Rape Trial

Two and one-half years ago the daughter of some good friends was raped by an acquaintence. She made mistakes that led up to that night and she readily admitted those mistakes. She once dated the guy. After a week or so she began to realize that he was quick to anger (then quick to soothe), had some unsavory friends, and took calls in the wee hours from a number of women. She came to know this when he would put his cell phone on speakerphone and then tell the women to "take the money over to my brother's house...I'm busy right now".

After two weeks she told him that she was no longer interested and that he needed to cool it. But he wouldn't do that. He kept calling. She kept saying no.

One night she went out after work to have a drink and to visit with friends. She began to feel ill and went home alone. Around 3am he called and told her that he was coming over. She said no. But he came anyway. Because she was afraid of him waking neighbors and because he'd never harmed her she let him in. She went back to bed and covered all of herself, including her head. Then she heard two voices and she recognized the second name and voice as someone she knew.

Let's give these people names. The woman is Sandy, the rapist is Sicko, and his friend is Andrew.

Sicko and Andrew sat down in the living room of Sandy's small apartment and smoked some weed. Then Andrew said that he'd be leaving. Sandy told them both to leave and to leave now. She said this repeatedly. But only Andrew left. Sicko stayed. He came into her bedroom and said that he wanted to just hold her. She told him to leave, that she was ill, that she wanted to sleep. "Just go.", she said, again and again.

Instead Sicko raped her. But she was dry so he went down on her. She nearly got away, but Sicko is a big man and he wrestled her back underneath him and he raped her. Then, when he'd finished, he called Andrew to come get him. Sandy was crying, hysterical, and telling him that he raped her. Sicko said something like, "We used to do this all the time and now you're calling it rape!"

Sandy lay in bed for hours. Early in the morning she called some friends but found that the words, "I was raped.", wouldn't come out of her mouth. She knew not to shower. So she waited. Later in the morning a female friend called to say the her son had just broken his arm and that they were in the ER. Again Sandy couldn't say "rape" but she asked her friend to call back when she could.

The friend called back later in the afternoon. Sandy said the word "rape" and the friend said, "Call 911, now, and I'll be there right away." Sandy called 911. The friend appeared. Then came the police. Sandy ended up in the rape unit at a nearby hospital where DNA samples were taken from inside and outside of her body. Sandy's parents showed up, as did my wife and I because we happened to be with the parents that evening. Seeing Sandy, even for a few moments, told me that her story was true.

Sicko, as will all cowards, ran. He left the state. The police said that they would be hard pressed to find him but that such creeps will always break the law again, that Sicko would be caught, and he was, nearly two years later. He was in a hotel room with some prostitutes, drunk, disturbing the peace, and in possession of drugs. The hotel manager asked them to quiet down, but they didn't. Sicko ended up back in Oregon, in jail, awaiting trial.

The trial began midsummer. That's when I first saw Sicko. As I said, he's a big man, with a dead face, and no soul in his eyes. The defense attorney, we were told by the DA (a woman, by the way) was pretty much hated, though not feared, by the DA's office. We were warned to expect tricks and underhanded tactics, and we got them.

After a couple of days of pretrial motions and jury selection the trial began. We drew an inexperienced judge and a tiny courtroom despite this being the high profile case of the moment. The jury was from young the middle-aged with one or two people who were probably in their late 5o's. Sicko's friends and family were a mix. Some were part of his stable of prostitutes and one was his girlfriend of the moment. There was an older man who appeared with a huge brief case and it seemed as if he was trying to appear to be an attorney. He snorted and laughed often at various proceedings and statements. What we were told was the defendant's young son was there also. Nothing like attending dad's rape trial.

The first witnesses were the police and the medical stall from the rape unit. They all did a fine job. The defense attorney tried to imply that the police saw this as a minor case because they delayed the investigation. The lead investigator, who looked and sounded like a top notch TV detective, soon put that lie to rest. But the best part was when he was asked by the DA if he saw the accused rapist in the courtroom. With a dark gaze he pointed long and hard at Sicko, daring him to stare back.

A little more about Sicko, and these are things that the jury was not allowed to know. We don't want to prejudice a case now, do we. Sicko has a long criminal record. He's been convicted of rape once before. He's been in prison. He's been convicted of several other felonies and is wanted in other states. And he's a registered predatory sex offender. Or he's supposed to be. He also skipped out on parole. And he's a member of an organized gang. The jury didn't see him brought in flanked by deputies, wearing shackles and handcuffs, pink socks and a prison shirt. Too bad.

