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The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him by Paul Leicester Ford

P >> Paul Leicester Ford >> The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him




Blackett gave his assent. So too did Patrick Milligan, and "Moike"
Dooley. They had won fame already by the deaths and wakes, but a "coort
case" promised to give them prestige far beyond what even these
distinctions conferred. So the three walked away proudly with Peter, and
warrants were sworn to and issued against the "boss" as principal, and
the driver and the three others as witnesses, made returnable on the
following morning. On many a doorstep of the district, that night,
nothing else was talked of, and the trio were the most envied men in the
neighborhood. Even Mrs. Blackett and Ellen Milligan forgot their grief,
and held a joint _soiree_ on their front stoop.

"Shure, it's mighty hard for Mrs. Dooley, that she's away!" said one.
"She'll be feeling bad when she knows what she's missed."

The next morning, Peter, the two doctors, the Blacketts, the Milligans,
Dooley, the milk quintet, and as many inhabitants of the "district" as
could crush their way in, were in court by nine o'clock. The plaintiffs
and their friends were rather disappointed at the quietness of the
proceedings. The examinations were purely formal except in one instance,
when Peter asked for the "name or names of the owner or owners" of the
National Milk Company. Here the defendant's attorney, a shrewd criminal
lawyer, interfered, and there was a sharp passage at arms, in which an
attempt was made to anger Peter. But he kept his head, and in the end
carried his point. The owner turned out to be the proprietor of the
brewery, as Peter had surmised, who thus utilized the mash from his vats
in feeding cattle. But on Peter's asking for an additional warrant
against him, the defendant's lawyer succeeded in proving, if the
statement of the overseer proved it, that the brewer was quite ignorant
that the milk sold in the "district" was what had been unsalable the day
before to better customers, and that the skimming and doctoring of it
was unknown to him. So an attempt to punish the rich man as a criminal
was futile. He could afford to pay for straw men.

"Arrah!" said Dooley to Peter as they passed out of the court, "Oi think
ye moight have given them a bit av yer moind."

"Wait till the trial," said Peter. "We mustn't use up our powder on the
skirmish line."

So the word was passed through the district that "theer'd be fun at the
rale trial," and it was awaited with intense interest by five thousand
people.




CHAPTER XIV.

NEW YORK JUSTICE.


Peter saw the District Attorney the next morning for a few moments, and
handed over to him certain memoranda of details that had not appeared in
the committing court's record.

"It shall go before the grand jury day after to-morrow," that official
told him, without much apparent interest in the matter.

"How soon can it be tried, if they find a true bill? asked Peter.

"Can't say," replied the official.

"I merely wished to know," said Peter, "because three of the witnesses
are away, and I want to have them back in time."

"Probably a couple of weeks," yawned the man, and Peter, taking the
hint, departed.

The rest of the morning was spent in drawing up the papers in three
civil suits against the rich brewer. Peter filed them as soon as
completed, and took the necessary steps for their prompt service.

These produced an almost immediate result, in the shape of a call the
next morning from the same lawyer who had defended the milkmen in the
preliminary examination. Peter, as he returned from his midday meal, met
the lawyer on the stairs.

"Ah, Mr. Stirling. Good-morning," said the man, whose name was Dummer.
"I've just left your office, finding it closed."

"Come in," said Peter.

The lawyer glanced around the plain room, and a quiet look of
satisfaction came over his face. The two sat down.

"About those cases, Mr. Stirling?"

"Well?"

"For reasons you can easily understand, we don't wish them to come to
trial."

"Well?"

"And we take it for granted that your clients will be quite willing to
settle them."

"We will talk about that, after the criminal trial is over"

"Why not now?"

"Because we hope to make Coldman speak the truth in the trial, and thus
be able to reach Bohlmann."

"You're wasting your time."

"Not if there's the smallest chance of sending the brewer to prison."

"There isn't. Coldman will stick to what he said if the thing is ever
tried, which it won't be."

