Vignettes 16

NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY, NOT GUILTY!

Nine times the words rang out - stunning the Judge and Attorneys, as the Foreman responded to the Clerk’s reading of each individual charge. I saluted the Jury, behind me, Judy, Sheldon’s Mom, and others were weeping in relief. Like the wicked witch doused in water, the confused prosecutor’s Cheshire-grin faded as he seemed consumed, melting within his own orifices. Disbelieving, the judge polled the jurors, only to hear the chorus nine times more - one of the bailiffs fought back tears. Still in a state of shock, Judge Nikola Rubinow muttered…"I’m...uhh, part of the court...I’m...uhh, in the law… She then when on to say she would see the officers of the court in chambers. Not once did she focus her attention on Sheldon Robinson or myself; not once did she address us with an apology or even a single nod of concern for stealing three-and-a-half years of our lives!

The surprise was due to a dead-locked jury the day before with only one hold-out in our favor. The jury foreman passed a note to the Court at 4:00 P.M. on Fat (Marti Gras) Tuesday saying they were at an impasse. The Judge sent them home with orders to return at 10:00 on Ash Wednesday. The three attorneys were allowed to read the note. Sheldon and I were informed that Rubinow would impose an 1800s "Chip Smith" option wherein the hold-out could be intimidated with strong language into joining with the majority opinion. We were told it would spell our doom. We would be incarcerated until sentencing unless a greatly escalated bond could be raised - unless we might entertain a plea-bargain. Never!

The lawyers all but convinced me that somehow five of the six decent people selected to judge us had believed the perjured testimony of Jerry Gillespie and the Trochmanns. It just didn’t seem right! We were innocent. Liars and corrupt bureaucrats would win. Jon and Ben would have no hope of being rejoined with their Mom - it just wasn’t right! I hand-wrote a General Power of Attorney for Judy and instructed her on what to do in event of the worst. That night, late, I made my peace with God, praying His Will, not mine, be done. I resolved to forgive the misguided jurors, but failed to find the strength to forget the treachery of a former close confidant and self-proclaimed Christian-Patriot Militiaman.

Purchase back issues here

More vignettes from past issues