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(Taken From My Official Newsletter, Issue 43,
August 2005)
While we were in New York earlier
this year, Julie told me about night court. I remembered
the sitcom from the 80’s,
but that was about it. Well, NYC has a night court. Under state
law, anyone arrested has to be arraigned within 24 hours of
an arrest and that has to be open to the public. Because the
courts are so busy, they have to run a night court. So Julie
and I went.
We took a trip down to 100 Center
St and told the cops on duty we were there for night court.
They looked at us the way you would expect, but waved us
through. We found the little courtroom and took a seat. Not
surprisingly, there weren’t
many people in the public gallery, just a handful of loved
ones and the accused having been released on their own recognizance
waiting for their "Notice to appear" paperwork.
I was a little uncomfortable being
there. I felt like a voyeur to somebody’s downfall.
It made me wonder who the hell attends trials for fun, anyway.
The operation was very slick. A bevy of public defenders sat
on one side of the courtroom, while the assistant DAs sat on
the other. The accused sat in an L-shaped holding area in one
corner. A glass-sided confession-style box was provided where
the accused could meet with a public defender for a little
privacy--and not so private when the public defender failed
to close the door and everyone listened to a hooker revealing
her arrest.
Things moved relatively quickly. Names were called. The accused
stood with their lawyer while the people explained the case
and the defense tried to explain it away. The judge considered
the two sides of the story and decided on a course of action.
The judge was a lot of fun. She liked to give both the defense
and prosecution a slap now and again when they stepped out
of line. Great sound bites included:
“Thank you for telling me how to do my job.” This
was said to a particularly annoying public defender.
“And next time bring me a case with an actual crime involved,” which
was said to an assistant DA.
The majority of arraignments weren’t much to write home
about. Most fell into the realms of drug possession or DUI.
But there were a couple of things to tickle the fancy. A very
sorry looking white guy was brought in--definitely not the
pothead type. He was doubly unusual as he was the only one
with a hired lawyer. I was eager to know his crime. It turned
out that he’d attacked his girlfriend with a couch. Yes,
a couch. Only in New York, right? His lawyer waxed lyrical
about his family of good standing and the yacht club where
he worked, etc. The prosecution wanted him held over, but the
judge let him go without bail. On the way out, his father,
a rather well to do guy, told his son to sort his shit out
and there were other ways of solving his problems. The other
interesting case involved a huge, scary-looking guy brought
in on a warrant. Though handcuffed, he was very nice to the
two officers who’d brought him in--apparently he’d
forgotten to pay the second of two fines for letting his dogs
off without a leash. This disappointed Julie and me, as we’d
had a pool going as to what this guy had done. Was he a drug
dealer? A killer? Reckless pet owner failed to make the top
50.
Sadly, respect for the law wasn’t always too forthcoming.
On several occasions we listened to people leaving the courtroom
saying something like, “Fuck this shit” or “Let’s
get the fuck out of here.” This came from both cops and
the accused and they weren’t quiet about it either. You
don't even get that on Judge Judy!
After a while, night court got a little
stale. Regardless of your point of view, it was depressing
to see the people charged with the same thing and even more
depressing that they were almost all minorities. The situation
certainly screamed out for attention. Also, I didn’t
see law or justice in action--just bartering. The prosecution
would ask for bail to be set at a zillion dollars and the
death penalty and the public defender would churn out a bunch
of unrelated crap and ask for the charges to be dropped and
a Happy Meal for everyone. The judge would wave the death
penalty/Happy Meal scenario and pick something in the middle.
Right and wrong seemed to have little to do with the proceedings.
The more I look at the law and order
machine in motion, I know it’s not for me. Having had the opportunity to tour
the inside of a prison, see a courtroom, and even testify in
court, I never want to get myself on the wrong side of the
law. It’s too depressing for words.
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