Wa-wa-wa-wa What D-Bond?

 

 

"...the law, [the man from the country] thinks, should be accessible to anyone at any time ..." Franz Kafka, The Trial.

An attorney's "first duty is to the courts and the public, not to the client, and wherever the duties to his client conflict with those he owes as an officer of the court in the administration of justice, the former must yield to the latter." Corpus Juris Secundum, Attorney & Client, Vol. 7, Sec. 4..

 

 

The Justice Factory: Eighth Appearance On Charge:

Harassment by Telephone

THE CASE OF THE DISAPPEARING D-BOND

March 9, 2000 Court Appearance, Chicago Illinois, Branch 46, 1340 N. Michigan Ave.:

All week, I can't decide about what to do about my new court date. Should I run to the hospital since I'm sick anyway, can't sleep, am having panic attacks? Should I flee the state and/or the country like I'm some kind of criminal? A friend puts perspective on it. "This is just a telephone harassment charge. It's getting ridiculous."

I agree with him, even though I also think how my first husband's case was only a threatening phone call and once they put him in jail, they gave him a lobotomy. I think how far I pushed the system with my motions and how they surely want to kill me, the messenger and some gadfly layman "knower" of what they're all about.

Finally, I decide just to face the music and if they throw me in, I'll just have to live with it the best I can and if they harm me on the inside, so be it. I get to court early. This time, I have a man friend accompany me, he's tall, dark and Latin (just the way I like them!) and I'm thrilled in my heart of hearts that he offered to come with me and I didn't even ask him.

I go to file more of my motions, the same ones I faxed over during last week and ask for the good clerk, Mike Niemic, but he doesn't get in until 9:30. I go ahead and file. Mike's the good clerk because he date stamps every page of your filings and in cautious ways so as not to cover up words.

I deliver my motions to the State's Attorney, it's morning so I forgive them that their date stamp reads February 38, 2000.

I'm nervous about the appearance, afraid maybe bad Judge Smith will be there. Afraid their strategy to deal with me will be to throw me in jail on contempt charges until my trial date or on some new violation of bond to keep me from writing more motions, complaints, etc. I'm dressed, ready to go in. I bring no extraneous anything -- no purse, not even any identification. I've brought a few dollars, a transit card, a list of phone numbers and a pen -- in case they take custody I can write the phone numbers on my arm before they confiscate my stuff. This way, I can call some new set of friends than the last to come and bail me out. As much as I'd like to stay in awhile, the infection I caught from my first time in is worse, not better. I'm wearing my t-shirt from the prison I was allowed to keep, it's got a big black M on the front and a big D.O.C. on the back.

I've given my envelopes of complaints to the fraternal lawyer and judge discipline organizations to my friend to mail if they take me today -- the post office in my neighborhood wasn't open when I left for court.

Immediately, I see Judge William O'Malley's name on the outside door and breathe a sigh of relief. I go in to the courtroom and yes, there's his name plate and am relieved again, but won't have total relief until he actually enters the courtroom. He does and yes, so far so good.

While waiting for him to enter, I wonder if I should wait outside to avoid the All Rise command, not wishing to rise but also not wishing to get thrown in jail. I decide to go ahead and rise while thinking to myself "I do this under duress, forgive me Lord".

Things start off as usual. Calling of one case after another. Bad prosecutor Patti Eshaei is there all morning. Sometimes she sort of disappears and it makes me feel good and I think that she's gone, she won't be presiding in my case but then she'd keep re-appearing, dashing my hopes. We exchange some glances but I don't get the same evil eye from her as I normally do.

It's a long, long day. I know I'm up before the courts although I don't see the complainant. My name's on the list of defendants posted outside the courtroom for the first time since my hearings in this courtroom. I see my file on the clerk's desk -- it's at the bottom and is easily recognizable by it's bulk (my 40 plus motions) and the golden paper clips I used.

