Posted Monday, Nov. 24, 2008
No column this week, friends. Bumped by a series on guns, if you can believe it.
So instead, on to limericks!
There was once a man named O’Rourke
A much better lawyer than Bork
His greatest achievement
Beyond any believment
Was inventing wine bottles sans corks!
I knew an old woman named Sondra
Who had the most curious mantra
“You know you’re at peace,
When you’re covered in fleece,
And driving to work in a Honda.”
A college worker named Kate
Kept her friends’ favorite foods up to date
“Mickey D are all crooks,
So we’ll stick strictly to Brooks’,
And I’ll ship it to you if you’ll wait.”
There’s no one at all who is slicker
At getting in free than McVickar
“It so much more fun
When the payment is, ‘None”
And you still breeze by the turnstyle ticker
Feel free to join in at any time.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
The Tribulations of Trials
This column originally appeared on November 16, 2008
There is a dirty little secret that we here at the Chester County Justice Center keep to ourselves, but one that I am afraid I can no longer contain. With the hope that my disclosure will not anger any of those in the criminal justice system that I pal around with -- to use a recent catchy urban slang phrase meaning, “having met once at a cocktail party” – I find myself wanting to come clean and share this confidence with you readers.
Trials are boring.
I have to tell you this because I’m tired of the lying. I’m tired of the deceit. I’m tired of agreeing with people who stop me in the street and ask, “Did you see that robbery trial the other day? Goodness, that must have been a thrill!” I’ve nodded and smiled and mumbled that it was the most excitement I’ve had since the Phillies won, when actually I’m thinking of my dentist saying, “Now this root canal may take a little time.”
Trials drag on too long, even when they are over the same day they start. Trials mean seemingly endless hours of sitting on uncomfortable pews and trying to strain an inch of drama out of whether the purse was in the woman’s left hand or right hand. Trials get in the way of a good story, as has often been said of the truth. Trials are, in their very essence, trials -- i.e., a state of pain or anguish that tests patience, endurance, or belief. (Thanks, Webster.)
I’m sorry to have to tell you this because I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking trials are the antithesis of boring. You’re guessing trials are to boring as McCain is to winner. “Trials are the most exciting, tense, mysterious, sexy thing to occur in the American jurisprudence orbit since the Magna Carta! I love trials! I’d watch them all day if I could. Give me your job!” you say.
Buster, you don’t want my job. The job you think I have is the one you dream of while sitting on the divan while watching one of the actors on “Law & Order” cross-examine Paris Hilton, the ne where you get all tingly as Atticus Finch delivers his summation to the jury in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” or tear up as Denzel Washington puts the screws to Jason Robards in “Philadelphia.” You want the job where you’re scribbling furiously as Tom Cruse tells Jack Nicholson he wants the truth and Nicholson howls, “You can’t handle the truth!”
You don’t want my job, because my job is scribbling lazily as a bright, motivated, articulate assistant district attorney asks Witness A if he or she can identify the contents of a manila folder labeled Commonwealth Exhibit 21-A and the witness drawls, “Yes, it’s a photograph taken of an empty parking lot with a White Castle sign in the background.” Thank you, sir. Now if you can turn your attention to the envelope that’s been marked as Commonwealth’s Exhibit 21-B…
The fun comes when one of the attorneys appearing in a courtroom decides he’s going to act like he or she is playing an attorney on television. “It’s acting!” you can almost hear them exclaim. They wave their arms and roll their eyes and speak directly to the jury during a witness’s testimony and ask questions like, “Do you remember where you were on the night of the 22nd?” They make things lively for about 15 minutes, until the judge in the case looks up at them and says, “Counsel, will you please turn off your television set?” Then, it’s Return to BoringTown.
Give me a plea bargain any day. You get the facts in brief, a quick recitation of the defendants sorrow for having run over the neighbor’s rose bushes, and if you are lucky, the judge will give the defendant a colorful lecture that makes for the kind of snappy copy that editors love.
For example, last week I heard a judge ask a DUI defendant step back from the lectern and look at the ground. What did he see? “My sneakers,” the defendant replied. “That’s right. And that’s the only transportation you’re going to have for the next two years, do you understand?” the judge said. Copy boy!