Peter eyed Dummer without changing a muscle. "The District Attorney
told me that it ought to be in the courts in a couple of weeks."

Dummer smiled blandly, and slowly closed one eye. "The District Attorney
tries to tell the truth," he said, "and I have no doubt he thought that
was what he was telling you. Now, name your figure?"

"The civil suits will not be compromised till the criminal one is
finished."

"But I tell you the criminal one is dead. Squashed. Bohlmann and I have
seen the right people, and they've seen the District Attorney. That case
won't even go to the grand jury. So now, drop it, and say what you'll
settle the civil suits for?"

"James Coldman shall go to prison for killing those children," said
Peter, "and till he does, it is waste time to talk of dropping or
settling anything."

"Humph," half laughed the lawyer, though with obvious disgust at the
mulishness in Peter's face and voice. "You think you know it all. But
you don't. You can work for ten years, and that case will be no nearer
trial than it is to-day. I tell you, young man, you don't know New
York."

"I don't know New York," said Peter, "but--"

"Exactly," interrupted Dummer. "And I do."

"Probably," replied Peter quietly, "You may know New York, Mr. Dummer,
but you don't know me. That case shall be tried."

"Well," laughed Dummer, "if you'll agree not to press the civil suits,
till that's out of the way, we shall have no need to compromise.
Good-day."

The next morning Peter went to the District Attorney's office, and
inquired for him.

"He's gone to Bar Harbor for a couple of weeks' vacation," he was told.

"Whom must I see in his stead?" And after some time Peter was brought
face to face with the acting official.

"Mr. Nelson told me he should present the Coldman case to the grand jury
to-day, and finding he has left the city, I wish to know who has it in
charge?" asked Peter.

"He left all the presentments with me," the deputy replied, "but there
was no such case as that."

"Could he have left it with some one else to attend to?"

"No."

Peter went back to his office, took down the Code and went over certain
sections. His eyes had rather a sad look as they gazed at his wall,
after his study, as if what he had read had not pleased him. But if the
eyes were sad, the heavy jaw had a rigidness and setness which gave no
indication of weakness or yielding.

For two weeks Peter waited, and then once more invaded officialdom.

"The District Attorney's engaged, and can't see you," he was told. Peter
came again in the afternoon, with the same result. The next morning,
brought only a like answer, and this was duplicated in the afternoon.
The third day he said he would wait, and sat for hours in the ante-room,
hoping to be called, or to intercept the officer. But it was only to see
man after man ushered into the private office, and finally to be told
that the District Attorney had gone to lunch, and would not return that
day. The man who told him this grinned, and evidently considered it a
good joke, nor had Peter been unconscious that all the morning the
clerks and underlings had been laughing, and guying him as he waited.
Yet his jaw was only set the more rigidly, as he left the office.

He looked up the private address of the officer in the directory, and
went to see him that evening. He was wise enough not to send in his
name, and Mr. Nelson actually came into the hall to see him.

The moment he saw Peter, however, he said: "Oh, it's you. Well, I never
talk business except in business hours."

"I have tried to see you--" began Peter.

"Try some more," interrupted the man, smiling, and going toward the
parlor.

Peter followed him, calmly. "Mr. Nelson," he said, "do you intend to
push that case?"

"Of course," smiled Nelson. "After I've finished four hundred
indictments that precede it."

"Not till then?"

"No."

"Mr. Nelson, can't you overlook politics for a moment, and think of--"

"Who said anything of politics?" interrupted Nelson, "I merely tell you
there are indictments which have been in my office for five years and
are yet to be tried, and that your case is going to take its turn."
Nelson passed into the back room, leaving his caller alone.

Peter left the room, and passed out of the front door, just as a man was
about to ring the bell.

"Is Mr. Nelson in?" asked the man.

"I have just left him, Mr. Dummer," said Peter.

"Ah! Good-evening, Mr. Stirling. I think I can guess your business.
Well. How do you come on?" Dummer was obviously laughing internally.

