By: Douglas Young

     “All rise. Hear ye, hear ye. The Municipal Court of Daniel Govan County is now in session with the Honorable Judge Alonza Reeves presiding. God save America and this Honorable Court. Amen. You may be seated,” the bailiff proclaimed in a booming voice as the black-robed, fiftyish, and dark-haired Judge Reeves entered the courtroom and took his seat. The two dozen other people scattered throughout the room then sat down.

     “District Attorney Gregg, please announce the first case,” Judge Reeves requested.

     “Thank you, your honor,” John Gregg said rising from the prosecutor’s table. Sporting a fresh crew-cut, the blue suit-and-tied D.A. was forty-something with the build of a football team’s offensive lineman. “The state brings the case of ‘The People versus Fergus Alexander Richards.’”

     “You may proceed,” Judge Reeves directed as he surveyed the courtroom and checked his notes.

     “Your honor,” Mr. Gregg continued, “Mr. Richards is charged with driving recklessly and damaging private property.”

     “Will the defendant please rise?” Judge Reeves asked.

     At the defense table, eighty-eight-year-old Deloris Richards, wearing her best yellow dress bought for the last Easter, grabbed the left arm of her husband and, with her mouth close to his ear, instructed, “We have to stand.”

     Aided by his wife and outfitted in his favorite gray suit and red tie, ninety-six-year-old Fergus Richards blinked and struggled to his feet, with both hands on the table and Mrs. Richards standing and holding his arm.

     “How do you plead to the charges of driving recklessly and damaging private property?” Judge Reeves asked.

     Mr. Richards slowly looked at the district attorney, the stenographer typing everything said, the bailiff, and the judge.

     “Well, answer the man,” Deloris told her husband, pointing to the judge.

     Judge Reeves smiled at the defendant and waved, prompting Mr. Richards to smile and wave back heartily.

     “What you want to know?” Mr. Richards asked the judge.

     “How do you plead, sir?” asked Judge Reeves.

     “Well, I want to keep driving,” the defendant said in a loud voice. His wife looked at the table shaking her head. Seated in the front row behind them, the couple’s sixty-four-year-old daughter put her hand to her head as her sixty-two-year-old brother next to her took a deep breath, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. Several grandchildren and great-grandchildren seated to their left smiled or giggled.

     “Well, sir,” the judge replied, “that’s what we’re here to decide. But, first, you need to tell us if you’re guilty of driving recklessly and damaging private property, or not guilty.”

     “Oh, he’s guilty, all right, your honor, and he knows it too. We all do. I’m Mrs. Richards,” Deloris Richards spoke up.

     “Good to meet you, ma’am,” the judge began with a raised hand. “While I appreciate your opinion, Mrs. Richards, we need to hear what your husband has to say about this. Now, sir, are you guilty or not?”

     “Ah, not guilty!” the old man said and smiled. “Yeah.” His wife shook her head at the judge.

     “All right. Y’all can sit down now,” Judge Reeves replied. “Y’all don’t have an attorney to represent you?”

     “Lord, no, your honor,” Mrs. Richards answered with a sigh upon sitting down. “We can’t afford none of that.”

     “So, is the court to understand that you’re acting as the defendant’s de facto attorney?” the judge asked.

     “I ain’t a de facto nothing, your honor,” Deloris Richards answered. “I’m … Well, to tell you the gospel truth, I don’t rightly know what my role is here.” She sighed before turning to her husband. “Lord knows, he don’t know what he’s doing here.”

     “Well, the court recognizes you’re a dutiful wife, and the court certainly respects that,” Judge Reeves announced.

     “Thank you, your honor.” Deloris nodded at the judge and smiled for the first time that morning.

     “Oh, yeah. She’s a keeper,” Fergus Richards volunteered loudly. “After seventy years of marriage, I don’t reckon I’ll ditch her anytime soon. No telling what I might get on the trade-in.” His wife sighed but could not suppress a smile and patted him on the back.

     “Well, kudos to both of y’all.” Judge Reeves smiled and cleared his throat. “What a wonderful achievement indeed. All right, for the purposes of this hearing, the court recognizes that Mr. Richards will act as his own attorney. But, Mrs. Richards, you’re welcome to chime in anytime. We’ll just recognize you as co-counsel.” Deloris nodded with a resigned expression.

     “Mr. Gregg, please present the people’s case,” Judge Reeves asked.

