The Right Wing Vanquisher

By Larry Gobelman

Law professor seeking social justice kidnaps right wing elitists in humorous atypical mystery with an engaging cast of characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543947816

Book preview

Right Wing Vanquisher

Larry Gobelman

ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-54394-782-3

ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54394-781-6

© 2018. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Count no person happy until the end is known.

Herodotus- The Histories, Fifth Century B.C. referencing a conversation between Solon, an Athenian Lawgiver, and Croesus, King of Lydia.

Contents

Prologue—June, 1952

June, 2018—The Professor Retires with a Haze

The Professor Confesses

Joe, The Loyal Accomplice

Heavenly Father’s Prodigal Son

Sanctimony Lives

A Luna Eclipse

Luna Finds Clues, Eh!

The Reverend Meets His Fate

The Professor Returns the Next Morning

The Reverend Disrobes

Sifting Through the Evidence

Interview with Jaworski

The Professor Rejuvenates

The Gun Mogul Model

What Does the Barista Know About a Double Double

Coffee Shop Coincidence

Much to Celebrate and Debate70

Luna Gets Counseled

Luna Loses a Suspect

Brophy Gets Muscle Tested

Faith Based AR-15s

Luna Receives Loony Letter

Another Professorial Suspect

Joe Gets Ridden Hard

The Professor Takes a Break

The Professor and Father

Luna’s Second Counseling Session

Captain Lays It Out

Yet Another Suspect

Luna Interviews Professor Chilton

Luna Summarizes the Case

Professor Dunsmith Subpoenaed

A Histrionic Lesson

Congressman Joins the Conmen Trio

Congressman Triangulates

Another Killer Letter

Chris Meets Leland

Relationship Turmoil

The Three Stooges

Interview with Luna

Interview with Luna

Interview with Angela

Interview with Luna

Luna Searches Professor Chilton

Search for the Reverend

Interview with Luna

Ammosexuality Re-invented

Began With a Roar, Ends with a Meow

Cousins and Community

Luna on the Professor’s Trail

Senator Morton Jackson

Professor Is Delivered

Professor Takes Center Stage

Luna Pays Joe a Visit

The Professor Gets Last Word

Acknowledgements

Prologue—June, 1952

The transportation officers opened the holding cell door, and shackled the prisoner to escort her to the courtroom in the Hall of Justice in San Francisco on this chilly day when the fog settled in for a long stay. The chill permeated the elegant courthouse that had been rebuilt after the earthquake of 1906. The petite prisoner was handled gently with proper respect by the officers despite being convicted of killing a fellow police officer in a roadside shootout in which her husband also perished. Perhaps they had compassion for her as she was recently separated from her baby that she delivered in jail after her arrest. She was placed at the defendant’s table next to her attorney, who attempted small talk with her as she pretended to listen. Linda Sanford felt as though she were in a fishbowl in the courtroom with all eyes in the packed courtroom focused on her, except for the court clerk and court reporter who sat disinterested, having seen too many defendants come and go to care. The bailiff called the court to order as Judge David P. Bennett entered the courtroom and seated himself while offering his only known facial expression—a scowl.

Your honor, Darren Duvall, representing Linda Sanford, respectfully requesting a new trial based upon concealment of evidence by the District Attorney’s Office. I have a deposition by LaVerne Albert, which is attached to the petition for a new trial. Ms. Albert was present not more than fifteen yards at a bus stop when the shooting on the roadside occurred. She has, under penalty of perjury, stated that she saw the entire chain of events from the time the Sanfords were pulled over by the patrol officer to the time the shootings occurred. She will tell you that the backup officer, Morton Jackson, who arrived shortly after the Sanfords were pulled over, fired the first shots as his fellow patrol officer yelled at him not to shoot. According to Ms. Albert, Mr. Joseph Sanford was wounded by the first shot, and Mrs. Sanford was wounded by the second shot. Mr. Sanford, who had a concealed handgun, then shot and killed the patrol officer just before being fatally shot by Officer Jackson. The defendant, Linda Sanford, according to Ms. Albert also fired shots in self-defense, but did not shoot the officer.

During this presentation, the veteran judge reflected in silence, If people really knew how sitting on my ass everyday listening to attorney blowhards caused my sciatica to flare up, they would double my pay. I should have been a dentist, where I could administer pain without having to listen to lawyers rehash settled issues.

Anything more? I don’t need you to take the court’s time to regurgitate the contents of your petition, Judge Bennett sneered.

No, Your Honor, other than this is an extraordinary and alarming finding that defense counsel was not made aware of by the prosecution, and was discovered only when the Laverne Albert called our office after the trial asking why we had not called her as a witness when she had talked to a DA investigator whose name she could not recall. There was no imminent threat to the officers when Officer Jackson fired the first shot, Defense Counsel Duvall stated emphatically and quickly before the Judge could interrupt him.

How about you represent your client, and let me decide what’s relevant and admissible. Sit down on your chair, be quiet, and don’t stand up even to remove a splinter or I’ll have you sanctioned, the judge rebuked the attorney still seething about verbally sparring with this attorney during the initial trial and on other occasions. My next gluteus flare-up will be named after this irritating twit, he told himself as he glared at the attorney.

