So, Thanksgiving is over and you’re feeling very, very guilty, aren’t you?
What you’re really thankful for is that you still have a liver — and that any of your pants still fit. You supped at the grand Thanksgiving feast, consuming great quantities of turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes and stuff — all washed down with a crisp white wine.
You failed to exercise appropriate discretion. Speaking of “discretion” (this column flows along like the Mighty Mississip” of logic and continuity), did you happen to notice that a James Harris of Tama, Iowa, had much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, given that his dog attempted to murder him, but failed.
There they were late last month, man and dog, on the opening day of pheasant season, when Jim put down his gun to retrieve a bird — and the criminal dog then stepped on the gun, tripped the trigger, and put about 100 pellets in poor Jim’s leg.
This is where discretion comes in. Despite felonious intent to become his own master, the dog was not charged. Apparently, if you are an adorable hunting dog, or vice president of the United States, you have considerable flexibility in what you choose to shoot at.
If, in fact, Mr. Harris was sitting on his front porch in a gritty urban central city, and he owned a pit bull that charged off the porch and nipped the mailman, society would be calling for the death penalty — not only for the Harris pit bull, but for all pit bulls.
Why do you think that your Human Resources Director looks so haggard? It’s the discretion thing. Do you write up “Employee X” for his or her failings, do you fire him on the spot — or do you promote him to Senior Vice President in Charge of Stuff?
Layer on a bit of affirmative action here, a bit of age discrimination law there — and the issue of discretion is enough to make the H.R. gal quite insane.
Flour Power
Remember the folks who sprinkled flour in the IKEA parking lot this summer in New Haven, as a signal to their weird little running club? Was it anthrax, was it some subtle, sugar-based act of terrorism? The two were charged with a felony breach of peace.
Faced with two guys accused of sprinkling flour in on asphalt, what do you do if you’re the prosecutor? Do you prosecute them and send them off to prison, where they could scare the murderers and rapists with stories about sprinkling flour in the parking lot?
Well, no. The case was quietly dropped — and the two criminals donated $4,000 to local charities.
Legal discretion has run amok through the Connecticut courts of late, focused on the case of Ayanna Khadijah, who was convicted of “failure to appear”.
Ayanna, who showed up late for her court appearance on drug charges (eventually, dismissed), explained that she delivered newspapers (a worthy profession) starting at 1 a.m., and had overslept — which was why she was late. Early this month, the Connecticut Supreme Court, which apparently has a lot of time on its hands, ruled that missing a court date because you overslept is not “willful” — and that the prosecutors should stop bothering them with such nonsense. In other words, exercise some discretion.
Prosecutors, judges and cops share much of the burden of discretion in the criminal justice system — forced to clean up messes created by state legislators.
Consider the latest beauty from Massachusetts, which now requires that a pet out for a ride with mom or dad must be secured in some kind of car seat or pet carrier, as if the pet was an actual baby or something.
Imagine coming into court with one of these cases. “Your Honor, the defendant is charged with failing to properly secure Fluffy.”
The judge, busy with felonious sleeping cases and other important stuff, would jump from the bench and beat the prosecutor to death with his gavel.
Discretion. Practice it wisely — and discretely.
Laurence D. Cohen is a freelance writer.
