Dyke in the Heart of Texas

My mother, Jewel, and I shared a love of movies. My childhood memories that were not played out on  the softball field or in a gym somewhere were most certainly recalled in theaters. We enjoyed the actual act of going into a theater, with a big bag of popcorn, planting our butts down and watching everything from the classics of the golden years  to what Hollywood was serving up in the mid to late-seventies.

Jewel’s favorite actress was Katherine Hepburn. She liked to tell the story of being at a big movie premiere in downtown Fort Worth in 1940.  She was at the old Worth Theater and the local newspaper had put the word out Hepburn would be  there to promote her film,  The Philadelphia Story.   Jewel recounted the story that after waiting for two hours in the lobby, she ducked into the restroom.  She was 19 at the time and recalled exiting one of the stalls to wash her hands.  A woman walked up to the sink beside her and Jewel heard the legendary voice directed at her.  “Please be a dear and hand me a towel.” said Kate.  My mother obliged, smiled and watched the only person to ever win four Academy Awards walk out of the restroom and her life, just as quickly as she had entered it.  Jewel’s favorite actor was John Garfield, so much so, that’s what she named my brother.

My mother introduced me to James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor at the old Jerry Lewis Theater in Euless, Texas in 1974.  A re-release of Giant was my first movie ever to have an intermission.  Giant’s running time was about four hours, but I can remember being mesmerized by the actors and the incredible cinematography of that film….never once tiring of the rigid seat covered in red  vinyl.

Jewel took me to see my first “R” rated movie in 1975, JAWS.  We walked up the street from my house to the Bellaire Theater in my hometown, Hurst.  I was petrified and wouldn’t even get into a swimming pool for a month after I saw Robert Shaw devoured by that huge mechanical shark.

In 1976 we saw, “A Star is Born,” with Barbra Streisand and Kris Kristofferson at the Plantation Theater off of University Drive in Fort Worth.  That theater had a reputation in the 70s at being “artsy” and “fancy.”  The seats rocked, actual rocking chairs like you were sitting on your old plantation porch.  They also had killer lemonade.  I had fallen in love with Streisand several years before when I first saw Funny Girl, but this film sent my pubescent heart into arrest.  I was madly in love with Babs after 1976 and remain so to this day.

In 1976 we also saw “The Omen” at the Ridglea Theater on Camp Bowie, also in Fort Worth.  That movie starred Lee Remick and Gregory Peck, a classic horror movie about a kid that is the son of the devil.  Remember, 666 on his head?  Jewel didn’t care for that one, but sat in the balcony with me, eating her smuggled McDonald’s cheese burger and fries.

The Ridglea Theater was bigger and better than any other theater I had seen.  It had beautiful murals and rugs in the lobby.  Fantastic snack bar and restrooms…and a sweeping staircase to my beloved balcony.  There was something about sitting on the first row of the balcony, overlooking the crowd and coming eye to eye with your favorite movie stars.

These movie house weekends were not just about the theaters mind you, they were about me and Jewel.  After my father died in 1976, we hung close on the weekends.  I still participated in sports, but I also made sure not to run too far off from the house….lest mother shouted, “Hit the Cadillac, it’s time for a movie!”  If we went to the twilight showing, the adult ticket was $2.25, and the child ticket was $1.75.  A “child” was 14 and under and I was 14 in 1976….and in 1977…..and in 1978.

I wasn’t kidding about the smuggled burgers.  If something could fit into Jewel’s purse, it was going into the Ridglea.  She drank Tab soft drink like it was  going out of style and had two cans in the side pocket.  Jewel’s purse was bigger than the suitcase I took on vacation.  She liked popcorn, but really enjoyed dinner and a movie.  Jewel was a pioneer it seems, eating full meals long before the movie taverns of today.

