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

The Labors of Social Ostracization

IT’S ALIVE! IT’S ALIVE! IT’S ALIVE!

“Osterman’s book and TV spot, although well-intentioned, are ill-timed and done without input and NOT approved by the defense.”

So said a recent @gzlegalcase Tweet from the George Zimmerman Legal Case website in response to the release of Mark & Sondra Osterman’s book, Defending our Friend: the Most Hated Man in America. Mark and his wife are the Zimmermans’ closest friends. Mark considers George his brother. It’s much more than just a mere bromance. From Dr. Phil’s interview:

“George had pure ideals, a nobility of character that I admired. I kind of wanted to be like him,” Mark says. “When I first heard that George had shot someone else, I was extremely shocked. I know that it would have been the absolute last resort.”

I sense a rather strange relationship between Mark O’Mara and his client. I’m certain that the attorney begged his ticket to fame and fortune to refrain from going on The Sean Hannity Show to spill the latest version of his face-to-face with Trayvon Martin. I think Osterman, Zimmerman’s own personal zenmeister, coaxed his li’l grasshopper to take to the airways. Unfortunately, that particular outing did absolutely nothing to enhance his credibility, but I suspect it was God’s plan all along to show the world exactly what made this grasshopper hop. In that regard, Osterman succeeded, and so did God, I guess, because li’l grasshopper ended up winning the hearts of no one. But don’t tell the Ostermans.

That’s why I am inclined to believe that this new book revelation came with George and Shellie’s blessings. Another shot. Any opportunity li’l grasshopper has to expose his name to glaring lights and stardom, he’s all for it. Cha-cha-ching! After all, he took this shooting as his ticket to paradise, as he and his wife alluded to in a taped phone conversation during his initial incarceration at the Seminole County jail, as the money kept rolling in:

“After this is all over, you’re going to be able to just have a great life,” Shellie said.

“We will,” George replied. “I’m excited.”

“Yeah, you should be. You should be excited,” Shellie said. “I wish you were here, of course.”

“I will be,” he said.

“Isn’t it crazy how something like this just makes you put everything in perspective in life?” Shellie said. “It’s amazing how insignificant the things we stress out over are.”

“I agree,” he replied.

Imagine that. They both agreed that the shooting death of Trayvon Martin was so insignificant, it was nothing to “stress out” over. Why, even the second-degree murder charge was nothing but a farce, and this is a complete contradiction of what Osterman told Dr. Phil. Oh, how George cried and cried. What this illustrates to me is that Zimmerman looked up to Osterman as his iconic mentor; the man who would justify his need to be a top cop. While I’m never going to infer that the 28-year-old set out to shoot anyone that night, he had convinced himself that it was a right thing to do given the right circumstances. He was trained. It was pumped into him and he was primed. What better way than to set those circumstances up the right way? His way. This would make him Osterman’s equal. Yes, this was God’s plan; this was his destiny. Osterman would be proud. And in the end, he was.

While I could ostracize the air marshal, I won’t. He has no idea what kind of Frankenstein monster he helped create. He only saw his student’s docile side. Granted, Osterman was once fooled by a con man when he and another Seminole County sheriff’s deputy met Juan Diaz, who convinced them he was a second basemen for the New York Yankees. Sure, the guy took them to strip clubs flashing money, and Osterman ended up losing his job over it in 1998, but that was a long time ago. Certainly, he wouldn’t be deceived again. Would he?

I think so. But still, I won’t hold it against him. Not personally. Even in the 1931 horror movie, we could feel some compassion for Dr. Frankenstein, who didn’t set out to create evil, but in the end, he still came to the beast’s defense and lost whatever innocence was left. While I am convinced Osterman is a fool for believing Zimmerman’s alibis, we all tend to put faith in our friends; some more than others, and there remains that inherent element of naiveté. We want to think people are well-intended. How many professionals — doctors, lawyers, airline pilots and, yes, federal agents — find out their spouses have been cheating on them long, long after the fact? Let’s face it, Zimmerman is a natural born liar. While you may question Osterman on his judgment, I think I’ll be looking at something else that hit me like a brick; something he said on the Dr. Phil show. It may be meaningless, but still…

“When I first heard that George had shot someone else, I was extremely shocked.”

Someone else? Just how many people has George Zimmerman shot? That triggered my alarm. Where was Osterman’s safety when he was shooting his mouth off? Oh, that’s right, he doesn’t use one. Straight from the hip. Just like li’l grasshopper.

TO EACH THEIR OWN

Speaking of the monsters we create, it’s easy to see what can happen when people let things get out of hand. Caution is thrown into the wind and trouble flares. During the entire time I covered the Casey Anthony case, I watched people go from friendly and mild-mannered to as loony as they come, all in the name of justice for a little girl they didn’t even know. Don’t get me wrong, we all seek justice, but people vary on how intent they are to get it and how far they are willing to go to prove it is their way or the highway. Talk about standing your ground. What is often neglected is that it is up to the court system to decide, not the public, as we shockingly found out when the jury came back with their verdicts at the end of Casey’s trial. Interestingly, as adamant as people were throughout that ordeal, how quickly they moved on.

