VIGILANCE

The courthouse in Greensberg, Louisiana is an art deco, monolithic concrete structure plopped atop the high ground in the center of this St. Helena Parish seat. I would say it is situated in the center of town but, over the decades since this structure was erected during The Great Depression's darkest days, the town sort of picked up most of its belongings and quietly wandered away. Thus, I'm not sure we could say it still has a "center." Walking up the long set of concrete steps toward the main entrance to this temple of justice, a single, sans serif word chiseled deeply in the concrete above the front door strikes your gaze: "VIGILANCE."

St. Helena Parish has the distinction of having more elected Sheriffs serving time in the penitentiary than any other Louisiana Parish, incidentally. Currently, the last 2 sheriffs --one of whom was simply known by his nickname, "Gun"-- are serving long sentences for an impressive array of throwback, "old school" crimes which makes it easy to understand why this rural corner of the state, tucked under where the laces to the boot would be, is often referred to as "The Wild West." It looks wild, too. You drive north for 90 minutes out of Baton Rouge and the last 45 minutes of that trip meanders over rolling hills and through dark, thick woods or vacant "cut-over" property stretching for acres and acres. Then, bang, suddenly there's a REDUCE SPEED sign, sleepy Greensberg pops up along 2-lane LA Hwy. 10 and you're there.

Vigilantly, I park, grab my briefcase and stroll beneath an umbrella through the rainy February chill, past the Confederate Memorial, and angle toward the courthouse. This is my sixth trip to Greensberg in 4 months, an unexpected series of journeys that began in my Baton Rouge office the summer before when Mattie Johnson arrived in my waiting room with a couple of daughters and her grandson, Rodney, in tow. She had called the day before to schedule the appointment because, as she explained to my secretary, "those people" were "doing my grandson wrong and I need to see Mr. James."

"Mr. James" is me.

To me, Mattie Johnson --a client I've represented for over 20 years-- is"Miss Mattie."

They arrive early and FILL up the waiting room because these African-American ladies may be of very modest means but they are redoubtable in the extreme. Rodney, on the other hand, is a thin, dark, bashful whippet, withdrawn and quiet for a 17-year-old. Given this, the gold "grill" blazing into view when he smiles is a bit of a surprise. As I usher this entourage into my conference room --my office is too small for this troupe-- I size Rodney up and notice that his "grill" is FUBAR. Two teeth are missing, for one thing. It's a bit askew in general, for another. Apparently these issues are gauged as minor deficiencies because the "grill" remains proudly in place.

Miss Mattie and her family live up the road a piece from Greensberg, in the even smaller town of Independence. Struggling African-American families predominate in these areas but the political system, as well as the police departments, are run in the main by white folks. All of the judges are white. The elected D.A., the A.D.A. involved in Rodney's matter and the entire courtroom staff are all white. Given that it has been signaled that someone is "doing my grandson wrong," I expect to hear a tale of unfairness involving, I assume, Rodney and a brush with the law.

I don't, though. Not exactly anyway.

We situate ourselves and Miss Mattie does the talking.

On a recent July evening, Rodney and Brandy, a female friend, stop at a Greensberg convenience store so that they can pop in for a moment and visit with one of Rodney's female cousins who works there. They park Rodney's Jeep Laredo (which Miss Mattie helped him buy) and zip into the store. After visiting briefly with the cousin, Rodney and Brandy depart. In the parking lot are 4 other young African-American men: The Doughty brothers, Josh and James; along with James Griffin and Desmond Franklin. For no reason Rodney can understand, they accost him as he walks to his car. Before Rodney can even really process what it is they want, words suddenly evolve into punches and the buzzsaw of blows from all 4 men knock out 2 teeth, blacken an eye and jam Rodney into the front quarter-panel of his Jeep, causing a dent that would take $827.36 to repair, which is hard to do when your State Farm deductible for property damage is $1,000. They leave Rodney stunned on the ground alongside his Jeep while they pile into Josh's old Impala and speed away. The police are summoned. Rodney knows the men casually and gives their names, but cannot explain why they attacked him. Brandy supports Rodney's story. The cops, perhaps feeling they are not getting "the full story," say they will "look into it." After making his report to the police, Rodney leaves for a $1,600 Emergency Room visit, assuming dejectedly that he will likely hear no more about the matter and no doubt wondering about the future of his "grill.".

