The Good Sister and the Judge

The next school year, come October, the Sisters were in agreement:  we would be arriving in our nun’s habits once again, except, sadly for Sister Mary Peggy who was now at a new school. The rest of us were all looking forward to a Second Annual Peaceful Halloween.

Then I received a summons from Superior Court.  I had to appear to testify against a small time con artist who had been working our campus and I had to be there at 11:30AM on October 31. 

A court summons was not going to get in the way of my Halloween calm.  I called the prosecuting attorney.

Any way to change this?

No.

Any way to make it later in the day?

No.

I explained that it was Halloween and I was committed to being a nun.

He groaned and then, after some reflection, said, Well, half the courtroom will no doubt be in costume.  Just get here on time.

Will do.

Fortunately, I was scheduled during my prep and lunch so I quickly left after class, drove to the courthouse, parked and very piously entered the courtroom. The Judge, a frail elderly man, smiled and nodded at me.

The prosecutor turned, smiled, and immediately called me to the witness stand.  I must have been a sight, in full habit, taking an oath that I would tell the truth.

The prosecutor then addressed the court.  She is not really a nun.  This is the Halloween custom of her English Department at the high school in question and she has to return to class right after testifying. 

The Judge nodded, half listening but more concerned that I was comfortable and had water if I needed it. He then very gently explained to me that there was no jury, and that he, the Judge, would be rendering the verdict.

The first round of questions, from the prosecuting attorney, was straight forward and I answered them confidently with crisp sentences.  I could say I sounded just like an English teacher but I probably sounded more like a nun.

Then, it was the defendant’s turn and his attorney came at me full force. I continued to answer directly as he increased both the volume and intensity of the questions.

He tried his best to be intimidating, but I taught teenagers. This was a walk in the park.

The Judge evidently disagreed with my assessment. He looked at the defense attorney and scowled.  He finally leaned forward, pointed his finger at the attorney and began to sternly lecture him.

You are not to treat the witness this way. You are to treat her with respect she deserves. Do you understand?  I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my courtroom.

He hadn’t heard a word of the prosecuting attorney’s explanation regarding my costume.

He looked at me.  In a much softer voice, he asked Now, are you alright?  Do you need water? Don’t let him rattle you. You’re doing just fine.  

He leaned over, smiled and reassuringly patted my hand.

The prosecuting attorney just leaned back in his chair and grinned.

I finished the answers to the few remaining questions, smiled a thank you to the Judge and scurried out of the courtroom with black robe and veil flying. I rushed to make the elevator down the hall and get back in time for my next class.

A middle-aged man with straight black hair slicked back and dressed in a well-cut dark suit held the elevator door open for me. He smiled broadly. As he exited at the next floor, I realized he had red hands and a long red tail with a pointed arrow.  No doubt an attorney.  

Later that day, the prosecuting attorney called to let me know that the defendant was found guilty, which he was, so it all ended as it should have.

He also wanted to know where he could purchase nuns habits for future witnesses.

4 thoughts on “The Good Sister and the Judge

  1. So, the judge and the defense attorney were both wrong: The judge for thinking nuns need coddling, the attorney for thinking English teachers can be intimidated 🙂

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  2. The next time you write up the story feel free to include the fact that I missed a ticket going home that day because I swerved out into the brand new carpool lane because my old Vanagon didn’t have good enough brakes for me to stop, and the police officer that pulled up next to me to give me a ticket just wagged his finger at me and motioned for me to get out of that lane and when I did , he was gone off to get some other scofflaw!

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  3. Yes, I remember how our “costumes” created a different concept of who we were, even if they knew us. Still have my costume in

    case anyone wants to borrow it to go to court or something.

    Like

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