Jewel is gone, as are most of the classic theaters in town; long since vanishing into rubble.  The Ridglea Theater though has been beautifully remodeled by its new owner.  It doesn’t look quite like it used to look, but it is darn close.  The first floor of the theater has tables spread throughout, films and live music acts frequent the historical venue.  The balcony is very similar to the snapshots of my youth.  I went to the Ridglea after the grand re-opening to participate in a “sing-along” showing of The Sound of Music.  As I stood singing along with the Von Traps….I wished my mother was with me to see the place return in all its grandeur.  I wished my mother was eating a chicken leg in the seat beside me, looking for the salt in her coin purse.

I am a nostalgic person, if you read this blog, …well, yeah.  Nostalgia doesn’t envelop me, but it is a part of my every day life.  My partner is sick of channel 7 on my satellite radio/sounds of the 1970s.  I still dress like I did when I was an awkward 14 year old…15…..okay 16, t-shirts, shorts and sneakers.  I still enjoy films, and when I say the word “film” I mean movies prior to 1990 or so.  The crap that is released today is out on DVD the next week and on your TV the week after that.  Channing Tatum or Robert DeNiro?  Jessica Chastain or Katherine Hepburn?  Case closed.

I live in a lovely, historical townhouse, right in the center of everything here in Fort Worth.  I love that it was built in 1942 and has the hardwood floors and architectural touches and design that quite simply cannot be beat anywhere in north Texas.  I sit out on my balcony and wonder about residents and the good times that have come before my occupancy.  I think of Jewel and all the wonderful theaters that were all shining brightly when the townhouse smelled of new paint for the very first time.

I think of Jewel.  You know how it is when you heart aches so you don’t feel that you can catch your next breath?  Even after eight years I have that reaction still quite often.  But for some reason, sitting on my balcony makes me happy and fills me with peace.  I watch the trees sway side to side in the Spring air and imagine the long branches to be Jewel’s arms reaching out to hug me….or is that a cheeseburger she is handing me?  A wry smile crosses my face as I look further beyond the trees and I see it.  “Do you want the first floor or shall we go up to the balcony Julie?”  The view is perfect here Jewel.

The water from the fire hose stung on his skin and pounded him up against the brick wall. Each drop of water felt like a pebble of sand, moving about 900 miles per hour. Even above the blast of water and the cacophony of sound it created, Edgar could hear the two cops laughing. He lost his footing and fell face down in front of the cafe. Sprawled out on the steaming concrete, the water flow subsided. The Alabama sun and the crowd glared down upon him. The pressure on his back was of a different origin. A knee now, digging into his spine, 243 pounds of a cop behind it. “Cuff ’em and stuff ’em,” yelled the Sergeant, “I got me some pecan pie waiting inside!”

By the time he was tossed into the holding tank, Edgar was bleeding from a gash over his left eye. He had dared to look up, directly into the eyes of the white secretary, as he shuffled down the hall of the police department. His leg-chains had made peculiar sounds against the linoleum tile. A syncopated rhythm with the jangling of the keys hanging off his jailer’s belt.

“When will you people ever learn?” the jailer said as he went off to finish his book-in paperwork. Edgar was actually thinking that exact thing, when would he learn? It had all started with a group of his friends drinking out of the wrong water fountain. Peer pressure bravado that turned, in a matter of minutes, into a full-on street revolt. The hoses and dogs always seemed to come together on the same truck. He actually preferred the pain of the water sting to the incisors of a German Shepard latched onto his calf. Only a black man in 1963 Alabama could make that differential commentary he thought. That fucking jailer doesn’t even know the definition of “differential” Edgar thought…a smile eased across his bloodied face.

Two weeks later Edgar was standing approximately three hundred yards from Martin Luther King, Jr. in Washington D. C. Tears replaced blood and tracked down his cheeks. This man spoke his heart, this man was the narrator for his life.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

Jangling keys on the belt of the jailer….now transforming jangling discords of our nation. A lot can happen in two weeks of a person’s life. A local pastor, back home, had collected Edgar at jail after he had sat there for seven days and nights. There had been five people arrested for drinking out the “Whites Only” fountain that day at the cafe. All five were now standing shoulder to shoulder in a throng of over 200,000 people. The man to Edgar’s left was a white man. He turned to him and saw a mirrored, tear streaked face.   Edgar felt he may indeed be dreaming!

