Any of your readers interested
in supplementing their knowledge
of Carl Deavers (CD, Tuesday,
October 12) and local justice
should sit in on a drug bust trial.
There he is, the defendant, a youth
of 18 or 19, busted for selling drugs
because he naively gave up a lid at
cost to someone he thought was a
friend. Meanwhile, prosecutors,
narcs, and officers of the court,
with grim faces, move officiously
about the courtroom. They are
preparing to try an enemy of
society.
The prosecutor has announced
publicly that this bust really shuts
down a major source of drugs in
Charlottesville. The judge looks
down seriously from his bench. The
prosecutor knows he will win; he
knows that all the defense can hope
for is a technical error; he knows
there will be none. Yet he still plays
this case as though he were Foran
at Chicago. All the right poses,
pauses, and pursings of lips.
In the middle of it all sits Gary
Cooper. I mean, really! Gary
Cooper. Ready for High Noon. His
steely grey eyes are fixed on the
desk before him; his hands are
clasped gently. Although he appears
relaxed, you know his muscles are
ready to tighten instantly to
springlike tension. The hero mounts
the stand, identifies a substance in a
Gladbag, and points out the
defendant. Once again, truth,
justice, and the American way
triumph over the forces of
darkness. The defense attorney
serves notice that he may appeal
the verdict. The cannibals leave,
having solemnly devoured one of
their young.
Meanwhile, in the poor
neighborhoods, heroin sold by
organized crime continues to
destroy young lives. But, in the
words of the cowboy hero, it's
"strictly a ghetto problem. Besides,
us heroes could actually get hurt if
we had to take on the syndicate."
Bill Olsen
Grad Arts & Sciences
