Justice?

Rumor has it some of my former coworkers are “disappointed” that Kurt and I started our business. I hope that isn’t true. After working in the criminal justice system in one capacity or another for nearly 34 years, I’ve thought long and hard about the concept of “justice.” I’ve seen the entire system fluctuate from wanting to emphasize pure punishment and retribution to treatment with the emphasis on helping those who commit crimes to make positive changes in their lives to hopefully allow them to avoid committing crimes in the future.  What both extremes seem to forget is that “justice” is supposed to be a balance. The definition of justice includes words like “impartial” and “fair.” Those qualities, being impartial and fair, are supposed to be the foundation of our criminal justice system. It is an adversarial system, with the judge determining what is truly fair, impartial and “just.”

Our system has morphed into a system of plea agreements between the prosecutor and the defendant, with occasional trials. I understand that this is necessary because available resources would not allow every case to be decided at trial, but it gives the prosecution much power in determining what charges will be brought and to what charges the defendant will be given the opportunity to enter a plea of guilty. It remains the duty and responsibility of the court, the judge, to determine the “just” sentence.

As a probation officer, I worked for the court, for the judge. I didn’t work for the prosecution, I didn’t work for the defense, I worked for the person who determines the “impartial,” “fair,” and “just” disposition in each case. At times it was difficult. I have my own opinions of right and wrong and I have my own personal prejudices related to specific offenses. I did my level best to make sure my personal feelings, my personal prejudices, were never present in my reports. I would hope that anyone reading my reports would not be able to identify my personal feelings about any specific defendant or offense.

But ours is an adversarial system. The government, the “law” has an advocate and the accused, the defendant, has an advocate. If I believe in our system of justice, and I do, I have to believe that every defendant deserves to have their side adequately presented to the court during this process. The prosecution has case agents and other law enforcement officers to assist them in gathering information. Why should the defense not have individuals, investigators, to assist in gathering information?

One of the things that bothered me most when I was preparing presentence investigation reports was when I had to tell the parties that their application of the sentencing guidelines was incorrect. While the application of the guidelines is an important part of the plea negotiations, attorneys, both the defense and the prosecution, have many other issues to consider in the process. If assistance can be provided in complicated guideline applications to expedite the process, would that not be a benefit to the entire process?

As probation officers, we spend 20+ years of our lives becoming “experts” in very specialized areas. After we retire, is that experience and expertise no longer relevant or worthwhile? At a maximum age of 57, a retired probation officer is no longer of any use or benefit to the system? Our brains do not automatically switch off when we retire. That information, that knowledge, does not drain right out of our ears when we retire. I would hope that my former coworkers would not see my role as an investigator for the defense as putting me (or Kurt) in a position of direct opposition to their positions as probation officers. If we are able to help avoid the parties making errors in guideline calculations that cause issues at sentencing, if we are able to provide useful information for them in preparing their presentence investigation reports, does that not assist them, as well as the entire process?

Perhaps I am wearing rose colored glasses, but I see many benefits for the entire system in Kurt and I being able to work with defense attorneys. I hope my former coworkers will also see these benefits.

We Are Mortal After All

This is one I wrote several months ago, but never posted.  Since I have another one almost ready to post, I thought I should get this one out of "draft" mode and get it posted.  Yes, this one is kind of morbid and depressing. You have been warned.

 

 

March often finds me thinking, sometimes too much, about getting older. Guess that's what birthdays do to us. But this year, for some reason, it's really hitting me that so many people I have known are dead. (Nope, didn't use the nice form, "have passed away.") It isn't something I thought about much when I was younger, but then again, not as many people had up and vanished on me.

 

 

The most recent "shock" was a double-hit, so to speak. One of the assistant U.S. attorneys died suddenly one weekend. Then I learned the last church choir director I sang with died suddenly, apparently from heart attacks. OK, both were in their mid-sixties, but that doesn't seem as old as it did when I was 20.

 

 

Then I started thinking. Three people from the probation office here in Denver have died since I have been working here. One from throat cancer, one from MS, and another also thought to be a heart attack. That's three people in a fairly small population. Makes me wonder if this occupation is more hazardous to our health than we originally thought. I guess being a judge isn't any better. We lost an amazing, kind judge just a couple of years after he was appointed, also cancer. And one of my favorite judges died shortly after he retired. Maybe that's a real lesson that we should retire as soon as we can and enjoy life before we die.

