Monday, August 29, 2011

It's not like TV

By Jeff Orvis

When the message came asking if I would be willing to cover a murder trial that had been moved from Iowa County to Davenport, it didn't take me more than a minute to agree. While it's true that I had never spent more than an hour or two in a courtroom, being excused from jury duty three times, I figured I had seen enough trials portrayed on TV, it should be easy.

The trial involved a first degree murder case. The defendant had been the operator of a restaurant in Belle Plaine. She was accused of conspiring to kill her common-law husband in an elaborate scheme to end years of physical, sexual and emotional abuse. I was acquainted with Denise from her work in restoring and opening the restaurant. I had been in her establishment a couple of times and she always seemed cordial, hardly the type who would one day admit that she and two others bashed in the head of another.

As the day approached for the opening of the trial, I became a bit anxious about some things that would later seem quite trivial. What would be the proper thing to wear? How stern would the judge be? Would there be anyone else in the courtroom I had ever met besides the defendant?

The first day of the trial was taken with jury selection. There must have been 100 or more Scott County residents in the courtroom, most probably hoping somebody else would be called to sit on the 15-member jury (12 jurors and three alternates). Few were dressed better than I was. I figured business casual would be appropriate.

I soon determined that a real trial is not quite like a 60-minute TV drama. First off, I noticed that as the day began, we didn't stand when the judge entered the room, but once the jury was chosen, we were asked to stand when the jurors came into the room. The judge didn't use a gavel, but we all knew when things were underway. The trial was held in one of the larger courtrooms in the courthouse. There were no windows and the seats for spectators were hard, non-padded church pews. Apparently aware of this, the judge, who seemed like a nice guy with a tough job to do, gave us frequent breaks during the nine-day event. He was also a stickler for the time, starting court promptly at 9 a.m., breaking for lunch at noon and ending each day at 4:30 p.m.

I had never met the victim. But when the prosecution spent the better part of one session showing graphic crime scene and autopsy photos, I wondered how anyone could do that to a fellow human being. When it was the defense's turn to present evidence and the defendant's psychologist took the stand and related what she had been told about the couple's relationship, I wondered how a man could do that to a woman he professed to love.

The trial drew few spectators. One woman had served on a jury for another of the three defendants and she was at this trial to observe most days. On only a couple of occasions did I see anyone there to support the defendant. By the second day, when she entered the courtroom, she recognized me as a former Belle Plaine person and we nodded to each other.

During breaks in the proceedings, several of the attorneys for both sides were very friendly. When I explained that this was my first trial after 35 years in the news business, they were willing to explain some of the procedures to me and also make some off-the-record comments that helped me understand what was happening and why. They even displayed some humor in this very serious situation. One of the attorneys kept looking for the TV reporters, claiming he had a deal with a local restaurant in his hometown and when they appeared, he was going to wear a sign on his back advertising the restaurant.

After the prosecution explained the crime and outlined its claim on how the defendant and the other two had planned the murder, the defense attempted to explain that the defendant was the victim of battered woman syndrome. "Somebody was going to die" is how the lead defense attorney began his opening statement.

On the eighth day of the trial, the jury got the case. After about four hours of deliberation, the day ended with no verdict. The next morning, the jury returned and an hour later, the verdict was in. Denise Frei was convicted of first-degree murder, the third defendant to receive the same judgment. She was placed in handcuffs and began her journey to a permanent life in prison. Several relatives of the victim, including his 16-year-old son, remained in the courtroom after the the proceedings. They were happy with the verdict, but two years after their loved one was killed, there seemed to be more relief that it was all over, than jubilation with the result.

After all, up until that fateful night in July, 2009, many of those left behind considered Frei to be a friend living a good life in a small town.

Maybe in an attempt to put the gruesome details of the crime out of my mind for a few minutes, during some of the breaks, I wondered how attorneys, judges, deputies present in the courtroom, court attendants and others could spend hour after hour, for days on end for much of their careers working in a windowless room. When I thought about the victim and defendant, I wondered how men and women could live like that, dominating someone else in the name of love and staying in an abusive situation.

It made me so thankful that I never had to personally experience that lifestyle. It also made me quite grateful to see the sunshine at the end of each day of the trial.

