August 2005
A Plea for Trampus Borders
by Royce Roberts
COMES NOW Defendant Trampus Borders, by and through his counsel, Manny Scusez, and presents this Pre-Sentence Report to this honorable Court.
The facts
On March 13, 2004, Trampus Borders was driving home in his pickup truck after his nightly visit to the Big Dog Tavern. Although Trampus had consumed only two beers, he was tired and decided to get a cup of coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.
Unbeknownst to Trampus, State Trooper Conrad Jones was inside Dunkin’ Donuts, eating his second creampuff. After Trampus purchased his coffee at the drive-thru, he accelerated slightly around the corner and accidentally hit Trooper Jones’s patrol car. Trooper Jones heard the crash, threw down his creampuff, and ran outside.
He arrested Trampus, handcuffed him, and put him in the back seat of his patrol car. Unfortunately, Trampus threw up in the back seat. At this point, Trooper Jones lost all professional objectivity. He dragged Trampus out of the car, hog-tied him, and tossed him back inside. They drove on to the police station with all the windows rolled down.
Trooper Jones cited Trampus for DUI, fallaciously reasoning that only a drunk would hit a parked patrol car, vomit in the back seat, and scream obscenities all the way to the police station. Trooper Jones completely discounted the possibility that Trampus was suffering from stomach flu or food poisoning.
Trampus is a proud man, and decided to right this wrong by going to trial. He insisted on testifying and mixed up a few details, which the prosecutor unfairly characterized as lying. The jury was out for all of 20 minutes, and found Trampus guilty.
The state’s recommendation
For these innocuous facts, the state demands that Trampus be incarcerated for a year, receive alcohol treatment, and pay restitution for the costs of cleaning and fumigating Trooper Jones’s patrol car. Such is the opinion of narrow and vindictive minds. We reply, as would the great poet Alexander Pope, that “all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.”
The defense recommendation
To sentence Trampus Borders justly, this court must examine his intentions, his character, and his place in the world. Trampus did not intend to break the law the night of March 13. Except for Trooper Jones’s negligent parking job, Trampus would have enjoyed a cup of coffee and driven safely home. That he was involved in an accident is the result of bad luck, not bad intentions.
Indeed, Trampus is a man of impeccable intentions. He intends to work, but employment eludes him. He intends to pay child support, but can’t raise the money. He tries to remain sober, but evil companions lead him astray. Trampus is plagued by misfortune — his plane tickets are lost, his rent money is stolen, and his truck breaks down just before job interviews. Old warrants follow him wherever he goes. Shrewish and vindictive ex-wives and girlfriends pursue him for alimony and child support. Troopers spring out of donut shops with malicious glee. But this is not Trampus’s fault.
We should not, writes Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations, ask men for virtues they do not posses and ignore those they do. Consider Trampus’s virtues: he is a boon companion in a tavern, he never refuses a drink, and he always lends a sympathetic ear to troubled souls. He fixes friends’ and neighbors’ cars for free, and adores his many children even though he cannot support them. Trampus is a lover of women if only they are shapely and not overly fastidious. But these virtues are ignored by the prosecutor, who views Trampus with a jaundiced eye.
In another time, Trampus would be living happily in a French village, crushing grapes with his feet and attending the feast days of saints. After a few glasses of vino to celebrate Saint Bacchus, Trampus would stagger over to his donkey cart and fall inside. Awakened by his master’s belly flop, the donkey would perform as designated driver, and clip-clop home. Poor Trampus lives in modern America, his donkey cart is made of metal, and the law frowns on the consumption of vino prior to driving.
Trampus is not an unusual man. Properly understood, his story is the story of most of mankind. He is the president’s brother, the movie star’s homely sister, and the executive’s son who lives in a trailer down by the river. His uncle couldn’t keep a wife, his cousin couldn’t hold a job, and his aunty required a medicinal shot of whiskey to start her day.
Trampus is Billy Beer and pork rinds, the cold cup of coffee, and the empty roll of toilet paper. He is soggy lasagna on a weak paper plate. He is too sweet or too sour; he is overdone and undercooked; he is never just right. But Trampus is hardly evil. He has never murdered or robbed, or run an oil tanker aground in pristine Alaskan waters.
His criminal record is a mere menu of peccadilloes, a diary of harmless idiosyncrasies. Heedless when attention is necessary, vague when specificity is required, insolvent when money is useful, tardy when timeliness is essential — these are Trampus’s crimes, nothing more. And if he should continue on with his life’s journey, bumping into this tree, or that squad car, what real harm has he done?
Conclusion
We are satisfied that Your Honor, possessed of a spacious mind and an understanding heart, will agree that a minimum sentence would display maximum sympathy. We recommend credit for time served (one day) and 10 hours of community service. In the spirit of bygones, Trampus is willing to pay for the fumigation of Trooper Jones’s squad car.
Respectfully Submitted,
Manny Scusez
Counsel for Trampus Borders.
Royce Roberts is an attorney with the Society of Counsel Representing Accused Persons in Seattle, and a past contributor of stories to Bar News.