     John Gregg rose. “Your honor, the court is advised that at 10:30 on the morning of April 16 of this year, Sheriff’s Deputy Carter Stevenson noticed the defendant’s pickup truck moving erratically on Henry Heth Road. Deputy Stevenson followed the defendant before observing his truck run off the road and knock to the ground the mailbox at 1865 Henry Heth Road belonging to the address’s homeowner, Trenton Blevins. We also have a sworn statement with receipts covering the damages from Mr. Blevins that, if the court will permit, the people would like to enter into the record.”

     “Done,” replied the judge.

     “Thank you, your honor,” the D.A. continued. “Ah, unfortunately, I don’t see Deputy Stevenson in the courtroom, but we can sure try to contact him to testify just as soon as possible. We apologize for the delay, your honor.”

     Judge Reeves noticed the defendant’s eyes were closed and his mouth open. The judge looked at him for a few seconds.

     “Mr. Richards,” the judge called in a louder voice as Mrs. Richards shook her husband’s arm.

     “Huh?” Fergus Richards asked looking around and then at his wife.

     “He’s talking to you,” she said motioning to the judge.

     “Oh. Yes, sir. Not guilty!” Mr. Richards declared as his wife turned to look resignedly at their family.

     “We got that, sir,” the judge stated. “But, as terribly behind as this court is and with the officer who wrote you the ticket not here, the court would just like to ask whether you ran over that mailbox on Henry Heth Road that morning. Since you’re acting … as your own attorney, you can stay where you are, and just remain seated. Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?”

     “Oh, yeah,” he answered.

     “He better,” his wife declared. “I’ll correct him if he gets confused.”

     “That’s all right, Mrs. Richards.” Judge Reeves nodded. “Let’s let your husband speak. Now, sir, did you run over that mailbox?”

     “Well, sir,” the defendant began. “I tell you, Judge, I b’lieve that thing was just entirely too close to the road, and that’s just the plain truth.” His wife looked at the judge shaking her head.

     “But did you hit that mailbox with your truck?” the judge asked Mr. Richards.

     “Oh, yeah. I ran right over it,” the defendant answered.

     “But, now, Judge,” his wife interjected, “we done paid Mr. Blevins for that mailbox, and he got hisself a right fine new one that he said hisself is a far sight better than the old one on account of he went to Walmart and got a real pretty mailbox with birds painted on it and a sturdy wood post to set in on, and we paid the bill which was over $200. Let me ask my daughter for the right amount since she gave him the check. That’s her, right there, your honor.”

     “Thank you, ma’am,” Judge Reeves responded with a raised hand as she pointed to her daughter who smiled weakly at the judge and waved. “That won’t be needed,” he continued.

     “That thing cost entirely too much, if you ask me,” Mr. Richards stated emphatically.

     “Well, nobody’s asking you,” his wife remarked. “It’s your fault all this even happened. I told you to wait ’til after lunch to get that haircut when somebody was free to drive you. But, no, you just couldn’t wait. No patience and still stubborn as a mule.”

     “Well, I needed a haircut bad,” her husband replied.

     “Oh, you and that dadblamed haircut of yours.” She shook her head.

     “All right,” the judge interrupted with both hands raised. “We don’t need to get into any of that. Now, Mr. Richards, you strike this court as an honest man—”

     “Well, I’m a Christian,” Mr. Richards stated. “Go to First Baptist. Gone my whole life.”

     “He was a deacon and a Sunday School teacher for years and years,” his wife stated and patted her husband’s shoulder. “He’s a veteran too. Decorated in combat.”

     “Got me a silver star, a bronze star, and they done give me a couple of purple hearts. ’Course, I reckon I sure paid for ’em too,” her husband spoke up with a chuckle.

     “And the court commends the defendant and thanks him dearly for all his outstanding service and for being such a tremendous credit to this community,” Judge Reeves stated and nodded. “Now, to the matter at hand, sir. You’ve already admitted that you did in fact run over the mailbox, correct?”

     “He sure did, Judge,” Deloris Richards declared. “And after he knocked it to the ground, he drove right over it and smashed it something terrible. Oh, you shoulda’ seen that thing.”

     “That’s all right, ma’am.” Judge Reeves closed his eyes, lowered his head, and lifted his right hand again. “Now, sir, for the record, are you saying that you did, in fact, run over that mailbox?”

     “Oh, yeah,” he answered. “Plum completely tore that thing up good.” He laughed.

     “They ain’t nothing funny ’bout it,” his wife noted and looked at her husband sternly.

