Tales From the District Attorney's Office. Part One

As my semester comes to a close, everything is wrapping up and being tied away as neatly as possible. As such, my internship at the District Attorney has been completed. In a nutshell what I did with the DA was work with the Reentry Taskforce. We helped men and women who were coming out of incarceration get jobs, find housing, get into drug rehab programs, and start a new life. I did just about everything you can imagine in relation to that job – from working with drug councilors and doctors, to interviewing our clients, to sending faxes, to organizing and closing cases, and on and on. Needless to say, my knowledge of both the rehab clinics, and the employment and housing agencies in this area is much more extensive than before. The following are moments from my time spent there that I will never forget. (All names and locations have been changed for security purposes).

First day on the job I was whisked off to parole. I was fresh-eyed and innocent and didn't know much about what I would be doing, or what I was getting myself in to. My "welcome" to the office consisted of two security guards eyeing me with interest, and then kindly saying "welcome to hell." Good. It wasn't hell, exactly, but it certainly was bordering on right-around-the-corner from "the grass is greener on the other side" and down the street from "This ain't heaven, baby, so I'm goin someplace elseee."

My first miscreant (my fond name for our clients) sat and stared at me and refused to talk, and when he finally did spoke no English whatsoever and covered his mouth. I found out later that he was suspected of being an illegal alien and had a bad tooth.

A couple weeks into the job I was at parole when we were all ushered in to the conference room. Everyone was extremely serious, and when a number of security guards filed in and told us that an assassination attempt had been called in, the place began to buzz. A parolee had been targeted by one of the gangs in the area, and the shootout was supposed to go down that day outside of parole. Continued next post

Tales From the District Attorney's Office. Part Two

They wanted him out of the way and wanted to send a message. It was a serious situation because this had happened a number of years ago and a couple of people at parole had died. A picture of the man was passed around, and the office went into a sort of lock-down. Anyone around the parameter of the building had to put on a vest, and the rest of us were kept safely away from windows and doors. Soon after my boss and the guards decided they wanted me out of the “situation” so I was escorted out to my car and taken to safety. Later that day they were able to get a hold of the guy before he was murdered and everyone was okay. Phew.

My miscreants would often say the craziest things, and this one time a young guy at parole who was not a part of our program came in with a busted face. When I asked him what happened he said the following.
“Well, man, I was really needing some crack the other day so I let these guys beat me up for ten dollars and the whole time I was worried about them breaking my crack pipe. I should have been worried about my head probably, but then I went home and my landlady told me to shut up about being loud but I wasn’t being loud and told her so and she got her boyfriend and he threw me down the stairs and I was just really really worried that I was going to break my crack pipe but I didn’t. But my face got busted. It’s cool though.” Good. Continued next post

Tales From the District Attorney's Office. Part Three

One of my favorite clients was this little short guy with round glasses and a big mustache. He kind of looked like a turtle and he was the most polite and “old fashioned” gentleman in the entire building. The first day I met him he told me the most interesting story about his time in prison. In a nutshell, during his days there he had realized that it was his purpose in life to become a motivational speaker. He had gotten a “brood” of guys to flock around him and had become their mentor. He helped them get through the good and the bad days, and his philosophy on seeing life in the most positive way had helped keep many of them out of trouble. He was inspiring and completely committed to his ideas and his motivation to help others – not something we saw very much with our clients.

A couple of months into the job I was helping a client organize his life situation, and I needed to make copies of his IDs. He was rather ADHD, so when he didn’t respond to my request I just thought he had spaced out. I asked again, and he leaned forward and asked if he could go to the bathroom. Confused I told him that he could go in a minute, but I needed his IDs first. ....continued in next post

Stories from the District Attorney's Office Part Four

“No no no,” he told me as if it was perfectly obvious, “I have to go to the bathroom IN ORDER to get my IDs.”
I was completely taken aback, so I simply obliged and walked him to the bathroom. A few moments later he resurfaced with his IDs, though I told him to “just hang on to those.” I had no idea what to do so I did the noble thing and passed him off to one of my male coworkers. I had class! I had to go! Needless to say my coworker thanked me profusely the next day.

