal possibilities. I’ll pick the one I think is likeliest to grant stay and turn it over to the full Court for review.”
“Well, steer clear of your hero, Barbour. He strikes me as a wishy-washy pantywaist. And he’s certainly no friend, either. Since he thinks I hurt his daughter.”
“Which you didn’t.”
He gave her a bland, ironic look.
“Nobody’s proved it.”
“I’ll choose whom I please,” she said sharply, feeling the hairs rise on the back of her neck as in the presence of something alien, which she now felt beyond question he was. Any attraction she had felt initially was gone, she told herself. He was simply a legal problem now. “You needn’t worry. It’s my job to protect your interests. Though,” she could not resist adding, more for her own reassurance than anything else, “God knows why.”