 

Then I remembered that two people I knew from working with probation and parole in Missouri are also gone. Another one from cancer and one from a highway accident.

People I dated... now that's a shocker. Four guys (I hesitate to say "men" not sure they really grew up) I dated are dead. No, wasn't my fault, it was a long time ago that I last saw any of them. Honest!

It's easier to accept death when the person is elderly, infirm, in pain.  It's easier to accept death when it's a generation older that you are.  We expect the grandparents' generation to pass.  Then we expect our parents' generation to pass.  But when it hits your own age group, friends, cousins, and younger, it doesn't seem right.  It isn't so easy to accept when it's younger people, particularly children. Some of my relatives have lost children, and it just doesn't seem real or possible that those things happen. But they do.

Where is this going? I've been thinking I should let people know they are important to me, that I care about them. We really don't know how long we get to "keep" people in our lives. Mom always said you should never go to bed angry at someone because you would never know if you would have the opportunity to "make it right" with them. I think I need to take that advice.

Another Sports Rant

Do "sports" have anything to do with being a good sport any more? I don't see it. This past football season only reinforced my feelings about the sports "attitudes." The Broncos start out, well, not doing well. Everyone talks bad about them, their quarterback, the whole group. Someone pays for a big old ad on the highway trying to convince the coaches to ditch the quarterback and put Tebow in. OK, they did. Tebow won a few games, gave the fans something to enjoy. So why were there still people who make fun of him, talk about what a lousy player he is, on and on. They get to the play-offs. Actually win one game. More obnoxious talk all over the place. I would love to live in a place where I never heard sports nonsense, but I don't. So I heard the people talking about him, I heard him doing interviews. I saw a young man who tried hard, was thrown to the wolves, who never blamed anyone else, who pretty much seemed to be a sincere kid. (there I go, kid. Yep, I'm old.)

Am I mistaken? What did people say about the wonderful John Elway during his early career? I sure seem to remember him being something close to the second coming at the end of his career, but not at the beginning. Am I crazy?

Do people really think sports is about the fans, the relationship between the players and the fans? You gotta be kidding if you say yes. Tell me how many of them are so invested in their fans, care so much about them, that the almighty dollar won't make them walk away. It's all about money, kids. Your money. The money you are silly enough to plunk down for those season tickets, those t-shirts, jerseys, whatever. Former St. Louis Cardinals player Albert Pujols really walked on water. He loved his fans, loved the city, wanted to finish his career in St. Louis. Where is he now? It's about money.

Money. That's what really frosts me. A team plays in a venue they decide isn't new enough, pretty enough, big enough, good enough. The little kids stomp their feet and say if they don't get what they want (a new stadium/venue) they are going to leave. So being the bright lemmings we are, we end up paying tax dollars to give the ingrates their new place. I almost find it amusing. Have you heard about the city that still owes millions on a stadium they tore down to build a new one? How about the story that the stadium isn't big enough, then the new one seats fewer people? These people are millionaires, and the stupid taxpayers end up forking out for their "homes."

Those players who are put on pedestals, how often do you hear those icky stories about their behind the scenes affairs, illegal behavior, drug use, domestic violence. I'd like to take a hammer to those pedestals. You want your kids to emulate someone, don't pick a sports figure.

Sports. Nothing sporting about them. Has there ever been? I recall a high school classmate telling me the dirty tricks they learned. And that was back in the 70s. Maybe that was when I started to disbelieve.

Who Is This Person

I am talking about this old man living in my house. Just what goes on in the human brain when we get "old?" OK, I guess I'm complaining, again, but really, who is he?

For example, he no longer wants to take a shower. Ever. That's not my father. Yeah, he used to get sweaty, dirty, stinky when he was working, but he always got cleaned up. Now, I swear, he would never take a shower if I didn't make him. And have I ever discussed things you should never have to see? That's the top of my list, but it has to be done...

Speaking of things you don't really want to see, he has new habit of pulling down his drawers in the hall, before he even steps a foot in the bathroom. Not only is it something I don't want to see, he doesn't walk well in the first place. That does not help.

He goes through periods when he will not wear underwear. Not "real" underwear, not Depends. He refuses to wear pajamas. Summer or winter. If I'm lucky, he will wear his Depends and a t-shirt. If not, well, back to things I don't want to see. Not wearing jammies bumfuzzles me. I recall him being very offended when he took one of my uncles on a camping trip years ago, and my uncle wore underwear to bed. And now he does what?

