Misdemeanor Trials

by Milton Schacter

  The Doctor interjected, “What happened to her?”

  “At the end of school she wanted to get married, but I had other plans, and we just kind of drifted apart,” said John. John pondered a moment as he recalled Jennifer, and thought to himself that she was a better person than he was. He also thought that if he were a woman, he would definitely stay away from people like him. On the same note he thought he would have sex a lot more often than what Jennifer wanted.

  “What do you feel when you tell me this story?” asked the Doctor.

  “A little sad, I guess. Maybe a sense I lost something valuable,” responded John. “What do you think?” asked John.

  “I think some women bring love to a man, some bring affection, some bring humor, and some bring civility to a man. Jennifer brought you music.”

  John said, “I remember that I learned to love the music then, and I love it to this day. I wonder if there was anything I gave her?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CLOSING

  “The IQ and the life expectancy of the average American recently passed each other in opposite directions."

  --George Carlin

  John prepared for trials every day and every week. Most cases were resolved when he traveled to the courthouse several times a week for the shakeout.

  More often than not, when cases reached the point of trial, defendants would plead guilty. Sometimes the defendant would plead guilty as the jurors entered the courtroom before selection. There was something impressive to criminal defendants when they were about to be forced to present a case to members of the community. Possibly they were embarrassed or shamed to avoid the jury learning they were a reprobate. The only trial he had so far settled right after the victim in an indecent exposure case testified. He knew he would not soon forget Vanessa and how Casey crumbled in face of the innocence of a young girl. Finally, though, he was able to do a complete misdemeanor trial. It was a particularly uncomfortable case when a mother attacked and hit her own daughter in a school conference room. The mother was charged with battery of her daughter. The eleven year old child testified truthfully at trial. John was stressed as he began his final closing argument. He began, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” He couldn't believe he was saying these words. He believed that his first closing argument of his first completed trial would be original in his content and remarks. But there was really no other way to start. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” That's who they were. They had to be greeted. It was really the only thing to say. It felt surprisingly natural to John.

  He continued, “This is the prosecutions opportunity to show you how the evidence has proved the defendant is guilty as charged. First I will review the law. The judge in her instructions at the close of all arguments will tell you what the law actually is, but before she does that, I will explain what the law requires that I prove. Then I will review the credible facts of this case and then point out evidence which shows that all of the elements of the charge have been proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

  “The charge in this case is battery, a violation of Section 242 of the Penal Code. A battery as defined in the Penal Code is any willful and unlawful use of force or violence upon the person of another. We need to take a close look at each of the words of this section.”

  Three years ago John thought a battery was something you used in a flashlight or was necessary to start a car. Law school had changed the way he looked at words. Words were no longer simple and straightforward, but now had special meanings which required complicated definitions. Lawyers surrounded sentences and words, took them apart, analyzed them, and then gave them different meanings than we all thought they meant, and probably meanings we never intended. It was no surprise to John that there were no lawyers who were great poets.

  He continued, “The word willful in this case means that the defendant moved in a way that was not a reflex, such as a spastic fit or as the result of being pushed into the victim involuntarily by another. Willful here means that the defendant consciously moved her hand in such a way that contact with the victim occurred. It is not required by the statute that the defendant intended to strike the victim.

  “The words force and violence mean that the application of any force, including the slightest touching of the person, or even touching the clothes or things a person might have in his or her hand, is a violation if it is done in a rude and angry manner.

  “The word unlawful in this case means there is no defense that society generally accepts. Bumping and pushing in the subway could be a battery. But when we walk onto the bus or while walking down the street, we expect it and consent to it by our presence. Such consent renders a battery lawful. Football games are filled with batteries, but the players have given their consent. A kiss is a battery. And if there is no consent to the kiss, it is a crime.

  “Basically, a battery is an unwanted touching.

  “Now that we know what a battery is let's look at the facts of this case.