Peter started down the steps without answering.

"Perhaps I can help you?" said Dummer. "I know Mr. Nelson very well in
politics, and so does Mr. Bohlmann. If you'll tell me what you are
after, I'll try to say a good word for you?"

"I don't need your help, thank you," said Peter calmly.

"Good," said Dummer. "You think a briefless lawyer of thirty can go it
alone, do you, even against the whole city government?"

"I know I have not influence enough to get that case pushed, Mr. Dummer,
but the law is on my side, and I'm not going to give up yet."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" said Dummer, sneeringly.

"Fight," said Peter, walking away.

He went back to his office, and sitting at his desk, wrote a formal
letter to the District Attorney, calling his attention to the case, and
asking information as to when it would be brought to trial. Then he
copied this, and mailed the original. Then he read the Code again. After
that he went over the New York reports, making notes. For a second time
the morning sun found Peter still at his desk. But this time his head
was not bowed upon his blotter, as if he were beaten or dead. His whole
figure was stiff with purpose, and his jaw was as rigid as a mastiff's.




CHAPTER XV.

THE FIGHT.


The only reply which Peter received to his letter to the
District-Attorney, was a mere formal reiteration of that officer's
verbal statement, that the case would be taken up in its due order,
after those which preceded it had been dealt with. Peter knew enough of
the numberless cases which never reach trial to understand that this
meant in truth, the laying aside of the case, till it was killed by the
statute of limitations.

On receiving this reply, Peter made another move, by going to three
newspapers, and trying to see their managing editors. One declined to
see him. A second merely told Peter, after his statement, which the
editor only allowed him partly to explain, that he was very busy and
could not take time to look into it, but that Peter might come again in
about a month. The third let Peter tell his story, and then shook his
head:

"I have no doubt you are right, but it isn't in shape for us to use.
Such a case rarely goes to trial for six months or a year, and so, if we
begin an attack now, it will simply fall flat. If you can get us a
written statement from the District Attorney that he doesn't intend to
push the case, we can do something, but I suppose he's far too shrewd to
commit himself."

"Yes."

"Then there's no use in beginning an attack, for you really have no
powder. Come in again a year from now, and then we may be able to say
something, if he hasn't acted in the meantime."

Peter left the office, knowing that that chance of pressure was gone. If
the papers of the Republican party would not use it, it was idle
spending time in seeing or trying to see the editors of the Democratic
papers. He wasted therefore no more efforts on newspapers.

The next three days Peter passed in the New York Law Institute Library,
deep in many books. Then he packed his bag, and took an afternoon train
for Albany. He was going to play his last card, with the odds of a
thousand to one against his winning. But that very fact only nerved him
the more.

Promptly at ten o'clock, the morning after his arrival at the state
capital, he sent in his card to the Governor. Fortunately for him, the
middle of August is not a busy time with that official, and after a
slight delay, he was ushered into the executive chamber.

Peter had been planning this interview for hours, and without
explanation or preamble, he commenced his statement. He knew that he
must interest the Governor promptly, or there would be a good chance of
his being bowed out. So he began with a description of the cow-stables.
Then he passed to the death of the little child. He sketched both
rapidly, not taking three minutes to do it, but had he been pleading for
his own life, he could not have spoken more earnestly nor feelingly.

The Governor first looked surprised at Peter's abruptness; then weary;
then interested; and finally turned his revolving chair so as to put his
back to Peter. And after Peter had ended his account, he remained so for
a moment. That back was very expressive to Peter. For the first time he
felt vanquished.

But suddenly the Governor turned, and Peter saw tears on his cheek. And
he said, after a big swallow, "What do you want of me?" in a voice that
meant everything to Peter.

"Will you listen to me for five minutes?" asked Peter, eagerly.

"Yes."

Than Peter read aloud a statement of the legal proceedings, and of his
interviews with the District Attorney and with Dummer, in the clearest
and most compact sentences he had been able to frame.