He drops his dirty clothes wherever he happens to be when he takes a notion to strip. Middle of his bedroom, the bathroom, hall, occasionally the living room. How did this come to be? Mom had him trained, he would never have dared to do that when Mom was alive!

He also just drops his dirty kleenex right over the side of his chair or his bed. If it hits the wastebasket, good. If not, he does not worry about it. He goes through 2 boxes of kleenex a week, he creates small mountains on the floor.

Speaking of things he would never have done when Mom was alive, he spits in my kitchen sink! It's one of those things I can fuss about, and he just ignores me.

Need I talk about gas? I know he is about deaf, but you won't convince me he doesn't know exactly what he is doing when he pastes on that cheesy grin. Does not matter who is here.

I confess, I am worried. Am I going to inherit his bad habits when I get older? Is there any hope?

What Did You Say?

OK, so my dad, once again, decided to have aspiration pneumonia and landed in the hospital for a couple of days. The Doc comes in to talk to me the first day he was there, he was only there 2 days, and says we may need to "consider different options."

What were those options? He mentioned hospice and palliative care. It aggravates me no end, every time he ends up in the hospital, they think he is demented and doesn't really understand what's going on. Every time, I explain to them, no, he is not normally confused, demented, whatever you want to call it. He is sick, and he does get "crazy" when he is sick.

I blew it off, did not want to deal with his suggestion, sorry, but we aren't there yet. I told Carol, my sister, about the conversation. Today, she asked him what he meant by palliative care. He said we would just not treat any future pneumonia, we would provide care to make him comfortable, but sort of "let nature take its course."

What???

Would anyone really do that? Could anyone really do that? How would you let someone lie there with pneumonia and just die? How cruel would that be?

I'm a little worried about the future now. I would be the first one to say that, if I were in a lot of pain, had a terminal disease, something like that, just make me comfortable and let me go. But if I am lucid, not terminal, if I'm not in pain, I really don't want to be lying there, miserable, dying from something like pneumonia. I can't imagine how miserable that would be.

I think I'm afraid.

I Hate the Rockies

No, not the mountains. The baseball team. Those who know me know I have no use for any "professional sport." (I'm not a fan of "sports" period, but that's a whole other philosophical debate.)

But I hate, detest, despise, abhor the Rockies. Why, you ask? Because I am sick and tired of trying to get home from work in the unholy mess they create downtown.

All summer, those of us who work downtown are dealing with their afternoon games that get out right at rush hour. My office is about a mile from I-25. Tonight, it took me over 30 minutes to get to the highway. Why, you ask? Thanks to the Rockies and all of the crazy people who think it's fun to go to a baseball game in the afternoon and then screw up downtown.

Yes, I know, businesses like the games. They like to take money away from Rockies fans. For parking, for food, for whatever they can dream up. I have to drive right by the ballpark and I don't like any of them. Case in point, tonight. I got to sit at the same traffic light through four (that's 4) cycles until the police decided to stop the flow of Rockies minions coming out of the ballpark and actually let traffic move. Does anyone appreciate sitting in traffic, waiting for crazy people to get off the street, in 90 degree heat, wasting gas. Considering the price of gas? I sure don't.

Then there are the absolutely stupid "fans." The ones who have no better sense than to walk right out into the street against the traffic lights. Maybe there should be a minimum IQ required to be allowed to attend baseball games.

Why is it necessary to schedule games to start at a time when you know they will end right at rush hour? Which brain surgeon thought that was a good idea? Oh, gee, they lost today? Good! While I question my ability to "hex" anyone, I do negatively curse them every day when I drive by Coors Field. And, no, I'm not going to stop until they stop scheduling games that end right at rush hour.

While I'm complaining, why is it necessary to start games at 6:00 p.m.? That doesn't have a good impact on rush hour, either. Have you been downtown to see all of the idiots who work for the parking lots who are standing in the street, trying to get people into their lots? Stay the devil out of my way! I don't want to park in your lots and I sure don't want to see a baseball game.

Are the 6:00 games supposed to be enticing for those who work downtown? Start the game at 7:00. Gives people more time to waste money on food and alcohol before the game. Stop pissing off those of us who work downtown and just want to go home after work!

Personally, I am thrilled that the Rockies are having a crummy year. The good news for you fans out there? I retire in December 2012, so I will only be cursing them for one more season!

