duckshots – Page 70 – Lorin Duckman Today

Judge Robert Carter, Dead at 94.

Judge Robert Carter died. He sat on the bench with quiet dignity, after a distinguished career as an attorney working with Justice Marshall and the NAACP legal defense team on Brown v The School Board. One cannot live forever, but his sense of justice can.

I tried a case before him -United States v. Chang AN-LO, a/k/a “White Wolf”, et al, 851 F2d 547 (1988) My client was Peter Yang. The case involved a conspiracy which included the murder of a journalist from Nationalist China, a heroin conspiracy and I don’t remember what else. A multi-defendant case, I sat for six weeks without asking a question on my clients behalf, allowing my co-counsel to do the work for me. Yang was at best a marginal character, the driver, at times, for the purported head of the United States arm of the conspiratorial group, United Bamboo, a person whom I argued hung around because employment opportunities in Houston forced him to find work elsewhere, a mere presence which allowed him to hear and see things without actually being involved in any of the criminal activity. The jury disagreed, convicting him. Everyone went to prison except Peter Yang. Judge Carter set him free.

When the case got to the 2nd Circuit, Bill Kunstler had substituted as counsel for my friend, Jay Gregory Horlick, who died in 1996. Horlick was a lot like Kunstler, practical and honest; he didn’t believe in anything, though, except that you didn’t want to know how corrupt the entire system was from top to bottom, because it would make you sick. Rest in peace, my last good friend. Anyway, we all wrote some fanciful dribble to satisfy our obligations as counsel, an obligation that ran from arraignment through appeal, and we ventured to the 17th floor to argue before the court, as if that would make a difference anywhere but some law school class on due process. Bill, having the lead defendant, got to go first. He rose to the lecturn, it rose to meet his height and addressed the court. “Good morning, Judge somebody. I represent appellant Chang AN_LO. Mr. Duckman will do the facts.” We had never spoken about my doing anything other than what I had to do. No matter. The conviction was affirmed.

Lots of people serve the law. Some get to the bench and forget their beginnings. Few have the insight, courage or deliberative skills which Judge Carter possessed. He helped to make the United States of America a fairer place to live.

City Hall Park Art

Larry Glen and Kevin couldn’t decide if the pieces which look like furniture were art. They had no trouble deciding that, on this cold day, it wasn’t a good idea to sit on either the sofa or the chair. Both are made of metal and it was 5 degrees.

I mean, what is art? The chair image ain’t the chair; it represents the chair, lacks the function of the chair, has its design, but it ain’t real. It must be art, eh? Too cold, though to talk with these connoisseurs about the topic. It was too cold to even have a camera; I shot with Canon S90, which I kept in my pocket where it fogged up.

Kevin came from Barre. “Don’t drink the water there,” I was told when we came to VT. He has stage 5 colon cancer. In town to go to the doctor and see his social worker, he hopes that Make a Wish will send him to Japan for his last fling to see amime and the life there. He don’t care about cold. He’s still alive. Go live, my man. You have courage.

Larry and Matt Sweet have a tent. No way these guys do the shelter thing; too many rules. Know how to camp in the tent. Keep out the drafts and cold air.

Joe knows some kids, maybe college kids, who let him sleep in a utility room. They give him beer, pot, and food. He offered me some of his pina colada. Not exactly a drink I would drink, assuming I would drink in the park on a day like this, even if I were thirsty or going through withdrawl. I associate pina coladas with warm weather and tropical breezes, not sub arctic cold.

Connor and Country. I cannot be sure. They were looking for someone or something, they thought.

Keith came out for tobacco. I could not see coming out for something to smoke. A hospital appointment, sure; you got nowhere to go or you don’t know where you are, sure; but tobacco …. What a country. We all get a vote, too.

Damn, it was cold. And the cold doesn’t usually bother me. Tomorrow, colder. Joe said only the really hard core would be out tomorrow. We will see.

