Wishing you all the best. See you all next year!
With love and care and thanks to all for following and reading.
Peter
A Happy Holiday Season to all.
See you shortly with new Bill Wynn and some new things.
Re-posted in consideration of General Michael Flynn
In light of the Special Prosecutor and in consideration for those who are pleading guilty, here’s the anatomy of a guilty plea when you’re coerced into making one.Ohio State University, 1970. More than six hundred would be arrested. Most of them would have their cases dismissed because of entrapment. I was the first person arrested.
The demonstrators were sitting on the gates to the campus. The gates were open and while demonstrators were hindering traffic, the road was not blocked other than by people. From inside the campus, in plain clothes, what would turn out to be undercover FBI agents entered into the crowd. They pulled one demonstrator from the gates and started beating him. They made no attempt to arrest him or identify themselves. They simply beat him.
I was standing there with one of my professors. We had met for lunch and he wanted to see what was happening. I pleaded with the crowd to help the kid being beaten but no one did. Finally I threw down my books and grabbed the guy nearest me who was beating the demonstrator. I was immediately knocked out from behind. I came to in the paddy wagon where an undercover cop started and led a conversation that showed up verbatim at my trial.
I was in a holding cell for about eight hours. I had no one to help me and no money for bail. Finally another professor of mime, a friend, bailed me out. He took me to the hospital where I was treated for a concussion and patched up. If not for this friend, I would not have had a lawyer. I had no money, no resources. I was hurt and in trouble.
I’ve told this many times in many contexts and written about it too.
A legal defense fund was started and my friend made some calls to find out if they would take my case. When I say I had no money, this means none, nada. I was on a work study program that paid my tuition and I received a meager SSI benefit for my deceased mother which paid my rent. This was my entire income.
The arraignment came. The judge told the prosecutor it was a ridiculous case, so outrageous that he should dismiss it outright. He then turned to me and said he wanted to dismiss the case but knew that if he did they would re-arrest me the moment I walked out the door. He said they would then file felony charges against me, my bail would skyrocket, and worse, they’d put me in the penitentiary for a year. So in my best interests, he said, he was holding the case against me over for trial.
Then came the wheeling-dealing, all of which was handled by my lawyer. We met in his office and he laid it all out. I was charged with three misdemeanors, assault and battery on a police officer, resisting arrest and disorderly conduct. If I didn’t cop a plea, they would file a felony against me, Rioting One. The penalty for that was prison time in the penitentiary. As well, I had to face a disciplinary hearing in the university’s ombudsman’s office. If I didn’t cop a plea, they would try me immediately and if were found guilty, not only would I go to prison for a year, but I’d also be expelled from the university and never be allowed to graduate. I was a senior in my last quarter.
So what choice was there for me? In the end, what I did or didn’t do didn’t matter. Truth didn’t matter. Getting their conviction was all that mattered and they were willing to ruin my life for that.
This is the anatomy of a coerced guilty plea. Imagine what they did to General Flynn and so many others.
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
By Peter Weiss
Fun and games don’t last forever and for all the things you get away with, sooner or later there’s a day of reckoning.
The basketball season went on, then pitchers and catchers reported for spring training. The winter concerts were long gone and UDC was busy rehearsing for the spring concert series. Bill’s fiancé was getting ready to graduate and she and Bill were getting ready to get married. Life was life.
Winter was dreary and long. If April was the cruelest month, February, for as short as it was, was one of the longest, dullest, bleakest periods of time. Everything plodded on. The days were bitter cold and the ever-present winds made them feel even colder. There was not much snow. Things were flat, barren and brown.
Seemed like day by day tempers at work were flaring more often and more intensely. Bea appeared to be outrageously jealous of Mary and acted out whenever Bill went off with her. She started playing power games with Bill, mostly about stupid stuff like laundry room and storeroom keys, both of which she coveted steadfastly. There wasn’t a single time when she would give up the keys without reminding Bill to lock the doors behind him. Most often and whenever she could, she would go down with him, not because she didn’t trust him but because she wanted to remind him that she was the boss.
Her extracurricular demands became more outrageous too. At the strangest times she would tell Bill to meet her downstairs and when he did she would be waiting for him, waiting for him to take care of her. He might find her in the storeroom sitting atop a stack of boxes with no panties on and her legs wide open. Or he might find her in the linen room totally naked just waiting for him. She always made sure to take care of him too, but she was relatively indifferent to whether or not he was in the mood. This too he realized was nothing more than a power-play.
Bill recognized power-plays. He remembered—he would never forget—that arrival at the workhouse, getting off the bus, the drama that the prison guards played on him and everyone who was there to see it and experience it. Then there were the times when he was sitting in his work-detail bus and from the bus window they watched the same guards play the same drama on the new inmates.
He had seen brutal things. Personally, he had been picked on, chastised, humiliated and had his head shaved. Or, it wasn’t shaved completely. Worse, they just chopped off all the hair he’d spent years growing.
In comparison, Bea’s power plays were inconsequential, even humorous. They were petty, small, evil-intentioned.
He and Mary had developed and were continuing a sensitive, caring affair. Once they had disclosed their feelings, once they had opened up about them, there was no turning back.
“I love you,” Mary had said.
“I love you too,” said Bill.
Those words were uttered, it was like the dam had burst and emotions were flooding out of each of them. They went to the Upper Room. They spent as much time as they could downstairs in the party room and anywhere else where they could be together. They even spent time at Mary’s house when Mary could get Alfreda to babysit.
Bill’s fiancé did not seem to notice much about his being absent. It was not that he was a great actor and was busy pretending he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. It was more that she was into herself, ever into herself, almost never looking much outside of that.
There would be a time of reckoning for Bill and her too. Anyone who was looking at them from outside their situation could already see everything, could already see that even before they were married they were growing apart. She had not signed on to be married to a cook.
Pick up a copy of my published works here:
By Peter Weiss