THE LIMBURGER INCIDENT

The following story is about an old friend of mine from way back. Wayne Trout is no longer with us, but what an incredible character he was. If you were ever to have a gathering of friends and acquaintances and wanted it to be upbeat and successful, you just had to invite him. He was, without a doubt, the proverbial life of the party. Wayne had an incredible wit and sense of humor and, in the central Florida area, was a noted radio personality. He was one of the nicest guys I’ve ever known, too. Very down-to-earth, Wayne was the consummate social director who knew how to throw the best pool parties. All kinds of parties! For example…

Over the years, I spent a lot of Saturday afternoons with the guys at Wayne’s watching college football. Occasionally, a girl or two would slip in, but it was definitely a guy thing doing guy things (whatever that might be in today’s world.) In those days, it was sports, booze, and belching.

One day at happy hour, Wayne asked me what I was doing on Saturday. Nothing in particular, I responded. “Great,” he said, “we’re having a ‘Limburger cheese with onions on pumpernickel party’ and you’re invited. Come on over around noon.”

That meant tequila shots, too, with grapefruit instead of lemons because he had a grapefruit tree out back. Bring your own beer, of course. I had never eaten Limburger up to that point and it’s got to be one of the stinkiest cheeses on the planet. I know, because my father used to eat it when I was young, and I would have rather smelled his feet, to be honest with you.

Eventually, Saturday arrived, sooner than I had hoped, and I dressed in my stinky cheese finest. I mustered up the courage and drove through the drizzling rain to Wayne’s. He had set up a spread of cheese, sliced onions, pumpernickel bread, and the usual sides, like mayo, mustard, salt, and grapefruit slices. My understanding of the delectable cheese was that, underneath its horrid smell, it tasted a bit like heaven, and I was about to find out. Maybe heave was more like it.

One-by-one, we put our food on paper plates and found spots to eat. I will say this: I didn’t gag as I took my first bite, and it’s true, the flavor was soft and smooth. It’s exactly what I’d heard and anticipated — once you get past the smell.

That’s all we had to eat that day, as we watched football, usually the Gators. The more we ate, the easier it was to eat, if that makes sense. It’s as if the aroma simply subsided. Yup. Tequila, beer, and Limburger with raw onions! What better way to spend a rainy day?

I don’t know how many sandwiches we ate but, eventually, the food was gone, the day was winding down and, through the large plate glass living room window, the night was trying to let the darkness in. It was then that most of the married guys decided it was time to go home to their unsuspecting wives. Poor things. The rest of us just lingered for a while until Wayne exclaimed, “Let’s go to Harper’s!” Harper’s was a Winter Park neighborhood bar with an upscale French restaurant attached. The bar was a great hangout and we were all for it.

Slowly, we huddled near the front door. There must have been at least a half dozen of us. Outside, it was still drizzling. Suddenly, without warning, we got a whiff of each other, and it’s an indescribable odor I will never forget. We smelled like the concentrated dregs of… well, you don’t want to know, but it was at least six times the aroma of the smelliest of all stinky cheeses in the world, plus onions.

We looked at each other and said in unison, “Naaaah, we ain’t going anywhere.” We knew we’d have been asked to leave. No, check that. Not asked. They would have DEMANDED that we go. No telling what they’d think we’d gotten into, so we simply went back to our chairs until, one-by-one, each of us decided to go home. Our day was done. So was the night.

It was only that one time I ate Limburger cheese. It was quite an interesting experience and a quirky rite of passage, but would I do it again? Probably not. It would take a special man like Wayne to convince me and, with him, the mold was broken.

Once Upon A Time...

Once upon a time, Pudgie the Bear was skipping through the woods when Trigga the Tree Troll stopped him.

“Why are you running in my forest?” Trigga demanded, as one of his giant tree limbs stopped Pudgie dead in his tracks.

“I… I… I have every right to be here,” Pudgie quickly responded. “Why did you stop me?”

“Because these are my trees. You are robbing my forest of flowers, leaves, grass, mushrooms, berries, roots and nuts!”

“No. Not me!!! I like honey!” Pudgie cried, but Trigga wouldn’t relent. The young bear tried to fight his way out, knocking chips of bark all over the place. “I’m going to make compost out of you!”

“No you won’t,” Trigga replied, and just like that, his powerful limb lifted up and came smashing down; knocking the stuffing out of poor Pudgie’s body, sending it flying all over the place. 