Because I had a popular blog, I was subject to a lot of scrutiny. I think there’s another blogger who is quite aware of that now. Out of the woodwork came bands of miscreants determined to shut me down. I was gay, I had AIDS, I was a convicted felon and so were my parents. I was a plant for the defense out to take down the sitting judge. One woman had her grandchildren chanting “Death to Marinade Dave!” and she proudly told others. Everyone who dared comment on my blog became targets for attack. One was supposed to be thrust into a snow bank and left to die. It was the most disgusting group of people I had ever run into in my life. Ironically, these very people prayed deeply to God that justice would come for Caylee while they hypocritically spewed hatred on people they didn’t know from Adam.

Here we are, at it again. With Zimmerman, there’s the race factor. There’s gun rights. Emotions are running quite high across a much broader spectrum. There’s politics; liberals against conservatives and Democrats against Republicans, not to mention the NRA and Second Amendment rights. There’s a $10,000 bounty on Zimmerman’s head, dead or alive. We are witnessing character assassinations of the “n”th degree, with “n” being the word that most folks should have thrown away with the dirty bath water they washed their mouths out with long ago. Once again, people are getting hurt in so many God-awful ways. Ironically, one blog opens their day with The Lord’s Prayer before their brood goes on a self-righteous rampage on everyone and anyone who stands in their path. Trayvon was a drug addicted thug dealer with a history of violence. Every single word that comes out of the mouth of George Zimmerman is the Gospel truth. Every word. Yet, they really know nothing about him.

This is my opinion. What they talk about over there is their business. While I certainly disagree with their opinions, they have a right to discuss the case the way they want, although I do draw the line on spreading falsehoods and, particularly in this day and age, republishing copyrighted artwork that’s licensed to someone else, especially when it’s pirated from the website they are attacking that actually paid for the work. This is a real war, folks, and people are going to get hurt.

CLICK TO IMAGE TO ENLARGE

There are also blogs that are intent on implicating others in the crime. We saw it with Roy Kronk during the Casey case. The poor guy was run through the ringer because he found Caylee’s body. Even Leonard Padilla claimed Kronk was involved in some sort of intricate daisy chain. Kronk placed the body there, not Casey. How sad that people who do good things are sometimes burned beyond recognition by a false story that’s so fiery to touch, it blinds some to the truth. Sadly, his life will never be the same. Almost a hero, he’s also seen as a villain.

Look at one of the rumors that’s made the rounds of late. Someone was in the vehicle with George Zimmerman the night of the killing. It was Frank Taaffe. No, it was Shellie. No, it was Mark Osterman. Whoever it was, it has become Gospel to those “fact” finders who choose to buy into it. They need no proof because, so it was written, so it must be true. Call it the Lemmings Doctrine.

The problem with this sort of missive is that it can destroy a person. No doubt, Frank Taaffe has his own monsters to fight, and he certainly needs no further encouragement to go off the deep end, so why push him off the edge? Is it fun to belittle a teetering man?

The fact is, George Zimmerman acted alone. All by himself, he pulled the trigger. Why try to include others? In his book, Mark Osterman wrote that Shellie was at her father’s house at the time of the shooting. She immediately called him while he was out walking his dog in his own neighborhood. He was never at the scene prior to the police showing up. Whether you choose to believe him or not is your own prerogative, but I base my opinion not on what he wrote. Instead, I use common sense, just like what generally guided me throughout the Casey Anthony case. I take my guidance through documentation, evidence and the State. Nothing points to anyone else. Not one shred of evidence.

For example, every piece of trash in the woods where Caylee’s body rested was not attributable to her. That old worn out tire did not come off her car. There was no proof the needle in the bottle ever touched her hands. The State of Florida never used it in any of their documents, and that’s where I put my faith. Nowhere in this present case has the State mentioned an accomplice at all, and until they do, the thought of it is not plausible.

In the meantime, we are not put here on this earth to make a mockery of others, are we? Take it from one who knows; one who’s experienced it — it’s not fun being the target of incessant, never ending ridicule, abuse and lies that lead nowhere but down, especially coming from people hiding behind some really strange faith in a god that not only encourages it, but seems to relish in it. That’s not my God, and it’s as much of a mockery of God as Zimmerman telling Sean Hannity that the shooting was God’s will. How ludicrous.

Tree hugger, Tray hugger, what’s the difference if it’s nothing more than a stupid mind game where all that matters is that YOU win? Plow into everyone in your path!

Cross Posted on The Daily Kos