I received the foreboding “You have been chosen for jury duty” letter in the mail. Ugh, but there was nothing to be done. They expect you to show up, so I did. Unfortunately, after deftly making new schedule arrangements, I was not chosen for the jury. Yet the case intrigued me since it was a local story of a mob run amok. So I stayed on in an unofficial basis, as an interested journalist. Well, the trial was everything I imagined and below is the long awaited report of what happened, starting with the first witness called by the prosecuting attorney. For other reports of similar high quality please
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The action started in earnest when the Prosecuting Attorney asked this simple question of the first witness: “Please describe to the best of your recollection the series of events which ended with the fire at the diner.” His answer:
“It started out as well as could possibly have been expected. An experienced cook took over an empty corner shop in our residential neighborhood with just the right amount of ambition. Not too crazy, not too expensive, not too trendy, but down to earth good cooking. A fresh soup every day, some interesting sandwiches, even homemade bread. The greens were fresh and crisp. At dinner there were pastas and an excellent fried chicken, fresh fish on the weekends, and he had a large smoker where he’d do a pork butt, or racks of ribs, chickens and whole turkeys occasionally. Anyway.
“Does that paint a decent picture? The floors were old two inch thick hemlock with a timeless patina, and the ceiling was pressed tin. Back in the day it was a large printer’s shop. There was a huge commercial bureau on one wall with like five rows of small cubbies where I imagine they kept orders and invoices. The wait staff used it for setting up water and coffee on the bureau’s long, flat surface. Old samples of the printer’s work were framed and decorated the newly painted walls. People stopped and read them on their way in or out of the place. It was a gem, this little restaurant. Anyway.
“The cook, Larry, was a helluva nice guy, respectful, always smiling. He had a winner and he knew it. Chicken livers and onions, served on toasted, homemade challah bread, fabulous. The aromas from the kitchen caught your attention as soon as you walked in. Your mouth watered, really.
“My girlfriend opted for the breakfast burrito which included tender, shredded beef in adobo sauce, scrambled eggs, avocado and fresh cilantro. I envied her modern choice, and you know she would not let me try it. Wouldn’t come right out and say “No,” but she kept moving her plate away from my reaching fork. Excellent coffee and we usually shared a pecan roll, too. Anyway.
“On Thursdays, I’m sure you’ll understand, after four long days in the office, we never failed to have dinner at the diner. We weren’t the only ones. If you got there after 6:00 it was a long wait for a table. Other couples we kind of knew asked us to join them. It was that kind of place. You were welcomed, and you felt welcoming. We made the same offer to other couples, why wait? have a seat, what’s your name, you’re from the neighborhood? Perfect spot, right? Anyway.
“One day, a little pop up storm, like you’ll get here in the Midwest, a little green sky, then black as night, and boom. Larry was out at the smoker removing a surfeit of meats, rumor has it that there were ribs, butts, chickens, one large turkey, some homemade sausages, unbelievable, right? Then the lightning hit. They ended up walking the gurney right through the dining room, the diners stunned and simultaneously dejected at the sight of poor Larry, oxygen respirator over his mouth and nose, hair a little smoky. Anyway.
“We stopped at a fast food place on the way home, like others in the same plight. It was a shame what happened to Larry. We all agreed, certainly, but why the rest of the staff could not have served us something, even if it wasn’t to Larry’s elevated standard, was never explained, but be that as it may, we understood, but still. Anyway.
“Our little gem was closed for a month. Fast food chains or fast casual, to be avoided, and small independents? Well, the check is always $120 regardless of what you eat and drink. Strange, but we weren’t the only ones to notice, believe me. A place like Larry’s? Nowhere. We checked. Anyway.
