A Courtroom Story


A COURTROOM STORY:

Los Cruzes, New Mexico

Summer 2002

Why I think my adolescence I don’t know, unless it is because of Dostoevski. The night I sat down to read Dostoevski for the first time was a most important event in my life, even more important than my first love. But the world stopped dead for a moment, that I know. It was my first glimpse into the soul of a man, or shall I say simply that Dostoevski was the first man to reveal his soul to me? Maybe I had been a bit off before that, without realizing it, but from the moment I dipped into Dostoevski I was definitely, irrevocably, contentedly off. The ordinary, waking, workday world was finished for me.  I was like those men who have been too long in the trenches, too long under fire. Ordinary human suffering, ordinary human jealousy, ordinary human ambitions- it was just so much shit to me.
On the contrary, I have only felt pity for everybody and everything. From the very beginning I must have trained myself not to want anything too badly. Now and then a friend was converted: it was something to make me puke. I had no more need of God than He had of me, and if there was one, I often said to myself I would meet Him and calmly spit in his face.

God:     For the record, Mr. Leake, would you name the jury members seated before you?

Leake:  For the record, Mr. God, I refuse to recognize the authority of this court. Having stated that fact for the court record, I will attend  this disposition for my own enjoyment.  I note God, Jesus, Moses, Henry Miller, the various principles  of my schools, my parents, a former girlfriend, Pontius Pilot, my ex-wives.

God:     You seem to have a problem with authority, Mr. Leake. When did this start?

Leake:  It started in elementary school and became more solidified through adulthood. The various authority figures in my formative years were often buffoons and abused their power over a child because they could. In private, mean buffoons and in public, reverently admired hypocrites.

God: Will you give us an example?

Leake:  My parents moved around a lot when I was young and I attended a few different schools, doing poorly in most of them, until the second grade.My grandparents then sent me to one of the best private  schools in Richmond, Va., which basically groomed wealthy kids for a career in upper management, probably at the family business. A great deal of emphasis was placed on athletic and academic achievement, a heavy dose of Christianity, and the manners and customs of the wealthy and upper middle classes.

God:     Did your grades improve with the introduction of this new demanding environment?
Leake:  I can honestly say that at my first year at XX, I had absolutely no idea why I was there. They were these strange figures on the blackboard in front of me; in retrospect it was probably some form of dyslexia. I never put it together that the teacher was presenting information for us to digest and that we would later be given a test and a corresponding letter grade, which was very important to parents and school officials, would be issued, reflecting the results.

God:     What were you doing in class and after school at homework time if you were not studying?

Leake:  I had an active imagination and like to read a lot; it was a way for me to travel the world while sitting in a chair. Therefore, I was usually floating down a river with Huck Finn and an escaped slave on our way to New Orleans. I also was involved, heroically, in many WWII battles against the Germans.

God:     How did this play out in the classroom?

Leake:  Well, I would be pinned down in a trench, braving withering belt fed machine gun fire, when the teacher would rip the book from my hands. I was usually so discombobulated from the rude transition from a Normandy trench hero to “kid with an attitude”, that I must have looked quite stunned. I was often sent to the principle’s office where errant students would receive whacks from a piece of an ancient desk. Mr. Koenig was an ugly man with gargoyle features. It was quite painful and he seemed to enjoy the whole ritual. I used to wonder, while taking the lash, what kind of fucking god would think up such a scheme. How could this asshole be giving sermons at chapel in the morning with pious and humble blessing of the weak, and whipping their asses a few hours later?

God:     Incident such as these caused you do challenge authority? Will you give us another example?

 Alas, gentle readers, time for dinner…to be continued!










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