Spending time in court of course exposes us to stories you just can't make up. Take a moment and check out this link: http://atlantic.ctv.ca/servlet/an/local/CTVNews/20120215/prisoner_escape_120215/20120215/?hub=AtlanticHome. Yes, a prisoner being driven to court got loose and led the sheriffs (as in every sheriff not on skeleton crew duty in the courthouse) on a merry chase, some of it on camera. A Dartmouth judge asked to start dealing with cell matters, only to be told "no." That's not something judges are used to hearing. "Why not??" "A personnel matter, your honour." "Personnel matter??" "Not enough sheriffs to transfer prisoners." "Well where are they?" "I'd rather not say on the record, your honour." It took a couple explanations for the judge to actually believe what he was hearing. Blame for the incident was quickly put on budget cuts preventing the proper security measures from being installed on the transfer vans.
Life in the PPSC office is fun, Aarin confusion aside. There was a Valentine Day candygram fundraiser in the office. I was in an odd mood that day, and, when there were no witnesses around, filled out a candygram. "To Mongo, from Sheriff Bart. Message: Boom!"* I didn't put the candygram in the box, just left it lying there, and I arrived on the 14th to an email saying "if anyone knows who 'Mongo' is, please let us know." I pulled aside one of the coordinating Crowns and fessed up and let her in on the joke, and she was impressed - apparently there's two other office pranksters they suspected, who had denied responsibility. It was nice to be included in their company, even for a little bit.
[* - if you haven't seen Blazing Saddles, here's the clip: http://youtu.be/P8ciVBQixpU ]
When civilians aren't at the centre of courtroom stories, it's up to the judges to bring life to the day's events. Sometimes this is good, othertimes less so. One judge has the cheerful disposition of a hungover, cranky walrus with a sore tusk, and one day he interrupted the provincial Crown while he was trying to read in the facts of a drunk driving case. "I don't care about this part, just give me the breathalyzer readings." "Uh, your honour, this is kind of relevant information the court should hear." "Didn't you hear me sir, skip to the readings!" "Uh, ok." Next the defence had a chance to raise some important points, supposedly what the Crown had been trying to say. "Why didn't you tell me about this sir, it changes the situation!" To his credit, the Crown, rather than rolling his eyes, just sighed with the patience of a saint and the grace of a veteran, "Uh, I was pressed for time, your honour." This is a judge I've been able to address as part of my duties, and thankfully my skin's still intact. Appearing before him is more endurance than enjoyment, though.
My favourite judge however continues to live up to his billing as an entertainer of sorts. He is a stickler for starting on time, and hates needless delays. He particularly likes starting without the Crown (when it's just a matter of adjourning and picking dates). One defence lawyer, after getting his adjournments, asked the judge if the court would inform the Crown of what just happened. "Why don't you be a sport and tell her when you see her?" was the response. Another time the Crown was late (early in the bus strike which greatly complicated finding parking), and breezed in with an explanation: "Sorry I'm late, your honour, my usual spot was taken in this lot so I had to use a judicial stall. I know starting on time's important to you, so I hope you'll have my back on this when the ticket gets handed out." Everyone in the courtroom could see the comeback wheels start turning in the judge's head, and the Crown said "just say it judge, don't hold it in." "I'll have your back for sure," he said, "but the question is what I'll be holding in my hand when I do." Apparently he's had his spot swiped a couple times and is looking forward to payback. Recently, in an interrupted trial, when trying to schedule the continuance, a member of the public asked if she could address the court, something that is rarely allowed. "No. Not unless you know a date in the near future when these three people will be available at the same time."
The Crim Clinic also has practise sessions we run, recently in front of real supreme court justices. Some joker put the Aarins in the same courtroom, on opposing sides, and a new record was set for confusion. I took the stand as a witness, and somehow my witness became a "she" when the judge referred to the testimony, and Erin became "Ms. Martens" despite proper introductions being made. Correcting the judge was a risk we chose not to take, as it was more likely we'd cause further confusion than fix anything. Shortly after that, the class was divided for a practise jury trial. The Aarins were unassigned, and had to choose sides by virtue of "rock, paper, scissors" in class. As if that weren't enough, the respective teams "voluntold" the Aarins to be opposing team captains. Erin's principal Tim soon after started calling her "Mischief" and I became "A-Ron," then he headed off to Cuba for vacation. The Aarins are coordinating the office prank committee (Tim being the chief office prankster) to welcome him back, and there's no small measure of satisfaction in planning a little payback.