Meanwhile, down the hall the witness in the trial was being directed to look at the envelope containing Commonwealth’s Exhibit 33-C. It was a Mars candy bar wrapper, slightly torn.
There is a dirty little secret that we here at the Chester County Justice Center keep to ourselves, but one that I am afraid I can no longer contain. With the hope that my disclosure will not anger any of those in the criminal justice system that I pal around with -- to use a recent catchy urban slang phrase meaning, “having met once at a cocktail party” – I find myself wanting to come clean and share this confidence with you readers.
Trials are boring.
I have to tell you this because I’m tired of the lying. I’m tired of the deceit. I’m tired of agreeing with people who stop me in the street and ask, “Did you see that robbery trial the other day? Goodness, that must have been a thrill!” I’ve nodded and smiled and mumbled that it was the most excitement I’ve had since the Phillies won, when actually I’m thinking of my dentist saying, “Now this root canal may take a little time.”
Trials drag on too long, even when they are over the same day they start. Trials mean seemingly endless hours of sitting on uncomfortable pews and trying to strain an inch of drama out of whether the purse was in the woman’s left hand or right hand. Trials get in the way of a good story, as has often been said of the truth. Trials are, in their very essence, trials -- i.e., a state of pain or anguish that tests patience, endurance, or belief. (Thanks, Webster.)
I’m sorry to have to tell you this because I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking trials are the antithesis of boring. You’re guessing trials are to boring as McCain is to winner. “Trials are the most exciting, tense, mysterious, sexy thing to occur in the American jurisprudence orbit since the Magna Carta! I love trials! I’d watch them all day if I could. Give me your job!” you say.
Buster, you don’t want my job. The job you think I have is the one you dream of while sitting on the divan while watching one of the actors on “Law & Order” cross-examine Paris Hilton, the ne where you get all tingly as Atticus Finch delivers his summation to the jury in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” or tear up as Denzel Washington puts the screws to Jason Robards in “Philadelphia.” You want the job where you’re scribbling furiously as Tom Cruse tells Jack Nicholson he wants the truth and Nicholson howls, “You can’t handle the truth!”
You don’t want my job, because my job is scribbling lazily as a bright, motivated, articulate assistant district attorney asks Witness A if he or she can identify the contents of a manila folder labeled Commonwealth Exhibit 21-A and the witness drawls, “Yes, it’s a photograph taken of an empty parking lot with a White Castle sign in the background.” Thank you, sir. Now if you can turn your attention to the envelope that’s been marked as Commonwealth’s Exhibit 21-B…
The fun comes when one of the attorneys appearing in a courtroom decides he’s going to act like he or she is playing an attorney on television. “It’s acting!” you can almost hear them exclaim. They wave their arms and roll their eyes and speak directly to the jury during a witness’s testimony and ask questions like, “Do you remember where you were on the night of the 22nd?” They make things lively for about 15 minutes, until the judge in the case looks up at them and says, “Counsel, will you please turn off your television set?” Then, it’s Return to BoringTown.
Give me a plea bargain any day. You get the facts in brief, a quick recitation of the defendants sorrow for having run over the neighbor’s rose bushes, and if you are lucky, the judge will give the defendant a colorful lecture that makes for the kind of snappy copy that editors love.
For example, last week I heard a judge ask a DUI defendant step back from the lectern and look at the ground. What did he see? “My sneakers,” the defendant replied. “That’s right. And that’s the only transportation you’re going to have for the next two years, do you understand?” the judge said. Copy boy!
Meanwhile, down the hall the witness in the trial was being directed to look at the envelope containing Commonwealth’s Exhibit 33-C. It was a Mars candy bar wrapper, slightly torn.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Doing Something New For A Change
This column originally appeared on Sunday, Nov. 9, 2008
In 1972, Robert Redford starred in a film called “The Candidate,” in which he was cast as idealistic lawyer Bill McKay, who fights for the little man.
A man of integrity and charisma, McKay runs for high public office against an apparently overpowering opponent, but does it on his own terms, his way. Incredibly, he wins -- just like a certain someone you might have read about recently.