Sandy was called to the stand. Sandy is an attractive young woman, striking in fact. She has an erect posture, perfect skin and beautiful hair. She dresses nicely, is polite and well spoken, and she works full time as well as attending college full time.

The DA walked her through the night of the rape. Sandy had seen none of the police reports, none of the interviews she'd given to the police 2 1/2 years earlier, none of the cell phone records, nothing at all to synch up her memory with what she'd said back then. Slowly, painfully, and in detail she told of the events of that night. She admitted that she'd been drinking. She admitted that she'd let Sicko in though she didn't realize that Andrew was with him. As she described that actual rape she broke down, as did all of us on the side of the prosecution, and a short recess was called.

After the recess, Sandy resumed. She remained composed and told the rest of the story, then the experience of the rape unit, of the police interviews, and of waiting for Sicko to be caught. She lived in fear, though she clearly stated that she went about her life much as before, that she didn't intend for such scum to limit her life.

Then came the cross-examination. The defense attorney, let's call him Dick, started off mean then went to nasty. "Do you remember who called you at 11:20pm on March 3rd, 2005? You don't?! Well, who called you at 2:05am on March 4th 2005? You don't remember?" And so on. He switched back and forth in time and place. He tried to say that if she couldn't recall that then how could she recall being raped. At one point he blurted out that Sandy had dropped LSD one night, although there was no evidence to support that (and therefore could not be stated in court), and even though Sandy is not a drug user. I know her. She's direct and honest, even about her faults, and she says that drugs are not her thing.

This went on for hours, but Sandy won on every attack. At one point she said that she might not recall exactly what she drank that night but that she'd never ever forget what happened to her on that night. She admitted to mistakes. She looked directly at Dick, though he rarely, if ever, looked at her at all. Finally Dick gave up and she was questioned again by the DA, just to clear up a few points.

Dick made a dozen glaring mistakes during these first days of the trial. The DA was obviously smarter, better prepared, more determined, and was able to lead Dick down into several sly traps, much to Dick's frustration. But Sandy was on the stand for many hours. It was painful and exhausting. The defense was damaged but the price was high.

The prosecution rested.

Dick first called a psychologist. I can't possibly explain this convoluted mess. According to law, this guy's testimony should not even have been allowed for a number of reasons but the judge allowed it. The point of the testimony was to show that Sandy was deeply clinically depressed, a heavy drinker, and that she had the memory of a slug. The psych admitted that he could not possibly diagnose Sandy nor could he attest to her state of mind the night of the rape. But Dick kept twisting things and the compliant judge let things go....too far. But that's how things go.

Keep in mind that the DA gets only one shot. If Sicko is found not guilty. That's it. He's free to go. A frightening thought indeed.

The next defense witness was Andrew. Well, he was useless to the defense. In the first place he was a two time convicted felon and the jury heard that right off the bat. He'd told one story to the defense investigator, another story to the police, and on the stand he told a third story. Andrew was there to say that the rape had been consensual sex. That he'd seen them having sex. When Dick asked Andrew if Sandy was crying or saying no Andrew looked at Sicko and they laughed, and Andrew said that she wasn't complaining at all. The jury didn't like that. They weren't laughing.

Sicko couldn't possibly take the stand. On the stand all of his past bad acts could and would be brought to light. How hard would it be to convict a registered predatory sex offender of rape? So the defense had two witnesses and rested their case. It went to the jury around noon on a beautiful summer day.

Two hours later we heard that the jury had reached a verdict. It seemed too soon. Juries are known to take the easy path at times. Let the guy go, then they can all go home. We sat on pins and needles. The judge warned the room to not react, no outbursts, nothing. The foreperson stood. "Rape in the first degree. Guilty. Sodomy in the first degree. Guilty. Second degree sexual assault. Guilty." The jury was polled. Each juror voted once on each of the three charges for a total of 36 votes. Dick and Sicko soon learned that the jury had voted him guilty 35 of 36 votes. Powerful. Little room to point to a split jury as an appeal. (Note: In Oregon it takes 10 of 12 for a finding of guilty in these cases.)

Sentencing comes soon. Former victims of Sicko will be there to testify as will the police and parole officers. I'm sure there will be others. Sicko will likely have some people to say what a great guy he is. But he's going to prison for a long time. Hopefully for a long long time.

Iran, Iraq, Hostages: My confusion

A few days ago I turned on the radio to hear that a prisoner was being held by some authority or regime for no apparent reason and was allowed virtually no contact with a lawyer or with the outside world. "Another Guantanamo story.", I thought to myself. But then I heard them say two things. They used the pronoun "she" and said that she did get to make occasional phone calls but there were no more than one or two minutes allowed per call. Compared with Guantanamo this seemed enlightened.

