MIsguided Honor

The bailiff announced his entrance. "Hear ye, hear ye, the Circuit Court for the County of Washington, Ohio with the Honorable James E. Blanc presiding, is now in session." Judge Blanc sat down and looked at the man in front of him, draped in chains and an orange jump suit. The chains were to restrain the convict, to protect the Court, the public and of course, himself, the Honorable James E. Blanc. On his desk was an overflowing file, stuffed with pleadings, letters, pieces of evidence. His law clerk logged him on to the court wide system, but he hated using a computer, a computer did nothing a legal pad, a pen and some brains couldn't do.

Judge Blanc peered over his glasses at the man and realized,

after all the hearings, the trial which lasted weeks, he had never looked him in the eyes. Large, ill-fitting owl shaped glasses filled his face. Behind the glasses, the brown eyes were flat. Judge Blanc checked the man's birthdate, and realized this was not a man, this was a child. He was barely nineteen years old and three of those years had been spent in the local detention center. Judge Blanc flashed to his own son, also nineteen, a sophomore at Duke, his son's past three years had been filled with trips to North Carolina beaches and lacrosse tournaments. When his son was 17 he had gotten a citation for underage drinking. They both had laughed at it, gotten it dismissed and shared a beer afterwards.

"Your honor?" the prosecutor asked.

Judge Blanc cleared his throat. "Yes, apologies, call the case Madame Clerk." After the case was called and the parties identified themselves, the Judge asked, "Why are we here?"

"Your honor, my client..." the defense lawyer cleared her throat. "My client wants to withdraw his plea and decline to testify against his codefendant." All rustling of paper and clicking of computer keys ceased.

All the Judge could say was, "What? The retrial is set for Monday."

"Your honor, can I talk?" the young man said.

"Your honor, this is an absurd waste of time." The prosecutor said, but the Judge put his hand up, to indicate that the prosecutor must wait.

"Yes, what do you have to say?"

"Your honor, I have it written down, can I get it out of my pocket?"

The Judge looked at the sheriff. "Take the chains off."

"But sir, he's charged with murder."

Again, the Judge looked at the young man and saw the jumpsuit hanging on his lanky frame. The young man was at least 6'4 and couldn't weigh more than 130 pounds. Again, the Judge thought of his son, athletic build, perpetually tan and carefully mussed hair.

“Thank you, Sheriff, but he pled to robbery. Take the chains off.”

The lawyers sat down as the sheriff unlocked the chain from the young man's waist and hands. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and started to read.

"Your honor, I will not testify again against my friend. I didn't want to before and I don't want to now. I won't carry on me DeLawrence going to jail for life. That's not on me to do. I can't and I won't."

The young man looked up from his paper at the Judge.

".May I address you as....as..." the Judge looked down at the file. The Judge didn't know the convict’s name. He turned the file to read the label. Solomon MacLowery.

"May I address you as Solomon?"

He nodded.

"Solomon." the Judge paused. "Solomon, that's a beautiful name. You know the story right? About how he was a wise king?"

"Yes sir, mama made me go to church." The Judge nodded.

"Did you talk about this decision with your mama?" leaned back into his large leather ergonomically correct chair.

"Yes sir, I did. She don't want me to do this, but I gotta, I can't have Delawrence's life on me. I can't."

"Solomon, if the jury convicts Delawrence, that won't be your fault. Delawrence should be held accountable for his actions."

Solomon vigorously shook his head in the negative.

"If I let you withdraw your plea, you will stand trial for murder, I can't change that. You've already testified in the first trial, they can use that against you in your trial, you understand that right?"

"Yes sir, my lawyer done told me 'bout all that. I know. That's what I want."

Solomon looked down at his feet, his hands folded in front of him. His skin was sallow, his hair unevenly cut. Judge Blanc continued to look at him.

"How far did you go in school Solomon?"

Solomon looked up. "I been taking classes at the Detention Center. I got my GED last spring, I started taking classes so I can do electric work. My brother's in the union, he done said I could work with him."

Judge Blanc squinted at him, as if by squinting he could understand Solomon better. "But Solomon, if you stand trial for murder, you will spend the rest of your life in jail. You won't get to work with your brother."

Solomon shook his head again. "Naw, you won't do that to me ya' honor. I been watching you, you won't do that to me.” Judge Blanc shook his head, uncrossed his arms and turned to look at the docket entries of the case. There were over two hundred docket entries, which spoke to the complexity of this matter. He saw the trial date set for next Monday. The only question here is whether he allowed this man to stand trial for homicide. The prosecution had his testimony, and that’s what he didn’t understand. Why back out now? Why stand on principle now?

“Solomon, try again, I don’t understand, why now? Why withdraw your plea, which, pursuant to the plea agreement, if you testify again, you will be released from prison in little over a week from now and allowed to go home. Why give that up? Why give that up to stand trial for a homicide you have very little to do with?”

Solomon stood up to his full height. He too was wearing glasses, but they were ill fitting and too large for his face. “Sir, DeLawrence ain’t my friend, I don’t want nothing to do with him, but he’s a person, a fellow human, and when I close my eyes at night, I want to know that if he’s sittin’ in a cell somewhere, I didn’t have nothing to do with putting him there.”

“But you already testified….I don’t understand.”

“If I tell you and Mr. Prosecutor that I ain’t testifying I’ve done everything I could as a man to fix it.”

Judge Blanc sighed again. “Thank you, Solomon.”

“Prosecution?”

