sábado, julio 10, 2004
¿Quién mató a J.R.?
First, the administrative stuff.
I know, I know, I haven’t written in a while. I thought about quitting this whole blogging experience, but that would validate A’s prophesy prior to ripeness. I mustn’t do that.
I have received an e-mail from rock-star DD alleging copyright violations in a previous posting. After tearing that a strong executive in corporate America would waste her time reading this schlop, I decided to recognize her strong contributions to my well-being – she has taught me about wine differences, about playing the corporate game, and about that popular 60s T.V. show . . . Dallas. Hey, if it was on before the Full House phenomenon, it all blends together in the 60s.
So let’s see . . . work has been busy with clients, investigations, and meetings. There are two clients who occupy a great portion of my time. Since the case is pending, I can’t elaborate too much, but their struggle cannot go untold. I’ll describe their scenario in a play, and substitute British English for Latin American Spanish:
Narrator: First, let us begin with some background information. The scene is set in London County, Ohio on a hot June day around 11 AM. A ‘crew-leader’ is a person hired by the farm-owner to supervise the farm-workers. A crew-leader is always bilingual so he (it’s always been a male in my experience) can speak with the farm-owner and farm-workers. He is usually of Mexican ancestry who has Permanent Residency Status in the United States. Sometimes, the crew-leaders are white.
Crew-leader: Top of the morning, Worker! My, it must be 95 degrees out here! Good heavens!
Worker: Yes, I’m quite aware of that, sir. I’ve been out here since the blessed sun awoke me this fine morning.
Crew-leader: Listen, you bastard – I don’t care if it’s 500 degrees out here. You must hoe, trim, and pick until you can’t hoe, trim, and pick no more! For what reason am I paying you three coins an hour?!
Worker: Sir, I have already picked five bushels of tomatoes and three of pickles – I am working as fast as I can.
Crew-leader: You slug! Work faster, or it’s your arse that will meet my boot!
Worker: Yes, sir . . . as you wish. [Worker continues to work diligently].
Crew-leader: Do you bite your thumb at me, you peasant?!
Worker: No, sir, I didn’t. Honest. Aside: I really am a good worker. I want only peace.
Crew-leader: We’ll see about that tonight, Abraham.
Narrator: Later that evening, the Crew-leader barges into the house of the worker.
Crew-leader: [punching the worker in his own kitchen, and pushing him into a nearby clothes dresser] You stupid, poverty-stricken serpent!
[The worker falls to the floor, while the Crew-leader proceeds to grab the worker’s hair and bangs it on the floor five or six times].
[The wife of the worker tries to protect her husband, but she too, is thrown violently within her own house].
Narrator: The Crew-leader leaves, leaving both the worker and his wife bleeding and jobless. Since the workers do not possess valid government-issued documents, they fear to report the incident to the police authorities and fear to receive necessary medical attention.
[Exeunt.]
Well, there you have it – the fair and balanced version of what happened. Pretty interesting, eh?
Completely unrelated, this week was also another Toledo Bar Association gathering – this one was hosted by U.S. District Court Judge James G. Carr and his wife.
I google-searched his name before heading over to the event, just so I knew his background and interests. The first few hits were his biography (Harvard Law degree . . . yada yada yada). But then I came upon this page that said Judge Carr is a bigot and a racist, especially towards ‘Hispanics.’ Wonderful, right?
Wonderful. Right. There were about seven or so tables set up in their backyard, and Judge Carr and his wife decided to sit with me and five other clerks during dinner. The evening turned out great – Judge Carr has some connections with Chicago (he taught at DePaul for a while and he still has some people in Evanston), so we talked about North Side / South Side differences, the Taste, and Chicago Public Schools (his wife was a teacher for CPS in the 1960s, and remembers vividly the week of Dr. King’s assassination). After dinner, we headed out to this bar on the West Side of Toledo – we’re not even lawyers yet, and we spend all of our time either in the office or at the bar.
