Chapter 27: Red Pill

February 27, 2001, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Steve

“I do NOT get it,” Bill protested. “He clearly broke the law.”

“Do you think that Illinois was right to deny him the permits?” Nelson asked. “That’s what has me wondering. I mean, everything lines up that says he was eligible for the FOID and should have had it. And we know the City, as a rule, doesn’t give out permits even though they claim permits are available, so the permit system is pure fiction. Steve said he only got his with help from his Alderman. If that’s true, then I don’t see how you can find Mr. Franklin guilty.”

“That’s a lot of handwaving,” Frank said.

“Is it?” Annita asked. “I mean, if he’d had the permits, we wouldn’t be here. So, it looks to me like the government turned him into a criminal.”

“He should have just not had the gun,” Frank replied. “He had to know it was illegal.”

“The man was robbed at gunpoint twice and had two break-ins!” Nelson protested. “I just don’t see what he did as wrong.”

“The law says it was,” Bill protested.

“So I guess you think only criminals should have guns?” Jane, a white woman who I guessed was in her mid-thirties asked.

“He. Broke. The. Law.” Bill replied. “That’s what you are all ignoring.”

“But only because the State Police did him wrong,” Annita said. “Think about it. What if the government denied you a driving license for no good reason? Would you stop driving if your job depended on it and you didn’t have an alternative?”

“I work from home,” Bill said.

“She has a point,” Nelson said. “I can’t take public transportation to work. If the government refused to give me a driving license, I’d be in an impossible situation. I’d have to take the risk.”

“But that’s not the point here,” Frank said. “Steve, what did the judge say?”

“That we had to have a moral conviction of guilt,” I replied.

“And what do you think?”

“I think we have a man in an impossible situation who was the victim of a state government that does everything it can to screw over its citizens. While it’s not specifically relevant, a doctor friend of mine had to pay a bribe to a state employee to get a top surgeon from England permission to work in a hospital here for a year on an exchange program. Aldermen take bribes; city officials are corrupt; governors go to jail; Aldermen go to jail; Congressmen go to jail. If all of that doesn’t give you pause, I’m not sure what would.”

“But how is that even relevant?” Bob asked. “What are the facts?”

“They found the gun and ammunition in his possession,” I replied. “But the entire chain of events is far different. To tell you the truth, I’m having a hard time seeing how the government isn’t at least as guilty as Mr. Franklin is.”

“Me, too,” Annita said. “I don’t want to convict a guy the government screwed over.”

“Does anyone know what happens if we can’t agree?” Jake, a white man about forty, asked.

“We tell the judge,” I said. “And he’ll send us back to keep trying until he’s convinced we’re hopelessly deadlocked. That could take days. And then they would have to have another trial.”

“Aren’t we supposed to just focus on the evidence?” Frank asked.

“Which includes the stuff the defense attorney submitted,” Nelson said. “No criminal record. Attacked twice. House robbed twice. Denied his permits. Navy veteran with an honorable discharge. A union electrician. A black man and two white cops.”

“Seriously?” Bill asked. “You’re going to bring race into it?”

The problem I was seeing was that it was shaping up as a racial divide, even if that wasn’t intended by anyone. I wasn’t sure I could do anything about it, and I didn’t want to reveal my ‘not guilty’ vote, preferring people thought I was ‘not sure’.

“Let’s not go there,” I said calmly. “I think we can agree that he’s getting a raw deal. Bill, do you think the guy deserves three years in jail when the police shouldn’t have even been in his house in the first place? And when he wasn’t disqualified from having the permits?”

“That does seem a bit excessive. But he did break the law. Should he just walk?”

“Should the government just get to screw him over?” Angela asked.

“No, but I can’t see how we can do anything else,” Bill said. “The judge was clear.”

“We’re going around in circles,” Joey a white guy about my age said. “And it looks like, by my estimation, we’re never going to get everyone on the same page.”