Local people had given up their seats on a bus headed to hear the Reverend, voluntarily given them up to the five brave people arrested that day. Edgar knew his bravado bordered on suicidal actions, but he was so very thankful. Thankful to witness this mass of humanity and to hear these words coming from this man. This world is bigger than that cafe, for sure bigger than that jail cell.

Edgar sat in his easy chair. His granddaughter rushed to the kitchen to get some chips during the TV commercial. The words coming out of the man had been the script of his life. They echoed back to his childhood. They whispered in his ear as he bent down to take that sip of cold water. They woke him as he lay on the floor of the jail cell. They invigorated him as he stood among a throng of many. They slipped lyrically in his good ear, as he walked his driveway every morning looking for his newspaper.

The racists stomped in fits and raised their fists. There were threats made, false allegations and ignorant people did ignorant things. The TV anchor announced that Barack Obama had just been re-elected as President of the United States.

Edgar was a retired civil engineer. He was a father of three and grandfather of seven. His life was one well lived and he was thankful. Thankful that he had lived through the bitterness of the twentieth century, to taste the sweet of the twenty-first.

The President was giving his acceptance speech to the world. Edgar saw his lips moving, but heard the booming voice of another.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

Edgar had long ago, left the valley of despair. America was divided politically, but he knew change would come. Edgar had hope. Edgar always had hope. Hope and change were not just buzz words for a political campaign to him.

The narration that began that hot August 28, 1963 had maintained, steadfast encouragement to fight the good fight. Different people mouthed the words, but the origin could always be traced back to that one man…the narrator. Words can lift up a generation. Words can flow from one voice and lend grace through the decades.

Edgar asked his twenty-four year old granddaughter what she thought had been the hardest obstacle to Obama being re-elected? The young woman responded, “The unemployment rate?” Edgar felt a smile ease across his face…as it should be, he thought to himself, as it should be. She would never be a veteran of creative suffering.

If you ever go looking for common sense in this world, do not seek it out at your local municipal court.  As a defense attorney I have mistakenly tried to find it there recently, to no avail.  I let it anger me so, every time I enter the front doors of these courts, I know I am one exclamation away from spending a weekend in jail.  The crime of contempt is the one offense that I come close to committing every week.  Speeding is the one offense that I actually do commit, daily.

I have a client that is about 46-years-old and handicapped, possessing the  mental status of about a 12-year-old.  He also happens to be one of the nicest people I know.  We will call him Joe for the benefit of this blog.  Joe, like all of us, likes an occasional ice cream sandwich.  One ice cream sandwich brought Joe into my life, this is his story.

Joe lives in an adult care facility about two miles from my law office.  He and his eighty something mother came in to hire me one sunny day.  It was then that I heard of the great ice cream caper of Fort Worth, Texas.  A crime so heinous that I must give you a warning at this time that if you are under 18 or weak of heart, please, oh please stop reading this blog and go about your business.  *******

If you are still with me, I shall proceed telling you the terrible circumstances of Joe’s crime.  It seems that Joe and a couple of his buddies like to go for walks.  They amble down the road on good weather days and hang out around local businesses and hospitals.  Joe lives in the hospital district of Fort Worth, so several hospitals and their nice, air-conditioned waiting areas are close to him.

On one particular day, Joe and his two buddies were inside a local hospital, walking through the lobby, when they noticed the snack bar.  Cups and spouts for soft drinks were out in the open for anyone to help themselves.  And beside the soft drinks was an ice cream box with a top glass slide door.  Inside you could see ice cream bars and ice cream sandwiches.  Joe and his buddies decided the ice cream looked like a good idea after their long walk.

