Tag Archives: Trial

Chocolate: A Comic Courtroom Play (Scene 8)

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Hyrum (9) enjoying the feel of a federal district court judge’s chair.

No matter how compelling the evidence and the argument, the fate of any case, and the people involved, is in the hands of the judge (or the whims of the jury).  Outcomes are rarely predictable.  What do you think about this case?  Which way should the scales of justice tip?  Well, let’s check in on Judge Stone for this final scene of Chocolate.

CHOCOLATE: A COMIC PLAY IN ONE ACT
by Roger Evans Baker

The Characters:
• The Honorable Marsha P. Stone, Judge of the 13th District Court
• Mr. John Butcher, Prosecuting Attorney
• Mr. Gil Sullivan, Defense Attorney
• Victor S. Bull, the Defendant
• Ashton “Flapper” Cuff, Court Bailiff
• Officer Harold Ketchum, Police Officer
• Vickie Hicks, Bull’s 17-year-old niece
• Judd “Snoops” Lawson, Bull’s duplex neighbor
• Ernest “Tubby” Brown, Bull’s drinking buddy
• Winowna Darling Bull, Bull’s 76-year-old mother

MR. BUTCHER. (again, almost singing) No further questions.

MR. SULLIVAN. (deflated): No further witnesses, Mayam.

JUDGE STONE. Good. I mean, very well. Mr. Butcher, do you have a closing statement, or do you submit it to the judgment of the Court?

MR. BUTCHER. (catching the hint, but letting go with difficulty) Well, I have saved by most eloquent argument for closing, Your Honor, but I’ll submit it if Your Honor wishes.

JUDGE STONE. I do wish it. Mr. Sullivan, what do you have to say on behalf of your client?

MR. SULLIVAN. (grumbling, becoming agitated) Well, Your Honor, Mayam, it’s just as I said before. It’s all lies. And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. It’s more than just lies. It’s downright evil: the government cavortin’ with liars and deceivers to put an innocent man behind bars and shame him forever. What’s this country comin’ to? I’m tellin’ you, justice means nothin’ in the face of such conspiracy! I trust that a judge as intelligent and discerning as Yourself can see that, can see through the trickster’s smoke and mirrors, and find it within your heart to let an innocent man go free.

JUDGE STONE. Your brief rebuttal, Mr. Butcher?

MR. BUTCHER. (indignant) Conspiracy shmiracy, I say. He’s paranoid! I’ve never heard a more ridiculous story than the one this rascal tried to pawn to this discerning Court. Even I saw through it, I mean, well, you know what I mean. The rogue is guilty.

MR. SULLIVAN. (aside to Butcher) It’s a good thing for you this is a public defender case, Butcher, or I’d have your hide. You just watch your step with my high-paying clients, (under his breath) if I ever get any.

JUDGE STONE. (condescendingly) Well, then. I am prepared to pronounce my judgment. Mr. Bull, I have no doubt that whilst in the course of drunken tirade you did indeed manifest a dangerous weapon, i.e., a loaded firearm, in a threatening manner, thereby instilling terror in the heart of your victim. Your, hmm, defense notwithstanding, I find you guilty as charged. I also find you guilty of discharging a gun within the corporate limits of Sherman City, of public intoxication, of disorderly conduct, and of otherwise disturbing the peace.

MR. SULLIVAN. (outraged) You can’t do that Your Honor! Those crimes weren’t even charged!

JUDGE STONE. (incensed at being openly challenged) I’m the judge, this is my court, and I’ll do as I please. Do you hear! And I find that Mr. Bull did commit all of the above-enumerated crimes. (taking a moment to regain her dignified composure) I shall now pronounce sentence. For each crime the defendant shall pay a fine of $100 dollars, for a total of $500, plus a 200% surcharge to go the State to fund victim reparation programs, school non-violence programs, gun safety education programs, and judicial retirement programs. The total is, let’s see, $1,500. For each crime the defendant shall serve six months, each sentence consecutive (that means back-to-back, Mr. Bull). That’s two years. (long pause, then sounding pleased with her leniency) But I’ll suspend all the jail time upon full payment of the fine and completion of one-thousand hours of community service at the nursing home, where I hope you’ll learn some compassion and some patience and some manners. Court is now adjourned! (the judge suddenly rises and moves toward her chambers)

MR. SULLIVAN. (furious, as the judge descends from the dais) Butcher, you scoundrel, you prejudiced the Judge with all your talk of barbarian and rogue and rascal!

MR. BUTCHER. (defensive) What about you and all your chocolate licking?