Anyone who knows movies knows the famous last line of the film, in which Redford, huddled with his advisors just moments after he has been crowned the winner, looks at them and says, “What do we do now?”
With Barack Obama’s historic, perhaps unlikely, surely enthralling victory in the presidential race on Tuesday, there are a lot of people repeating that line over and over. But it’s not Obama that I’m worried about – he’s got plenty of people on hand to answer the question for him, if he asks it. The people on my mind are, frankly, us. Or as Barack would put it, you.
On Tuesday I stood in line waiting to vote with Constant Reader Linda From West Chester, who poured out her soul to me as we inched closer to the ballot booths. The deadline was coming, the election would soon be over, and she was going to have to find something else to occupy her time come Wednesday morning.
For more than two years, she’d been glued to the tube after dinner, wrapped up in the news, eyeballing every hidden nuance in the election that glimmered on the screen. She watched O’Reilly, Olbermann, Maddow, all the debates, Chris Matthews at West Chester University, every viral YouTube video she could get her hands on. The election coverage was like air: it enveloped her, gave her life, never let her down.
And now all that was being taken away. She looked as if someone had run over her favorite dog.
Linda is not alone. There is me, for instance. For months I have established a regular routine when I signed onto my computer at work (don’t tell The Management.) I checked my e-mail, filled out my Facebook status, and headed right to the bookmark labeled, “Political Stuff.” The next 30 minutes or so was a blur of jumping from one site to the next: Huffington Post, Real Clear Politics, Daily Kos, ElectoralVote.com, PolitikerPA, Political Irony, you name it. I didn’t feel complete until I had consumed all that there was to be had at each site. I was lifted up or shot down with every posting.
On Thursday, however, I sat at the computer and opened one of those sites and stared at the screen blankly. I realized that there was nothing of interest there for me anymore. I’d seen the movie’s end and had no use for the credits.
So here’s the answer to candidate McKay’s question. Here’s what we’re going to do now.
1) Check out the fall foliage. I have it on the highest authority that this year is the best in the past 50 for autumn colors in Chester County. Not only are there yellows and reds, but there are also oranges and pale greens and crimsons scatted all over the hills from Nottingham to Warwick. My suggestions for the best place to “leaf peep” are the hills above Coatesville on Oak Street, and the west window on the fifth floor of the Chester County Justice Center.
2) Volunteer for a day at a local agency. You don’t have to put in much time, but you’ve got a couple of hours a day on your hands now that Hannity & Colmes are as outdated as Currier & Ives. Call the folks at the United Way of Chester County for help in finding a place to work. They love to help.
3) When was the last time you went to the Brandywine River Museum? It’s still there, you know, and it is just as peaceful and inspiring as it was the last time you walked its floors. Plus, if the day is nice enough you can sit outside and watch the Brandywine Creek glide by, which is in many ways better than anything on Fox. Or CNN. Or MSNBC.
4) Don’t look at the calendar. 2012 is only 1,147 days away.
In 1972, Robert Redford starred in a film called “The Candidate,” in which he was cast as idealistic lawyer Bill McKay, who fights for the little man.
A man of integrity and charisma, McKay runs for high public office against an apparently overpowering opponent, but does it on his own terms, his way. Incredibly, he wins -- just like a certain someone you might have read about recently.
Anyone who knows movies knows the famous last line of the film, in which Redford, huddled with his advisors just moments after he has been crowned the winner, looks at them and says, “What do we do now?”
With Barack Obama’s historic, perhaps unlikely, surely enthralling victory in the presidential race on Tuesday, there are a lot of people repeating that line over and over. But it’s not Obama that I’m worried about – he’s got plenty of people on hand to answer the question for him, if he asks it. The people on my mind are, frankly, us. Or as Barack would put it, you.
On Tuesday I stood in line waiting to vote with Constant Reader Linda From West Chester, who poured out her soul to me as we inched closer to the ballot booths. The deadline was coming, the election would soon be over, and she was going to have to find something else to occupy her time come Wednesday morning.
For more than two years, she’d been glued to the tube after dinner, wrapped up in the news, eyeballing every hidden nuance in the election that glimmered on the screen. She watched O’Reilly, Olbermann, Maddow, all the debates, Chris Matthews at West Chester University, every viral YouTube video she could get her hands on. The election coverage was like air: it enveloped her, gave her life, never let her down.