“Then word got out that Larry was back on his feet, doing physical therapy. But it was a long recovery. Then, later the picture of bald Larry learning to walk again appeared in the local paper. People gasped. Someone mentioned that Larry had gotten lazy, wasn’t “really putting his back into the recovery.” As the weeks rolled by people said “he’s milking the disability for all it’s worth.” People started to ask if the lightning “fried his brain.” Livers and onions? Forget it, he can’t even toast the bread. We gave up on Larry and the little gem. At a local council meeting they talked about taking over the property and selling it to another restauranteur like Larry, but the city attorney put the kibosh on that, and he said that the ‘extra legal’ solutions being whispered about in the overflowing crowd were actually criminal. Anyway.
“Summer dragged by. My girlfriend and I purchased a new grill that could also smoke meat and every Thursday we both raced home exhausted to try our hand at making a delicious dinner. We tried chicken, sausages, ribs, even fish in our new ‘egg’. None were a complete failure, but they weren’t exactly the toothsome victuals we were accustomed to on Thursday evenings. We spent hours on the deck, drinking more than we should, washing away our anger with drunken oaths against Larry and his fraudulent disability, his remorseless attitude about what he’d done to us, to our lives. We were still living, right? Not laid out on a gurney, our hair smoking, but living all the same. Don’t we have rights? Don’t we deserve what we deserve, damn it? Anyway.
“Summer turned to fall. Larry still wasn’t able to put one foot in front of the other. We put the ‘egg’ away eventually, which caused my back to give out, so I had like three nights of poor sleep. We talked about selling the house. The neighborhood became churlish, mean. There was a fight at the bagel shop one Sunday morning over the last half dozen ‘everything’ bagels. The people in line were disgusted by the physical violence. But when they realized there were no more ‘everything’ bagels, they began hurling bags of those toasted bagels rounds everyone hates at the owner and baker, Bert, until the police arrived. The brouhaha was all Bert’s fault, in our view, because of his poor planning and unyielding attitude to food trends. We had a point, too. Why waste precious oven space and time on the ‘egg bagel’ which no one purchased? Why not make all the bagels ‘everything’ bagels. Fair question. Because you’re a troublemaker, that’s why, Bert! And the four hours in lockup were time well spent, we say. (Bert sat in the gallery stoically, staring at the witness.) Anyway.
“At 11:30 on November 30th, a Tuesday, the lights of the diner went on as if to open on regular business hours. A women pushing one of those sleek baby strollers for mothers who run marathons after childbirth was the first to notice. She was on her phone for the next fifty minutes, going right down the neighborhood contact list to Carrie Zack. The word got out. Neighbors began arriving at the diner. The partially healed Larry, with strange tufts of hair popping out of his scalp, taped a sign on the inside of the door. (He then read the contents of the sign from a piece of paper.)
After 6 months of painful therapy I'm finally on the mend. But there's still more to do before I can re-open. Overcoming my natural laziness is the biggest hurdle, and of course the disability payments at 1/4 of my normal salary will be tragically missed. But fortunately I can make sentences, like this one: I hope all of you have a miserable 'holiday' season. I'll only be serving people from other neighborhoods, nobody from Lakeside is allowed in, and don't think for a moment that I don't know who you are!!!
“Can you imagine the gall of this guy? Wow, people mumbled in disbelief to each other but that quickly turned to anger and then downright hostility. People scrounged small pieces of concrete, rocks, anything that could break a window, or slash an awning. Some guy came back from the alley with an old 2x4 studded with a variety of nails, protruding in every direction. “We could launch it like a missile!” someone yelled. There was complete agreement, first time I ever saw that. In Lakeside it was considered poor form to not have a slightly individual take about everything, though at bottom we all subscribed to the same opinions, meticulously. Anyway.
“Just when we agreed on the force and direction of the 2x4 missile, the cops rolled up, same two guys from Bert’s Bagels a couple of months back. They put the whole shebang to rest, the 2x4 landed innocently on the sidewalk. The crowd dispersed.