BAILIFF FLAPPER. (in sergeant’s mode again, his eyes fixed dutifully on the departing judge) All arise! The most Honorable Judge Marsha P. Stone has departed the judicial chair and this Court is now hereby adjourned!

JUDGE STONE. (rolling her eyes and smiling coquettishly over her shoulder as she enters her chambers) Really, Flapper!

THE END.

[I sincerely hope that you have enjoyed my little play.]

Chocolate: A Comic Courtroom Play (Scene 7)

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Caleb (12) takes his turn in the federal judge’s chair.

As a prosecutor I could often count on the defendant’s mother to believe completely that her darling little boy could never do anything to hut anyone.  In trial, as in life, however, even the best of mothers may not always know how to help their wayward children.  I hope you enjoy Scene 7 of Chocolate.

CHOCOLATE: A COMIC PLAY IN ONE ACT
By Roger Evans Baker

The Characters:
• The Honorable Marsha P. Stone, Judge of the 13th District Court
• Mr. John Butcher, Prosecuting Attorney
• Mr. Gil Sullivan, Defense Attorney
• Victor S. Bull, the Defendant
• Ashton “Flapper” Cuff, Court Bailiff
• Officer Harold Ketchum, Police Officer
• Vickie Hicks, Bull’s 17-year-old niece
• Judd “Snoops” Lawson, Bull’s duplex neighbor
• Ernest “Tubby” Brown, Bull’s drinking buddy
• Winowna Darling Bull, Bull’s 76-year-old mother

MR. SULLIVAN. Just one more witness, Mayam, an important one. And she won’t take long.

JUDGE STONE. Very well, you may proceed.

MR. SULLIVAN. The defense calls Mrs. Winowna Darling Bull, the defendant’s mother. (pause) May I call you Winowna, my dear.

WINOWNA. (delighted) Why, yes, that would be delightful.

MR. SULLIVAN. How old are you, Winowna, dear.

WINOWNA. (shyly, but with pride) Seventy-six last Tuesday.

MR. SULLIVAN. Well, happy birthday! Winowna, tell us about your son, Victor.

WINOWNA. Well, Victor was born on the farm near the little town of–

MR. SULLIVAN. Not that far back, Winowna, dear. Just tell us what Victor is like.

WINOWNA. (glad to be helpful) Why, my Victor is simply the sweetest son a widowed mother could ever have. He calls me every week to see if my social security check, retirement check, royalties check, and dividend check have arrived. Then he takes them to the bank and cashes them for me. He buys me my groceries and gives me quarters for Friday night Bingo. He keeps the rest safe for me in our secret hiding place. It’s so nice to feel secure.

MR. SULLIVAN. That’s really not what I meant, Winowna, dear. Tell us how Victor is with his family.

WINOWNA. (delighted) Oh, that! Why didn’t you say so? My Victor loves his family. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Oh, he hunts, of course, but just to put meat on the table. Quite an assortment, too. Deer, elk, moose, bear, pronghorn, duck, goose, and pheasant. It’s a hard life, you know. (giggling) Victor can be a bit careless, too. He’s shot himself in the foot twice, you know. That finger of his must just itch to pull the trigger.

MR. SULLIVAN. Would he ever point a loaded gun at his beloved wife?

WINOWNA. (shocked) Goodness, no! How dare you even suggest such a thing. Of course, he’s popped her once or twice, just to let her know who’s boss, you know, just like my dearly departed did to me on more than one occasion. But she deserved it, I am sure.

MR. SULLIVAN. (in dismay) I think you’ve told us enough, Winowna, dear.

MR. BUTCHER. Just one question, Your Honor. Mrs. Darling, would you say–

WINOWNA. (suppressing a giggle) It’s Mrs. Bull, young man, but you can call me Darling if you wish.

MR. BUTCHER. (blushing and flustered) Right. (regaining his composure) Well, would you say that a man who gets drunk, who beats his wife, who gets angry and jealous over nothing, and who shoots guns in his own home could be dangerous?

WINOWNA. (indignantly) I certainly do! Heaven help the poor girl! That man, whoever he is, should be thrown in jail!

MR. BUTCHER. (again, almost singing) No further questions.

MR. SULLIVAN. (deflated): No further witnesses, Mayam.

JUDGE STONE. Good. I mean, very well. Mr. Butcher, do you have a closing statement, or do you submit it to the judgment of the Court?

[Come back tomorrow for the last scene of Chocolate.]

Chocolate: A Comic Courtroom Play (Scene 3)

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Hyrum (13) in front of the doors of the Utah Supreme Court.

