Sixteen years ago I was in a 10 defendant trial in Savannah. Ten defendants in one courtroom with out of town lawyers... you can imagine the atmosphere.
The trial started on a Monday, and my daughter was born on a Friday. Because the judge held court on most Saturdays, I only saw her once during the six week trial (and 9 days of deliberations). But that's a story for a different day. This one is about St. Patrick's Day, which was in the middle of trial and which is a BIG deal in Savannah. Like the biggest holiday of the year there. The whole city shuts down. There are parades and drinking and beads. Businesses are closed. Banks and schools are closed. It's a big party.
And it was a Friday that year, so all of Savannah was looking forward to having a little fun.
Except in our courtroom. Our judge -- B. Avant Edenfield -- said business as usual.
Now for us, mostly lawyers from out of town, it was no big deal. We wanted to get the trial over with.
But for the jurors and staff... well, they were PISSED to say the least.
To show solidarity with them, the men all bought green ties and wore them to court. The women also had green scarves and such.
Court started at 8:30am every morning. But on St. Patrick's Day, all of the streets were closed off. So one juror was late. He showed up sometime after 9:30. The judge had us all in the courtroom waiting, including the other jurors. That hour, sitting in silence, seemed like a century.
And when that one juror showed up, the judge brought him back into chambers and reamed him out for being late. He was screaming so loud that we all heard him in the courtroom. We gave the jury empathetic looks. And when the juror came back out, we all made eye contact with him as if to apologize for the jerk judge.
That juror ended up being our foreperson. He acquitted a number of the defendants and hugged us after the trial. I can't help but think that a small part of why he liked us was because he really didn't like the judge, who never ruled for the defense and always sided with the government.
So, every St. Patrick's Day, I think of that trial in Savannah, and our crazy judge and the late juror -- and of course, my daughter who is wearing green today.
4 comments:
"The trial started on a Monday, and my daughter was born on a Friday. Because the judge held court on most Saturdays, I only saw her once during the six week trial (and 9 days of deliberations). But that's a story for a different day."
Frankly, that's a crime in and of itself. We live just once. And life is short. No job - none - is worth that. There is no amount of money that can give you back that time, no amount of professional prestige will replace those lost memories, and no "quality time" will reverse the precedent set in your life.
I am deeply sorry that this happened to you.
For those of you who may say "that's trial practice," let's see how you feel about that on your death beds.
What is the difference between God and a federal judge? A federal judge does not believe they are God.
939, you completely butchered that.
You keep calling judges crazy and you’re going to get a reputation like ours.
Hop on in. Plenty of room in the boat for bad ass bloggers.
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