On September 22, 1977, in a
sweltering courtroom jammed with mostly African American spectators, the State
of Alabama vs. Lester Woods began.
Makeshift fans fluttered in front
of faces, while those without cooling instruments contented themselves to sit
and sweat. A constant murmur took up residence in the courtroom, and it would
continue throughout the trial. People who arrived late stood against the walls.
Others couldn’t find a place in the courtroom and had to wait outside, hoping
to hear some snippet that would tip them in the direction the jury might be
leaning.
Television cameras had been barred
from the courtroom, but members of the press were given their own pew near the
front of the courtroom. The judge hoped their presence would make the lawyers
behave.
One discerning journalist jotted
down conversations eavesdropped from spectators and reported them later,
including some addressing recent sightings of Reverend Baxter.
“My cousin saw him down by the lake.
He was driving a white Cadillac.”
“He was not.”
“He was. My cousin saw him.”
“Black pepper. That’s what you have
to use to ward off evil spirits.”
“Pepper makes me sneeze.”
Lester Woods sat quietly at his
lawyer’s table. He had shed his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his
chair. He wore a button-down shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of blue jeans.
His wife sat on the front pew, just behind him, while his young son took the
opportunity to wander the front of the courtroom.
Judge Spencer sat up high, looking
rather small behind an enormous wooden bench, and calmly puffing a cigar while
he studied the day’s itinerary.
The local newspaper described the
varying styles of Melvin Little and Henry Russell as “the Peacock vs. the
Bulldog.” Melvin was described as strutting around the courtroom, taking every
opportunity display his feathers while Russell was brusque and sarcastic and
attacked with the tenacity of his namesake.
The vitriol between the two lawyers
began even before opening arguments, beginning with jury selection.
The first objection from Melvin
arrived the moment Russell opened his mouth to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Henry
Russell began. “You’re going to listen to certain so-called expert witnesses…”
“I object your honor,” Melvin said.
“Sustain the objection. Just ask
the questions.”
“These quote unquote experts will
try and dubious legal maneuver…”
“Objection, Your Honor. He’s making
a speech again.”
“Sustain the objection.”
“I must ask these questions,”
Russell said.
“Objection, He doesn’t ‘must have
to’ ask anything.”
“Sustain the objection. He doesn’t
have to ask any.”
“Now just because a person claims
to be an expert, or has a fancy degree, that don’t mean…”
“Objection, Your Honor. He’s not
asking questions. He’s trying to poison the jury against the insanity defense.”
“Careful, Henry. If I have to delay
the trial to round up a new jury, it won’t reflect well on you.”
“Sorry Your Honor. Let me just ask
this one question of every juror here. Can you stand up and make up your own
mind about whether something is right or wrong even if it goes against what
some expert says?”
The hands of every prospective
juror went into the air.
“Now, it’s my turn,” Melvin
announced as he strode in front of the pool of jurors crowded into a section of
courtroom seating. “Does anyone here reject outright the insanity defense?”
No hands raised.
“Does anyone here who will refuse
to give credence to expert testimony?”
Again, no hands raised.
At the end of question, the lawyer’s
huddled over legal pads at their respective tables. After a few minutes, the
judge called for them to issue their strikes—those who would automatically be
struck from the jury. Within a half hour, the jury was set.
“That went well,” Melvin said as he
sat down beside his client.
Lester leaned over and whispered in
his ear.
“What’s that?” Melvin asked.
“Don’t you notice anything
particular about the jury?”
Melvin looked up and examined the
faces of those he selected, most of whom he knew. There was Tim Jacobs who
sometimes worked on his car, and Earl Tidwell who was a teller over at the
bank, and Bill Caldwell, who ran the car wash. He scanned each row of faces. As
far as he could tell, they were all good and fair-minded people. “What am I
supposed to be looking at?” He asked.
“There
ain’t nothing but white men on the jury.”
Melvin looked over at the jury as
if for the first time. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“No,” Lester said. “I am.”
Go to Chapter 32
Note: Many details of this chapter were
inspired by the State of Alabama vs. Robert Burns 9/26/77 and newspaper
reporting, including "Burns trial begins with 'rights' debate by Phyllis
Wesley, Montgomery Advertiser 9/27/77; "Alex City Murder Trial Jury Picked"
by Lou Elliott, Alabama Journal 9/26/77; "Radney vs. Young" by Al
Benn, Alexander City Outlook 9/28/77; "All-male jury picked to hear Burns
case" by Jim Earnhardt, Alexander City Outlook.
About This Novel;
Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2;
Chapter 3; Chapter 4;
Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7;
Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;
Chapter 12;
Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Chapter 15; Chapter 16;
Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20;
Chapter 21;
Blood Cries at the Half-Way Point; Chapter 22;
Chapter 23; Chapter 24;
Chapter 25; Chapter 26;
Chapter 27; Chapter 28;
Chapter 29; Chapter 30
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