“With Lakesiders no longer allowed, the place filled up with foreigners. Yeah, these people had no compunction about infiltrating our neighborhood, our neighborhood, and eating our soup, our homemade breads, our smoked meats, and salmon; he added smoked salmon to the menu! We saw it online, on his new website, the quisling! In big bold letters in the header of his site he welcomed one neighborhood after another, but no mention of Lakeside. We were devastated. Anyway.
“Then Larry hung a formal “No Lakesiders Allowed” sign made in copper, I think, yeah copper. I admit it was impressive, and he hung it proudly where all could see, right next to the front door, outside. There was no limit to this man’s hatred and vitriol. I mean it’s not like we willed the lightning to hit ol’ Larry for gosh sakes. Sure we made a few jokes about his smoking head and that, but it was all in good fun. No one really thought him a lazy scofflaw, willing to take an easy handout instead of getting his ass back in the kitchen and preparing food for his diehard customers. Anyway.
“On the anniversary of the lightning strike the sign disappeared. Everyone got a call, down to Carrie Zack, but no one called the outsiders from other neighborhoods. Callous Larry invited Lakeside back, but didn’t notify other neighborhoods that they were no longer welcomed. At least, that’s how we saw it. So when the 5:00 hour arrived on that infamous Thursday evening, there was a massive throng of people all pressing to get in the door at the same time. Tempers flared, as you might expect; exhausted, hungry, sweaty office workers, very deserving I might add, of nourishment and refreshment…
At this point in the proceedings the Judge, Judge John O’Brien, his face etched with frustration, reached under his robe and to our astonishment took out a handgun, which he instantly started waving around. Other than those few frozen by the sheer madness of the spectacle, everyone started to duck and dive wherever they could, under tables, behind those black office chairs. A few of the reporters covered their heads with those yellow legal pads which made Judge O’Brien howl with laughter. One had to admit it was quite funny in retrospect. Finally he put the gun down on his bench and things settled down quickly. He said “Proceed” and the witness climbed back into the witness chair and restarted his testimony, looking in disbelief at the Judge. “Anyway,” the witness began. But again the Judge interrupted: “You were asked a simple question sir, and we’ve gotten a nearly ten minute soliloquy about the last year or fourteen months of your life. And where are the prosecuting attorneys, letting this charade continue with no end in sight. This courtroom doesn’t have weeks for this trial. We should be done with this trial by the end of the day. Mob violence and arson won’t be allowed to go unpunished, but let’s not sit here for days on end.”
“With all due respect, your honor,” started the lead prosecutor, rising, “we find the witness’s testimony very useful, amazing actually, as his level of entitlement, to which he appears oblivious,” continued the young attorney.
“Yes, yes, but this is well understood by everyone in the courtroom at this point, and letting him carry on without interruption is simply torturing all of us, including the jury,” snapped the judge.
“Continue, but let’s wrap it up,” ordered the judge.
The witness therefore continued his story.
“We never understood how the fire started. The fight was fair, but our side won, defending home and hearth of course. The lady with the sleek, three wheeled stroller was like a whirlwind of fists and kicks. She guarded the door to Larry’s while some guys pushed the heathen back down the street, aided by a set of long, used 2x4s tricked out with a slew of bent nails. But victory was short lived. When we turned around the place was ablaze. That was the end of the diner. Rest in peace I guess. Anyway.
The witness was excused. He returned to his seat beside his attorney and his mother. A few in the gallery began to applaud, until the Judge banged the gavel. The prosecutor then called the 2nd witness. Strangely, his testimony was at odds to everything we had heard from the first witness. The prosecutor asked the following questions:
“Did you ever hear the proprietor of the diner, Larry, made fun of, or called a scofflaw?”
Answer: “Yes, the first witness was fond of ridiculing Larry, even made jokes about his smoking head. He would dance around like his head was on fire and yell “save the meat, save the meat!” It was an outrageous and insensitive performance.”
“Were you present at Bert’s Bagels the day of the altercation the first witness described and who was the instigator of the altercation?”
