You Can Dress 'Em Up

That photo in yesterday's entry of Levi Johnston, baby daddy to Soccer Mom's prized daughter, reminded me of all the times I have been to court in my life. When you go to court as often as I have, you see this all the time: someone dressed up in a brand new dress shirt (you can still see the fold points from where the shirt was just removed from its wrappings, with all the pins and that clear plastic collar binder) and a clip-on tie. Their lawyer told them to wear a shirt and tie for their trial. In many cases, the lawyer went out to the Try 'n' Save and bought the shirt and tie for the defendant. It's a lot like when Ray Lewis stood trial in Atlanta: attorneys (several of whom were dead ringers and sound-alikes for Matlock) representing the Ravens linebacker told him to wear glasses to trial. Clear glass, no doubt, but it did give him an almost professorial bearing, right? And the Menendez brothers who killed their father out in Hollywood - they wore sweaters to trial, in a (vain) effort to make them look like a couple of frat boys on trial for nothing more serious than a beer bust.



My former position required me to attend trials on a regular basis, bringing in vital information, usually for the prosecution. The stories I could tell! But I can't tell them. But I can say that if you have nothing to do on a slow afternoon, you might think of heading over to the local District Court, or whatever they call it in your part of the country. There is no better free entertainment anywhere. I'm sure that up in New England, they throw a certain amount of that homespun cottage cheese nomenclature at it and wind up calling it "Chancellor's Magistrate Court" or something. Now, your Circuit Courts, where there are juries and felony trials, are not so much on the entertainment meter. You might find yourself in the middle of a long trial concerning property lines or debentures or eroded fiscal fiduciaries or what-have-you. District Court is where the laughs are, where the traffic cases are heard, where I have absolutely heard the following statements:


---"Your honor, my client freely admits to having had one glass of wine some four hours before leaving the party."


---"Your honor, my client is a family man; he has 6 children by his three different women friends."


---"It may seem that my client did indeed leave the scene of the accident. However, there is an explanation. Shortly after the accident, my client suffered an act of involuntary defecation."

Judge: "You mean he messed himself?"

Lawyer: "Yes, your honor."



And then there was the trial for a truck driver who had driven some hapless motorist off the road early one April morning. Ah, the case that the prosecutor built against him, skillfully weaving in all the complexities that dot the Maryland Motor Vehicle Laws like shells on a beach. As the case wound down, we arrived at the climactic Perry Mason-style moment when the Ass't State's Atty. asked his sworn witness, "And do you see the driver of that truck, the man who so violently forced you off I-95 on April 16 of this year, seated in this courtroom today?" With a confident shake of his head, the prosecutor turned away to enjoy the moment of triumph that should have been his.


Except, the victim pointed to me.


"Yes, he is sitting right there!" he cried.


Ever have one of those moments when you're only half paying attention to something and suddenly you realize all eyes in the classroom, barroom or, in this case, courtroom are beamed on you? I must have smirked or something and the judge intoned blandly, "Let the record show that the witness has indicated that the custodian of records from the 911 Center, who is here for another case, was the driver of the truck that morning." He then asked me if I were in fact driving an 18-wheeler up the superslab that day. No? No.


And so the guy says, "Oh well, it was THAT guy!" pointing to someone else, some dude who was there to repair the water fountain for all I knew.


"You only get one guess," said the judge.



I tell you, this stuff is free! Go check it out.