Poet’s Tower – Greenfield MA

New Year’s Eve Day, 2011, visited Poet’s Tower in Greenfield. Icier than we thought. Walked almost to the top, anyway. Others took the walk, refuting the weather. “Too bad you cannot see very much. This is a much more beautiful spot than it looks today” said a jogger undeterred by the frost and gloom.

Not a great day to sit in the woods and write poetry.

Had a tough time seeing the town.

Sharon felt the cold.

And ice made the the metal steps treacherous. But I wouldn’t say it wasn’t beautiful or that I couldn’t see anything memorable.

Burlington City Hall Park – Nowhere Else To Go

Life goes on, though Chad thought I paid too much attention to Paul and not enough to others. He didn’t want me talking, smiling or breathing his air. “You look bad; you should go home.”

Mark knows its time to try Act One.

Amanda has enough self-esteem to put on eye liner. She has a court date at 1:00pm for a disorderly conduct that occurred over the summer. This state, which puts public order above all else, charges Dis Cons as a misdemeanor. That means if you use a vulgar term (whatever that means) in public, you could be charged with a crime. No offenses here. “Who’s your attorney,” I asked? “Just some Public Defender….” I didn’t shoot, because I wanted her to see my reaction. “Sorry,” she said.

Her boyfriend can still balance himself and climb like he did as a boy.

New guy, Gravel, is a traveller. Gotta love the guys who ride the trains. Adventurers, all. Hey, dude. I hope to have the time to speak with you. In the meantime, he needed shoes. Sharon and I got him shoes at the Shuk, the thrift shop at our shul, OZ. The proprietor charged us full price, even though we told her we were buying them for a homeless dude. “I have to payoff a $70,000 loan I took out to build this place.” So let me get this straight. Someone donates clothing for the poor. She put up money to fix a charity shop. I bring in clothes and make donations, too. I pay her $15 for a pair of used boots to give to a person whose feet will freeze without them to pay off her loan, which the shul has not absorbed, even though its mission is to do acts of kindness and benevolence. No wonder I don’t belong to OZ, right now. She threw in two pairs of ratty socks someone had the audacity to donate. When we found him, someone had given him boots, already. I found another person who needed boots. Two men took the socks.

“I wear 8 1/2-9.” “Take the 10s dude,” the traveller said, with an implorring voice, “no one wants their toes to freeze.” Joe draws. Earned commissary money in jail doing portraits of other inmates. Wants to have a show, but isn’t exactly motivated. Hasn’t even come up with a piece of his art to trade for a photo. There’s still time, dude.

He’s on his way to the Labor Department. To stay out of jail for not having paid child support, he has to get a job. Now, there’s a Hobson’s choice or some other quaint homily, simile or metaphor. There are no jobs. If he got one, he has to pay back payments for some kid he had as a kid when he felt feeling himself come inside someone who wouldn’t have an abortion was a cool thing because she was either on the pill, infertile, or just had her period. Now, in these times of economic turmoil when people with degrees and resumes cannot find a job, he has to go find work in VT in the winter, to support himself and his family from whom he is separated.

Eric Saw His Family For Christmas

I worry that he could be next. In Paul’s final days, Eric dragged him to Act 1. He knew Paul was a mess, but he didn’t give up on him. Now he has no one to hang with or care about.

Eric went home for the holidays. Street workers/outreach say Mom calls in everyday. No room at her house for him. Brother home after some financial disaster, according to Eric. They let him take a shower. Gave him a hat, two pairs of socks and food. He doesn’t want the kind of help that he would get if he had a reasonable diagnosis. “I am 30. I got years to go before I’ll admit to any disability.”

Jim always tried to help. He stopped a woman from being groped on a bench. Cleaned City Hall Park in the early mornings. He looks out for his daughter, Amanda. He picked Paul off the ground, several times. Last week, he knew Paul was in trouble. “His color wasn’t right. He couldn’t walk. Wouldn’t share a beer. Not right what happened to him…. We have lost a few recently. Got to keep walking to stay warm.”

Yeh. No one wants to freeze to death. Cold ain’t as bad as dying.

Who is looking out for Jim?