CHOCOLATE: A COMIC PLAY IN ONE ACT (Scene 3)
by Roger Evans Baker

Snoops, the main character of these scene, is quite a made up character.  But having an uncontrollable witness is quite a routine occurrence at trial.

The Characters:
• The Honorable Marsha P. Stone, Judge of the 13th District Court
• Mr. John Butcher, Prosecuting Attorney
• Mr. Gil Sullivan, Defense Attorney
• Victor S. Bull, the Defendant
• Ashton “Flapper” Cuff, Court Bailiff
• Officer Harold Ketchum, Police Officer
• Vickie Hicks, Bull’s 17-year-old niece
• Judd “Snoops” Lawson, Bull’s duplex neighbor
• Ernest “Tubby” Brown, Bull’s drinking buddy
• Winowna Darling Bull, Bull’s 76-year-old mother

MR. BUTCHER. State calls Mr. Judd Lawson. (pause while Mr. Lawson takes the witness stand) Mr. Lawson, are you next-door neighbors with the defendant and his wife?

MR. LAWSON. (happy to be of assistance) Yes, I live right next door. In fact, we share a duplex. They live on one side and I live on the other. Kinda’ like two homes in one, you know, with a dividing wall running right down in the middle. Not much of a wall, though–I can hear everything: water pipes vibrating, stereo blasting, laughing, shouting, and all sorts of carrying on. It’s hard to be a good neighbor, sometimes. But you know, I try. I try real hard. And I think I am a good neighbor, darn it. Like when their cat had kittens on my back porch. I took ‘em right over and gave ‘em to the neighbors, in a box. It’s their own fault, you know, for not getting the cat fixed in time. We gotta keep the cat population down, you know. It’s all in the fixin’, you know. And then there was the time when their dog pooped on my lawn and made a burn spot in the grass. I didn’t even complain, although I had rights to. People should keep their dogs–

MR. BUTCHER. Thank you, very much, Mr. Lawson. Would you tell us, briefly, what you observed on the night of July 7th?

MR. LAWSON. (cheerful) Certainly. I heard a gun shot next door and a bunch of female screaming and ran to the window and saw a man run down the front porch and then around the side of the house where I lost sight of him. I thought of following after him to see what was going on. (smiling, aside to the Judge) My friends don’t call me “Snoops” for nothing, you know. (back to Mr. Butcher) But with the gun shot, and all, I decided maybe I’d stay put. People is getting shot all the time by getting mixed up in trouble, you know, and I didn’t want to get mixed up in no trouble. No, sir. Trouble free, that’s me.

MR. BUTCHER. (in dismay) Thank you, Mr. Lawson. No further questions.

MR. SULLIVAN. (eagerly, licking his lips) Now, Mr. Lawson, or, should I call you Snoops? Which do you prefer, sir?

SNOOPS. Snoops is fine; or Judd. I’ve been called just about everything, you know. Like when my granddaddy called me Bud, and it stuck for years, until my high school sweetheart, God rest her soul, called me Snicker, and it stuck, until my drinking buddies called me Snoops, because I just kinda’ like knowing what’s going on, and it stuck for good, you know. But I don’t cater to “Mr. Lawson”; makes me feel like a lawyer or something. Don’t quite feel right.

MR. SULLIVAN. Well, then, Mr. Snoops. Could you tell who ran out the door?

SNOOPS. Snoops is fine. Just Snoops. No Mr. needed. Not exactly but I knew it was a man. You know, kinda’ tall, short hair, denim jacket, cowboy boots.

MR. SULLIVAN. (affecting astonishment) Surely you are not saying, Mr. Snoops, that a lady can’t be tall?

SNOOPS. No, sir, I aint.

MR. SULLIVAN. Well, then, are you saying that a lady can’t have short hair?

SNOOPS. No, sir, I aint at all. Short hair looks right nice on some ladies, though I like long, flowing hair, myself, of the blonde variety.

MR. SULLIVAN. Maybe you’re sayin’ that ladies don’t wear cowboy boots or denim jackets?

SNOOPS. (oblivious to Mr. Sullivan’s tactics) No, sir.

MR. SULLIVAN. The fact is, Mr. Snoops, you couldn’t really tell if it was a man or a woman, could you? For all you know it could have been a tall, short-haired, denim-wearin’, boot sportin’ lady, couldn’t it? You don’t really know what you saw, do you?

SNOOPS. (suddenly confounded) Well, all I know is that I saw a man or a woman run around to the back of the house. And I don’t know no more.

MR. SULLIVAN. (gloating) He’s all yours, Butcher.

