Liberty and Equality Notwithstanding…

 

My guy hobbled down the hallway using his shiny new aluminum cane.  It’s kind of disconcerting to see a well-muscled, heavily tattooed, twenty-four year old man leaning on one of those little old lady canes they sell on the dark, depressing aisle of CVS.  He’s a millwright and had an accident at work last month.  He fell twenty-five feet into a pit, breaking his shoulder, his tailbone and a few other less important bits and pieces. 

He hopes to be released to return to work this Friday.  I’m thinking there is still a ways to go between wobbling and welding, but what do I know?  He’s anxious to get back to work because his workman’s comp hasn’t kicked in yet.  No income for the past month. 

My guy has skipped his AA meetings this week and claims he used the time to run around town getting assistance on rent and utility bills.  While I don’t question his need for financial assistance, I doubt he was keeping appointments with social service agencies between the hours of seven and nine in the evenings when he should’ve been at AA. 

What really makes this situation tight is that his girlfriend is pregnant.  She’s getting closer to her due date. I asked if his girlfriend was working.

“Is she helping with the bills?” was what I said.  ‘Pregnancy is not a disability, so is she up off her butt and making a contribution?’ was what I meant. 

“No, she’s real close to her due date,” he said.  “So she’s on Fraternity Leave.”

Fraternity Leave.  

Had there been a little less fraternity, there wouldn’t be a need for any leave!

And some things grow back.

Last Tuesday Juan Carlos had a revocation hearing. Juan skipped out on probation and I hadn't seen him in almost a year. Now we were in court to determine what was going to happen to him. When the Judge called the case, he began to go through a series of questions - formal formulaic questions to determine identity, plea and whether or not that plea was being made freely and voluntarily.

The questions are always the same and no one pays a lot of attention to them.

The Judge asked "Are you one and the same person who was placed on community supervision in this case on the 25th day of June, 2007?"

"No sir."

The assistant district attorney and I stared at each other and mouthed "Whaaa?" The court reporter's head jerked up in surprise, although her fingers never missed a beat. Juan Carlos' attorney swung around to face his client and grabbed the man's arm, as if afraid he would take off running.

The Judge, whose lips were already forming the words of his next question, sat open mouthed for half a beat. Then he asked the question again.

And again, "No sir."

The attorney appeared stricken and was obviously rethinking his assertion that the defendant was competent to stand trial.

The Judge went with the time-honored slower and louder approach. "Are you... one and the same... Juan Carlos Constancio... who was placed on community supervision in this cause... on the 25th day of June, 2007?"

"No sir. I've changed a lot since then. I've grown up and I'm not the same person I was then."



I thought the judge was going to have to call a recess. The ADA almost hurt herself trying not to laugh out loud and the defense attorney just about fainted from relief. The Judge has great control and never cracked a smile, but the court reporter and I had to avoid eye contact for the rest of the hearing in hopes of maintaining composure.

The Judge wasn't happy about it, but in the end he gave Juan Carlos another chance. Here's hoping he really has grown up.

I Like T-Shirts.

Hugh is one of the biggest guys I've ever had on my caseload. He's freakishly tall and weighs at least 350 pounds. Probably more. He is a very dark-skinned African American man who could be a character right out of the Dick Tracy comic strip. He has a soft, almost child-like voice and his face is a tiny plane on an otherwise mammoth head. Hugh is one of my best guys. He does what he's supposed to without any heavy-handed interference from me.

Last month when he came in to see me, the first thing I noticed was his crisp new t-shirt. Being a huge shirt, it had a huge O'bama '08 logo on it. It was so cool.

I was thrilled for him when I saw his shirt. This was probably one of the first time's he'd ever participated in the political process. I wanted to reach out to him and hopefully get him to open up about his experience with this election and how it differs, for him, from previous political cycles.

I was ready to listen.

Pretty excited about it, too.

Until I remembered he's serving time on a felony drug charge and can't vote even if he wanted to.

Some Days I Feel a Lot Like Jerry Springer

One of my mid-morning appointments was a girl who's been on probation for only a couple of months. She's doing very well so far - taking care of her community service and making her payments like she's supposed to. Last month she told me was having problems with the assistant manager at her job. She works at a convenience store. She'd been offered a job by a rival store for almost a dollar an hour more, but wasn't sure if she should take it.

"Take it!" I said.

This month when she reported, I noted that her employment had not changed. I asked her why.

"My boyfriend and I were separated," she said.

They were separated for most of the month of December. Turns out he works for the rival store and she knew there was no way she could work with him under those circumstances. Her current store didn't fork over any cash, but promised if she stayed, she would eventually get the assistant manager job. So she stayed.

"You said 'were separated'," I pointed out. "Are you back together now?"

They are. I asked what was causing their problems.

"He didn't want to get married," she said.

He didn't want to get married. Regardless of the fact that she had won a $300,000 gift certificate for wedding products and services that must be used within one year. Three hundred THOUSAND dollars worth of wedding. With an expiration date. And he didn't want to get married. He thinks they're taking things too fast. Wants to step back and re-evaluate. Did I mention the fact that they've already had two kids together?

Hell yeah, they were separated.

He came slinking back at the end of the month. They are communicating more now and she says things are getting better. But she gave the gift certificate to her brother who is getting married in May.

This picture has nothing to do with the story. I just wanted to post it because Live Writer makes it SO easy. It's a photo of part of the lava fields at the Valley of Fires in New Mexico. Let me know if this size works on your screen. Too big?

I'm Thankful for Life in the Weird, Weird West

I could live somewhere else. Somewhere with trees. And rain. And public transportation. Maybe somewhere with an exciting nightlife. Maybe somewhere with any nightlife. I could live somewhere that I could get a meal after the late movie.