My last day at parole was not as eventful as some weeks, but it did include the following: One of our clients came in and when I sat him down for his interview he seemed extremely agitated. I managed to get him to start talking, and he finally explained in very rushed and tense tones that “My number one girlfriend told me yesterday that she was pregnant and then my number two girlfriend told me today that she’s pregnant too and I just stole a car and got caught and I need a job in order to pay for my babies and I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”
Needless to say I had some choice things to tell him, but refrained and simply talked him through till he had calmed down a little. But for the future, dearest darling, wrap it up and then narrow it down to just one girl. K? Cool. Oh yeah, and don't steal cars.

There are many, many other stories from the darling DA, but I’m already dragging this through four posts so enough is enough. I learned a lot and saw a lot and will certainly never forget the experience!

Fictional Writing

Somehow I have spent the last three years of college writing papers on everything and in every style but fiction...until now. For the first time in my history at Manhattanville, I received a fictional writing assignment. It was no joking matter. It was for my Law and Literature class, so as you might imagine it had something to do with that subject matter. The requirements were fairly open, save for the fact that we had to include characters from many major works of literature in our completely new and original story. The concoction that I came up with includes the dear old figures of Holmes, Watson, Horace Rumpole (from the Omnibus series) David Copperfield, Inspector Lestrade, Billy Budd, Amelia Nettleship, Nigel Baringham, and other odds and ends thrown in there. When I first began to write I had no idea where the story was going, so the five page limit turned into a 20 page “good ol’ yarn.” Or something like that.
I must admit that it was strange to delve once more into the land of fiction. Ideas and words coming straight from my head, with no limitations on the part of construed prompts or topics, was a little more different than my usual fare of essays. Overall, however, it was an enjoyable experience. I’m taking a couple more literature classes next semester so perhaps this will not be my only jaunt into that other world.

Memory

I think that magic exists. I've found it a couple of times, tucked around the corner of seemingly ordinary ideas, thoughts, and circumstances. I've made magic a couple of times...at least I think so.
Last summer in early August, she was a dancer, I was that musician of sorts. We had spent the majority of the evening wrecking havoc of our own sort on the island I call home for the summertime. Food had been ingested, umbrella's stolen, footballs thrown down store corridors, hijacking boats considered and then abandoned for opera house cafe's where out of tune piano's were played. She thought most of it was a riot, but wasn't satisfied with my ability to charm the funky notes into anything magical, so we went elsewhere. I didn't know what the goal was at first, just followed her into the car and to the island cottage. There was more sneaking, a breaking in of sorts, and we were in a dark room. She told me to close my eyes and suddenly that piano was in front of me. I didn't say anything for the next twenty minutes, just played and played and played. Four months without a real instrument will do that to you.
When I finally looked up she was dancing. It was just me and a piano, an empty room, and her dancing. We were separate in our worlds of creativity, but together they blended and wove to make something entirely new. You can call it what you want.

Small Acts of Kindness

I was sitting at work in the library today when my Italian professor from last semester walked in. She is an adorable little woman who speaks in slightly broken English, loves her students, and is always interested in learning more about the “Americano” way of life. Last semester she would often ask us students to explain certain phrases or words that did not make sense to her. Most often those explanations ended in laughter.

Today before taking her normal place at one of the back computers, Professor Alfeo approached me at the desk and asked me what I wanted to drink. I looked at her quizzically and she told me that she wanted to buy me a drink. I asked for a hot chocolate, though I was still unsure what she was up to. She smiled and went off, and a few moments returned with the hot beverage, along with a Snapple for my coworker.

“See I remember you like Snapple,” she told him.

“Thanks so much but…why?” I said to her.

“It is because I taka yoga classes,” she said with a grin, “and they teaches us to do these acts of small kindnesses. So this is my smallest kindness for the day….plus I just like you.”

Ken and I laughed delightedly and she smiled even bigger and went on her way. In retrospect, although out of the ordinary, what she did was really quite wonderful. It was simple and easy and made us both happy. Small acts of kindness, as a theory, should be something that I subscribe to more often. Next time she comes in I’m going to return the favor!