Remember who brought thugs to the Capitol: Trump, GOP, voters

The U.S. Capitol is no more or less holy a place than anything else constructed by human beings, yet I heard repeated references to it today as something sacred. The implication was that the Trumpist mob violating the space had committed an act of desecration by breaking and entering it, disrespecting the statues, and vandalizing the House and Senate chambers.

If the place had ever been remotely sacred, that ended the day Donald J. Trump was inaugurated and the GOP fell in line behind him and enthusiastically backed his every move to dismantle our democracy.

It took a breaching of the poorly secured Capitol walls by thugs and domestic terrorists for some GOP senators and representatives to finally begin to separate themselves from Trump and his disaster of a regime, rats fleeing the sinking ship of state.

Some of them left a day or two ago, recognizing that it might be their only hope of having a political future post-Trump. Republican U.S. Representative Ken Buck, who I’m sorry to say “represents” my little chunk of Boulder County in Colorado, is a prime example. In the past few days he declared that he would not contest the presidential election results. He joined Governor Jared Polis in a statement decrying today’s ugly doings in the District of Columbia, as if some of us might forget his unswerving loyalty to Trump when the time comes for him to run for governor of this state.

We can never forget what Trump, now ex-senator Cory Gardner, Ken Buck and others have done to bring us to this point. For my part, I struggle to contain my anger – fury is a better word today – at the disgrace they have been, at how grievously they and those who elected them have harmed our families and friends through their utter selfishness, incompetence, cowardice and lack of character.

I take some comfort in knowing that Trump will soon be just an ugly part of history. Do not let him or his accomplices and enablers back in government, ever. Do not forget.

B.J.

Got my ballot

Got my ballot gonna mail it in

Or drop it off because I can

Because I’m free and it’s my right

And duty to put up a fight

When fools and bigots try to run

This, my country, with their guns

And lies and hate and broken laws

But truth and justice is our cause.

Read a book – free on me!

I’m like a lot of people who have some extra time on their hands these days. Instead of taking the bus to work and back, I walk downstairs to work remotely and walk back up later. With all that commute time saved, I’ve been poking around and moping around here at The Smith Compound.

ebook cover

Today after work I Zoomed a friend to wish him happy birthday and catch up a little over a remote beer. His birthday was yesterday and a surprise party got canceled, like almost everything else. We adjust.

Anyhow, while I was poking (and moping) around earlier, I came across some free ebooks that I’ve been meaning to offer to whoever is interested. I have giveaway links for four (4) Detective Red Shaw novels, one for each of the next four readers who join my mailing list.

Which reminds me I haven’t actually sent anything to the fine folks on my list in quite a while. I did promise not to overdo it, but now I’ve got an idea for something that might work.

We shall see.

Read on, my friends, and keep your social distance.

B.J.

What is Des Moines?

Final words about jury duty, a Boulder murder trial and vicarious trauma

My recent summons to jury duty came as I was nearly done writing the manuscript for North of Grand, my second crime novel. Having no idea what was on the docket, I tweeted something to this effect shortly before leaving home for the Boulder County Justice Center:

Reporting for jury duty. Potential fodder for a new crime story?

I deleted it soon after learning about the nature of the case.

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Pixabay image

As it turned out, I wasn’t among the first 44 individuals to be questioned during voir dire, so I expected to be done soon. I was wrong. Several people in that group were excused for various reasons so other names, including mine, were drawn from the pool of dozens of prospective jurors.

One of the prosecutors asked if I thought I’d be a good juror, and why. I said yes. I mentioned that I had a longtime interest in the workings of the justice system, that I’d served on a jury in a criminal trial in the past and had covered police and courthouse beats at times as a reporter.

I also mentioned writing crime fiction, just in case that might be important to anyone. The prosecutor smiled and asked if I would be using the case at hand in a story. Not directly, I said, adding that listening to real courtroom dialog again and seeing how people interact certainly could be useful in some way.

Eventually I found myself one of 16 jurors who were sworn in to serve on the panel. We could only wonder about which four of us were alternates until after the lawyers’ closing arguments. I was among the final 12 tasked with reaching a verdict.

During the three-week trial it was difficult to focus on much of anything else. I fell farther behind where I had hoped to be on my new manuscript. No urgent day-job deadlines loomed but I was able to do a few tasks some evenings and weekends.

It became almost impossible to walk by my suitcase in the basement without seeing things I cannot unsee. A touch on the shoulder or a bit of pain in my hip brought to mind the sight of a reciprocating saw and other cutting tools that were used to dismember the body of young Ashley Mead.

After reading the guilty verdicts in the courtroom and releasing us from jury duty, the judge asked us to meet with her in a conference room. She thanked us, answered a lot of questions, and asked us for feedback about the experience. We learned that there is something called vicarious trauma, and that the county would pay for two counseling sessions for each of us. The judge gave us a list of several professionals who would make time for anyone within 48 hours, and she encouraged everyone to contact one of them soon. I know I wasn’t the only juror to take advantage of the offer.

Now that the trial is over, I’m back to work on my day job, where there is no bailiff to say “all rise” before I enter a room. It’s good to be inconspicuous again.

I am also back working on my new manuscript, the second crime novel featuring Detective Red Shaw. There was no trial in Blood Solutions, and there will be no trial inΒ North of Grand, but it will be a better story for the delay.

I did move my suitcase just a little farther back in the space under the stairs to the basement, recognizing as I did it that hiding it completely would be futile. I do trust that the images it brings to mind will fade with time.

That’s one of the positive things I can think of right now. Another is that the trial is history and I don’t feel compelled to write another word about it.

B.J.