I was fairly sure he was right, and that bothered me, but given I saw no way of moving Bill or Frank off their positions, which were technically and legally correct, I decided to try for an alternative.

“Bill,” I said. “Would you agree to find him guilty of just one charge?”

“What do you mean?”

“We acquit him of three charges and find him guilty of just one, say the city ammunition violation, which is the least serious charge?”

“How could we do that? That would mean he also violated the State law. I don’t see any combination that works and doesn’t seem contrived.”

“Do you really think it’s right to send him to prison for three years?” Annita asked.

Bill sighed, “No, but it’s not up to me.”

“Steve,” Annita asked, “do you know if we have to tell the judge WHY we voted the way we did?”

“Not if we return a unanimous verdict,” I replied. “They can do something called polling the jury, but all that means is the judge asking each of us if we agree with the verdict. And, nobody, and I mean NOBODY can ever find out what we talked about in here unless one of us makes it public. And even then, if we were to acquit, nothing could be done by the government to Mr. Franklin or to us.”

“You’re talking about ignoring the judge’s orders,” Frank protested.

I shook my head, “No. He used the phrase ‘moral certainty’. That tells me that if what’s going on is actually ‘immoral’ then we can acquit. Does ANYONE here think the punishment fits the alleged crime?”

“It sure doesn’t,” Angela declared.

“Amen,” Nelson agreed.

“It’s not fair,” Annita said.

Despite my distaste for the word, her heart was in the right place.

“Anyone need coffee?” Joey asked. “I do, and I need the john.”

Several people agreed, so I got up, knocked on the door, and the bailiff opened it. I let him know we wanted coffee and he said he’d bring a pot within a few minutes. A couple of people, including me, needed the bathroom and once the bailiff returned with the coffee he supervised our trips to the restroom. Once everyone was back, we began again.

“What do we do?” Gail asked. “Nobody really thinks this guy should go to jail for three years.”

“I’ll tell you what we do,” Nelson said. “We do the right thing. We find him not guilty because the cops had no business being in his house and it just isn’t right for him to go to prison while the thugs who robbed him and broke into his house are walking the streets. I can’t in good conscience do that. And I’m here to tell you, the judge can make us stay here for a month and I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Steve asked the right question,” Angela said. “And I didn’t hear anybody say they thought the punishment fit the crime. Can anyone defend it?”

“Aren’t we violating some law if we do that?” Frank asked.

I shook my head, “No. I remember from civics class in High School that nobody can second-guess a jury’s verdict of ‘not guilty’ because of the ‘double jeopardy’ clause in the Constitution. And, as we discussed, the jury may acquit for any reason they deem sufficient, so long as it’s based on the facts of the case, not race or anything like that. But, in that it’s been an hour, there is one other factor we have to consider - if we deliberate much longer, the prosecutor will very likely become nervous and might offer a deal.”

“That can happen after the trial is over?” Nelson asked.

I nodded, “The trial isn’t over until the verdict is read. An attorney friend concluded a deal just as the jury was being brought back into the courtroom. Nobody knows what the jury decided.”

“I thought you said the judge would make us deliberate until we reached a verdict,” Bill objected.

I nodded, “But that doesn’t stop a plea bargain.”

“So let that happen, then.”

“And the guy goes to jail on what is so obviously a bum rap,” Nelson said. “Yes, he broke the law, but that doesn’t make it not ridiculously unfair that he’s being prosecuted. In Indiana, Wisconsin, or Iowa, he wouldn’t NEED the permits. And he was qualified for the permits here, they just wouldn’t give them to him.”

“He has a point,” Joey said. “I think we all agree, even Nelson and Annita, that he did what the government accused him of doing, but I also think we all agree, including Frank and Bill, that the punishment is bogus. I think the law is bogus.”

“So, what do we do?” Marina asked, speaking for the first time.

“Find him ‘not guilty’ to send a message to the government,” I said. “Bill, Frank, do you want to send this guy to prison for three years?”

“No,” Bill replied grudgingly.