I looked up the story later and it concerned an Iranian-born woman who is an American citizen and was arrested and held by the Iranians a few weeks ago. She is apparently a scholar and the Iranians should have no reason to hold her according to someone the reporter was quoting.

Next came the story of the British citizens, civilians, who are being held in Iraq. The reporter for this story said that Iraq could have no reason to arrest and hold these good people who had no military or other anti-Iraq role whatsoever.

Well folks, we and the Brits and the other nations complicit in extraordinary rendition lowered the bar. We can complain and accuse all that we want but we have no moral standing. That's one of the al Qaeda victories in the war on terror. We are told that al Qaeda hates our way of life at the same time that our way of life is undermined by those who blame it on al Qaeda.

It's true that Lincoln suspended habeas corpus early in the Civil War in a narrow band along the border states. He was facing a rebel army of 100,000 soldiers within the boom of a cannon from Washington D.C. A few years later Grant suspended habeas corpus in a narrow area in order to get the KKK under control in South Carolina. The Bushies have suspended habeas corpus for people from all walks of life from nations around the world. To this day, even when all evidence points to errors in their judgement the Bushies are too afraid of criticism (Bush is never really wrong.) to admit their errors.

Lincoln famously admitted mistakes, and did so to many people in many situations. He was a humble man, but more wise than all of our present leadership combined. If Lincoln were around today he'd be, without a doubt, the target of character assassination. A real person, a person of true intelligence, wisdom and character presents a threat to the powers that be beyond that of al Qaeda.

It's my belief that al Qaeda, and the pandering to and fanning of the nation's fears actually made Bush. Without al Qaeda Bush would have been a marginal, one-term president instead of hanging around to be, by far, the worst president in history.

It's Bush's war now

Bush insists on no timelines, no pressure, and all the money in the world for the war in Iraq. He's fine with the Iraqis fumblings but I suppose that makes sense in that he probably compares them to his fumblings and sees a fellow traveler. Bush is fine with being blind to the setbacks at every turn and with the fact that the enemy looks exactly like the friend. He's fine to let others do what he (and Cheney and all the Bushie brain trust) avoided in every way they could. Bush is happy to act as if each new budget request his war is a surprise...an emergency. He refuses to include war funding in the normal budget. His lack of planning constitutes an emergency on the part of others. That's leadership for you.

But this is now 100% Bush's war. He has exactly what he wants and he's had exactly what he wanted all along. When we declare victory and pull out the far right will absolutely find ways to blame everyone and anyone but the Bushies. I'm posting this now to let them know that anyone with any sense of history and half a brain can see the future now.

Iraq had zero to do with al Qaeda. Any honest person knows that. Bush's actions made Iraq open to al Qaeda, which is, again, exactly what he wanted. He wanted to meet the terrorists there. He got his wish and now he's using the presence of al Qaeda to prolong his war into an endless future.

This is the worst administration in history. I thought we'd scraped bottom with Nixon. I had no sense of history then.

A sign there is a god

Quite some time ago I worked with a very attractive woman about my age. She wore a ring so I kept a friendly distance. We began working on a project together and became friends, sometimes going for a beer after work to sit and talk. She had dark blonde hair, perfect skin, a very pretty face and a Marilyn Monroe body. As the weather changed and she started wearing summer clothes I often found myself concentrating less on work and more on her.

It was about that time that her demeanor changed toward being downcast and worried. I soon learned that she'd filed for divorce from her husband. He was, as it turned out, mean, controlling and even abusive. I happened to know a guy who worked with her husband who said that he'd not characterize Jeanne's husband as a nice guy.

Jeanne was a moral woman, but still knew how to flirt, and we grew closer. At the big company picnic we drove out together and when she changed into a thin, one-piece swim suit, and that suit got wet, I became almost single-minded on being with her without that suit on. Every person there had to notice, though Jeanne seemed unaware.

Outside of Portland is a long beach along the Columbia River. During the summer much of it is a nude beach, at least on the warmer days. Jeanne and I decided to go out there after work one day. She notified me that she had no intention of being nude, and I said that I understood. We had changed out of our work clothes at the office before heading to the beach. As it turned out the day was cool and almost no one was on the beaches, but the clouds cleared in the late afternoon and the temperature rose. I took off my shirt enjoying the sun. We both were wearing shorts and Jeanne took off a loose cotton shirt to reveal a lacy camisole, and amazingly to me, no bra.

