The scan of this week’s Alex Taylor column appears below standards for readability, so I’ve faithfully reproduced it below. Enjoy!
Those Fractious Lawyers
If you ever want to take in one of the best shows in town, stop by the local courthouse and watch closely the antics of your favorite attorney. Perhaps you will observe a troupe state troupe more colorful and entertaining that any Broadway play.
Told around law schools and police academies, the following two stories are examples of how theatrics play a major role in courtroom drama of life and death. Sometimes they work, and others… well, let’s go back a moment in history.
Reluctant Witness
Around 1859 in Southern Illinois, a man was on trial for murdering his wife. Although her body had never been found, the prosecutor had an abundance of circumstantial evidence that should have convicted the defendant.
In a courtroom packed with friends and relatives from both sides, the prosecutor expertly presented his case, then rested.
The defense lawyer began with a long speech on the theory of reasonable doubt. Looking each juror in the eye, the lawyer kept hammering home the possibility that the woman was still alive and had simply left the area. “You must believe that she could be alive, and that to convict this man and have him hanged would be a terrible tragedy,” the lawyer yelled. “Each of you surely must believe, if only for a moment that she could be here today.”
Turning suddenly and pointing to the door, he said, “In fact, there she is now!”
The courtroom erupted as everyone turned to look.
Smiling with satisfaction, the lawyer turned to the jurors and said, “You see, what more proof that that do you need to believe she could possibly be alive.”
The jury returned in less than 30 minutes with a verdict of guilty.
Stunned, the lawyer jumped to his feet and yelled, “But you all looked. Everyone in the courtroom looked!”
“Yes,” the jury foreman said. “Everyone looked except your client.”
The Lawyer and Colt 45s
Temple Houston, son of Texas patriot Sam Houston, was one of the West’s most colorful lawyers. Unusually tall, he paraded around the courtrooms with long hair, Prince Albert coats, white sombreros, and ties made from rattlesnake skins.
He once defended a prostitute named Millie Stacy by pleading with the all-male jury, “Where the star of purity once glittered on her girlish brow, burning shame has set its seal forever. Let Millie go in peace.” They did.
Perhaps his most famous antic occurred when defending a man who had shot and killed a skilled gunfighter. To show the speed of the victim, Houston whipped out a pair of Colt 45s and blazed away at the judge and jury.
When everyone returned to their seats, Houston then related that the guns were loaded with blanks.
Although his client was convicted, Houston argued for a new trial on the grounds that when the shooting started, the jurors mingled with the crowd and could no longer be considered sequestered as required by law. His client was released.
Born in 1860, Temple L. Houston died of a stroke in Woodward, Okla, 1905.
Alex Taylor’s column on history and criminology appears in The Times Tuesdays.