Monday, August 8, 2011

A great weekend of good friends, good jazz

How many of today's popular recording artists will be remembered 80 years from now? Thanks to the tireless efforts of several Quad-City area music fans, the work of Bix Beiderbecke was celebrated last weekend for the 40th year in a row.

Beiderbecke was a jazz performer who lived a short 28 years before the ravages of alcoholism claimed him. But in those few years, he left a mark of innovation that has lasted for decades. Beiderbecke made his mark in some of the larger cities of this country, but he was a native of Davenport. His most favored style of music, Dixieland jazz, was prevalent at several venues in downtown Davenport last weekend as bands from as far as the east coast and Australia filled the air with the sounds of sweet jazz.

Last weekend marked 30 years since my dad died way too soon at the age of 54. One of his gifts he gave me was a love of music, particularly jazz music. He told me of the days when he would go over to Rock Island and hear Louis Armstrong play for 50 cents. I still have hundreds of 78 rpm records my dad collected.

Back in the summer of 1971, I was preparing to continue my education after graduating from high school. On a warm August night, he took the family to the lower level of the local Holiday Inn to hear a series of jazz musicians who played in the first Bix Beiderbecke Jazz Festival. Last Friday afternoon, something drew me to the banks of the Mississippi, to LeClaire Park, for an afternoon of great jazz music. Perhaps it was my inadvertent tribute to my dad. All I know is something drew me to spend the afternoon in the brilliant sunshine listening to great music on Friday.

On Sunday morning, I attended services at First Presbyterian Church in Davenport. It was the Beiderbecke home church and the pipe organ was replaced by the sweet sounds of the Jimmy Valentine Quintet with guest clarinetist Dave Bennett. If you closed your eyes and allowed your imagination to take over, it was easy to think that you were hearing the great Benny Goodman and Pete Fountain in dueling clarinets. Jazz music in a church service gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "Make a joyful noise!"

In this era when the fine arts program in many schools is in peril because of budget cuts, it is more important than ever that this style of music not be allowed to die. This festival draws thousands of fans from around the country each year. Make plans to check it out the first weekend in August in 2012.

This was also a big weekend for the Pleasant Valley High School Class of 1971. Many of us gathered at a local restaurant Saturday night, wondering where the past 40 years went. As we are nearing the age where we can claim we are having "senior moments," name tags were very valuable.

Our school was on the outskirts of the Quad-Cities and we weren't really sure whether we were a suburban school or a rural school. While I didn't notice any of my classmates arriving in a limousine, many of us have achieved a lot in our careers and in our lives. Several have moved away and settled in the far corners of the country. Some have stayed close to where they grew up and carved out successful careers in many fields. Some of the real heroes of my class were several of my friends who have battled various serious ailments and have persevered. Unfortunately, more than a dozen of the folks I graduated with are no longer with us and we held a special remembrance for them.

I realize that each year thousands of high school graduating classes hold reunions around the country. But even in this era of social networking and multi-tasking, it's even more important to periodically physically climb in the car, drive to a location and shake hands or give a hug to a former classmate. E-mails can't quite compare.

The Pleasant Valley Class of '71 is AWESOME! None of us has aged a bit and we still know how to party!

A couple of leftover comments: It's been a few weeks since I've made any political comments, so here goes. As I've heard the babble of the endless bunch of presidential wannabes from the party currently not in the White House, I have yet to hear anyone say how he or she would deal with international affairs. Many of them feel that the Obama administration is vulnerable because of our financial mess, but any current or former president will tell you that there's more to being the leader of the free world than how the stock market is doing. A handsome financial portfolio doesn't mean much if terrorists attack our country. The next time you have an opportunity to hear a presidential candidate, ask him or her how they would do a better job of protecting us from foreign threats.

Corporate America strikes again! I have become a fan of a particular brand of mixed nuts. It's the brand that features a walking peanut as the spokesman. The last time I bought a can of nuts, I noticed that the net weight had dropped from 21 ounces to just over 18 ounces. If my math is correct, that's a decrease of over 13 percent! The nuts cost the same for 18 ounces as they had for 21 ounces. A few days later, as I was driving down 53rd Street in Davenport, I saw this big vehicle the size of a bus that looked like a giant peanut on wheels. Remember the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile? This was a nut mobile, apparently a marketing tool for the nut people. Now I know why the nuts increased in price by 13+ percent. Thanks, corporate America! I guess you have to keep fuel in the nut mobile somehow.