  “The facts of this case are straightforward. On the morning of November 15th before school had started, the defendant, Carmella Sanchez entered the school yard of the Lincoln Junior High School, where the children mingled. Carmilla Sanchez came to the school in order to bring to her daughter, Rosanne Delmas, some schoolbooks Rosanne had forgotten at home.

  “An argument began between Carmella and Rosanne in the schoolyard. Rosanne is eleven years old. The argument became loud and the principal, Wilford Header, approached them and asked them if they would come to the conference room in the hopes of mediating the dispute. When he seated them in the room he left for a moment to call the school psychologist, Alva James. When the school psychologist entered the conference room a few minutes later, she saw Carmella lean across the conference table, swing her arm back and slap Rosanne with such force that Rosanne was thrown off the chair and onto the floor.

  “Rosanne got up crying. She told them she wanted to go to the bathroom to get some tissues, and her mother told her that she couldn't and that she was to sit down. The school psychologist intervened and persuaded the defendant, Carmella Sanchez, to allow Rosanne to leave for a few moments. While Rosanne was gone, Ms. James told the defendant that she was obligated under the Education Code to report what she had seen to the Child Protective Services. The defendant appeared to calm down and suggested that Rosanne deserved to be hit, since she had not done her homework the night before and had forgotten her books that morning when she went to school. Rosanne returned a few minutes later with her tissues in hand. The argument continued. The defendant berated Rosanne for going to the skating rink with her boyfriend after being grounded, of engaging in sex with him and using drugs. Rosanne testified that to all of those accusations her only response was ‘No, I didn't. No, I don't.’

  At this point John stopped talking. He walked from the front of the jury panel back to his table and pulled his chair out and brought it in front of the jury. There was silence in the courtroom and the time seemed to stand still. But he had thought it through and he didn't know how else he could get the chair in front of the jury and still keep on talking. He sat down in the chair and looked at the jury. He noticed that the silence had created a real tension and he could see the courtroom was waiting for his next words.

  “The defendant got up from her chair in the conference room, walked around the table over to Rosanne. As her mother approached, Rosanne put up her arms over her head like this, and Rosanne slid down in the chair.”

  As he was speaking, John began to slide down in the chair and put his arms and hands over his face. He slide out of the chair and was lying on his back on the courtroom carpet.

  “Why did Rosanne slide down in her chair and put her arms up? Because she knew what was coming. Rosanne then slid all the way to the floor and her mother walked over to her.”

  John then got up and looked down at where he had been lying.

  “Then the defendant, who weighs 160 pounds, stepped over the body of Rosanne, who weighs 90 pounds, straddl
ed her and got down on her knees.”

  John got on his knees over the spot where he had been lying.

  “The defendant grabbed Rosanne's shoulders and shook her violently four or five times. She then stood up, yelling at Rosanne.”

  John stood up, fixed the lapels of his coat, and faced the jury.

  “Then, ladies and gentlemen, she kicked Rosanne in the thigh...”

  At that moment, John reared back his right foot and kicked the wood barrier between him and the jury. The sound pierced the courtroom and visibly startled some of the members of the jury.

  “...as hard as she could. The school psychologist helped Rosanne off the floor, took her into the nurse's office and called the police. Rosanne suffered a slight swelling to her face on the left side and the following day she had a black eye and a large bruise on her thigh. Rosanne did not report to school again for ten days.

  “That's it. That is the case. And were this to happen to adults, there would be no question that we would be appalled. But this case is different, because Rosanne is the daughter of Carmella Sanchez. The defense would have us believe that these events were merely the application of appropriate disciplinary measures. But the hitting was a touching, it was not consented to, and it was the unlawful application of force and violence. The defendant is guilty as charged, and I ask you to deliver a guilty verdict.”