Answer: “Yes I was there, in line behind the first witness. When two people ahead of us started to discuss the last half dozen ‘everything’ bagels, the first witness egged them on mercilessly, until they had no choice but to come to blows. Then the first witness began eagerly throwing bags of the bagel rounds at the owner and calling him all manner of names, until he too was forced to retaliate, and that’s when the police walked in.”
“Were you present at the re-opening of Larry’s Diner?”
Answer: “Yes, I was. When the owner Larry made his feelings known about serving Lakesiders, the first witness became visibly incensed. He began marching around, collecting anything he could throw and exhorting the group to join in, but no one was initially interested. As we were all beginning to walk away, he came running out of the alley with a long 2x4 and persuaded several men to stand on either side of it. The police came and the nonsense ended.”
“Were you present at the city council meeting where the “taking” of Larry’s Diner was discussed, and can you tell us what you saw and heard?”
Answer: “Yes, my wife is on the council so when time permits I go to the meetings. The first witness managed to get himself on the agenda, to talk about a change in zoning laws, yet when he had the floor he issued a diatribe at Larry and his diner, arguing that the city needed to take over the property as it was going into ruin, which was not at all true. When he was finally made to sit back down he inveighed against Larry and the diner from the back of the room, trying to lead a “citizen’s action” as he called it.”
“Did you know the first witness from the diner?”
Answer: “How to avoid it? When the place was busy he and the missus pushed their way through the line saying “We’re joining another party,” and then when they got to the head of the line they’d find someone, anyone, they might know in any imaginable way and invite themselves to share the table. On occasion they would also invite others to share their table. I think they did it to get a taste of a new addition to the menu since they’d push the joiners to try new dishes. Either way they were horrible guests to share a meal with. He eats like an animal and insults his girlfriend at every opportunity, and all she does is complain about perfectly delicious food prepared with skill and care.”
“Were you present at the restaurant the night of the altercation and the ensuing fire?”
Answer: “Yes, we were there, my wife and I, looking forward to a pleasant meal at a neighborhood eatery. The crowd was large, though not incredibly so as the first witness described. People were generally talking and sharing the evening together until the first witness arrived and immediately started to push and shove people from other neighborhoods, telling them they should go find their own neighborhood diner. Eventually they started to shove and push back and the two sides went mano a mano. I saw the first witness come running out of the alley with a pair of long 2x4s again studded all over with jagged, bent nails. He shamed some other men to take hold and then rush the enemy. A minute later the place was on fire and the brouhaha ended. The first witness was undeterred though, he raised one of the 2x4s in victory and then launched it into the diner, breaking a large window, providing the fire with all the air it needed and it was soon a conflagration.”
The jury and likewise the gallery sat motionless, their mouths agape at what they had heard. The prosecutor sat down, her strategy now completely realized and successful. She did not suspect what came next, though there were whispers among the more skeptical reporters on hand. The judge picked up his handgun then and looked at it reverently. He stared at the first witness while placing the gun in the holster under his robe. Then the lawyer for the first witness rose to cross examine the second witness:
“Sir, you stated that the first witness joked about Larry’s injuries in public but isn’t it true sir that you, at the Town Tavern, actually asked the first witness to perform these little skits in front of your friends?”
Answer: “Well, humor like this is especially funny once you’re a little lit right, the alcohol is the real culprit here.”
“The Alcohol? Sir, you stated that the first witness was solely responsible for the imbroglio at Bert’s Bagels, but isn’t it true that you were also involved, ribbing the customers ahead of you for their lack of “spine” in opposing each other, and hurling insults at Bert’s wife?”
Answer: “I might have said a few things, but we still have free speech in this country right? And Bert’s wife could stand to lose fifty pounds, right?”