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Attorneys Natalie Jackson, center, Benjamin Crump, center right, and Daryl Parks, far right, representing the family of Trayvon Martin sit stoically as George Zimmerman’s not guilty verdict is read in Seminole circuit court in Sanford, Fla. Saturday, July 13, 2013. Zimmerman was found not guilty in second-degree murder for the 2012 shooting death of Trayvon Martin. (Gary W. Green/Orlando Sentinel/Pool)

After the verdict came last Saturday night and my journey was over, I was tired. From the very first article I wrote; from the very first hearing I attended to the very end, I put in a lot of hours. One of my friends asked me if I would be alright. How would I handle it now that it’s over? Would I be depressed? No, I answered. This is the life of a writer of true crime and courtroom drama. A climbing crescendo, long and winding, coming to a tumultuous climax and compelling completion is what it’s all about. Cut to the end. If we can’t deal with it, we’re in the wrong business. That’s just the way it is. Death becomes a way of life.

By Sunday morning, most of the civilized world that paid attention to the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman trial knew the outcome. All that was left to do was to discuss it, but not me. I needed a break. Throughout, there were multitudes of directions each and every one of us had taken — like a hundred road intersection — converging into a massive mess of a traffic jam. Which one of us had the right of way? I don’t know. I still don’t, although a jury of six women decided for us. Yield! Move on or get run over! I suppose I could write a lot about the verdict, but what’s done is done. To perpetuate the story is, to me, unbearable. I won’t let it dog me. 

The Pavlov’s Dog Affect

From the beginning of the trial — jury selection or voir dire — we were warned by the Court and deputies to turn off all cell phones or set them to vibrate. This included iPads and other tablets and devices. No noises would be tolerated in courtroom 5D. Even Siri became a serious problem. Initially, we were given two strikes — a warning, then an ejection. That changed after the second or third day when (then) Chief Judge Alan A. Dickey changed the rule. It was one of his final orders before leaving his position, which was part of routine circuit rotation. Judge Nelson wanted it to remain two strikes but, instead, it became one, you’re out, although someone in your news organization could replace you; however, if your replacement made a noise, it would be strike two and your outfit would be banished for good — to the media overflow room you go. 

Unfortunately, I heard dings, dongs, boing after beep and ring after cell phone song from the gallery. Out went a few journalists and members of the public, until the rest of us were conditioned to be scared to death. That’s a fact. For the remainder of the trial and days beyond, whenever I heard a digital noise of any kind, no matter where I was, I cringed. If I happened to be in the produce section picking out peppers when a cell phone pinged, I panicked. It was either mine or someone else’s and it meant immediate ejection from the courtroom. I called it PDSD — Post Dramatic Stress Disorder. It took some time, but I finally broke free and now feel safe when my phone barks.

Dog Eat Dog

This wasn’t my first go ‘round in criminal court. I was credentialed during the Casey Anthony trial. When journalists from all over the country and elsewhere began to come together at the courthouse for the Zimmerman trial, it was nice to see familiar faces again. We couldn’t believe it had been two years, but it was. After friendly hellos, hugs and handshakes, it was all business. Of course, there were plenty of new faces, too, from local news stations and major networks, including cable. 

It’s the nature of the business to out-scoop each other, so there’s always a competitive edge. There’s eavesdropping and lots of interruptions while talking to someone involved with the trial, as if their questions for Ben Crump seem more important than the rest. Generally, they’re not, but that’s the way it goes. Don’t get me wrong, most of the media reps are very nice, but there are a few egos that get in the way; more so from producers than from on-air personalities. Like what I discovered during the Anthony case, the more famous the personality, the nicer they seemed, and the more intrigued they were with local news people.

There was an emotional tie inside the courthouse and, most certainly, inside the courtroom. Aside from the actual trial, I mean between journalists. I could clearly sense that, after the strike rule went into effect, plenty of those people sitting on the media side would almost kill to get one more of their own in that opened up seat. They hoped and hoped a cell phone would accidentally go off, although everyone cringed when it did. We all knew it was to be expected. It’s the nature of the beast. Goody! Goody! The problem with me was that there were no replacements. I was the only blogger inside that room with credentials. Some may have resented that fact, but most didn’t. When I was asked who I was with, I proudly said, “Me!” I represented no one but myself.

