INSIDE THE COURTROOM--Truth and Justice
In my previous blogs I looked at two of the reasons I wanted to publish A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE, Redemption of a hometown hero [to reveal the “man behind the mask” and to portray how killing a man in self-defense affected Bobby]. In this writing I add a third reason: to portray the inside of a trial.
In any court case that garners regional and national media attention, people distant from the case hear and see only snippets or “sound bites.” The sparse information, limited by column inches, typically includes a brief summary of facts and sometimes a taste of courtroom dynamics, but many of the nuances and subtleties are not reported. Even worse, occasionally a media report reflects the bias of a reporter who cherry picks testimony to support his personal line of reasoning. (I’ll never forget my sister Sylvia cornering a reporter in the elevator at the courthouse during my husband’s trial, hissing,“You little shrimp. Why didn’t you tell the whole story?” Before she had time to say more, one of Bobby’s attorneys grabbed her by the shoulders and twirled her around to face the wall, later reminding us you never start a battle with someone who buys ink by the barrel.)
More than 20 years after the trial ended, I bought my own barrel of ink to ensure the complete story of Bobby’s trial was made public so people who had based their opinions about him from newspaper/television reports or rumors would have an opportunity to read the unvarnished truth—directly from trial transcripts.
When I entered the courtroom with Bobby in June 1988, I would not say I was naïve, but I soon found my views and expectations of a fair and impartial justice system were unrealistic.
I had always believed prosecutors had an obligation to uncover and present the facts, that they would only put witnesses on the stand they knew to be truthful. I was shocked to discover that apparently winning a case can be more important than veracity. And it never occurred to me that private citizens would lie for unknown reasons.
Truth—dictionary definitions describe it as “a statement that corresponds to fact or reality.” How could one woman make up an event that never happened and words that were never spoken? How could a preacher distort and embellish a sacred confession? How could a prosecutor put known felons on the witness stand and pit their allegations against a man unleashing a torrent of truth he had held inside for 31 years?
In addition to truth, what is required for justice? In simplest terms, fairness. Of course, justice must be considered in accordance with man’s laws or even God’s command. But “fair play” requires that proper regard and respect be given to what is right and reasonable, that a witness not be subjected to demonstrations that don’t equate to reality. In my husband’s case, he was forced to role play in two hardback chairs—over and over again—a scene that had taken place inside a ’57 Ford convertible. The similarities between the two circumstances were miniscule. He was also required to show how he loaded a gun, but in the demonstration, the gun was rusty and the shells had been spent. When challenged about the unfairness, under oath a detective said he didn’t know spent shells swelled. Fair play or fabrications intended to mislead jurors? If the prosecutor’s statement after the trial is any evidence, it was foul play. Despite badgering Bobby that his version was ludicrous, the prosecutor later told a local newspaper reporter, “When investigators later obtained vehicles like the 1948 DeSota Hudson was driving and Hoppe’s auto, it developed that Hoppe’s story was not a physical impossibility.” One wonders why the prosecution didn’t do this research before or during the trial.
The truth is only two people knew exactly what happened around 1 a.m. on July 21, 1957—Bobby Hoppe and Don Hudson. While I am undoubtedly biased, I believe the facts support Bobby’s statement that he killed Don in self defense. For that reason and because the veracity of my husband was without question during the 37 years of our marriage, I never doubted the truth of his defense.
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My next blog will discuss the fourth and final reason I wanted Bobby’s story to be published.
In any court case that garners regional and national media attention, people distant from the case hear and see only snippets or “sound bites.” The sparse information, limited by column inches, typically includes a brief summary of facts and sometimes a taste of courtroom dynamics, but many of the nuances and subtleties are not reported. Even worse, occasionally a media report reflects the bias of a reporter who cherry picks testimony to support his personal line of reasoning. (I’ll never forget my sister Sylvia cornering a reporter in the elevator at the courthouse during my husband’s trial, hissing,“You little shrimp. Why didn’t you tell the whole story?” Before she had time to say more, one of Bobby’s attorneys grabbed her by the shoulders and twirled her around to face the wall, later reminding us you never start a battle with someone who buys ink by the barrel.)
More than 20 years after the trial ended, I bought my own barrel of ink to ensure the complete story of Bobby’s trial was made public so people who had based their opinions about him from newspaper/television reports or rumors would have an opportunity to read the unvarnished truth—directly from trial transcripts.
When I entered the courtroom with Bobby in June 1988, I would not say I was naïve, but I soon found my views and expectations of a fair and impartial justice system were unrealistic.
I had always believed prosecutors had an obligation to uncover and present the facts, that they would only put witnesses on the stand they knew to be truthful. I was shocked to discover that apparently winning a case can be more important than veracity. And it never occurred to me that private citizens would lie for unknown reasons.
Truth—dictionary definitions describe it as “a statement that corresponds to fact or reality.” How could one woman make up an event that never happened and words that were never spoken? How could a preacher distort and embellish a sacred confession? How could a prosecutor put known felons on the witness stand and pit their allegations against a man unleashing a torrent of truth he had held inside for 31 years?
In addition to truth, what is required for justice? In simplest terms, fairness. Of course, justice must be considered in accordance with man’s laws or even God’s command. But “fair play” requires that proper regard and respect be given to what is right and reasonable, that a witness not be subjected to demonstrations that don’t equate to reality. In my husband’s case, he was forced to role play in two hardback chairs—over and over again—a scene that had taken place inside a ’57 Ford convertible. The similarities between the two circumstances were miniscule. He was also required to show how he loaded a gun, but in the demonstration, the gun was rusty and the shells had been spent. When challenged about the unfairness, under oath a detective said he didn’t know spent shells swelled. Fair play or fabrications intended to mislead jurors? If the prosecutor’s statement after the trial is any evidence, it was foul play. Despite badgering Bobby that his version was ludicrous, the prosecutor later told a local newspaper reporter, “When investigators later obtained vehicles like the 1948 DeSota Hudson was driving and Hoppe’s auto, it developed that Hoppe’s story was not a physical impossibility.” One wonders why the prosecution didn’t do this research before or during the trial.
The truth is only two people knew exactly what happened around 1 a.m. on July 21, 1957—Bobby Hoppe and Don Hudson. While I am undoubtedly biased, I believe the facts support Bobby’s statement that he killed Don in self defense. For that reason and because the veracity of my husband was without question during the 37 years of our marriage, I never doubted the truth of his defense.
**********
My next blog will discuss the fourth and final reason I wanted Bobby’s story to be published.
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