The prosecutor stood, “Your honor, we both know, it doesn’t matter if he testifies, we have a transcript and a proffer of what occurred. We have no objection to the withdrawal of his plea, let us indict him for a double homicide, we’ll convict him, the way we are going to convict his codefendant. I’ll give you two prisoners to sentence to life.”

Blanc looked down at his legal pad and twirled his pen. “You have yet to convict anyone and do not, for one moment, sir, believe I enjoy sentencing any other human to a lifetime of confinement.”

“Madame Defense, any closing remarks?”

“No, your honor. Thank you.”

Judge Blanc turned and walked off the bench and out of the courtroom. His law clerk followed him. 

“Can I get you anything sir?”

“You mean like a shot of whiskey?” the law clerk smiled.

“No, I need a few moments.” He retreated into his chambers. The windows in his chambers were from floor to ceiling. He loved his antique desk, a family heirloom, from the home of Rufus Putnman, the founder of Ohio, the burnished wood bore dents and scratches from over two hundred years of use.

Judge Blanc sat in the deep-set chintz covered armchair. He sat in this chair when negotiating contractual disputes and mediating civil settlements. That was his specialty, not this. There was a knock on his door, and the law clerk slipped in and gave him Solomon’s letter.

“The defense lawyer wanted you to have this.” Blanc took the letter; the handwriting was large; and it was written in pencil. The paper was creased and a few of the words were blurred. The letters slanted backwards; and the blurring of the letters were probably because when using his left hand, Solomon had smeared the writing. His son used to do that. But his son didn’t write anymore, he only used his phone, ipad or laptop. Would his son take such a stance of misplaced honor? Would his son take any stance besides one near a keg or near a person from whom he could benefit. Blanc shook his head, his son only acted out of self-interest. A trait Blanc had taught him well, by both example and lecture.

He stared out the window, thinking of Solomon’s mother, of when Solomon was born and why she chose that name. He wondered what she would do if he allowed Solomon to stand trial for murder. He hit the intercom button and asked his secretary to get the Warden at the Department of Corrections. The Warden was on the phone in the moment, when a judge calls, he always answers. Judge Blanc asked about Solomon, and the Warden reviewed Solomon's file. Multiple threats had been made against Solomon and his family, partiuclarly his mother. The jail was unable to accomodate any separation between the codefendants due to all the restrictions caused by COVID. Solomon was with his codefendants for a minimum of twelve hours a day. Finally, a few months ago, Solomon was assaulted, injured, and moved to solitary confinement. For months he was completely alone. Yet the file reflected more threats. Solomon had reported that the man who delivered his food was related to the codefendant. No one did anything. The Warden commented that when you lie with dogs, you get up with fleas. Blanc agreed and hung up, then his law clerk entered chambers.

“It’s almost 4:30 sir, are you going back on the bench or do we reschedule this?’

“No, no I’m ready. Call everyone back, don’t forget the courtroom clerk.”

Back on the bench, Blanc looked only at Solomon.

“Sir, I appreciate what you are saying, I also understand what you have been through. The fact that the court shut down for months and that everything has been delayed has made this very difficult on you. I think I understand what is motivating you. It is my understanding that your request is that you withdraw your plea to robbery and then stand trial for homicide. While I understand your request, I cannot honor it. There is no legal reason, no statute or case law that allows a man…” Blanc paused, he was forgetting something, then he remembered. “…Or woman, man or woman, to withdraw their plea as the plea violates their sense of honor. I am sorry.”

Solomon’s shoulders sunk, his head dropped, he wiped tears away.

“Madame Defense, please advise your client that if called to testify in the upcoming trial, he has the right to assert his fifth amendment. Once he does that, we can proceed to sentencing. Please advise your client that after he asserts his fifth amendment, he will have complied with his part of the plea deal and he can be sentenced. I will honor my original promise to sentence him to time served and place him on probation. As a condition of his probation, he will have to join the electricians’ guild and comply with their requirements as well as the normal conditions of probation. Please take a moment to discuss this with your client to ensure he understands.” Judge Blanc started writing the docket entries, denying the motion, indicating that he would honor the plea agreement entered at docket entry number 158.

“Your honor, this is, this is inequitable.” Said the prosecutor.

“Thank you sir, your objection is noted for the record.” Blanc looked back at the defense table.

Solomon would not look up, his lawyer was gesturing with her hands, attempting to get his attention. She took her finger off the husher and said to the court, “I will explain it to my client tomorrow. He doesn’t understand and is far to upset to hear me.”

“Thank you.”

The sheriffs steered Solomon back to lock-up. The prosecutor was muttering to himself as he packed up his computer and binders.

Court was adjourned, and Blanc stood up.

“Are we off the record?” The clerk hit a button and nodded in the affirmative.

“Mister Prosecutor…”

“It’s Smith sir, James Smith.”

Blanc nodded, knowing he would forget the man’s name in the next five minutes.

“He should have been in protective custody. That’s a failure for the State.”

Smith shut his laptop case and said, “No one told me he should have been.”

“Well, that’s a problem, isn’t it, Mr. Smith.”

Blanc nodded to his courtroom clerk, defense counsel and went back to his chambers. His law clerk had left him a whiskey with ice, his traditional Friday evening drink. . Judge Blanc sipped the sharp whiskey. He started to text his son, to ask a question to which he knew the answer. Would you risk life in prison to keep your family safe? He stopped and deleted the text. His son's answer would be no. The realization which made him queasy was that if he, the Honorable James Edgar Blanc, III, had been asked the question this morning, his answer would have been no, without a moments hesitation. What he didn't know, was if his mind had changed.