For Miss Mattie, that sort of uncertainty is scarcely sufficient. She is in my office, she reports, because she wants justice. She has been raising sand down at City Hall and, finally, the lads perpetrating this attack on Rodney were arrested. Their arraignment dates are coming up and she wants a lawyer to help her secure restitution for the $827.36 property damage, the $1,600 Emergency Room bill and the $3,150 dental bill received for Rodney's restorative dental work. After she recites all of this to me, ticking off on her fingers each of the costs imposed upon her grandson, she finishes and sits back, chin up, staring at me through her large eyeglasses.

I make a show of writing down all the figures very carefully. Inside, I'm calculating what it will cost me to make a trip to Greensberg to seek restitution because that trip will shoot a full day all to hell. I find myself also remembering that--10 days before--I was locked in a tall building with 9 defense lawyers and a mediator 'til nearly midnight negotiating what evolved into a multi-million dollar personal injury settlement with 2 of the 3 primary defendants. And now, from those dizzying heights, I'm in my conference room with Miss Mattie, who is waiting for me to reveal the plan through which justice will rain down upon her grandson like manna from heaven.

"Well, Miss Mattie," I say, "For me to drive all the way to Greensberg and take a day to make the restitution demand will be too expensive for y'all. Maybe we can just call the District Attorney and tell him what we need. Or, we can let the Judge know of the expenses Rodney has incurred. She'll make restitution a part of the sentence. The law requires it. I can write a letter and that should take care of it. I won't even have to charge you for that, see?"

"Hmph." Mattie responds, shaking her head and looking at me with the kind indulgence one shows toward imbeciles. "Mr. James, you can make all the calls or write all the letters you please, but when we get to Court (pronounced "coat") they won't remember nothin' you said. Now I'm just gonna tell you that. You gots to BE there and they needs to KNOW you there. Then, you can make those folks do right. What would you charge me to go?"

Our eyes meet and I figure--for old time's sake--I can make one trek to Greensberg. I cut my fee in half in my head and then cut it again. I like Miss Mattie and I do want to help.

"Well, I'll need a thousand dollars, Mattie. That's a lot of money," I say...but not nearly what I'll be out-of-pocket on this errand for a day, I think....but don't say.

"Pay Mr. James." Mattie instructs one of her daughters, who dutifully reaches into a purse that could easily hold a small child and pulls out 10 $100 bills. As my fee is peeled from the stash, I see I cut my rate a bit too much. However, a deal's a deal.

And, so I am hired and, being retained, I go.

On my first visit to what I assumed would be the only hearing, Miss Mattie, her daughters, Rodney and Brandy are sitting in the courtroom, waiting for me. I exchange pleasantries with them and then excuse myself to approach the courtroom staff and obtain justice, as Miss Mattie has directed. To my surprise I learn the 4 defendants were all arrested at different times. Thus, they are assigned to different divisions. This means each defendant has a different judge. Each judge holds court on different days. In order to make certain the restitution request is addressed in each case, I will have to make multiple appearances. Today, only one of the defendants is scheduled to appear.

I meet with the Assistant D.A. before the arraignment of the first defendant up at bat, an ADA to whom I had previously mailed, scanned and emailed and faxed a letter outlining in detail what occurred and with which I transmitted all of Rodney's bills, the dentist report, the dental bills, the hospital record, all statements and invoices, Rodney's car insurance dec-page showing the $1,000 deductible and a photograph of the dented quarter panel, along with a sworn statement I had gotten from Brandy, the witness. He has none of it. It is not in any file. He doesn't remember seeing it. I have additional copies and provide those to him. He leafs through them and tells me: "You know, Jim, a lot of these medical bills are paid by Medicare. You can't make defendants pay anything that's paid by Medicare."

I meet his eyes and wonder if I should give any voice whatsoever to the buzz I hear in my head. I wonder if I should mention that I'm representing a victim here and why would the attorney for The People be first concerned with limiting the victim's restitution rights? And, no, the fact that Medicare has paid some of the benefits does NOT limit the victim's right to recover, just like it doesn't lessen the defendant's duty to pay, although Medicare may need to be reimbursed. Why aren't you giving me a hand in consolidating the victim's evidence, I think to myself, so that what is presented at one hearing can suffice as a presentation for the hearings assigned for the other 3 defendants, thereby saving the victim and their attorney the costs and expense of multiple appearances? Why aren't we all concerned with making damn certain the victim gets a full measure of justice?

