Larkin Forney Lived a Life

Scan

 

Ten years ago I worked as a Public Defender in Middlebury. People in custody were kept in a basement holding area that allowed for safe transfers from cars to the jail, but unhealthy and borderline unconstitutionally improper cells. There was plenty of room for counsel visits, with no privacy, no windows and claustrophobic pens. When a prisoner arrived financially unable to afford counsel, a lawyer would be assigned to the case. Almost no one, except for the DUI, out-of-towners, had retained lawyers, most of whom could plead out a drunk but not try a case. The Deputy Sheriff would find the on-duty PD or call out the name of the defendant. One day, I heard, “whose got Larkin Forney?” Frankly, I thought it was a sandwich or a condition. I said, “what’s a Larkin Forney?” “You’re client, you idiot. He’s downstairs, with a pile of papers and he wants to talk with you.”

larkin4

Larkin had papers, all right. He had motions he had written which he wanted to file and he had a full statement of facts, his version, and he had pages of a book he was writing. And he was pissed that I hadn’t familiarized myself with all the nuances of the case before we met. I had to excuse his vituperativeness, given the fact I would leave the cell and he would stay. He may not have known I only just got the papers and barely had looked at them as I walked down the stairs. And, poor communication between offices of the Public Defender and the general malaise of some of the attorneys prevented me from knowing he had fired his previous PD after writing a complaint to the disciplinary committee accusing the lawyer who is now a judge or magistrate or something or all sorts of unethical conduct, asserting that the representation was less than adequate and unconstitutionally defective.

[MORE To Come]

Butter or Beer


Sharon and I volunteer at the Burlington Emergency Food Shelf. If you have stuff which people can use, I will pick it up and distribute it. Call me. Someone will use it.

A lot of people I have photographed on the street come for breakfast and then, if eligible, pick up food and supplies. Today, Rich Fish came in. He has a place to live, though not one where he feels he has enough safety and structure. But he has a place to cook and a place to store food. The last time I shot his image, he was cooking franks down by the Coast Guard Station on a grill. I found him, delivered a print, which he lost when someone stole his backpack, or maybe he left it somewhere.

He couldn’t find butter in the cooler. He needed to cook noodles/pasta, which will stick together without it. Previously, I had given him a dollar which he had designated for a beer. Now he has a problem: he needs another dollar, some butter or he can settle for sticky noodles. He thanked me for the dollar and headed off with his groceries. No longer homeless, he can only come every two weeks and what he gets ain’t much. But, in this weather, he’s a lot better off than he was and not as good as he will be now that he is off the streets.

Earlier in the morning, I had given a dollor to a person who didn’t want it. The guy, whom I have seen on the street, said to give it to someone more worthy. I don’t know his name and he hasn’t let me take his photo. But he always says hello, sometimes calling me Dick, instead of Duck. I told him he could give it to someone worthy and refused to take it back.

 Socks

As the morning shift wore on to its end, I saw the guy give the dollar to a woman who was picking up for herself and family. She accepted it, graciously, walked over to me and handed me the dollar. “You deserve this for helping us.”

 

Mick Has A Home, Not a House


Don’t call him homeless, he’s not. Just houseless. Manages to skrimp by. Loves his place and his dogs. Arranges detritus. His grounds have museum quality street art. He surrounds himself with graphics and sculpture. Wood keeps him warm. Imagination keeps him alert.

Mick's_Flamingo_Snowed_In

Gotta keep warm, too. So, he splits wood. Friends help him out, loaning him the equipment and bringing him wood. He needs some socks, shoes and gloves. Could use some food, too. But, he ain’t complaining.

Wood_For_The_Fire

 

I couldn’t survive a minute, living the way he does. Incredible survival skills.

Paul_Bunyan

Paul Bunyan. Bigger than life. Not ready to define himself.

Landino Fights Cancer For All of Us

“But sometimes there’s a man, sometimes, there’s a man. Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But… aw, hell. I’ve done introduced him enough.” Stole this line from Lebowski, but John deserves it.

Screen Shot 2013-12-07 at 4.06.15 PM

So, he’s putting together a group to do art during his healing. He has esophageal cancer and needs to start treatment. He’s looking upwards, to the sky, for support. I’ll send him some landscapes and sky shots. I don’t do sunrises or sunsets. Too beginning and ending for me. The colors shine too brightly. Life’s a slog; mostly gray, not always black and white.

John finds music in everything. He sees art in everything. Melodies, not really recognizable ones, roll around in his head and then out his mouth. He’s more Beat, than neat. Not a hippie or hip, just different. I relate to different. Not many do. Now he has to turn his body over to the men with the white coats. Seems like he used to work with the guys in the white coats, only they treated heads not bodies. All those skills will be needed.

wpid5632-BWS_A_BEECH.jpg

We will all root for him, those who know him and those whose lives would benefit if they did. We know he will go through the process with the same degree of joy that he used in life. He’ll be a good patient and we will be good friends.

Stacey’s Still Out There

OK, she and Robert have a place while the weather feels frigid. Living at the Econo Lodge, they receive 28 days lodging, but have to move out for a day, assumedly because if they stay for a month, statatory tenants rights would accrue. So, they got to move their stuff for a day and then get approval to move back. She still has AIDS and the agency suporting her is still looking for more permanent housing. Robert’s OK. He worked his sign in South Burlington near the ramp, hoping the cops wouldn’t make him move.