Throughout jury selection and the trial, that’s the way it was. When the State rested, everyone’s attitude changed. Gone were the vibes that begged for someone’s phone to go off. There was almost a camaraderie among us. The end was near and we all sensed it. Once again, in a matter of days, we would be going our separate ways. Surely, Mark O’Mara and his defense team wouldn’t take long and we knew that, too. How did we know? Because most of us realized the State did not put on a good case. It was a letdown. Is that all there was? They sure didn’t prove anything beyond a reasonable doubt. Therefore, the defense wouldn’t need to put on much of a show. Besides, they had cross-examined the State witnesses very effectively.

With the last few days of trial at hand, what we had waited for and built up to was going to come down. A verdict was nigh and it would be over. Time to say good bye to those who cared enough. Some just packed up and left. They knew we would meet again at the next big one. Surely, there’s always a Jodi Arias out there to cover.

On the final day, last Saturday, I could feel the electricity in the entire courthouse. The building was supercharged. I asked Rene Stutzman, who covered most of the case for the Orlando Sentinel, if she could feel it, too. “Yes,” she responded. “Absolutely.”

I spoke to one of the administrators on a floor not associated with the trial in any way. She also acknowledged that her coworkers felt it, too. It really cut into their levels of concentration. Of course, some of that could have been attributed to protesters, but they didn’t come until the final three days and, even then, it wasn’t that many. No, this was a powerful trial; one that touched the entire area surrounding the courthouse.

As a final aside, I must say that Judge Nelson was one tough judge. No, I’m not going to humor your thoughts on bias, one way or the other. This has nothing to do with that. Comparing her to Judge Belvin Perry, Jr., Perry was a pussycat. He gave us an hour-and-a-half for lunch each day and there were lots of restaurants in downtown Orlando to choose from. Plenty of time to eat, in other words. Nelson, on the other hand, gave the jury an hour each day and if there happened to be any unfinished court business after they were excused, it cut into our lunch time. That meant less than an hour, generally, with NO restaurants nearby. Well, WaWa. Despite it being cold in the courtroom, I couldn’t bring perishables, so I brought MorningStar Grillers Prime or Chipotle Black Bean veggie burgers on a toasted English muffin. No butter. Plain. I heated them in the lunchroom microwave, where I ate almost every day with a handful of other journalists. Sometimes, we’d talk shop as I nibbled on fresh tomatoes and assorted fruit. Today, there are no more daily events to discuss among my peers, but I am sticking with the diet. Plus salad. Those veggie burgers grew on me, especially the Grillers Prime.

And in the end…

After nearly five years of writing about local murders, I hope nothing else like the last two cases comes along again. In the Zimmerman trial, one must understand the residents of Seminole County in order to grasp the verdict. It is a predominantly conservative Republican county made up of a mostly Caucasian population. Gun rights is an important issue. It is not a racist area, although it used to be many, many years ago, but never as much as the surrounding counties. Ultimately, the jury based its decision on the law and how it’s written; not so much on the absolute innocence of Zimmerman, as if he did nothing wrong. In the eyes of the law, Casey Anthony did not murder her daughter, did she? Or was it, more or less, because the prosecution did not prove its case?  

In the Zimmerman/Martin confrontation, it was the ambiguity of the final moments that cemented the verdict. All you need to do is to look at something else in order to figure it out. Take a DUI (DWI) traffic stop, for instance. If you refuse all tests — field sobriety and breathalyzer — and keep your mouth shut in the back seat of the patrol car, there’s hardly any evidence against you other than the arresting officer’s word. The less evidence a prosecutor has, the less chance of a conviction. That’s what happened here. There just wasn’t enough evidence. Without it, the jury could not convict George Zimmerman — not as presented by Bernie de la Rionda and his team. There wasn’t even enough for a manslaughter conviction, was there?

On the night of February 26, 2012, something horrible took place. Was it poor judgement or bad timing, perhaps? Was it both? Had Martin arrived at the Retreat at Twin Lakes only five minutes earlier, Zimmerman would have gone on to Target. Had Zimmerman only left the Retreat five minutes earlier, Martin would have walked safely home to watch the NBA All-Star Game. Who started it and who ended it can and will be argued about for years to come. I formed my own opinion, but I choose to move on now. A verdict has been rendered. Let the rest of the media hound on it. They get richer and richer off the story and I never made a dime. In the end, trust me, Trayvon Martin did not die for naught.

As for me, what does my future hold? I may re-stuff Pudgie the Bear and write fiction. Yup, you know… Once upon a time, we had characters like the Lone Ranger. In those days, good guys always wore white and bad guys never got away.