  The defense attorney delivered a pathetic closing, suggesting the attack was parental discipline. John delivered a brief rebuttal, the judge read the legal instructions to the jury, and they were excused to the jury deliberation room through a door behind the judge’s elevated desk. They were charged with the responsibility to come to a verdict. John returned to his office. His misdemeanor attorney friends told him a quick verdict was good, since it meant a guilty verdict. Some told him a quick verdict was bad since it was a not-guilty verdict. John felt apprehensive since he had no idea what to expect.

  Two hours later he received a telephone call in his office. The clerk told him that the jury had reached a verdict and would he please return to the courtroom. John returned to the courtroom with butterflies in his stomach. John stood behind the chair at the Prosecutor's table and watched the juror's come into the courtroom from behind the judge's elevated desk. They filed into their chairs in the juror's box. He looked at their faces but could not tell what the verdict might be.

  The judge looked at the jurors after they had settled in and said, “I understand you have reached a verdict.”

  “Yes, we have,” responded the voice of the person who was obviously the jury foreman.

  “Please hand your verdict to the bailiff,” said the Judge. The bailiff walked toward the foreman and reached out for the brown manila envelope that contained the verdict. He walked over to the judge and handed her the envelope. The judge opened the envelope and carefully pulled out the verdict form. She looked at it for a moment and then, in a seemingly detached manner, handed the paper to the court clerk. John watched the face of the judge, but could not tell if the verdict would be guilty or not-guilty. John felt a pain of anxiety as the clerk stood up, received the verdict form and took it, looked at it and then read out loud, “We the jury in the matter of the State versus Carmela Sanchez, case number 1589767, Count One, find the defendant guilty as charged.” John took a deep breath. The judge released the jurors, and John spoke to them a few minutes after the trial. Some said they reached a verdict very soon, were disgusted with the defendant's behavior, but waited in the jury room longer than they needed in order to show that they had in fact deliberated, and also wanted to finish the donuts that the bailiff had brought into the deliberation room.

  When John returned to the office the news had already gotten back and he was offered congratulations from his fellow attorneys. He stopped briefly by Tom's cubicle and Tom told him that he had done a nice job. John told him about the surge of anxiety as the verdict form was taken from the jury, and then given to the judge and finally to the clerk. Tom said, “It never goes away. In fact, in your career you will go to the reading of the verdict in cases done by other Prosecutors, and you will feel the same anxiety, even though it is not your case. It is the nature of the job. It is winning or losing, and no one wants themselves, or their friends to lose.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MARTY

  “My soul is in good shape.”

  ---Phillip Seymour Hoffman

  Marty Stolz stood next to the covered bus stop, which was a few blocks from his rented room, and patted his gloved hands to avoid the penetrating coolness of the morning air. He was there a few minutes before the bus would arrive, and it always arrived on time. Next to him at the bus stop was a middle aged lady whose fat feet spilled over the sides of her half high heeled shoes. She was carrying a cloth grocery bag in her gloved hands. Marty thought to himself, “The people who ride the bus are the very young, the very old, and the very odd.” Marty considered he had two of the bases covered. He was mildly old and somewhat odd. Marty looked up the street to his left and he could see the bus in the distance. “Right on time,” he thought to himself. The bus pulled to the stop and its doors opened. The lady got on first and Marty followed. He pushed his senior monthly bus pass through the slot, and at the same time looked at the driver and said, “Good morning, Roger.”

  The driver replied, “Good Morning, Marty. Where you headed out to this morning?” Roger was a man of some girth. He sat in the hydraulic driver’s seat that had a thick cushion. On top of that Roger had put several more cushions. Rogers’s rather large midsection was barely inches from the massive steering wheel. Roger was always friendly over the years, and Marty had spoken to him on several occasions when he had taken the bus to the end of the line.

  Marty said, “I think I will drop off at Canal Street and take Number 43 to the docks. On mornings like this, the docks are quiet, the air smells really good, and I can watch the sun come up.”

  “Sounds like a good way to spend the morning, Marty. Have a good day,” said Roger.