I could.

But, seriously, why would I want to?

I had court hearings in both district courts at the same time on Tuesday. Two revocation hearings on two of my people in one court (Both got slammed. They'll be eating Stovetop Stuffing courtesy of the Institutional Division of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice this Thanksgiving.) and three guilty pleas in the other court.

(Revocation Hearing: When a person is placed on felony probation they are sentenced to prison and that sentence is suspended as long as they complete the probation. If they screw up, a warrant is issued for their arrest. They sit in jail - no bond - until the Court hears their case. The State presents evidence, which usually consists of the probation officer's testimony and the defense makes a case for extenuating circumstances. Then the Court decides whether to continue the probation or to impose the original sentence.)

Luckily the defense attorney for the three cases in the second court had an early morning plea in Big Flat City, so those hearings were going to be delayed an hour or two, allowing me to be in two places at once. After my revocation hearings ended, I made my way to the other courtroom to join the wait.

When I got to the arena, most of the players were already on the field The bailiff and court reporter were there, as well as the Assistant District Attorney assigned to this court. The three defendants were seated on the front pew, wearing matching orange jumpsuits and shiny silver shackles. The sheriff's deputy who'd brought them up from the jail sat next to the door, his chair tipped back on two legs and head resting against the wall. I threaded my way through the gathering to my chair next to the DA at the prosecution's table.

We chatted back and forth for a while. The court reporter told me her brother's book has just been published. Her twin is one of four Texas State Archaeologists. (Did you even know we had state archaeologists?) He just wrote a book about the Red River Indian Wars that took place in this part of the state.

The DA and the deputy were arguing about football.

There was no joy in Mudville this week, since the Raiders from Big Flat City laid down for those Oklahoma hicks in last Saturday's game. The DA is a rabid Raiders fan and the deputy is a life-long traitor to his roots. His house is adorned with Oklahoma memorabilia. He told us how he won two shirt bets and a hat bet he had riding on the game. He also won $40 from another deputy - who vows to pay him in pennies.

The more he gloated, the more the DA grumbled. The rest of us joined in the discussion - this is Texas after all. The longer we waited, the more we talked and eventually the boys in orange even got in on the action.

The main topic of discussion was how the die-hard University of Texas fans were actually rooting for Oklahoma in this game, which is no doubt one of the precursors of the Apocalypse.

One of the defendants was an especially vocal UT fan. The longer the conversation continued, the more he felt the need to contribute. The deputy, who was thoroughly enjoying the situation, egged him on. After one final comment from the crook on how, essentially, the Raider's loss was just a matter of the universe setting right the cosmic hiccup that had resulted in the Raider's victory over UT just a few weeks before, the DA slammed a case file down on the table top, whirled in the chair and favored the soon-to-be convict with a steely glare.

"Do you want a longer sentence, or what?!?"

The assistant DA...is a woman.



Who wouldn't want to live here?

I went to college for this?

"I drink too much. The last time I gave a urine sample, it had an olive in it." - Rodney Dangerfield

We did surprise drug tests this morning. At the city's recycling center, which is the fancy name for the big, stinking barn where probationers sort trash into piles of the reusable and the disposable. There's no heat in the big tin barn. Only a cavernous expanse of trash. No air conditioning either. I'm so glad I don't have to do community service.

You can imagine the lovely restrooms they have there. They're clean, thanks to community service workers, but the toilets are rickety and wobble back and forth, making the concrete floors a damp and sloppy mess. The paint is peeling off the walls and the sink sported a huge green pattern of crusty water deposits that covered the bowl as a result of an ambitiously leaky faucet. The bare bulb over the sink lends a certain Alcatrazish sort of ambiance to the whole scene.

We had one woman who just couldn't go. There's always one. It wasn't that she'd been drinking or using drugs and her urine was going to be 'dirty'. She just can't pee on command. I don't blame her. I can't do it either. And I certainly couldn't pee with a stranger standing over me, watching to make sure I don't dip the cup in the toilet water or try to cheat by some other even less pleasant means.

Of course it was cold this morning -- only a few degrees above freezing and sitting on the pock-marked toilet seat must have felt like sitting on a penguin's nest. We'd tried twice already and now the rest of the crew was all done and she was the last to go. She'd drunk half a gallon of water and I had the faucet in the sink trickling suggestively onto the porcelain. It was working - for me, if not for her. The woman shivered and chattered while pushing and straining to fill the cup.

"Relax," I said, hopefully soothingly. "Just relax your muscles and let it flow." Where on my resume should I list 'Can talk urine out of a turnip'?

She tried and tried and strained and pushed. Then I heard an unmistakable noise. I bit my lip and feigned deafness. Her shoulders slumped.

"I farted," she said, totally unnecessarily.

"Keep trying, hun," I sighed. "We can't test a cup full of fart."

This is such a glamor job.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

I love the shape of these stones. Love it a lot. Love it when it's a window or a mirror or an opening in a wall. It's cool.

Drunk class was a little shorter than usual tonight. Not my best work, I'm sad to say. And it was good material - thinking errors and lots of Ablert Ellis-ish stuff. But Magdalena had the flu and Ray had a swollen jaw and massive toothache. Rick got arrested last week for yet another felony DWI and he didn't show up. Kenny was bored and Othello just wasn't getting it. Larry, in the front row, was really into it and working hard, but I think that might have had to do with the butt-chewing Mindy gave him earlier in the week after she found the photos of him on Myspace. The photos with the beer bottles. And the mixed drinks. The photos that were taken in a bar. And date-stamped.

Stupid Larry.

We were all a little bummed tonight. Meh. Thankfully, two more weeks and we're done!