We walked perhaps a mile downriver talking, relaxing, watching the big ships plow past. We turned to walk back upstream and after a while realized that we didn't recall which of the many paths through the woods led to the spot where we'd left the car. They all looked a lot alike. But we spotted one that looked right and started down the path. We could see the road but saw that we weren't on the correct path, but we thought that once on the road we'd spot the car so we walked on. We had to cross through a thicket of greenery. There were no blackberries or poison oak so we thought nothing of it.

Within moments we felt a thousand fiery prickles on our legs. When we reached down to try to brush the heat away out arms were inflamed. We quickly backed out and onto the beach. We were hopping around and instinctively headed for the icy water of the Columbia. We waded in and the water did cool our thighs but we were irritated above our shorts and onto our arms. I told Jeanne that I was going to strip and get completely into the river and proceeded to do just that. She stood there a few moments, but realized that the pain was getting worse and she too was soon stripping off her clothes.

We stayed in the water until we were freezing. Of course the relief was only partial and temporary. We realized that we'd gotten into stinging nettles and that those nettles were probably in our clothes. We had our work clothes in the car. The beach was empty and the road beyond was little-used and a dead end. So we decided to walk naked back to the car, but this time we'd find an open path to the road.

Her body was everything I'd imagined, to say the least. After momentary shyness, she seemed comfortable as we walked along. The stinging was still there but other feelings helped to mask that pain. Just before we left the beach, right at the edge of the woods, she reached to hold my hand. I stopped us and turned her to me and we hugged, then kissed, then we laughed because the closeness seemed to drive the nettles more deeply in, increasing the pain.

About that god thing. I'm not a believer, not in that all-controlling guy in the sky idea. But if I did believe I'd have to agree with the thought that he works in mysterious ways.

When good things happen

As I've mentioned here, my daughter hasn't had the easiest of lives. Sure, compared to kids in Darfur or Iraq, she's had a cakewalk but few of us have had to endure prejudicial rejection from nearly everyone we encounter. So it's worth mentioning the good things.

A older fellow student and my daughter have had to share an assignment over the past few weeks. Recently this woman said to my daughter, "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For opening my eyes. For letting me see past the superficial. You're really a good person but until I got to be around you I'd assumed the opposite."

From there the exchange got into "don't ask, don't tell" territory but they both knew what the subject was. (The school that they attend is small and at least half the students are hateful toward gays and lesbians so a lower profile is important.)

A few days later this woman brought a nice gift, an uncommon plant and a small book about friendship to my daughter. And no, this woman is not a lesbian and isn't hitting on my daughter. She's just a good soul who is truly pleased to offload a prejudice she'd been dragging around.

As a father, this made my day also. Two people gained and grew and nothing was lost except for a bit of darkness from this world.

Joining PFLAG

We've known for a long time that our adult daughter is a lesbian. We've never had any problem with that at all. The only difficulty is in just how often and how much people choose to make her life more difficult. I won't go into great detail here but things have happened to her that happen to children and women in Darfur and other lawless places. Things have happened to her that happen to other minorities and these things continue to happen on a regular basis.

As her dad, a man, and a person with a sense of fairness I have to tell you that this is the only force in my life that brings out my urges for revenge, for punishment, and worse. Instead I've repeatedly reminded myself to channel my energy in a positive direction. It's not easy. It's counterintuitive at times. But I do it.

Recently she had an experience with a major airline that was discrimination, pure and simple. Proving it would be difficult but I know the pattern well by now. Some petty functionary in a low position of power decides to punish the sinner and uses that petty power while ignoring the advice of others around her/him. We've seen it in restaurants, college business offices, so-called-Christian professors and instructors classrooms, churches (the love just shines through), and in stops by policemen with nothing better to do. It's a regular thing. These same petty lowlifes are likely the same ones that ask why special laws are needed to protect gays and lesbians. Of course they know why the laws are needed but they object because the laws would make illegal their hateful actions. You don't step in the way of the power of God ordained hatred without ruffling more than a few feathers.

One of the saddest and most unreal occurrences I'm aware of is parents who toss onto the streets their children because those children are gay. A disproportionate number of homeless youths are gay or lesbian. I see them downtown all the time...kids...13, 14, 15....dirty, cold, hungry and afraid. God told their parents to do this. Incredible.

So, we've decided to join PFLAG. We're hoping that we can find a network of supportive friends for our daughter and that we can help loving parents to understand and to not lose that child they've loved all of the child's life. The child was always gay. They love him or her then and can love them now and forever.