And now all that was being taken away. She looked as if someone had run over her favorite dog.
Linda is not alone. There is me, for instance. For months I have established a regular routine when I signed onto my computer at work (don’t tell The Management.) I checked my e-mail, filled out my Facebook status, and headed right to the bookmark labeled, “Political Stuff.” The next 30 minutes or so was a blur of jumping from one site to the next: Huffington Post, Real Clear Politics, Daily Kos, ElectoralVote.com, PolitikerPA, Political Irony, you name it. I didn’t feel complete until I had consumed all that there was to be had at each site. I was lifted up or shot down with every posting.
On Thursday, however, I sat at the computer and opened one of those sites and stared at the screen blankly. I realized that there was nothing of interest there for me anymore. I’d seen the movie’s end and had no use for the credits.
So here’s the answer to candidate McKay’s question. Here’s what we’re going to do now.
1) Check out the fall foliage. I have it on the highest authority that this year is the best in the past 50 for autumn colors in Chester County. Not only are there yellows and reds, but there are also oranges and pale greens and crimsons scatted all over the hills from Nottingham to Warwick. My suggestions for the best place to “leaf peep” are the hills above Coatesville on Oak Street, and the west window on the fifth floor of the Chester County Justice Center.
2) Volunteer for a day at a local agency. You don’t have to put in much time, but you’ve got a couple of hours a day on your hands now that Hannity & Colmes are as outdated as Currier & Ives. Call the folks at the United Way of Chester County for help in finding a place to work. They love to help.
3) When was the last time you went to the Brandywine River Museum? It’s still there, you know, and it is just as peaceful and inspiring as it was the last time you walked its floors. Plus, if the day is nice enough you can sit outside and watch the Brandywine Creek glide by, which is in many ways better than anything on Fox. Or CNN. Or MSNBC.
4) Don’t look at the calendar. 2012 is only 1,147 days away.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Spirited Young People Celebrate
This column originally appeared on Sunday, Nov. 2, 2008
So, anything unusual happen around here last week?
I mean, besides the fact that the authorities had to call police into West Chester from as far away as Kuala Lumpur to help calm the display of exuberance expressed by the folks in town who wanted to properly commemorate the World Series victory by the Phillies Wednesday night. I don’t know about you, but for me nothing says sporting achievement quite like the words “overturned car.”
What happens if something else exciting happens in the world of Philadelphia professional athletics? Animal sacrifice? Spontaneous human combustion? Cats and dogs living together? Democrats sweeping the Chester County Courthouse?
My neighbors and I could hear the crowds cheering the Phils from the front porch of our place on South Church Street and I briefly considered walking the few blocks to join in the celebration. Good thing I didn’t, because apparently part of the admission to the event was a predilection for removing street signs from their moorings, presumably because they make good wall art when you’re on a limited budget.
I did find the whole matter good light reading in the paper at breakfast in Penn’s Table Friday morning, however, after the dust had settled and West End Towing had cleared the streets of upside down motor vehicles. Our wise colleague Jennifer Miller described the going on in her perfectly understated way: “For the most part, the chaos involved spirited young people publicly expressing their joy for the major win, both outside bars on Market, High and Gay streets and in the 500 and 600 blocks of South Walnut Street, where many West Chester University students reside,” she wrote.
The emphasis here, obviously, is on the adjective “spirited.”
My friend and former colleague Sondra Roberto, who broke both stories and hearts when she covered the cops for the Local in the mid-1990s, was appalled by the news, but for her own particular reasons. "There was a time when the only drunks who frequented downtown West Chester were journalists and lawyers and cops,” she wrote after the news broke. “The college-aged fools stayed in their place across town."
Welcome to the new West Chester, Sondra -- the destination spot of southeastern Pennsylvania and the perfect place to visit when you want to pick a fight with a K-9 officer, as one “spirited young person” reportedly tried to do.
According to Jennifer’s story, West Chester Police Chief Scott Bohn said afterwards that his department “anticipated a crowd after the game but was hopeful illegal activity would not occur.