MR. BUTCHER. (fed up with his insulting opponent) I really must protest, Your Honor. My name is not Butcher, it’s Mr. Butcher. It is truly bad form for Mr. Sullivan to keep referring to me as Butcher. It’s not civil. This is, after all, a civil proceeding, like Your Honor said, and he’s supposed to be civil.

MR. SULLIVAN. (sarcastically) Last time I checked, Butcher, this was a criminal proceeding, not a civil one, so I don’t have to be civil, do I?

JUDGE STONE. (angrily) Mr. Sullivan, whatever kind of proceeding this is, this is still my court, and I’ll ask you to be more civil for the remainder of this criminal proceeding. (aside to Butcher) Try not to be so touchy, Butcher! (resuming, impatiently) Anyone else, Mr. Butcher?

MR. BUTCHER. (with great expectations for triumph) Just one, Your Honor. The best for last.

[Come back soon for Scene 4.]

Chocolate: A Comic Courtroom Play (Scene 1)

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Hyrum (13) sitting in the chair of a federal bankruptcy judge in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Nearly 20 years ago I prosecuted a man for pointing a gun at his wife during an argument.  My two oldest children, Brian (then 8) and Erin (then 6) sat in the first row on the edge of their seat, their eyes wide in anticipation of seeing their dad in action.  This play is based on the facts and characters of the actual trial (which I won).  Some of the characters very closely resemble real people.  Others are totally fictitious.  I, of course, do not resemble Mr. Butcher in the slightest.  I hope you enjoy this comic play in one act, posted scene by scene each day over the next week.

CHOCOLATE: A COMIC PLAY IN ONE ACT
by Roger Evans Baker

The Characters:
• The Honorable Marsha P. Stone, Judge of the 13th District Court
• Mr. John Butcher, Prosecuting Attorney
• Mr. Gil Sullivan, Defense Attorney
• Victor S. Bull, the Defendant
• Ashton “Flapper” Cuff, Court Bailiff
• Officer Harold Ketchum, Police Officer
• Vickie Hicks, Bull’s 17-year-old niece
• Judd “Snoops” Lawson, Bull’s duplex neighbor
• Ernest “Tubby” Brown, Bull’s drinking buddy
• Winowna Darling Bull, Bull’s 76-year-old mother

The Scene: From a raised judicial dais, an elegant leather judge’s chair stares out over the country courtroom. Beneath the bench stand two scratched and peeling wood-veneer tables. At one table sits the State, incarnate in the prosecutor, who nervously awaits announcement of the judge’s appearance. At the other sits the defendant, in new jeans and new t-shirt, who leans over repeatedly to whisper to his attorney, himself dressed in jeans, but with a shirt, tie, and leather- elbowed jacket. The bailiff, weathered and toothless, slouches in his chair waiting for the judge’s arrival. Behind the bar, rows of orange-cloth benches contain an assortment of characters in a variety of dress, from stained t-shirts and holey denims to suits and ties, one of the latter often sitting by one of the former. With a deep sense of her own importance, the judge enters the courtroom without warning, and the bailiff springs to his feet, hurrying to fulfill his function with all the dignity he can muster.

BAILIFF ASHTON “FLAPPER” CUFF. (loud and crisp, like a trumpet heralding the queen’s appearance) All arise! The 13th District Court is now in session with the Honorable Marsha P. Stone presiding! Please be silent and orderly throughout these judicial proceedings!

JUDGE STONE. (rolling her eyes and waiving a delicate hand at the wrist) Thank you, Flapper. That will do.

FLAPPER. (unabashed) You may now be seated!

JUDGE STONE. (cheerfully) Very well. Shall we begin? Let’s see. The first case on this morning’s busy, busy calendar is State v. Victor S. Bull, for threatening with a dangerous weapon. (With a dismayed shake of the head; to herself, but so that everyone can hear.) My, my, what is the world coming to? (Resuming her normal voice.) The State appears to be represented by Mr. Butcher, and the defendant, Mr. Bull, is obviously represented by Mr. Sullivan. (Audible aside to Mr. Sullivan.) Really, Gil, the least you could do is trade in your denims and tweed for a suit.

MR. SULLIVAN. (swaggering, with a country-western twang) You know me, Mayam. No frills. What you see is what you get.

JUDGE STONE. (disdainfully) Apparently. Well. Are we ready to proceed with the trial, Mr. Butcher.

MR. BUTCHER. (chipper and confident) Yes, Your Honor. Ready as always.

JUDGE STONE. That’s a good fellow. Are we ready, Mr. Sullivan?

MR. SULLIVAN. I reckon.

