Always Returning...

It's been a very long time since I've been here. Life takes over and there just aren't enough hours in a day, or in a month, to attend to all the facets of our lives that should be tended to.
That being said, I now have some time. Unexpected and unfamiliar but here just the same.
Marian Louise Baker is never forgotten. She taps on my shoulder often reminding me that she is still waiting for someone, anyone to let the world know what a gift and blessing she was and that her untimely murder back in the Camelot days of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania should be remembered.
Nothing can change what happened that day. Nothing can erase the horror and brutality of that heinous afternoon by the Harnish cottage. But just as the murder of Jan Roseboro in more recent days clearly screamed that intersection life lines can sometimes lead to an unescapable conclusion, the murder of Marian Louise Baker was in the cards.
Ed Gibbs chose Marian. Or at least his depraved and violently electric mind chose her. But there was to be a victim, don't ever doubt that. The actual identity and circumstances of the killing were variable. A classic case of Marian being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the bubbling, fermenting and oozing hate that was smothering Ed Gibbs was going to be released somewhere, on someone.
It may be easy now to look at the whole sad story and say "Of course!" It seems fairly clear that the players in Gibb's life set the scene years earlier. Crazy lines intersected and Marian Louise Baker paid the price.
It's occurred to me that Helen Gibbs dodged the bullet, or the lugwrench. I often wonder what kept Ed from snapping and killing the one female in his closest proximity. Perhaps it was the timing. Helen wasn't an arms length away from him that cold, gray January day. Marian was.
I wonder if Helen ever shuddered through the years knowing just how chillingly close she came to a brutal death.
Ed Gibbs killed Marian Louise Baker. But he had co-conspirators.
His parents, his teachers, his past girlfriends. Every human being that reminded him that he has no choices in life, no free will to succeed, to fail or to be human.
What is most astounding is that at the time that the people in Ed Gibb's life were binding him emotionally so tight that was snap was inevitable, they really had no clue.

Jury Thoughts ......

I've always been a people watcher. Without an effort, I observe. It just happens. Sometimes I can almost sense the "story" of a person simply by watching them. When surrounded by large crowds, there are a few singular souls that will snatch my attention quickly.
I had an excellent opportunity to observe some fascinating individuals when I was called for jury duty.
I'm an odd cupcake. When others are cringing at the letter, feverishly trying to come up with a reason, any reason, why they should be excused from their civic duty, I actually get pretty excited about it. Other than the loss of income, should I be seated for a lengthy trial, or God forbid, I end up sequestered, being in the midst of the great minds and the austere, but so imposing atmosphere of the Halls of Jurisprudence stills my thoughts and lowers my head in reverence.
I'm not sure why I have always held the courts and our legal representatives in such awe. But I do.
I considered entering law school when I was soon to receive my first undergraduate degree. But I was so excited about getting married and starting that phase of my life that I only went as far as the interview. Many times since then I have revisited that decision. Not as any disrespect to my marriage or that facet of my life as a whole, but I now have serious doubts as to my ability to actually pull it off anymore in my lifetime.
A high school Social Studies teacher, whom I adored and who had a sense of humor bar none, suggested I become a lawyer all those years ago. He said my ability to argue, apparently with him although I don't recall it, made me tailor made for the profession :)
On my last call for jury duty, I had an eye opening experience.
Seated on the cold hard wooden bench in the cavernous courtroom, packed shoulder to shoulder with my fellow countians, I quietly looked around. And I listened.
I take no action in a courtroom lightly.
What I heard scared me to death.
As part of the jury selection process, the defendant has the right to be present for voir dire.
Before the defendant was brought into the courtroom, I listened as women around me fussed and fumed at having to be there. Many wanted to get back to work. One stated that her manager at Walmart was going to be "pissed" if this took too long or if she got picked.
Not a situation that made me feel hopeful for the sincerity of the process we were about to possibly enter. Or for the defendant.
The defendant was led into the courtroom in an orange jumpsuit.
At this point, no one in the jury pool has a clue as to his charges or the theories of the prosecution or defense.
And then I heard it.
"Well, look at that. He's black? He's guilty!" whispered one woman to my right to another beside her. That brought forth a low wave of chuckles down the line from anyone who could hear her muffled comment.
At that moment, without the benefit of paper and a pen, both not allowed, I desperately tried to commit to memory something about each person I heard laugh and especially of the woman who made the comment to begin with.
I intended to ask to speak with the judge immediately should any of those people be seated for the trial.
It made me sick.
And it made me realize that the defendant's being black was a variable.
That comment could have been made had the defendant been a woman with red hair. Or a man with a beard. Or a young female who may have looked "uppity" or snobbish.
Or a young man with tatoos.
The fate of the defendant was resting on the heads of the people in that jury pool. And several of them took it lightly enough to want to pass a verdict based on not one fact. Just skin color. So that they could hurry up and get back to their register at Walmart.
I kept my eye on them for the remainder of the voir dire.
I was seated as a juror. None of them were, thankfully.
I would like to think, pray actually, that had they been seated, their private self would have risen to the top and they would have helped hand down a verdict based solely on the evidence presented.
I know that the jury of which I was a member took it all deadly seriously.
Not sequestered, but we served for four days. And it got testy. And it bordered on ugly. But we did our duty and followed the rules.
We ignored the tear stained faces in the courtroom. We had to.
We focused on the video and audio tapes that were entered into evidence.
We had to.
We cast off all and any stereotypes of the defendant, the prosecutor and the defense team.
We cast off all stereotypes of fellow jurors.
It is one of the most intense situations a human can find themselves places in but it's the system we've got.
I'd like to think, pray, that Michael Roseboro will be afforded a jury who follows the rules to the letter.
For if he is deemed guilty or not guilty under any other circumstances, or by any other assessment under the guise of just and true evidence, none of us can expect any better treatment under the law should we ever find ourselves being judged by a jury of our peers.
We all need to begin praying for the potential jury pool now. We are that jury pool and we are the defendant. There's a part of us in every facet of this tragedy. And for that reason, we need to do all we can to make sure it is just and right.