"You want me to interfere?" asked the Governor.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid it's not possible. I can of course remove the District
Attorney, but it must be for cause, and I do not see that you can
absolutely prove his non intention to prosecute those scoundrels."

"That is true. After study, I did not see that you could remove him. But
there's another remedy."

"What is that?"

"Through the State Attorney you can appoint a special counsel for this
case."

"Are you sure?"

Peter laid one of the papers in his hands before the Governor. After
reading it, the Governor rang a bell.

"Send for Mr. Miller," he said to the boy. Then he turned, and with
Peter went over the court papers, till Mr. Miller put in an appearance.

"State the matter to Mr. Miller," said the Governor, and Peter read his
paper again and told what he wished.

"The power unquestionably exists," said the Attorney-General. "But it
has not been used in many years. Perhaps I had better look into it a
bit."

"Go with Mr. Miller, Mr. Stirling, and work over your papers with him,"
said the Governor.

"Thank you," said Peter simply, but his hand and face and voice said far
more, as he shook hands. He went out with the first look of hope his
face had worn for two years.

The ground which the Attorney-General and his subordinates had to
traverse was that over which Peter had so well travelled already, that
he felt very much at home, while his notes indeed aided the study, and
were doubly welcomed, because the summer season had drained the office
of its underlings. Half as assistant, and half as principal, he worked
till three o'clock, with pleasure that grew, as he saw that the opinion
of the Attorney-General seemed to agree more and more with his own. Then
they returned to the Governor, to whom the Attorney-General gave his
opinion that his present conclusion was that the Governor could empower
him, or some appointee, to prosecute the case.

"Well," said the Governor, "I'm glad you think so. But if we find that
it isn't possible, Mr. Stirling, I'll have a letter written to the
District Attorney that may scare him into proceeding with the case."

Peter thanked him, and rose to go.

"Are you going to New York at once?" asked the Governor.

"Yes. Unless I can be of use here."

"Suppose you dine with me, and take a late train?"

"It will be a great pleasure," said Peter.

"Very well. Six sharp." Then after Peter had left the room, the Governor
asked, "How is he on law?"

"Very good. Clear-headed and balanced."

"He knows how to talk," said the Governor. "He brought my heart up in my
mouth as no one has done in years. Now, I must get word to some of the
people in New York to find out who he is, and if this case has any
concealed boomerang in it."

The dinner was a very quiet one with only the Governor and his wife. The
former must have told his better-half something about Peter, for she
studied him with a very kind look in her face, and prosaic and silent as
Peter was, she did not seem bored. After the dinner was eaten, and some
one called to talk politics with the Governor, she took Peter off to
another room, and made him tell her about the whole case, and how he
came to take it up, and why he had come to the Governor for help. She
cried over it, and after Peter had gone, she went upstairs and looked at
her own two sleeping boys, quite large enough to fight the world on
their own account, but still little children to the mother's heart, and
had another cry over them. She went downstairs later to the Governor's
study, and interrupting him in the work to which he had settled down,
put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. "You must help him,
William," she said. "Do everything you can to have those scoundrels
punished, and let him do it."

The Governor only laughed; but he pushed back his work, and his wife sat
down, and told of her admiration and sympathy for Peter's fight. There
was a bad time ahead for the criminal and his backers. They might have
political influence of the strongest character, fighting their battle,
but there was a bigger and more secret one at work. Say what we please,
the strongest and most subtle "pull" this world as yet contains is the
under-current of a woman's influence.