  Marty made his way to the middle of the bus. There were six or seven others in the bus and he could feel the warmth of the bus knock down the chill he had felt at the bus stop. It would be a twenty minute ride to the connection at Canal Street, and he sat in his seat and watched the street go by. He watched the bus slow down and stop at each of the bus stops on the way to Canal Street. He recognized them, and recalled that he had gotten off at every one, and explored the neighborhoods and streets around them. He had gotten to know the city, the bus routes and bus stops over the years. Every trip he took was an adventure for him. He had seen many things change over the years, some he thought were good and some not so good, but it was certainly entertaining for him. He had watched as the old Garden Theater was torn down on Route Six. When as a child he had watched the Saturday matinees at the Garden Theater. Twenty cents and you got to see Roy Rogers and sometimes Flash Gordon. But they built a small shopping mall there, and it had been a source of trouble almost since the beginning. The buildings in the neighborhoods were changing, and so were the people who lived there. But no one bothered Marty in his well-worn, and out of fashion clothes, which made him an undesirable target to any thief. He had also seen some things he did not like to think about.

  Marty got off the bus at Canal and waved good-bye to Roger as he stepped out. He walked across the street to the bus shelter for bus Six. He would have to wait ten minutes for it to arrive. There was no one else waiting for the bus. At the last minute regular travelers would arrive at the bus stop just in time to get on. They knew the bus would be on time. Ten minutes went by and the bus arrived. Marty didn’t recognize the driver, a fairly rotund black woman who nodded to Marty as he got on the bus. Marty sat silently. Most of the passengers were on their way to work or returning from work. In either case, they were not inclined to pointless conversation, which he found more often on the early afternoon trips when riders loosened up and relaxed on their way home. The bus pulled over to the curb at 79th and Bell Road an
d Marty got off from the rear door. There was no bus shelter here. Very few people got on or off the bus, but the bus stopped anyway. He started to walk slowly towards the dock. The night had not yet seen the glow of the sun, rising somewhere hundreds of miles away. He knew it would take him about twenty minutes to reach the docks, which a few years ago had been busy every day from early in the morning until dusk. It had been exciting then to watch workman load and unload cargo, and hook up twelve hoses blowing grain to the cargo holds of the boats. But business was not good for the docks. Slowly he had seen the activity slow down, and fewer and fewer men were working on the docks. Now it was quiet all the time. Cargo boxes were stacked in the storage yards, untouched for many months, behind fences that had been cut or rolled back by the curious or the vagrants who wandered regularly around the area. Marty walked past the fenced yard toward the bay. The water was calm and quiet. To his left he saw that the gate to the cargo yard was open and the lock and chain were hanging down. He walked towards the slightly ajar fence and walked through. Walking through the cargo containers was like walking through a canyon. It was darker, and a bit colder than the open yard. He heard voices and walked towards them. He slowly rounded a turn in the cargo carrier canyon and saw three men in the distance through one canyon trail. He could hear that the voices were elevated, but he could not hear the words. Then one of the men, who he recognized as Carlos Zelaya, raised his arm towards the other man who Marty did not know, and he could clearly see there was a gun. Zelaya fired the gun once, and the target fell to the ground. Zelaya then walked over to the lifeless man on the ground, pointed the gun a few inches from his head, and fired again. The body jerked once, then remained motionless. Zelaya and the third man calmly walked away from the dead man, and, to the relief of Marty, away from him. Marty waited a few minutes and then turned the corner and walked to the man lying on the ground. When he got there he could see that the man had half his head missing. Marty patted the man’s pants and pulled a wallet from his back pocket and put it into his coat. He thought to himself, “What’s in your wallet?” He walked away, back to Bell and 79th where he knew he could catch the bus. He reached the bus stop corner, and waited, knowing the bus would be by in at least half an hour. He was shaking as he could see the light blue line of the morning begin to grow. Soon the sun would be up and Marty would be warm.