"You certainly plan, and we had expected there was going to be a number of people, but I'm disappointed in the destruction of property," Bohn said. "While you expect anything and everything, I was hopeful that none of that type of activity would occur."
Sort of like Gen. George Custer hoping the Cheyenne Nation just wanted to give a shout out to their homey, Sitting Bull. Bohn can take heart that no other municipal police department in Chester County reported any major disruption after the Phils won. West Chester, it seems, is where folks come when they want to be taken into custody.
When I moved to Pennsylvania in 1980 the Phillies won the World Series for their first time in their history, so I feel a certain affinity for them. My friend Jamie was, and remains, a major Phillies fan, and he taught me the essence of fanaticism during their stretch drive for the pennant and the championship. He takes a back seat to no one when it comes to being overcome with joy when the Phils do well, and morose when they don’t.
But unless I miss my guess, all of the cars on Jamie’s road in Chester Springs still remain grounded on their four tires and the stop signs are still attached to their poles. Family members in his household remain uncharged.
Oh, and for you officers from Kuala Lumpur just arriving: the specials at Penn’s Table are great.
So, anything unusual happen around here last week?
I mean, besides the fact that the authorities had to call police into West Chester from as far away as Kuala Lumpur to help calm the display of exuberance expressed by the folks in town who wanted to properly commemorate the World Series victory by the Phillies Wednesday night. I don’t know about you, but for me nothing says sporting achievement quite like the words “overturned car.”
What happens if something else exciting happens in the world of Philadelphia professional athletics? Animal sacrifice? Spontaneous human combustion? Cats and dogs living together? Democrats sweeping the Chester County Courthouse?
My neighbors and I could hear the crowds cheering the Phils from the front porch of our place on South Church Street and I briefly considered walking the few blocks to join in the celebration. Good thing I didn’t, because apparently part of the admission to the event was a predilection for removing street signs from their moorings, presumably because they make good wall art when you’re on a limited budget.
I did find the whole matter good light reading in the paper at breakfast in Penn’s Table Friday morning, however, after the dust had settled and West End Towing had cleared the streets of upside down motor vehicles. Our wise colleague Jennifer Miller described the going on in her perfectly understated way: “For the most part, the chaos involved spirited young people publicly expressing their joy for the major win, both outside bars on Market, High and Gay streets and in the 500 and 600 blocks of South Walnut Street, where many West Chester University students reside,” she wrote.
The emphasis here, obviously, is on the adjective “spirited.”
My friend and former colleague Sondra Roberto, who broke both stories and hearts when she covered the cops for the Local in the mid-1990s, was appalled by the news, but for her own particular reasons. "There was a time when the only drunks who frequented downtown West Chester were journalists and lawyers and cops,” she wrote after the news broke. “The college-aged fools stayed in their place across town."
Welcome to the new West Chester, Sondra -- the destination spot of southeastern Pennsylvania and the perfect place to visit when you want to pick a fight with a K-9 officer, as one “spirited young person” reportedly tried to do.
According to Jennifer’s story, West Chester Police Chief Scott Bohn said afterwards that his department “anticipated a crowd after the game but was hopeful illegal activity would not occur.
"You certainly plan, and we had expected there was going to be a number of people, but I'm disappointed in the destruction of property," Bohn said. "While you expect anything and everything, I was hopeful that none of that type of activity would occur."
Sort of like Gen. George Custer hoping the Cheyenne Nation just wanted to give a shout out to their homey, Sitting Bull. Bohn can take heart that no other municipal police department in Chester County reported any major disruption after the Phils won. West Chester, it seems, is where folks come when they want to be taken into custody.
When I moved to Pennsylvania in 1980 the Phillies won the World Series for their first time in their history, so I feel a certain affinity for them. My friend Jamie was, and remains, a major Phillies fan, and he taught me the essence of fanaticism during their stretch drive for the pennant and the championship. He takes a back seat to no one when it comes to being overcome with joy when the Phils do well, and morose when they don’t.
But unless I miss my guess, all of the cars on Jamie’s road in Chester Springs still remain grounded on their four tires and the stop signs are still attached to their poles. Family members in his household remain uncharged.
Oh, and for you officers from Kuala Lumpur just arriving: the specials at Penn’s Table are great.
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