George Zimmerman is congratulated by his defense team after being found not guilty, on the 25th day of Zimmerman’s trial at the Seminole County Criminal Justice Center, in Sanford, Fla., Saturday, July 13, 2013. (Joe Burbank/Orlando Sentinel/POOL)

Cross-posted on the DAILY KOS

Call Me A "Gagnostic"

 As a writer and journalist, I don’t particularly believe in gag orders, so when the second gag order motion was filed by the State on October 18, I had a feeling it, too, would be turned down, just like the first one on April 30. Sure, the first one was denied by a different judge, but the law is pretty clear about what a gag order is, and George Zimmerman’s defense team has not reached the brink of breaching the legal levee to a point of overflowing; when the public is flooded with pre-trial information that may possibly prejudice a jury down the road. Of course, this is assuming that the State passes its first hurdle — the ‘not yet filed’ defense motion for immunity. We won’t go there. Not now, anyway.

The definition of a gag order is quite simple. Law.com describes it as “a judge’s order prohibiting the attorneys and the parties to a pending lawsuit or criminal prosecution from talking to the media or the public about the case.” The description further states that a gag order “has the secondary purpose of preventing the lawyers from trying the case in the press and on television, and thus creating a public mood (which could get ugly) in favor of one party or the other.” A gag order would apply toward law enforcement officials and include all witnesses.

The second part of the description is intriguing because attorneys have been trying cases in the media since the first stone tablet announced something of legal merit thousands of years ago. Before then, it was grunt of mouth that spread the news, and I’m sure that, back then, there were lawyers that hung their slate shingles over cave entrances advertising their services. In those days, they probably wore custom-tailored saber-toothed fur ensembles to court instead of more mundane beaver skins.

Back to the present. The only thing that’s new about the George Zimmerman/Trayvon Martin case is that the Internet has evolved over the years. We didn’t see it during the O.J. Simpson era of the mid-90s because, unlike today, there wasn’t really a huge need for it. Cell phones were the size of bricks, they were very expensive, and most people were still content with their beepers, fax machines and copiers. I went online sometime in the mid-to-late-90s, but I was in information superhighway diapers until the early 2000s. That’s the way it is in the courtroom now because most laws regarding trial publicity were written prior to the massive explosion of the digital age. If we only go back four years, we witnessed it with the bombastic blast of information regarding the Casey Anthony case, the likes of which we’ve never seen. Thousands of documents were released to the public due to Florida’s liberal Sunshine Law. It wasn’t without problems, though. Case in point: If two different sized tires were found in the woods where Caylee was found, you’d better bet the public retreaded them and overinflated their minds to believe that Casey threw those tires there for a reason. They dissected everything. Why were those tires there? What was Casey hiding? Who helped her? Roy Kronk? God forbid that they might have been there since 2003. Yes, they became Casey’s tires, yet they never swayed the jury one way or the other. There’s a reason for that. They weren’t hers and they were never introduced as evidence at trial. Those woods had been used as a dumping ground for years. That’s the problem with evidence. It’s not always evidence.

Granted, the Zimmerman defense had been publishing all sorts of information on its site, the gzlegalcase, about their client and some of the evidence that’s been released to date, but it was nothing more than what’s been released to the public, anyway. The defense has merely been offering their own interpretations, and some conflicts with the way the State thinks. While the State has been very tight-lipped, that doesn’t mean the defense must play the same game. Most certainly, it doesn’t mean that we have to believe what anyone says, either.

§

During the gag order aspect of the hearing on October 26, Bernie de la Rionda rambled on. At times, I found him to be inconsistent and somewhat disheveled, wordwise. He asserted that the defense Website had been somewhat unethical. Zimmerman & Company called witnesses liars and tried to bypass the media by offering their own version of the case instead of how the media might interpret it. I disagree. We are given the same information in discovery. We can write our own commentary. For instance, Zimmerman’s medical records indicate he may have sustained a broken nose during the fight with Trayvon the night of February 26. O’Mara clearly said it’s a fact and undisputed that his client’s nose was broken. I don’t have to believe O’Mara and neither do you, and that’s the whole point.

Discovery impacts potential jurors a heck of a lot more than anything the defense throws out, in my opinion, and no proof exists either way. His nose was broken, his nose wasn’t broken. You decide. Ostensibly, both sides will offer tons of rhetoric at trial. It’s the name of the game. There is one point where I may agree with de la Rionda. It’s when he commented about the defense site’s quote asking for donations from those who would do the same thing if they were in Zimmerman’s shoes. That’s pretty tasteless and crass, not to mention cold-hearted and grossly opinionated. SEND MONEY IF YOU THINK TRAYVON DESERVED TO DIE. Never mind that O’Mara’s job is to defend his client, not bark for money. If O’Mara has a fault, it’s that he can be overtly insensitive at times.