Just Thinking

It's dangerous when I think, no?

Not this time. Yesterday was Mom's birthday. I kept myself real busy, spent a lot of the day at the kennel playing with the 2 week old puppies and letting my beasts play. I always figure it's better to stay busy than sit around thinking. Didn't really work, tho.

So, today, I'm cleaning the house. As I'm vacuuming, I'm thinking, how did Mom do it? She was a stay-at-home mom, but let's be honest, taking care of me and Pa was no picnic. I now realize she is partly to blame for how spoiled Pa is now, but I also know he was no easier to take care of back then. He couldn't do anything without making a mess and he was never good at cleaning up the mess when he was done. (I still remember the time he was painting the outside of the windows, and got about as much paint inside as out...Ma was less than thrilled!)

The "routine" stuff was a lot to do. Monday was laundry. It wasn't as easy then as it is now. The family will recall that when I was a little brat, I stuck my arm in the washing machine ringer and tried to remove my arm at the elbow. After that, they got one of them fancy automatic washing machines. But it wasn't as big as the ones we have now, so it took longer to get it done. Even after we had a dryer, Mom would still hang clothes out to dry. I remember the clotheslines strung all around our back yard, from tree to tree. She would go out and wipe down the line to make sure it was clean before she put out her clean laundry. When one load was done, part of the previous load might be ready to take down. In and out, check the laundry. She didn't want to leave it out too long, the birds had a habit of christening it, and then she had more work. If she was lucky, she was done with the laundry in time to sit for a few minutes before it was time to cook supper.

Tuesday was ironing day. I KNOW! Ironing! Can you imagine? That routine actually began the night before. For those who don't remember, back in "the old days," we didn't have them fancy irons that had steam. The night before, you would get out the sprinkling bottle. Usually, an old Coke bottle with a top on it that had holes in it to "sprinkle." Lay the shirt or pants or whatever out on the kitchen table, sprinkle it, roll it up and stick it in a plastic bag. Repeat until all of the laundry was in the bag, ready for ironing. Sometimes, she would just sprinkle as she ironed. Ironing was hot and miserable. Thank God for permanent press!

I can't remember now if Wednesday or Thursday was cleaning the floor day. The floor in the kitchen, hall and bathroom was this nasty black tile, and she had the "scrubber" to clean it. Then you had to wait for it to dry. Then wax it, because it was really ugly without wax. The rest of the house was hard wood floors, so "all" she had to do was run the vacuum. Sometimes she would just use the dust mop. (Do they even still make dust mops?)

Friday was always grocery shopping day. Oh, what fun. Not. I think I inherited my dislike of grocery shopping from Mom. Even shopping was a lot different. There were no bar codes. Everything had a little price sticker on it. The "checker" actually had to punch in each individual price of each item. It's scary to think that back then, about $5 worth of groceries would fit into one of those paper grocery bags.

Cleaning the bathroom was different. We didn't have all of those miracle cleaning products. Mom had rags, Comet and elbow grease. She was forever washing rugs, drapes, windows. There was dusting and just plain picking up after Dad and me. She painted the walls and ceilings before they put in ceiling tile and paneling in some of the rooms. She made curtains for the kitchen windows, for the bathroom and for my room.

She made a lot of her clothes and my clothes. I would drive her nuts. She would take me to pick out a pattern for something and I always picked out stuff that either wasn't easy to make, or wasn't real practical.

If that wasn't enough, she loved to garden and for several years we had that for her to take care of, too. Personally, I hated picking strawberries and peas and beans. She liked flowers, too, but that was a losing battle with my father and his lawn mower.

All of that, and she always had dinner on the table at 4:30 p.m. for my father.

Then, when I was 8, her parents moved into a mobile home in our back yard. Gradma did the routine cooking and cleaning, but Mom did their laundry and the hard stuff that Grandma couldn't handle.

I wonder that she didn't lose her temper more often. Like the day Grandpa was going to walk the 5 miles in to town because she wouldn't drive him (he had Parkinson's and couldn't walk worth beans) and she tied him to his chair in the back yard because he refused to go back into the house. Or the time Pa bugged her once too often too early in the morning, and she smacked him on the head with frozen sausages. (God knows, I've been tempted more than once!) Or the time she shoved the Maypo (nasty cereal I screamed I had to have in the grocery store, and then refused to eat) down my throat.

I don't know how she did it. Guess I just miss her today.