The criminal court judge sentences the scraggly defendant before him to twenty years for a third conviction of burglary. The defendant pleads to the judge: “I can’t serve twenty years, judge. I can’t do it!”
The judge peers over his glasses at the defendant and says:
“Just do the best you can, son. Do the best you can.”
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If a defendant is convicted of a felony, testimony is taken of prior acts of his life to determine the appropriate sentence imposed. Sometimes the testimony can exceed the need. In one case after being convicted of murder, testimony was taken of a purported theft by the defendant in his high school cafeteria. His defense counsel, had a bit of fun that day in his cross-examination sarcasm: "My God, what did he take? Could it have been a DONUT?"
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When I served as an assistant prosecutor in upstate New York
in the 1970's, each town and village had its own justice of the peace who
handled all its traffic and minor criminal cases. Except for the occasional lawyer who sneaked past the nominating board, these judges
were people drawn from common livelihoods-- dairy farmers, mechanics, and retired
cops and military people. I spent many
evenings in courts conducted in kitchens in the winter alongside a potbelly stove and in
summer in barns with cow tails swishing in front of the parties.
Many town judges had years of practical experience and often
exercised more common sense and justice tempered with mercy than was practiced
by their more learned brethren. One evening a young out-of-town motorist was tracked on
radar in a town speed trap. In addition
to receiving a speeding ticket, he became the recipient of citations for other
traffic infractions after mouthing off to the state trooper who had stopped him.
Disgruntled and peevish at being detained
and delayed, the defendant demanded to see the judge immediately. After all, he
watched TV lawyer shows and knew some of his rights. State Trooper Zeke was
more than willing to transport the defendant for an arraignment before the town
justice.
Driving the defendant over several miles of back country
roads and pulling into the driveway past scurrying chickens and one large goat
which refused to budge, the trooper stopped beside a red barn and there
deposited his recent catch. It was just after milking time. The dairy farmer
judge limped out of the barn dressed in dirty overalls that had grazed a herd
of cows during milking and stained from some of the spillage of dung and other
debris removed from the barn that day.
Removed gingerly from the patrol car and escorted to the
barn by Trooper Zeke, the defendant again demanded to see the judge.
“Why, I’m the judge, son. What seems to be the problem?”
The young man scoffed at the dairy court and the judge’s
dirty overalls and day’s perspiration rolling from his neck. “You’re not a judge. I want to see a real
judge!”
Personally affronted by this insult, the judge also regarded
the remark as a direct assault on the entire judiciary. He had proudly served for years on the bench,
however, and knew how to return an insult.
“You want to see a real judge? All right then. I sentence
you to 30 days in the county jail for contempt of court! Take the prisoner
away,” the judge commanded the obliging trooper.
After the chagrined defendant spent a rather long sleepless weekend
in a jail cell with only a cot and a toilet, he was brought Monday morning before
a “real judge”, a state Supreme Court judge with a wry sense of humor. Reviewing
the papers the old judge just shook his head and chuckled: “30 days? Charles Manson didn’t get 30 days
for contempt.” referring to the cold-blooded cult-leading killer of actress Sharon
Tate.
The young man confessed he had learned his lesson and was immediately
released. He quickly paid his traffic fines and hurried out of town, never to be
seen again in the county. Such was the nature of country justice, sometimes crude
and improvised, but it often served just fine enough in keeping peace in our
small towns.
Winter--the time
of the year when the men-folk gather around the woodstove down at the country
store to commune, commiserate, and ask one of life's eternal questions: “Get
your deer yet?”