We have great futures ahead, I know.
I know, I know, I haven’t written in a while. I thought about quitting this whole blogging experience, but that would validate A’s prophesy prior to ripeness. I mustn’t do that.
I have received an e-mail from rock-star DD alleging copyright violations in a previous posting. After tearing that a strong executive in corporate America would waste her time reading this schlop, I decided to recognize her strong contributions to my well-being – she has taught me about wine differences, about playing the corporate game, and about that popular 60s T.V. show . . . Dallas. Hey, if it was on before the Full House phenomenon, it all blends together in the 60s.
So let’s see . . . work has been busy with clients, investigations, and meetings. There are two clients who occupy a great portion of my time. Since the case is pending, I can’t elaborate too much, but their struggle cannot go untold. I’ll describe their scenario in a play, and substitute British English for Latin American Spanish:
Narrator: First, let us begin with some background information. The scene is set in London County, Ohio on a hot June day around 11 AM. A ‘crew-leader’ is a person hired by the farm-owner to supervise the farm-workers. A crew-leader is always bilingual so he (it’s always been a male in my experience) can speak with the farm-owner and farm-workers. He is usually of Mexican ancestry who has Permanent Residency Status in the United States. Sometimes, the crew-leaders are white.
Crew-leader: Top of the morning, Worker! My, it must be 95 degrees out here! Good heavens!
Worker: Yes, I’m quite aware of that, sir. I’ve been out here since the blessed sun awoke me this fine morning.
Crew-leader: Listen, you bastard – I don’t care if it’s 500 degrees out here. You must hoe, trim, and pick until you can’t hoe, trim, and pick no more! For what reason am I paying you three coins an hour?!
Worker: Sir, I have already picked five bushels of tomatoes and three of pickles – I am working as fast as I can.
Crew-leader: You slug! Work faster, or it’s your arse that will meet my boot!
Worker: Yes, sir . . . as you wish. [Worker continues to work diligently].
Crew-leader: Do you bite your thumb at me, you peasant?!
Worker: No, sir, I didn’t. Honest. Aside: I really am a good worker. I want only peace.
Crew-leader: We’ll see about that tonight, Abraham.
Narrator: Later that evening, the Crew-leader barges into the house of the worker.
Crew-leader: [punching the worker in his own kitchen, and pushing him into a nearby clothes dresser] You stupid, poverty-stricken serpent!
[The worker falls to the floor, while the Crew-leader proceeds to grab the worker’s hair and bangs it on the floor five or six times].
[The wife of the worker tries to protect her husband, but she too, is thrown violently within her own house].
Narrator: The Crew-leader leaves, leaving both the worker and his wife bleeding and jobless. Since the workers do not possess valid government-issued documents, they fear to report the incident to the police authorities and fear to receive necessary medical attention.
[Exeunt.]
Well, there you have it – the fair and balanced version of what happened. Pretty interesting, eh?
Completely unrelated, this week was also another Toledo Bar Association gathering – this one was hosted by U.S. District Court Judge James G. Carr and his wife.
I google-searched his name before heading over to the event, just so I knew his background and interests. The first few hits were his biography (Harvard Law degree . . . yada yada yada). But then I came upon this page that said Judge Carr is a bigot and a racist, especially towards ‘Hispanics.’ Wonderful, right?
Wonderful. Right. There were about seven or so tables set up in their backyard, and Judge Carr and his wife decided to sit with me and five other clerks during dinner. The evening turned out great – Judge Carr has some connections with Chicago (he taught at DePaul for a while and he still has some people in Evanston), so we talked about North Side / South Side differences, the Taste, and Chicago Public Schools (his wife was a teacher for CPS in the 1960s, and remembers vividly the week of Dr. King’s assassination). After dinner, we headed out to this bar on the West Side of Toledo – we’re not even lawyers yet, and we spend all of our time either in the office or at the bar.
We have great futures ahead, I know.
