Unformatted text preview: , according to his version of the Second War. His law practice was specialized to the point that he did nothing but type wills for the elderly. He typed them himself—had no need for a secretary. He worked about as hard as Baggy, and the two were often seen in the courtroom, half-soused, watching yet another trial. "I guess Mackey Don's got the boy in the suite," Baggy said, his words starting to slur. "The suite?" I asked. "Yeah—have you seen the jail?" "No." "It's not fit for animals. No heat, no air, plumbing works about half the time. Filthy conditions. Rotten food. And that's for the whites. The blacks are at the other end, all in one long cell. Their only toilet is a hole in the floor." "I think I'll pass." "It's an embarrassment to the county, but, sadly, it's the same in most places around here. Anyway, there's one little cell with air conditioning and carpet on the floor, one clean bed, color television, good food. It's called the suite and Mackey Don puts his favorites there." I was mentally taking notes. To Baggy, it was business as usual. To me, a recent college attendee and sometime journalism student, a real muckraking story was in the works. "You think Padgitt's in the suite?" "Probably. He came to court in his own clothes." "As opposed to?" "Those orange jail coveralls everybody else wears. You haven't seen them?" Yes, I had seen them. I had been in court one time, a month or so earlier, and I suddenly recalled seeing two or three defendants sitting in the courtroom, waiting for a judge, all wearing different shades of faded orange coveralls. "Ford County Jail" was printed across the front and back of the shirts. Baggy took a sip and expounded. "You see, for the preliminary hearings and such, the defendants, if they're still in jail, always come to court dressed like prisoners. In the old days, Mackey Don would make them wear the coveralls even during their trials. Lucien Wilbank...
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- Spring '10
- ABC Amber LIT, Joe Namath, Amber LIT Converter, Ford County