Peter went back to New York that night, feeling hopeful, yet doubtful.
It almost seemed impossible that he had succeeded, yet at twenty-three,
failure is hard to believe in. So he waited, hoping to see some move on
the part of the State, and dreaming of nothing better. But better came,
for only five days after his return his mail brought him a large
envelope, and inside that envelope was a special commission, which made
Peter a deputy of the Attorney-General, to prosecute in the Court of
Sessions, the case of "The People of the State of New York _versus_
James Goldman." If any one could have seen Peter's face, as he read the
purely formal instrument, he would not have called it dull or heavy. For
Peter knew that he had won; that in place of justice blocking and
hindering him, every barrier was crushed down; that this prosecution
rested with no officials, but was for him to push; that that little
piece of parchment bound every court to support him; that if necessary
fifty thousand troops would enforce the power which granted it. Within
three hours, the first formal steps to place the case in the courts had
been taken, and Peter was working at the evidence and law in the matter.

These steps produced a prompt call from Dummer, who showed considerably
less assurance than hitherto, even though he tried to take Peter's
success jauntily. He wanted Peter to drop the whole thing, and hinted at
large sums of money, but Peter at first did not notice his hints, and
finally told him that the case should be tried. Then Dummer pleaded for
delay. Peter was equally obdurate. Later they had a contest in the court
over this. But Peter argued in a quiet way, which nevertheless caught
the attention of the judge, who ended the dispute by refusing to
postpone. The judge hadn't intended to act in this way, and was rather
surprised at his own conduct. The defendant's lawyer was furious.

No stone was left unturned, however, to prevent the case going to trial.
Pressure of the sharpest and closest kind was brought to bear on the
Governor himself--pressure which required backbone to resist. But he
stood by his act: perhaps because he belonged to a different party than
that in control of the city government; perhaps because of Peter's
account, and the truthfulness in his face as he told it; perhaps because
the Attorney-General had found it legal; perhaps because of his wife;
perhaps it was a blending of all these. Certain it is, that all attempts
to block failed, and in the last week in August it came before the
court.

Peter had kept his clients informed as to his struggles, and they were
tremendously proud of the big battle and ultimate success, as indeed
were the residents of the whole district, who felt that it was really
their own case. Then the politicians were furious and excited over it,
while the almost unexampled act of the Governor had created a good deal
of public interest in the case. So the court was packed and the press
had reporters in attendance. Since the trial was fully reported, it is
needless to go over the testimony here. What Peter could bring out, is
already known. The defence, by "experts," endeavored to prove that the
cowsheds were not in a really unhygienic condition; that feeding cows on
"mash" did not affect their milk, nor did mere "skin sores;" that the
milk had been sold by mistake, in ignorance that it was thirty-six hours
old, and skimmed; and that the proof of this particular milk being the
cause of the deaths was extremely inadequate and doubtful. The only
dramatic incident in the testimony was the putting the two little
Dooleys (who had returned in fat and rosy condition, the day before) on
the stand.

"Did you find country milk different from what you have here?" Peter
asked the youngest.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Here it comes from a cart, but in the country it
squirts from a cow."

"Order," said the judge to the gallery.

"Does it taste differently?"

"Yes. It's sweet, as if they put sugar in it. It's lovely I like cow
milk better than cart milk."

"Damn those children!" said Dummer, to the man next him.

The event of the trial came, however, when Peter summed up. He spoke
quietly, in the simplest language, using few adjectives and no
invective. But as the girl at the Pierces' dinner had said, "he
describes things so that one sees them." He told of the fever-stricken
cows, and he told of the little fever-stricken children in such a way
that the audience sobbed; his clients almost had to be ordered out of
court; the man next Dummer mopped his eyes with his handkerchief; the
judge and jury thoughtfully covered their eyes (so as to think the
better); the reporters found difficulty (owing to the glary light), in
writing the words despite their determination not to miss one; and even
the prisoner wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Peter was unconscious that he
was making a great speech; great in its simplicity, and great in its
pathos. He afterwards said he had not given it a moment's thought and
had merely said what he felt. Perhaps his conclusion indicated why he
was able to speak with the feeling he did. For he said:

"This is not merely the case of the State _versus_ James Goldman. It is
the case of the tenement-house children, against the inhumanity of man's
greed."