“Not really,” Frank said. “And I believe in the Second Amendment, as well.”

“Then we only have one option,” I replied.

“Let’s take a vote,” Nelson suggested.

We did, and to my surprise, it was 12-0 for acquittal.

“Everyone is sure?” I asked. “The judge may ask you, and if you think you’re going to change your mind, please do it now. It’ll have the same result - a mistrial, and the taxpayers will have to pay for that and three years of incarceration.”

“Nah,” Frank said. “As much as I don’t like it, it has to be this way.”

“I don’t like it either,” Bill agreed. “But I don’t see the point of locking him up at the taxpayers’ expense.”

I filled out the verdict forms, signed them, and then let the bailiff know we were finished. He left to notify the judge, and ten minutes later, we filed into the courtroom and took our seats in the jury box. The judge came to the bench and called the courtroom to order and asked Mr. Franklin to stand.

“Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

“Yes, Your Honor, we have.”

“Please read the verdict forms verbatim.”

I nodded, “We, the jury, having deliberated in good faith, and having agreed unanimously, on the charge of violating 430 ILCS 65/2(a)(1) Possession of a Firearm without an FOID, we find the defendant, George Peter Franklin, not guilty.”

A gasp came from the assembled visitors and the judge banged his gavel. A look of relief came over Mr. Franklin and the prosecutor looked fit to be tied.

I continued, “On the charge of violating 430 ILCS 65/2(a)(2) Possession of Ammunition without an FOID, we find the defendant, George Peter Franklin, not guilty.

“On the charge of possession of a gun in violation of the City of Chicago gun registration ordinance, we find the defendant, George Peter Franklin, not guilty.

“On the charge of possession of ammunition in violation of the City of Chicago gun permit ordinance, we find the defendant, George Peter Franklin, not guilty.

“This is our true and unanimous verdict.”

“Your Honor,” the State’s Attorney said, standing up. “I would like the jury polled.”

“Mr. Linkletter?” the judge asked the clearly giddy defense counsel.

“No objection, your honor.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, a request to ‘poll the jury’ means I will ask you, in turn, by juror number, if you agree with the verdict, and ask you if anyone improperly influenced you. Strong, healthy deliberations are not improper, nor are firm convictions. Improper influence would be a threat or promise in exchange for your vote. Juror number one, do you agree with the verdict?”

“Yes,” Annita said.

“Did anyone exert any improper influence on you to make that vote?”

“No,” she said firmly.

Each of the eleven remaining jurors, including me at position eleven of twelve, repeated the same answers. I’d been a bit nervous about Frank and Bill, but they didn’t waver.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I thank you for your valuable service. You are dismissed. Mr. Franklin, you are completely free to go. This case is concluded.”

He banged the gavel and Mr. Linkletter and Mr. Franklin hugged, and then a young woman and a little girl came to hug Mr. Franklin as well. I wondered why they weren’t mentioned during the trial, but given the outcome, I couldn’t fault the way Mr. Linkletter had handled things. His apparent gut feeling about including me had paid off. We filed out of the courtroom and the bailiff led us back to the jury room so we could sign for our jury duty pay, which would be forwarded to us by US Mail in a week. I would, as was NIKA’s policy, turn the check over to Elyse in exchange for receiving my full pay for the day.

When we left the courthouse, Nelson stopped me.

“You helped prevent a grave injustice,” he said.

“We all did. You should probably thank Bill and Frank.”

“You realize if the defendant had been white, it wouldn’t have taken nearly as long to convince them that it was unjust, right?”

“That thought had crossed my mind, but in the end, they relented, and you should give them credit.”

Nelson extended his hand, “Thank you.”

I smiled and shook his hand.

“Sir?” a young man with a Tribune press card clipped to his pocket said.

“Yes?” I replied.

“Are you willing to talk to me about the verdict? You aren’t bound by any court rules now that the trial is finished.”

“We prevented a grave injustice,” I replied.