There are so many truly ugly things in the world. If a person wishes to be driven by hatred then just look around. See the genocides in Africa and SE Asia? Hate those. See the families here in the USA working 2 jobs, doing their best, yet losing their homes while their kids live on peanut butter? Hate that. See the criminals in charge in Washington DC and all the willfully deaf and blind who support them? Hate them. There's so many more examples. There's no reason to hate your own children because of who they are...because of the genes they were given.

During a dull meeting

Sitting here at my desk at work listening in on a conference call with some folks from here and folks from California. My phone is on mute because it's unlikely that I'll have anything to say, but they pay me to do this.

Outside my window is the northwest side of Portland, Oregon. There are the ritzy West Hills but mostly I see part of the largest forested city park in the nation, sensibly named Forest Park. When I was in college, just before I was married, I lived in a wonderful house near the edge of that park. I lived in that house when I met my wife, Debbie.

Few people want to hear an old guy get all philosophical so stop reading here please.

Overall I'm a very fortunate person and except for a few momentary lapses I've felt that way my entire life. Wasn't born rich, not at all, but I had a good loving home, plenty to eat, lots of friends and fun, and good health. I loved being a kid, a teen, a young adult and so on. Without angst my life has been fairly uninteresting. Living much of my life in small town and rural southern Indiana doesn't add much interest either.

Sure, I had some struggles. From about age 16 to 23 or so I got into the muscle car, factory job, beer and party scene. Did some street racing, drag strip racing, learned to work on my own car, had a sponsor, drove cars for pay for others, and loved it. I still love muscle cars, though I don't own one. (My favorite personally owned car is now very rare and worth over $100,000.)
I always liked girls and women in every way. I had many worthy of lots of respect in my life and my general respect for women grew over the years. I think that working with nurses for many years increased that even more. And I am, I think, generally a pretty nice guy and not scary to look at. So I was lucky enough to date many women and to feel comfortable around them. They were at time a mystery but never beyond understanding.

Then dawned the age of hippies. Sold the fast cars, bought an old VW (many, in fact, one after another) quit my high-paying job because it supported the Vietnam war, and went to work in hospitals (ER tech, OR tech) for many years. The pay was less but the rewards were huge and the challenges great. And for a guy who liked women it was like having a job in the best place in the world.

Oh yeah, mixed in with all this was that f'ing war, which is much like the present war: Old men sending young men off to die for nothing. Anyway, we had the draft back then. I was healthy. They wanted me. I tried to tell them that I was deaf, gay, lame, whatever. They didn't buy it. So it was Canada, jail or the Army Reserve. I did the latter. What can I say about this? It was six years of being ruled by dimwits and scumbags during active duty times. But here I am, alive, stable, and glad of it.

Back to that hippie thing. There were types...city/town hippies, college hippies, political hippies, Earth hippies, traveling hippies, artsy hippies, pot hippies, acid hippies, and so on. I started as a townie but rapidly moved to the Earth/traveling/pot hippie type. I drove and hitchiked all over the nation and into Mexico and Canada. It was great times.

After a little crisis I landed in central Florida working in the OR of a big hospital in Lakeland. Lived there for a year wading around in swamps with my fine dog Butterpup, going to parties and flea markets, dating, and dealing with the roaches, heat and tourists. But then I took a long, slow trip to the West, left Florida and for some reason (?!?!?!) moved to Indianapolis.
But I continued to visit the West, Wyoming, Colorado, Montana, Oregon, California, as often as possible. Then it hit me: Why not move West? Brilliant. I applied for jobs in seven western states, got hired at the VA Hospital in Portland, and here I am.

I love mountains and canyons, waterfalls, big trees, wild weather, snow, cold, wind, silence, self reliance, hard hiking, and more. It keeps me alive.

Enough for now.

Blamstorming after VA Tech

Let the blamestorming begin. Unleash the lawyers. The students and the professors are dead at Virginia Tech and someone other than the shooter has to be blamed. Someone alive. Someone with deep pockets, good liability insurance, or both. This, more than anything, is the American way.

I wonder, other than broadcasting a "Be careful" message as effectively as possible, what could or should the administrators and the police have done after the first shootings? Where would you have told 26,000 students to go to be safe on a 2600 acre campus? Who would you tell them to be on the lookout for? Why might you have suspected that the first two shootings indicated an impending massacre?

But really, the answers to those questions don't matter. What's important is for lawyers to cash in and for families to imagine that blaming someone other than the shooter will somehow help them heal.

Scratched wounds don't heal. A billion dollars won't replace one child.