“Free speech? Sir you stated that the first witness became incensed when Larry’s Diner reopened and he hung his initial sign disallowing entrance to Lakesiders. Further, you stated that the first witness collected rocks to throw and then found a 2x4 to launch through the windows, but isn’t it true that you tried ripping down the awning that hung across the front and side of the diner, that you bent the frame with your mischief?”
Answer: “Well, mine was civil disobedience, not mere juvenile delinquency. I mean, “No Lakesiders Allowed” was a sore reminder of Alabama and Mississippi in the 60’s.”
“Alabama and Mississippi? Sir, you stated that the first witness advocated Larry’s take over by the city of Lakeside at a council meeting, but isn’t it true that you confronted the city attorney after the meeting and screamed insults like “useless toady” at him?”
Answer: “Well, yes, but, you know sometimes your emotions can get the better of you…”
“Emotions? Sir, everyone in this court has noticed a distinct resemblance between you and the first witness, even with your facial hair. Isn’t it true that the first witness is your biological son, a secret you kept all these years until this fiasco unfolded? (A huge gasp rose from the gallery, and several people said “What?” out loud, instinctively.) Isn’t it true during the first impasse at Larry’s you suspected the angry young man was your son, and you called his mother for the first time in thirty years and verified his identity? Isn’t it true that on the night of the melee you told your son to “get the 2x4’s” and isn’t it also true that you organized the men to “charge the enemy”? (The witness sat stunned in disbelief that his son and the son’s mother had revealed his secret.) And isn’t it true that you raised your arms in exuberant victory when the 2x4 sailed through the window causing the fire to grow completely out of hand?” The second witness sat shocked, unable to speak.
Finally he answered: “Yes.” (Again, there was a gasp in the gallery. The witness glaring at his son.)
The most explosive moments of the trial were now behind us. Shocked out of their equivocating testimony, and the foolishness of their outright lies, the rest of the witnesses laid out the truth unblinkingly and corroborated the true story of what happened.
In her summation the prosecutor stated “Before this case I could not have imagined that just two people, an estranged father and son no less, could incite such malevolence and get a crowd of people to attack each other for no reason. I thought mob violence like this required a long history of conflict, but that appears, surprisingly, to be incorrect. A person or two can turn a spring evening into a violent confrontation over seats in a restaurant. I am as shocked as all of you at this, but we must put our disbelief aside and focus on the testimony of the witnesses.”
“We saw some unusual behavior in this trial, in this courtroom. We were also ambushed by the fact that the two people most responsible for the altercation at Larry’s are father and son in some strange, biological way; yet, they may as well be strangers to each other, even adversaries. Putting aside their unusual relationship, the two who incited the violence and then lied to this court must be held responsible.”
In the end all the men who took part in the 2x4 thrust at the enemy diners were identified, as was the lady with the sleek, three wheeled stroller. Fines were handed out to all of the men, the highest to the second witness, and probation to all; no one saw actual prison time. How the fire started was never determined, though people generally believed that Larry had seen the whole episode and decided that the diner was no longer worth the effort.
The woman with the sleek, three wheeled stroller got community service instead of a fine and she used it to organize a half marathon, raising money for Larry’s “Give, Send, Go” account, with the hope that he might rebuild and reopen. No such luck though. With the insurance payout and the charity Larry took a floating retirement in the Florida Keys, and six months later was happily cooking the fish caught by tourist in a cash only little outpost. Cold beer and fresh fish, as simple as it gets.
Update: The old diner has been razed and in its stead there’s a condo development along the entire former business district. There’s a space on the street level for a new cafe but so far there are no takers. The first witness, whose name I withheld because he still has a long life to live, has been in and out of trouble since the trial. He was told not to enter Bert’s Bagels and this led to another altercation. He has also entered restaurants in nearby neighborhoods, raising eyebrows everywhere, but in one, on the outskirts of town, less genteel than Lakeside, he got into a tiff and took a “tune up” as they call it. He and his latest girlfriend now eat at home, exclusively. There has been no reconciliation between father and son.
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