Lawyers come in various levels of competence when it comes to organization. One defence lawyer in particular (we'll call him Miles) is a nice enough fellow but tactically challenged and seemingly incapable of efficiency in the courtroom. Not only does he request inopportune recesses to talk with clients he should have talked with days before their court appearances, but when anyone tries to plan a case around his participation complications inevitably arise. Something that should be pled out turns into a multi-day trial, then gets put off so he can do more research. Or, as happened recently, he has a victim on the stand for cross-examination, and spends 2/3rds of his time on entirely useless, irrelevant issues, and blows the trial schedule clear out of the water. Granted, setting aside half a day for this trial was a bit optimistic. His pace, however, turned the trial into a 2 or more day affair that by virtue of cluttered schedules won't resume for another month and a bit. There's a new saying going around the office that is self-explanatory to anyone hearing it: "Miles happened." Did something unexpectedly run long? Get rescheduled at the last minute? Just get bungled or complicated needlessly beyond all reason? Put too much effort into fighting a trivial point? Miles happened. 'Nuff said.
Thanks to American TV and movies people often assume prosecutors closely track their win:loss ratio. That's not how it works here. Crowns are more than just prosecutors, they're officers of the court whose job is to prosecute cases in the public interests and upholding the principles of justice. Despite what certain government legislation suggests, that doesn't always mean locking up the bad guys. We had an almost unheard-of scenario recently that involved a woman busted for selling drugs. So far, so ordinary. She dumped her loser boyfriend and left the trouble spot. Ok, progress - it wouldn't change guilt but might lessen the sentence. She's been clean for the year between the offence and trial, and has had no further police involvement. This starts getting rare. She's radically turned her life around - happy success story. The police are impressed enough and well-connected enough with those in the know that they are recommending a ludicrously lenient sentence. I can't get into details, but coworkers in the office couldn't believe it. The respective lawyers got together before trial and hammered out a plea bargain (or "joint recommendation for sentence") with the accused and the cops that, despite being very light, met everyone's needs and properly fit the facts and the law. The only wrinkle was the judge - being from a drug-ridden community it was seen as unlikely he'd be supportive. So the matter was adjourned for a pre-sentence report (PSR) to be prepared. Normally PSRs are where the accused's family and friends and doctors and probation officer get together and explain what caused the underlying behaviour. This PSR will feature the accused and the investigating officers, all supporting the light sentence. Such a role reversal is not only a rare arrangement, it being accepted willingly by both sides is practically a miracle.
I'll leave you with an anecdote from today's practise trial. I was playing defense on a make-believe assault charge involving self-defense. My job was to cross-examine the victim (who had a habit of carrying a knife) and to make the closing argument. I'm lousy at doing direct examinations, where leading questions ("you were punching him in the face, weren't you?" is bad) aren't allowed, and have to be phrased neutrally so the witness can tell their own story ("what were you doing to him?" is good). Cross examination encourages leading questions and trying to make the witness agree with your story or weaken their credibility (see My Cousin Vinnie for a textbook example; also "well if it was dark and rainy, with no streetlights around, how could you see a birthmark on his forehead?"). My cross exam involved some skepticism and had the victim act out adjusting his pants (as opposed to reaching for a knife hidden in his boot) in the middle of an escalating, drunken barroom argument. Apparently it was effective with some room for improvement. My closing argument, however, was golden, and won the case for us. I had made a few notes on the law and key facts arising from witness testimony, then pull-started the improv machine and started talking. There were rhetorical devices, memorable turns of phrase, simple explanations and directions to common sense conclusions, and just enough detail to cover the essentials without rambling on. Both the supreme court justice and the professor judge were impressed, and gave me tips on how to channel that resourcefulness better. Many students use scripts as a crutch - most of my classmates use outlines instead, but the ability to react quickly is a tremendous asset when used properly. These practical exercises, not just showing where I need to improve and how to prepare, are great practise and show me that I just might actually be good enough to be a competitive candidate when it comes time to apply for a job. To be not just educated but encouraged in such a practical setting makes this not only the best course I've ever taken (sorry Rollie!) but makes up for the tedium of last semester many times over.
I've rambled on quite long enough, and will see you again next time with more Aarin Adventures At PPSC!
Cheers,
A.
