me think on this for a couple of days, let’s see what happens to the coroner’s report. Where are you staying?”
“I am at the Guest House.”
“Great choice, check out the coffee shop, they make their own pies, tonight its pecan but Banana Crème is to die for.” Both men laughed knowingly.
I paid the vet bill and the nurse said she had never seen a black charge card.
I told her since General Officers were now minorities; the army had ordered the black cards to reflect the change of color. She did not laugh, and thought it made perfect sense.
I went back to the Guest House; it was now 2:00 EST. As usual, Heinz held down the cart and I gave him a nice bone for his patience.
“Good afternoon Colonel, how might I help you?”
I wondered if you could send a car to the Powell River Hunting and Fishing Club, since there does not appear to be a taxi in town?”
“Yes, sir, when will you want it?”
“Would 4:30 work for you?”
Heinz and I made the trip back in record time. I parked the cart and went to the office to pay my bill. Donald Simpson was on duty. He ran my card for the expense and noted the last name and commented…”Is Simpson a big name in America.”
“I’m not sure, except my family goes back to the late 1700’s when they came from Ireland.”
“By the way Colonel, Mr. Hayson is waiting to see you.” He picked up the phone and said, “The Colonel is here,” and then he asked if I would go back to the office.
I went to the office, were I had been before and pecked on the door, and heard, “Come in.”
The manager did not stand nor offer me a seat.
“Colonel, I have reason to believe ... you entered my office without authority, went through my files, removed and copied documents.” He said in a huff.
“I do not believe it is appropriate for us to have this discussion, sir. I have been admonished by counsel not to speak with anyone regarding a matter now before the court. I suggest, sir that you speak with the prosecution… if you will forgive me I must pack, or kick your ass…you decide?”
“Oh, going someplace?”
“I do not believe were or when I go is any of your business. I have paid my bill in full.” I turned as the manager stood there…not knowing whether to shit or pass water.
“You’ll…you’ll hear on this. He shouted at me angrily.
“Are you going to cry?” I asked smiling. “Get a grip, your days are numbered in this town.”
Justice is Blind and Corrupt
Never having committed a crime, never been charged with a crime, never been sued, I was in for the ride of my life. Your cell phone rings…you answer it, the caller ask for someone with a similar name…you try to tell them they have the wrong number but they accuse you of trying to skip on a debt for drugs. You have become eligible for a minimum ten-year sentence for conspiracy to buy and distribute.
It happens every day and I have met hundreds of inmates charged in similar cases. Think it cannot happen to you? When the long arm of justice reaches out and convicts a United States Senator from Alaska, what will justice do to a lowly person with no power to confront this evil? One of the favorite tactics of these rogue prosecutors is the intentional withholding of exculpatory evidence ... is so compelling, if presented to a jury would result in acquittal. With the assistance of the Chief Judge of the Western District of Kentucky, Assistant United States Attorney, James Lesousky used this tactic. After the jury had been sequestered, Lesousky went to the bench like a little boy caught with his fingers in the cookie jar and informed the judge ... he had some “housekeeping chores.” It seems he had failed to inform the court and the defense team ... a vital piece of evidence had not been revealed.
This evidence, the existence of a twenty five million dollar wire transfer into the defendant’s bank account at First National Bank in Louisville, Kentucky would have exonerated the defendant.
Even though the defense team called for a mistrial, the judge in the case denied the motion and even failed to call for an evidentiary hearing, which, as a matter of law must be done.
************
In many ways, the court system has improved over the puritan justice, which often took on an inquisitional flavor to it, at least in the 17th century. The judges, who were religious and political leaders, dominated the courtroom, not unlike the proceedings, which take place every day in America. These 17th century judges believed in their god given right to rule according to a divine plan, which they had devised. The judges ran the show; juries were rarely seated except were the death penalty was possible. The magistrates had a paternal-authoritarian goal; essentially, they hoped to squeeze confessions and repentance out of the sinners. This was a task for the elites of society, saints…not lay juries.
Indeed, if a defendant demanded a jury, the action was seen as a sign of obstinacy, a failure to feel or show remorse. Very little has changed in three hundred years.
Today’s judges feel and act on emotion and rule often, from the seat of the pants, without regard for the rule of law. Typically, a good description of the process of law in the 17th century began when a magistrate was informed an offense may have been committed. The magistrate would send out the marshal to haul in the offender. The magistrate would examine the suspect privately, but with other magistrates or deputies present. These exams were inquisitorial; the magistrate was firmly in charge. The questions were asked and the suspect answered them without benefit of counsel.
If the magistrate felt the proof too weak or the suspect innocent, he could dismiss the case; if there was cause, or if the suspect confessed to the deed, the case was scheduled for trial. The suspect was free to go about daily life, except in a capital case, no bail was required. It was effective enough in a small town to simply warn the individual…appear or else.
The trial took place soon thereafter, quickly and without juryman or lawyers, (There were no women or blacks allowed at these proceedings). Witnesses appeared, gave evidence and left. Of course, the magistrate felt certain of guilt before the trial started, (why do you think the government has a 97% conviction rate?) but the trial was no charade in the mind of the magistrate. In fact the trial was a ceremony for the repentance and reintegration; a social and religious ritual for the reclaiming of a lost sheep and the restoration to the flock.
The more awesome the experience, the more valuable it could be as a means of humbling the sinner, in addition, the trial proved to god and men alike, the magistrate was fulfilling his religious duty and mission in life.
It was a public, open affirmation of the rules of procedure and their enforcement, a sort of divine social theatre. It taught people about good and evil, and the wages of sin. It punished the guilty, and saw to it ... justice and the law mattered.
There was a constant in colonial history; criminal justice as social drama. These were tight, small, mostly rural communities, firmly organized and efficiently operated. (What difference is there today, look at the way congress writes the law, holds its hearings and calls up legislation for a vote.) The committees are operated out of “back rooms,” by iron-fisted