When O’Mara got up to explain why he had done nothing wrong to warrant the gag, I agreed with him until he asserted that the attorneys for Trayvon’s parents were using the race card. Yes, early on, it turned ugly in a racial kind of way, but O’Mara practically accused Benjamin Crump of inciting a race war. That’s just not true. I attended the National Rally for Justice on Behalf of Trayvon Martin in Sanford on March 22, and all I heard from the speakers, including Rev. Al Sharpton, was nothing but justice, justice, justice. Take it through the court system! That’s all they have been seeking. Not retribution. O’Mara claimed that Crump called Zimmerman a racist murderer and, I’m sorry, but I never heard that. If you can show me where Crump did, in fact, say it, I’ll eat my hat.

He also accused Crump and Natalie Jackson of being surrogates for the State. That’s not true, either, any more than saying that Robert Zimmerman is working for the defense. O’Mara claims that, as a surrogate for the State, Crump must be as bound to Florida Rule 4-3.6 as the immediate attorneys involved in the case. I disagree. Crump does not represent the State. His represents Trayvon’s family. Period. Even if a gag order were in place, it would have no bearing on him. I feel that the intent of this sort of strategy in the courtroom was to throw the judge off course. “They went thataway!” It didn’t work because Judge Nelson didn’t blink. She would not budge, and she often had to remind the defense and prosecution to stay on the road.

§

I was fairly certain before the hearing began that Judge Nelson was going to rule against the gag order motion. While I had some problems with the defense, did anything ever rise to the level that I would consider iffy? No, but I can understand some of the issues at hand. For instance, what separates bloggers from mainstream media? The Huffington Post is a blog, but it’s the media. Daily Kos is as much a part of the media as the New York Times Website. So is NewsBusters. Then there’s Marinade Dave. We won’t go there, but my point is clear. There’s no single distinguishing line that separates media outlets, so why can’t the defense have a blog?

When O’Mara slightly belittled de la Rionda by reminding him this is 2012 and that law books are no longer on shelves, it reminded me of the final presidential debate on foreign policy, when Obama ridiculed Romney about the armed forces no longer fighting with bayonets. While I understood the president’s point, I knew he was wrong. Marines still carry bayonets. In that vein, not all attorneys are Internet savvy. The last time I checked, Office Depot and Staples still sell legal pads and writing instruments with ink, not just digital tablets and capacitative touch screen pens.

But now that we are in the midst of a technology frenzy that continues to skyrocket into the future, at a time when my six month old 3rd generation iPad is already obsolete, I question what good a gag order would do in today’s world. Just how would it impact a jury seven months into the future when we live in an age of lightning LTE speed? The old saying, today’s news is at the bottom of tomorrow’s birdcage, no longer applies because you can’t clean up birdpoop with the Orlando Sentinel dot com. This morning’s news is already old and who can remember what happened yesterday? Other than something that impacts us tremendously, like Superstorm Sandy, who cares? By the time George Zimmerman goes to trial, no one will remember O’Mara’s ramblings from last month, let alone care. Trust me on that one (but I do find it peculiar that nothing new has been posted on the gzlegalcase site [as of this writing] since October 23.)

Ultimately, Judge Nelson denied the motion because alternatives are available to the court to “ensure that an impartial jury can be selected. Those tools include a change of venue, a larger than normal jury venire, individualized voir dire, and stern instructions to the jurors as to their sworn duty to decide the issues based only upon the evidence.” I fully concur, but I think the best news to come out of her order was one simple, yet important, thing. Had a gag order been placed, other than Benjamin Crump, the media would have had no one else to talk to but Robert Zimmerman, Jr, and no one but the media and his own family care about him. And he only matters when there’s nothing better to report. Count your blessings. It’s good to be a gagnostic.

[Prior to the start of the hearing, I wasn’t sure I could get an Internet connection on my iPad. I did, but in the meantime, I asked Rene Stutzman, senior reporter at the Orlando Sentinel, if she had any paper to spare. She gave me her legal pad without hesitation. That was very kind and generous of her. Of course, I gave it back.]

Cross posted on the Daily Kos