Dummer whispered to the man next him, "There's no good. He's done for
us." Then he rose, and made a clever defence. He knew it was wasting his
time. The judge charged against him, and the jury gave the full verdict:
"Man-slaughter in the first degree." Except for the desire for it, the
sentence created little stir. Every one was still feeling and thinking
of Peter's speech.

And to this day that speech is talked of in "the district."




CHAPTER XVI.

THE CONSEQUENCES.


Nor was it the district alone which talked of the speech. Perhaps the
residents of it made their feelings most manifest, for they organized a
torchlight procession that night, and went round and made Peter an
address of thanks. Mr. Dennis Moriarty being the spokesman. The judge
shook hands with him after the trial, and said that he had handled his
case well. The defendant's lawyer told him he "knew his business." A
number of the reporters sought a few words with him, and blended praise
with questions.

The reporters did far more than this, however. It was the dull newspaper
season, and the case had turned out to be a thoroughly "journalistic"
one. So they questioned and interviewed every one concerned, and after
cleverly winnowing the chaff, which in this case meant the dull, from
the gleanings, most of them gave several columns the next morning to the
story. Peter's speech was printed in full, and proved to read almost as
well as it had sounded. The reporters were told, and repeated the tales
without much attempt at verification, that Peter had taken the matter up
without hope of profit; had paid the costs out of his own pocket; had
refused to settle "though offered nine thousand dollars:" had "saved the
Dooley children's lives by sending them into the country;" and "had paid
for the burials of the little victims." So all gave him a puff, and two
of the better sort wrote really fine editorials about him. At election
time, or any other than a dull season, the case would have had small
attention, but August is the month, to reverse an old adage, when "any
news is good news."

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A Stephen King fan has published an 80-page version of the book which novelist Jack Torrance obsessively writes during King's The Shining, where his descent into madness is revealed when his wife discovers that his work consists of just one phrase, endlessly repeated.

Torrance, played by Jack Nicholson in terrifying form in Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film, is a frustrated writer who goes with his wife and son to spend the winter in the isolated Overlook Hotel in an attempt to get the novel he has always wanted to write started. But the hotel's grisly past and unquiet ghosts have their way with him, and his wife Wendy eventually finds that the manuscript he has been working on actually only contains the phrase "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy", typed over and over again.

Now New York artist Phil Buehler, who describes himself as "a big fan of Stanley Kubrick and Stephen King", has self-published a book credited to Torrance, repeating the phrase throughout but formatting each page differently, using the words to create different shapes from zigzags to spirals.

"The idea has probably been marinating for years, because I loved the movie and the Stephen King book," said Buehler. "I'd just finished my own obsessive art project [and] it was an idea I had over the Christmas holidays."

He said he decided to stick to type and formatting that could have been created on a typewriter, with the first ten pages duplicating shots of Torrance's work from the film. "I thought 'if he continues to get crazier, what would those pages look like?'" he said. "I hit writer's block about 60 pages in, and I had to get to 80 - that went on for about a week." His fiancée, who had neither read the book nor seen the film, became a little concerned about his actions. "I finally showed her the movie, and she realised I wasn't really losing it," said Buehler.

He's included a spoof review from the blog OverThinkingIt.com on the book's back jacket, which compares it to "the best of Beckett" in its "lack of forward momentum", and considers the struggles of the author, "heroically pitting himself against the Sisyphusean sentence". "It's that metatextual struggle of Man vs. Typewriter that gives this book its spellbinding power," the review says. "Some will dismiss it as simplistic; that's like dismissing a Pollack canvas as mere splatters of paint."

So far, Buehler says that around 1,000 people have viewed the book, for sale on Blurb.com for $8.95 in paperback, or $22.95 in hardback, and he's sold "a few" copies, with sales now starting to pick up steam. "A few people have asked me to sign it - they're looking it as a piece of art rather than a funny thing to give to a Kubrick fan," he said. "If you're not a Kubrick or King fan, you might not even get it."

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