The trio sat down and started to enjoy their treats, not noticing the hospital security guard fast approaching them.  Now, anyone of average intelligence, can figure out when talking to Joe….say after about two minutes, that he is indeed,  a special guy.  Evidently, average intelligence is not needed to get a security job at this particular, to remain nameless, hospital.

The security guard proceeded to yell at Joe and inquired if he had intended to pay for the ice cream sandwich, which was now resting comfortably at the bottom of Joe’s stomach.  Joe told the guard he did not have any money.  Joe and his buddies didn’t really think about money, or prices of items…the ice cream was out in the open, no clerk standing in front of it.  It had appeared to Joe, that it was a just a very special treat….one glass-slide door away.

Does Joe know right from wrong?  Yes.  Did Joe think about right and wrong when he took the ice cream sandwich.  No.  His buddies said let’s eat some ice cream and he did.  Did Joe have money back at the center to pay?  Yes.  Would his elderly mother had driven down to pay and pick him up?  Yes.  Would his center Director have driven down to pick up the trio and paid?  Again, yes.  Did any of these options occur to the guard?  No.

The guard issued Joe a citation for Theft Under $50.00, a  misdemeanor in Texas, and set him on his way with a criminal trespass warning.  Does Joe understand what to do with a ticket?  No.  Does Joe understand the crime of criminal trespass or a warning on same?  No.

Joe does nothing with the ticket but tuck it away in his closet.  He never tells his mother, not wanting to get into trouble.

Flash forward ONE YEAR.  The Director of the center where Joe lives tells him that one of his buddies is in the hospital.  His friend is dying and the Director tells Joe and several others to come get in the center van for a trip to the hospital to say a final goodbye to their buddy.  Joe is sad.  Joe gets in the van and never once thinks of the criminal trespass warning issued twelve months prior.  If you were to tell him about it, at that particular point, he would not know what it had to do with his friend dying.

Joe entered the hospital and was stopped by the same guard.  The guard unbelievably recognized Joe!  Joe was arrested, prior to saying his goodbye, for criminal trespass.  His mother bonded him out of jail and then they sought me out for defense counsel.

Criminal trespass is a higher misdemeanor, therefore it was prosecuted by the county district attorney’s office.  I got the Director of the center to draft a letter explaining her order to Joe to return to the hospital.  The letter also addressed his residency at the center.  The D.A. immediately dismissed the case.

The ice cream sandwich caper was TWO years ago.  Today I was in municipal court regarding the theft ticket.  The city prosecutor will not dismiss the case in the “interest of justice” even after I told her Joe’s story.  The city will not dismiss the case after reviewing the letter from the Director.  The fine on the ticket is approximately $900.00 at this point.

The Judge told me this morning she would consider dismissing the case if I got a second letter concerning a current mental evaluation, or perhaps regarding Joe’s I.Q. status.  Really?  Can’t just take my word on it as an officer of the court, ….with me willing to put my law license on the line if I am found to be lying about Joe’s story???

It seems the prosecutor talked to Dirty Harry….er, I mean, the hospital security guard. He showed up today, ready to testify in regard to the great ice cream sandwich theft.  Slow day at the office, I guess.  The guard told the prosecutor that he has another opinion about Joe, that he feels he is quite competent.  Does the hospital require an M.D. or PhD in psychology for all guard applicants??

Joe doesn’t sleep well thinking about this crime hanging over his head.  I didn’t even tell him about the court date today to spare him grief.  I cannot consider trial, as I think that would be detrimental to his health.

The only solution is to file a motion with the Court outlining my belief that my client is not competent to stand trial.  I will file it on his behalf, as an indigent client, and make the tax-payers foot the bill.

The shrink will charge about $1500.00 to evaluate Joe.  He will come back to the Court and agree with me that he is a sweet boy, not competent to aid in his own defense or stand trial.  Oh yeah, the ice cream sandwich?  89 cents.