My Kind of Color

A guy stopped me as I shot. “Not a good day for photos, eh?” “Au contraire, monsieur [he wasn’t from Montreal], gray is the favorite color for photographers. I get to control the light. Actually, the scene could use some fog.”

 

I stood and waited for the snow to come. Maybe later. No one walking. Here, I live in one of the coolest and most desirable places, one calling out for attention and its empty. People want the reds and blues and greens. Oh, come to the Lake for its beauty. Let’s go leaf peeping. Nothing wrong with this.

So, I tell the guy my views. As usual, he disagrees. Just like a Vermonter. Every sentence begins with I like it or I don’t like it or I agree or disagree. I want it to stay this way forever. I liked it better when there was a swamp here.”

Thanksgiving Dues

Thanks-4

So, people, not many, have asked what I am doing for Thanksgiving. Does it matter? I will eat something that’s on my diet, nothing special. Gave up Turkey years ago. Used to work in the Courts enabling people to spend more time with their families. Then Sharon and I would go to Peter Luger for dinner. In VT, everything closes down. I’d go to EB Strong, a local steakhouse, but it isn’t open.

 

Dawn looked cold. Felt worse than it was today. If it were March, people would say its a heat spell. She didn’t manage her money well this month. Out of cash until December when she gets her check. What will she do?

Thanks-2

Russell had a guy living with him who punched him out and then tried to have him kicked out of his place. He prevailed. Has a turkey and trimmings from the food shelf. People feared the shelf would run out of Turkeys. Someone yelled at Russell for being in line, because he didn’t look homeless or needy enough.

Thanks-3

And, there’s Molly again. Close, but not just there. She’s got Ed’s dog to keep her warm, but the cold bricks on the street don’t care. She can do it. Just not sure when. Until then, we got to pay our dues and not eat more than we give.

David aka Meatwad

The road to recovery can be bumpy. Just cannot give up hope. David fell off the wagon again, to use a trite term, which used to refer just to drinking, but now, who knows. He’s got no place to go and no place to hide, except the park and the street. Warm today. Tomorrow, could be cold. After all, it’s Vermont.

David_aka_Meatwad-3

Nicknamed after a raffish cartoon character, he resumed his birth calling, David. He had a place to live and some work. He lasted for close to a year. Too soon to know when he’ll return or as what.

David_aka_Meatwad-2

When I saw him over the past few days he said needed to bolt from Dodge. He asked for $10 for a bus, like they would have let him take a bus ride somewhere. Then he asked me what I would do if someone said something about my Mother. Don’t know why they would, but I don’t care. She and I had a difficult relationship which should be of no mind to anyone. He obviously does care and something obviously happened which if I knew, I could explain, but not understand. Lots of people die in the name of religion, love and mothers. And some even blame their failures on them.

 

 

Dave Parker Accused of Bank Robbery

DAVID_PARKER-11

 

In my legal career, I represented a couple of Bank Robbers. One, my first Federal case, resulted in a dismissal. My investigator, Sharon Duckman, believe it or not, and I timed the trip from the bank to where the alleged thief, my knuckle headed client, was arrested, and, argued, along with some other evidence, that he could not have covered the distance at rush hour. In another case, one which I acted as standby counsel didn’t end up the same way. My client, a man with a prior for the same charge, received a pack that blew up, covering him with orange sludge. Captured on video, the FBI agent who had previously arrested him, recognized his face and proceeded directly to his home. My client let him in, made a full confession and then either allowed the agent to search his house or they got a search warrant, I cannot remember which, leading to the discovery of the clothes, bank bag and some other detritus connecting him to the crime. Oh, did I mention a handwriting expert tied him to the demand note? I did the opening and the closing statements and cross-examined the agent. He represented himself, doing the rest. A jury convicted him. Sentenced to 20 or 30 years, he brought an ineffective assistance of counsel motion against me, arguing I didn’t ask the agent the questions he wanted asked.

I spoke with a few other bank robbers and may have represented one or two. They struck me as being different. Bold. Defiant. Fearless. One told me the drug of choice for bank robbers was coke, because you needed courage, even if falsely provided by drugs, to walk into a bank and demand money. Armed or not armed, the robber has to have a plan. The guys with the loot stand behind counters. People with guns guard them. Cameras record everything. Silent alarms notify the cops. Slick, direct and quick. Come in unobtrusively, make a demand, take the money and run. The robber has to have an entrance plan and an exit plan.

Read today that Dave Parker robbed a bank. Don’t care if he did it or didn’t do it. No one hurt physically. Sure some traumatic effects on the bank people. People who rob banks don’t think about such things. I wonder what they do think about? Can’t be that they will enjoy the money and live happily ever after. Maybe they do, who knows?

I got one idea. Getting cold out there. When you don’t have a place to live and you have drug and alcohol problems, in addition to a TBI, going to jail rather than a more serious and tragic alternative, could be an easy way out. Who knows? He deserves a fair trial and a just sentence. But it’s a drastic solution to a solvable problem.

DAVID_PARKER-4

 

 

Jack Lavery Perseveres

So, he sits in the park, smiling, talking to strangers. Not many on the streets of Burlington, despite its beauty and grandeur. People live elsewhere and have to work. Jack says he did as little as possible. Worked in a cemetery. I asked him what he was doing sitting in Battery Park on a chilly fall day? “Waiting for two women in bikinis to take me home.”

BP_statue-1

 

I could have waited with Jack, but the second girl probably had been spoken for by the General.