JUDGE STONE. (looking at her elegant watch with affected disinterest) Yes. Well. I suppose you have an opening statement, Mr. Butcher.

MR. BUTCHER. (hesitating at the Judge’s tone) Of course, Your Honor, but a brief one. You see, on the night of July 7th, this very man, sitting at this very table, came home drunk after hours at the Dead Donkey Saloon. (The prosecutor’s voice begins to rise, sounding accusing and contemptuous.) Then this man–no, hardly a man–this scoundrel had the audacity to accuse his wife, (who happens to be a bar maid at the Dead Donkey), of cheating on him. He got in her face, spewing fumey insults. She was understandably disturbed by this animal behavior, pushed him away, and called him a fitting expletive, something resembling an animal’s backside. In vicious response, this barbaric male, a disgrace to the sex–

MR. SULLIVAN. (indignantly) Now hold on there, pardner. Judge—Mayam—“hardly a man” is one thing; “scoundrel” is another thing; but “barbaric male” and “disgrace” are downright nasty. Hundreds of people in this town drink. They’re just havin’ a good time with their buddies. My client here is no barbarian, and I’ll ask the persecutor here to mind his manners.

JUDGE STONE. (patronizingly) You were getting a little out of hand, you know, Mr. Butcher. Continue with your brief opening statement, but please discipline yourself.

MR. BUTCHER. (humbly) Yes, Your Honor. I’m sorry, Your Honor. When I think about this, person, I just become excited, you know, heated, riled. (His voice rising.) My blood begins to boil.

JUDGE STONE. (in a warning tone) Mr. Butcher.

MR. BUTCHER. (sincerely humble) I do apologize, Your Honor; I’ll try really hard to be civil.

JUDGE STONE. You do that. Go on.

MR. BUTCHER. (making an obvious effort to remain calm, but quickly becoming animated) As I was saying, to his wife’s very normal reaction of calling her staggering, screaming husband a “horse’s ass,” he lurched for the closet, whence he withdrew a loaded gun, and waived it around, repeating, “So I’m a horse’s ass, am I?” Then he actually fired the gun. Blasted a hole through the ceiling, right into their bedroom and through their bed. Scared for her life, she grabbed her sweet niece, Vickie–who, thank God, is still with us today–and they ran, barefoot, to the gas station two blocks away to call the police. When the police arrived, was Victor Bull in the house? No. Is he anywhere to be found? No! (Triumphantly.) Ah, but the diligent Officer Ketchum did find him, hiding, pretending to be asleep–

JUDGE STONE. (with authority, to an agitated Mr. Bull) Mr. Bull! Please! You must control yourself. If you cannot sit still in your seat, I shall have the bailiff shackle your legs to it. And no more grunting or moaning noises. In due time you’ll have a chance to tell your side of the story. (To herself.) I’m sure there is one. (Resuming her normal voice.) Are you quite finished, Mr. Butcher?

MR. BUTCHER. Yes, Your Honor. Almost, Your Honor.

JUDGE STONE. (affecting weariness) Very well. Do continue.

MR. BUTCHER. (calmer, but still excited) As I was saying, Your Honor, Officer Ketchum found the defendant hiding, pretending to be asleep. (With absolute conviction.) This man is guilty, Your Honor. Oh is he guilty: guilty as a boot stuck in the cold March mud.

JUDGE STONE. (affecting disinterest) Yes. Well. I’m sure you have an opening statement of your own, Mr. Sullivan.

MR. SULLIVAN. (confidently) Darn right, Mayam. Short and sweet. Say it like it is. It’s all lies, and we’ll prove it to ya’ right shortly. Pretendin’ to be asleep–indeed. I suggest we get on with it.

JUDGE STONE. (sighing) Bailiff Cuff, please have the witnesses stand and be sworn all at once. Saves time, you know.

BAILIFF CUFF. Yes Sir—Ma’am—Your Honor, Sir. (Like a preacher in a tent revival.) All the witnesses arise and repeat after me! Do you most solemnly swear! Upon all that is sacred and holy! To tell the truth! The whole truth! Nothing but the truth! So help you God and his heavenly host?

WITNESSES. (intimidated, in concert) I do.

JUDGE STONE. (whispering as the witnesses answer) Flapper. There’s no host here—just God.

FLAPPER. (obsequious) Right. Sorry, Your Honor. (preaching again) So help you God?

WITNESSES. (hesitating, in staggered response) I do.

FLAPPER. (like a rifle shot) You may be seated!

JUDGE STONE. (commanding, with apparent renewed interest) Call your first witness, Mr. Butcher.

[Check back tomorrow for Scene 2!]