been through this corrupt, prejudicial, inhuman system.*** These are the opinions of the author after direct experience with both the federal court system and the congress of the United States.
The criminal process changed over time, one notable change was the use of the jury, which is an indication of the abuse of the system when magistrates ruled magnanimously. Part of the reason was the cost, if a person is of low moral character, the concept of appealing to a judge because they are impressed with “the willingness of the accused to submit to authority”.
The American Jurisprudence history would have you believe the jury system has changed. Wereas, it was not the job of the colonial jurist to be impartial, unaware, blank pages but rather men who knew the community. These are substantial men, with a keen sense of what was going on and the knowledge of good and rotten apples in the barrel.
Today’s jurist is appointed for life, with taxes, insurance and retirement benefits a judges income cost the American taxpayer over a quarter of a million dollars annually. Add this ugly fact to totals which stagger from each of the congressman, double dipping military, ex-presidents, vice-presidents and the cost of their offices and libraries and you get some sense of why this country has a twenty trillion dollar debt, and rising!
He Had Shared Women Before
HE HAD SHARED WOMEN BEFORE; HE PREFERRED THEM TO BE EXPERIENCED AND DRAWN TO A WHIFF OF DEBAUCHERY IN A MAN!
NOW ON MY WAY TO VENICE, keeping strictly controlled and not thinking of my need to be there, the large Buick cleared the last of San Dona and came up onto the bridge over the river Piave’.
We crossed the bridge and were on the Italian side of the Piave’ river; were I could still see all the old military positions. It was as smooth and undistinguished now, as it was then, along the river. Now, along each side of the flat, straight, canal-bordered road, I watched as the willows waved along the two canals, hiding the dead bodies of the war. There had been a murderous blood bath at the end of the last offensive. A less than human soldier in charge of the riverbank positions, chose, and ordered the dead thrown into the canals. Unfortunately, the canals were still in the hands of the Austrians.
There was little movement of the water and the dead soldiers had remained there for all this time, floating and bloating, face-up or face-down, regardless of nationality until they had attained colossal proportions.
Finally, after organization had been established, labor troops hauled the dead out of the canals during the night and buried them along the road. I looked for the fertilized green spots along the road, but could not see any difference. However, there were many ducks and geese in the canals and men were fishing in them all along the road, and I knew the source, which was feeding the nature of marine life.
“After the war, they dug all the bodies, and buried them honorably in Osorio near Nervosa. I said to DeNeri.
“We fought along here when I was a kid.” I said to DeNeri…or myself, since I’ve noticed I often converse alone.
“Seems a flat country to fight in…did you hold the river, sir?”
“Yes, twice…we held it and lost it…and then we won it back again.” I said.
“There isn’t a contour on the horizon to be seen.” He said.
“It was a problem.” I responded. “You had to use contours you could not see, they were so small, and ditches and houses, canal banks and hedgerows. It was very much like Normandy, only flatter. I think it must have been like fighting in Holland or Belgium, flat as one of those famous pancakes.” I said to DeNeri.
“The Piave’ river sure doesn’t look like the Rapido?” DeNeri asked.
“It was a very good old river,” I said. “Up above, it had plenty of water then, but that was before all these hydroelectric plants. Once, it was very deep with tricky channels and it was nothing but pebbles and shingles when it was shallow. There was a place called Grave’ de Papadopoli were it was most tricky.”
I knew how boring my war was to most other men who had not experienced it. Except for the real students of conflict. Tuff to figure if DeNeri was simply being polite or suckin-up for a big tip…or truly interested in the history as he seemed to be…so I chose to remain silent. They always take it personally, I thought. No one is interested in war in the abstract, except old soldiers, and now there aren’t many of them. God makes them, and the good ones die. These youngsters are always thinking of what they have seen…and while you are talking they are thinking of what they will say, and what it may lead to in their advancement or privilege. There was no sense boring this kid, who for all his combat infantry badges, his Purple Heart and other honors he wore, was in no sense a soldier, but only a man placed, against his will in a uniform and who had elected to remain in the army for his own ends.
“What did you do in the world, DeNeri?” I asked.
“My brother and I had a small garage in Billings, Montana, sir.”
“Will you be going back there someday?”
“My brother was killed in the Pacific, and the guy we trusted to run the garage, ran off with the money, and we lost all the tools and what we had put into it, and I still have some debt.”
“I guess your dog pissed on your pant leg as well?”
“You damn right, it was too bad, and I am still pissed”
I looked up the road knowing ... if we kept going straight we would come to the turn I was waiting for; but I was impatient for its arrival.
“Keep a keen eye now DeNeri, we’ll be taking the next left, leading off the pike.”
“Do you think those low roads will be hard on this grand old Buick, sir?”
“We’ll just have to chance it DeNeri…won’t we? Hellfire man it hasn’t rained here in three weeks.”
“Sorry, sir, but I just don’t trust them low roads with this big heavy car.”
“Well, DeNeri, if we get stuck, I’ll pull you out with a couple of asses.”
“Not to be smart, sir…but would you be talking, mine and yours?”
“Both of them, my boy.” I said smiling. “So think about what I told you and turn off at the first left.”
“... Looks like it coming up sir.”
“You’re all clear behind, just pull up ahead of it and I’ll go over to have a look?”
I stepped out of the car and walked across the wide, hard surfaced road, and looked down on the narrow dirt road, with the swift flowing canal beside it and the thick hedge beyond. Further still, I saw a red farmhouse with a large barn. The roadbed was dry and there were no cart ruts in it. I got back in the car.
“It’s a veritable boulevard my dear DeNeri,” I said. “Stop your worrying.”
“Yes, sir, it’s your car, sir.”
“I know, but I have expensive insurance.”
“Say, DeNeri, do you always suffer so much when you get off