“But the law is clear, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I asked with an arched eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you need to think about the law, its application, and all the facts and evidence presented in the case, and decide if the law is actually as clear as everyone thinks it is.”

“You won’t explain?”

“You’re the reporter,” I replied. “I just told you everything you need to know to figure it out, without violating the confidence of my fellow jurors.”

He looked quizzically at me, then turned to Nelson.

“I have nothing more to say than what our Foreman just said.”

The reporter shook his head and walked away.

“Do you have a business card?” Nelson asked.

I nodded and took one from the case I carried in the pocket of my sports coat.

“NIKA Consulting? Computers, you said.”

“Yes. What do you do?”

“I’m a master plumber. And I served in the US Navy for twelve years before that.”

“Did you make Chief?” I asked.

He nodded.

“You did a very good thing today, Chief Nelson. As the son of a retired Chief, thank you for your service to your country.”

“And thank you for yours today.”

We shook again and he walked away. I turned the other direction to head to the parking lot to retrieve my car.

“Steve?” Annita called out from a short distance away.

I stopped and turned, “Yes?”

“You were awesome!” she gushed.

“Thanks. You did a great job as well.”

“Uhm, would you like to have lunch?” she asked.

I held up my left hand to show one of my wedding rings, “I’d love to, but I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Oops,” she said, laughing softly. “I didn’t see that before.”

“It’s OK. And if you want to withdraw the invitation, I’ll understand completely.”

She smiled, “Most guys would have hidden their ring if a nursing student asked them to lunch. You were honest, so if you’re OK with lunch, so am I. Well, assuming your wife wouldn’t be upset.”

Neither of my wives would be upset, but that wasn’t something I was going to get into with Annita.

“She won’t,” I said, “There’s a Greek diner about a mile north of here.”

“I know it,” she replied. “Meet you there?”

“Sounds good.”

Ten minutes later, we were sitting in a booth. The waitress brought menus and took our drink orders.

“Where do you go to school, Annita?”

“Elmhurst College. You run your own company and are a karate instructor, right?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you kind of young for those things?” she asked.

“How old do you think I am?” I asked.

“Late twenties.”

I chuckled, “Off by about ten.”

“You don’t look like you’re almost forty!”

“Please do NOT make me older than I already am,” I chuckled.

“You’re older than I thought, but it’s not like you’re ancient!”

“Thanks, I think!”

“Come on, you’re in good shape, you’re handsome, and you have those ridiculous bedroom eyes!”

“It’s nice to hear that from a young, very pretty nursing student. Maybe showing you my ring was a bad choice!”

Annita laughed, “No, it was the right one. Though some of my friends wouldn’t care.”

“I believe I’ve run into plenty of girls with that opinion over the years, though the nearly twenty-year age gap might put them off.”

“Not the ones who think a good-looking, successful older guy is the ticket to paying for nursing school!”

“Not your style, obviously.”

“No, it’s not. I mean, I’m not a prude or anything, but I couldn’t use someone that way.”

“What if it were mutual?” I asked. “I’m NOT implying anything, but just asking if you’d still say it was wrong if the guy was in agreement about the relationship.”

“I guess that would be different. But I’m still not sure about exchanging, uhm, companionship for tuition.”

“Then let’s change the subject,” I offered.

“You seemed to want to serve on the jury; most everyone else seemed to think it was a pain in the butt.”

“I think I justified my view that the jury is the last line of defense for a citizen against an oppressive government.”

“Would you have convicted anyone?”

“The government has a VERY high bar to pass in my mind. And I’ll use anything I know about the government or law, and all the facts presented, to make damn sure they clear that high bar. In this case, the defense gave me exactly what I needed - evidence that the government wasn’t, to use a term I don’t like, ‘playing fair’.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“In nearly every instance when someone says something isn’t ‘fair’, they mean they didn’t get the result to which they felt they were entitled. In other words, it’s about ‘I want’ rather than ‘I earned’. I gave you a pass because you used it correctly!”