boomboomsroom

This morning begins with the first of a new running feature for boomboomsroom.com that we hope and trust that you will enjoy.  It’s story telling time and provides you with this writer’s moral to boot.  Gather around friends.

On a beautiful afternoon in the spring of my junior year at LSU I had my usual one and one half hour of Business Law 3201 class staring directly at my beard covered face.  A bearded lawyer who taught the class, whose name escapes me to this day, walked in to the already assembled 75 or so person class.  As he plunked his briefcase on his desk loud enough to get the chatter to subside he uttered one loud word.  “JOHNSTON.”  Surprised that he knew anyone’s name, much less mine, I weakly answered with, “yes.”  He responded with, ” You have a beard, don’t you?  See me after class!”  The class let out a collective, “woooo.”  I spent the next 90 minutes wondering.

After class I found out that it was about nothing that I spent the previous 90 minutes wondering.  Said professor/lawyer explained to me that a lawyer friend of his had taken the case of a friend of his accused of rape.  He went on to say that there was going to be a line up that afternoon and they needed bearded guys who quasi fit the description of the bearded accused.  He asked if I would help him, his lawyer friend, and the accused.  With as much thought as most 21-year-old adults give to choices I said “sure.”

And off we went directly to the lead lawyer’s office.  At the large mahogany conference table gathered seven bearded lawyers, the accused, and one LSU student.  As I listened, and listened only, to how this allegation and charge came about it was easy to summarize that they thought that this was a rush job by the DA’s office.  It was likely driven by the accuser’s familial relationship with someone in that office.  The lineup would go a long ways towards proving that thought right or wrong.

As we drove I opened my mouth for the first time.  I asked where the line up was going to be held.  The answer was the East Baton Rouge Parish(think county) Jail.  I shouldn’t have asked.  Silence again consumed me.

Upon arrival we walked through a series of loudly closed and locked doors behind us.  We were asked to change out of our clothes and into orange prison issued jumpsuits to homogenize our look for a better lineup.  One slight problem reared it’s head shortly thereafter.  The lineup required two groups of six each.  Short three, the jailer improvised providing three prisoners to join us.  My group happened to be the one that was three shy, so the three selected detainee’s joined two lawyers and I. That added a bit to the angst.  The groups were separated with my group going second.  The six of us were placed in a holding room, without direct supervision, the size of a small bathroom.  That was yet another problem for my rising blood pressure.

The time came for us to read the words that the victim quoted to the detective that were exchanged during her terrible night of a few weeks ago for voice recognition.  Then, we were positioned behind a one way mirror for sight recognition.   This was anything but pleasant, especially for the victim.

When it was over the original nine gathered in a room to change back into the clothes that we wore prior to the orange parade.  When exiting as a group an armed jailer grabbed my arm and asked me “where do you think that you are going?”  My blood pressure peaked.  He then laughed at his own joke and motioned me forward.  I failed to see any humor.

Back at the mahogany conference table we learned that the victim didn’t pick the flimsily accused for voice nor physical recognition.  It turns out that she identified me and one other as a possible voice match while identifying an existing prisoner as a possible physical match.  This would cause the case against him to fold quickly and quietly.

The weekend came and I went home.  Mom and Boom Boom eagerly listened to my story.  My mom, ever the worry wart, worried that they might now think I did it.  Perry Mason and mom had little in common.  Inspector Clouseau and mom did.  The laughter helped the blood pressure.

Friday became Sunday night and I drove back to my dorm.  My roommate and I were watching some TV.  The screen flashed with breaking news.  A manhunt was underway outside of the jail complete with barking dogs, cops, and helicopters.  A lineup at the jail that evening included a few prisoners.  They overpowered two guards, took a civilian hostage, and made a run for it.  My blood pressure tested new highs at the sight and sounds emanating from this tiny black and white TV.

As the class and the semester ended, grades followed.   In my business law class we had three total tests and I had scored a solid “B” on each.  The report card showed an “A” in B. LAW 3201.  I smiled.  My blood pressure actually went down for once.  The prof threw me a bone.

‘The moral of the story is?’  you ask.  Don’t grow a beard!  Or, something like that.