The judge starts by announcing it's going to be a busy, hectic time for him -- that he has to run three courtrooms. He's got to go to an officer's memorial service. He's got to break for lunch. He's got bond hearings. There are at least four recesses in this day. It goes on and on and on. Another friend of mine shows up around 10:30, he's a serious fighter for justice, too. He starts taking notes and the bailiff tells him he can't without permission. So he immediately gets it, saying that anybody can write in courtrooms! He's adamant about it. Case after case comes and goes. Whole new sets of faces and cases appear around 11ish -- still, my case isn't called. Every recess, the clerk disappears with the judge. Finally, I corner the public defender. Most of the morning he's been throwing me good vibe looks so that's reassuring. I ask him why my case isn't getting heard, what's a bond hearing, etc. He offers to check on the status of my case -- comes back, says they know I'm here and that they're reading my motions. I wonder if that's what they've really been doing all morning long.

Finally, sometime after 2:00 the courtroom is emptied out. I'm there in the back, sitting between my two big men friends. It must be some sight from the bench -- one big guy with a hippie look, long hair and beard, the other a big, tall Latin guy and little meek-looking, lady-like me in between them (in jail, a guard had called me "Penelope", I caught it, Penelope from the movie Trading Places)-- meek looking but a writer who writes with the wrath of the sword like nobody's business.

I'm greatly relieved by the wait, figuring that if they were going to railroad me in they would have done it early on. Even so, all morning long, every time a new group of police would enter for court, a chill would run up my spine and I'd think this was for me. Once, I heard the judge say, let's clear out when a whole bunch of cops were around and was afraid it was an ambush for me. It reminds me of my week, every day I'd think a knock at the door meant the police, a strange phone call on my caller I.D. meant police, and I'd answer neither.

I get called up and approach the bench. I'm off to the corner and he tells me to come in front where he can see me. I smile at him, so relieved that it's him and tell him welcome back. I'm so relieved I want to break out in tears. He apologizes for the wait, asks why I'm there today. I explain I want a conference and he says why and I say for a settlement, that we all drop charges against each other, he says how there's no reason, we can't settle. I say I want discovery and a bill of particulars. He briefly mentions the case was dismissed at one point but stops with that, realizing that's all beside the point. He then says the court and state can possibly help expedite a speedy disposition and for me to write up an agreement and fax it to Diedra. Diedra Cato is the prosecuting attorney presiding for the State this day. He points to her and says that she has never touched my case. Patti Eshaei is off to the side somewhere. He asks if that's all. I ask if I have to do anything special about the D-bond. "D-bond? he asks and looks around as if it's the first he's heard of it. "The D-bond Patti put on me," I say. He continues with this line of thought, that he knows nothing of it while the clerk's nodding about it and eventually just says, "No." He says that if that if a settlement doesn't happen, he'll expedite discovery and a bill of particulars. We're to come back to court on March 16, 2000 to discuss the settlement.

That's it, it's 2:45 or so when we get out of court. I apologize to my friends profusely. We talk a bit about what went on and stop at the clerk's to check my case. I ask what I'm charged with, since in jail they had me down for Domestic Battery. The clerk says, telephone harassment. I ask them about the D-Bond. They have no record of it, but only of an I-Bond. They say that if the D-Bond were placed on March 2, 2000 that it should be in the computer by now. They ask me for the bond number, which I don't have with me. Next time!

I feel like I won, that it could all be over but for the signing, possibly some negotiations, and I draw up all my agreements by the following day, fax them off and wait for next week.

Later that week, I examine the D-Bond carefully, see that someone, Patti Eshaei I expect, purposely wrote the wrong last name, started to write the wrong address, wrote in the wrong charge -- upgrading me to a Domestic Battery, meaning in women's prisons that you beat your kids and are the lowest of the low -- and that no judge ever put his name on the thing. When I was in prison and the D.O.C. had shown me this charge, my first thought was that it was a mistake. After all I've been through, I'm still that naive when it comes to this level of deviousness and treachery.

You and I, well, we have to answer to people like Patti Eshaei and Judge Smith when we commit crimes, so-called crimes or are simply accused. And whom do they have to answer to? If not for people in the system like Judge O'Malley, the 2 million people in prison would be how many? 4 million? 6 million?

Outside with my friends, the cold air feels good to me. We don't huddle long, go our separate ways and it's a day of celebration, at least for now.

THIS IS JANE DOE FROM THE JUSTICE FRONT.
www.janedoesociety.org; click on members to get to my motions and reports on the case.

Case 999329469
13 & Michigan Ave, Chicago IL 60605. 312-341-2743 States Attorney; 312-341-2888, Clerk
Branch 46, Room 501

Next court day: March 16, 2000

 

 

 

   

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