     “It dented the front of my truck too, your honor,” Mr. Richards declared.
     “Well,” his wife spoke up. “It serves you right for running over it when you shouldn’t have been driving no way in the first place.”

     “Ma’am,” Judge Reeves spoke up with his hand raised. He paused, looked at his desk, and cleared his throat before looking at the defendant.

     “Mr. Richards, do you want to present a case in your defense?”

     “He don’t have nothing to present but stubbornness,” Deloris Richards pronounced looking at her husband.

     “Ma’am, please,” the judge requested with a slightly raised hand. The Richards’ daughter leaned forward with her head in both hands as her daughter patted her back. The Richards’ son clasped his hands staring at the floor while the younger relatives smiled or looked at their phones.

     Judge Alonza Reeves took a drink of water, clasped his hands under his chin, looked at the Richards family, and finally spoke.

     “Mr. Richards, how old are you, sir?”

     The old man blinked. “Ah…”

     “Ninety-six,” his wife loudly whispered in his ear.

     “Ninety-six, judge,” Mr. Richards pronounced.

     “Ninety-six years old,” Judge Reeves stated admiringly. “The Good Lord’s been mighty generous to you and your family.”

     “And we’re so thankful,” Mrs. Richards stated.

     “I’m sure y’all are,” the judge continued. “And I’ll tell you what this court’s gon’ do. Fergus Richards, in recognition of all your long fine service to this community and to our nation, this court is hereby permanently retiring your driver’s license and awarding you free riding privileges for the rest of your life.”

     The Richards’ daughter raised her head and put her hands together in a prayer of thanks to the judge as her brother gave his honor a thumbs up.

     “Let me explain what this means,” Judge Reeves continued. “And I want all the family to listen up.” The Richards’ daughter shushed her children and grandchildren who were whispering and playing with their phones, and pointed to the judge.

     “From now on, Mr. Richards,” the judge pronounced, “whenever you want to go somewhere, one of your kin, a neighbor, or a friend is gon’ drive you there, you hear? You have richly earned the right never to have to drive again. It’s time for you to just sit back and enjoy the ride. Now, in exchange for this privilege, you have to promise the court, on your honor as a war hero and a Christian gentleman, that you gon’ be patient. So, if you want to go to the store, but nobody can take you right away, you have to wait ’til somebody can, you understand?”

     “Yes sir,” Mr. Richards replied.

     “Good,” Judge Reeves declared. “Now does the court have the word of the Richards family that y’all gon’ drive your daddy and granddaddy wherever he wants to go?”

     “And great-granddaddy, your honor,” Mrs. Richards interrupted.

     “Well, that’s just fine,” the judge noted as all the family members nodded and/or gave a thumbs up sign.

     “Now you see, Mr. Richards, every one of your relations here just promised he’s gon’ drive you wherever you want. So you’ve got a whole fine mess of personal chauffeurs at your disposal – and for free. I don’t think it gets much better than that. Now how does that sound?”

     “Pretty good, Judge. They’re all a good bunch and I’m right proud of ever’ one of ’em.”

     “Well,” Judge Reeves responded, “they’re certainly an upstanding-looking group which speaks mighty well of you and the Mrs.”

     “Oh, they sure are a powerful blessing, your honor,” Deloris Richards declared. “Ever’ one of ’em helps out so much. I just don’t know what we’d do without ’em. We’d a-been in a nursing home a long time ago, sure enough.”

     “All right.” The judge smiled. “Well, y’all are free to leave now and the court wishes each of you all the very best. God bless.”

     Deloris Richards thanked Judge Reeves and helped up her husband who began walking to District Attorney Gregg with his hand outstretched. The D.A. jumped up to clasp his elder’s hand with both his own while thanking him for his service and wishing Mrs. Richards and the family well.

     After the Richards family left, the judge smiled at everyone in the almost empty courtroom and took a sip of water.

     “The court wishes every case turned out as well as that last one,” he observed. “How wonderful to be 96, still live at home, and have all your family around you.”

     “Amen,” a smiling District Attorney John Gregg agreed. “Just be careful ’bout driving – and watch out for them mailboxes.”

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Douglas Young is an author and professor emeritus whose essays, poems, and short stories have appeared in a variety of publications in America, Canada, Europe, and Asia. His first novel, Deep in the Forest, was published in 2021 and the second, Due South, came out in 2022. His first book of essays, This Little Opinion Plus $1.50 Will Buy You a Coke, appeared in 2024, and the second, Not Just Political, was published in 2025. His first book of short stories, The Double Date and Other Stories, will be published in 2026.