[Enter, stage right.]

In my professional capacity, I beg for justice and mercy for the poor as my father did before me before he died of a liquor-soaked, broken heart. I believe I accomplish much for the least among us in our society with meager resources, a quick wit and a reputation that precedes me. If I were to distill what I do even further, I would say that my job is the art of persuasion.

I must, first, persuade my clients – poor people charged with crimes in the Poverty Capital of America – that I will look out for them. If bigots assume that the welfare class grabs and gobbles up every entitlement that comes their way, I can tell you that, with respect to free (and, need I remind you: constitutionally mandated) legal assistance, poor people hold their noses. Conventional wisdom among the poor is that public defenders aren’t real lawyers; that they’re in cahoots with judges and prosecutors. So I must act swiftly to change their prejudice against me. I have my tricks. Poof! I’m a real lawyer!

Thereafter, I must persuade prosecutors that I am a fair and aggressive advocate, I must convince judges that I know the law of the case, and, in trial, I must convince jurors to uphold their oath in their deliberations.Justice requires that people think harder. I have to persuade people to open their minds to a deeper understanding of the matter at hand even though they think they know enough already. I call it paradigm-shifting.

I offer up this broad example: Courtroom, classroom, theater, church. If you compare them, you’ll find curious parallels. Each is a physical space where people interact. Each requires orderly silence. Each has an omnipotent power looming above: judge, principal, director, God. Each has participants who each have their role. The jury is to the class is to the audience is to the congregation. The lawyer is to the teacher is to the actor is to the priest, and each one of these is set to the task of persuasion. Ultimately, the law is to education is to drama is to faith. Note that churches hardly corner the market on morality. There are moral components to each venue, assuming, as I do, as our founding fathers did, that wisdom and knowledge and enlightenment and a just society are moral ends.

And so, I am a lawyer and a teacher and an actor and a priest in the emerging realm of improvisational moral theater formerly known as the criminal justice system. Poof! Your paradigm has been shifted!

For now, I bid thee, Adieu.

[Exit, stage left.]

Daylight come and me wan' go home

We Had Joy, We Had Fun, We Had Seasons In the Sun...

...But the cops had guns, and they shot us in the buns.

Archy Wondered

Why was the man on the raisin box so familiar? He was standing stiff with a grin and a pitchfork, leaning into his pretty, gothic wife, like she was sharing his joke. Archy had seen him before. His mind reeled back through his slurry of baby thoughts until he reached the one that fit. Could it be him? Was he the man in the hat who rode the bicycle with that pretty lady on the handle bars and did tricks for her until he crashed through the fence and stared down the bull while that song about raindrops played? Archy studied the face on the raisin box hard. It's him! Yes he said yes it was yes!