But, I don't say any of that. Instead, I say: "Right. If you'll look at the statements provided we are only seeking reimbursement for those sums Medicare did not pay and for which the medical creditors are still dunning Mr. Davis."

He looks. Closely. I am correct.

Then he scans the property damage estimate and, after a moment of reflection, says: "We won't make the defendants pay property damage, Jim. The defendants aren't charged with damage to property, they're charged with battery. So, medical bills maybe.....but what's your guy trying to pull with this property damage claim?"

My head buzzes again and I think of several things to reply, all of which start with: "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?"

Instead, I point to the witness' sworn statement wherein it is confirmed that the 4 defendants rammed Rodney's head into the driver-side front quarter panel of the Laredo, slicing his eyebrow so that 6 stitches were required and making the dent which is the subject of the photo and the estimate. "The law mandates restitution for all damage related to the crime," I say. "I think we can agree this damage was related to the crime, huh?"

He looks at the photograph for a moment and just shrugs. "I dunno...." he says. "Maybe."

We thereafter go into Court. They call up our guy's case first and we both go forward. I introduce myself and my client, explaining I am there to advance a restitution claim on behalf of Rodney Davis. The Judge is Beth Wolfe, a fine trial judge, and I've appeared in front of her many times before. She knows me and is polite. The defendant is called forward and, after a reading of the charge, the guy pleads not guilty. I seek permission to introduce our restitution evidence but the D.A.'s office points out that such a request is technically premature. First, the defendant's guilt must be established. THEN, a requirement of restitution can be imposed by the Court, after a proper showing it is warranted. THEN, Mr. Davis can submit his evidence, giving the defendant an opportunity to accept or reject the restitution evidence. If the defendant objects, THEN a restitution hearing is ordered. Once that process is completed, THEN a specific restitution amount and plan can be imposed upon the defendants.

Given the D.A's position, the Judge reluctantly agrees and apologizes, setting a trial date.

A bit nonplussed at the difficulty in fishing for justice in these waters, I secure an agreement from the D.A. to advance our restitution request in EVERY OTHER prosecution of the remaining defendants and I confirm his agreement in a later letter. Maybe I can get away with making one final trip to wrap things up. However, at the next arraignment of defendant #2, an arraignment I miss based upon my confirmed agreement with the State, a guilty plea is entered and the issue of restitution is totally overlooked, even though Rodney and Miss Mattie are present in Court, quietly watching from the back row as justice snoozes and the defendant is sentenced with NO restitution ordered. They call me from a cell phone once the are back to their car and report the occurrence. "I hates to say it Mr. James, but you gotta watch these people over here in the country."

I vow never to miss another appearance for any defendant and I do not. I never ask for another dime from the client either. I decide to stick it out to the bitter end come hell or high water.

All defendants end up admitting their guilt and none have any excuse or explanation for why they attacked Rodney so viciously on that warm July evening. They merely stare blankly when asked why they did it.

By Friday the 13th in February, I am on Greensberg Visit No. 6, like I was sayin' at the beginning, and am on a first name basis with all the Court personnel, who never fail to cheerily ask me on EVERY appearance: "So, what brings you to God's Country, Mr. Clary?"

Every appearance I re-explain anew my search for restitution and resubmit all of the documentation supporting Rodney's request to be made whole. Each time it is received as something wonderful and totally new. You don't have to be Nostradamus to deduce what would've happened to Miss Mattie and Rodney without counsel.

At the conclusion of this appearance, as we walk out of the Courthouse under umbrellas into the misty rain, I mention casually that I had no idea I would be making this many trips to Greensberg when I agreed to undertake Rodney's representation -- a comment I make almost to myself. Miss Mattie hears it, though. She walks up to me and pats my arm. "Lord God, child, but it's a good thing you did." she reports as if confirming what every infant of tender years should know. "Now, here's a little gas money and you know we thank you kindly."

She slips a $20 bill into my suit coat breast pocket, gives me a satisfied look, pats me on the arm again and departs, leading her platoon to their next destination under brightly colored umbrellas. I watch them leave and return the wave I get from Rodney, who turns back to give me a bashful smile. As I start to shuffle off through the damp to my car, my eye again travels up to the stark admonition above Courthouse door, which stops me:

VIGILANCE

"Man, you ain't shittin'," I whisper to myself, as the rain lightly taps against my umbrella.