Does the District Attorney wish to make a statement? You will be given time to respond to Defense Counsel’s petition. After all, he reminded himself that the dapper DA, who was nauseatingly polite, was a potential opponent in the next judicial election. No need to make an enemy.

Thank you, your Honor. Todd Barton for the People of California. Yes, a brief statement if it pleases the court. (Short pause) In all due respect, Ms. Albert is not a reliable witness as she is afflicted with manic depression and is prone to confusion and exaggeration. She has been under the treatment of a psychiatrist for years, and has been hospitalized a few times. I can present an expert witness on this point if necessary. Also, Linda Sanford was given every opportunity to present evidence at the trial, and, at no time, was Officer Jackson’s testimony credibly refuted by the defendant. She has been given a full and fair trial and was convicted by an impartial jury.

The defense attorney shot up from his seat, Your Honor, the District Attorney obfuscates the issue by inaccurately depicting my witness’s condition and thereby misses the point…

Sit down and shut up, or I will place you in contempt and taken forthwith you to jail, the judge spat at the attorney. The court denies the petition and remands the defendant back to prison. Next case please. The judge would have entered contempt charges, but this would have only meant another court setting to defend it.

As Linda was being escorted to the transportation van to return to prison, the officers were jumped by friends of hers dressed as transportation officers, who had managed to elude being noticed entering the area. They loaded Linda into the waiting van and quickly sped away from the courthouse.

June, 2018—The Professor Retires with a Haze

As the drama of the school year begins to fade on this beautiful late spring day, I have only two more classes in Constitutional History before nearly forty years in academia ends. Almost cradle to grave cranial assaults through my ear canals in the school system with little relief. As if a college professor could hope to make much of a difference—I used to think so, now I have serious doubts. Perhaps I should feel more sentimental about the lives I have shaped, and there have been some truly remarkable students and colleagues I have encountered along the way. However, this is far surpassed by my anticipation for the final chapter of my life. I am planning to end it on a high note, not the self-inflicted kind, but of the perpetrated kind.

For now, on with the grading dance. I wish I could say I was dancing with the stars, but that would be true only if you imagined a room full of Rick Perrys, the dimwitted former governor of Texas, not to be confused with the current dimwitted governor of Texas. No, sadly this discussion will be more about the material aspects of so-called higher learning, which is grading, than the process or content of such pursuit.

With my metaphorical clogging shoes, I pirouette around the room distributing the final exam papers, ready for the verbal skirmish that is certain to ensue. The professorial mask I wear is in keeping with the legal subject matter—rife for interpretation and negotiation. There are usually predictable stages of student grief after receiving an essay exam from me: shock, whining, entrenchment, more whining with occasional tears, depression at the prospects of losing a scholarship or admission to graduate school, followed by begging as I refuse to budge. Oh, how I am going to miss this part of my job.

There is an unfortunate element of surprise for the students in that my basic persona is light-hearted with a heavy dose of sarcasm, but nurturing and conciliatory for the most part. My hard-ass grading belies this.

Professor, I feel you did a bait and switch on us with the question asking us to assume that a constitutional convention has been convened following the required two-thirds vote of both chambers of Congress and three-fourths of state legislatures requiring us to outline what steps we would recommend to amend and improve the Constitution without regard to political impediments, the obviously distraught young man proclaims in a panicked tone.

How so? I feign surprise with a furrowed brow look of concern. This is professorial acting 101, and is beneath the dignity of a seasoned scholar, but I enjoy it.

Well, I know the Constitution backwards and forwards, and I could have recited it from memory, the almost tearful student replied.

I was a little taken aback that the students were moving through the grief scale so rapidly. I felt the disappointment that a cat must feel when a batted ball of twine unravels too soon.

Does anyone not feel abused by this question?

The forty something red haired woman, clearly the best student in class, and destined to be a stalwart law student responds, Professor, I am disappointed in my grade. The question was admittedly surprising, but relevant to higher learning because it requires critical thinking under pressure. Sure, I am concerned about receiving a lower than expected grade. I have made a pact with myself to be prepared for such contingencies in the future.

This argument is a variation of the old what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger argument. It is also a type of shameless sucking up, but for some likely unjust reason, I am feeling generous toward her. I am hoping this is not related to the stirring I have been feeling for her in my nether region all semester. This is very unsettling given my longstanding pact of nut neutrality: never think, or at a minimum, never show any sign of gender bias or untoward sexual behavior to a student.

Sadly, unable to suppress my inner horndog, I’ve had carnal thoughts about Nicole since the first class. Her voice, laugh, intelligence, well-maintained body, coiffed ponytail have driven me to the point of committing an ethical breach by looking in her direction too often. Yes, leering is problematic for professors. I have kept these urges under wrap by pretending to detach from my libido when I arrive at work, and not re-attach it until I leave for home. I will be happy to have my nuts back full-time when I am retired and can cast my self-reflection elsewhere.

The back and forth continues for nearly fifteen minutes until there is no joy left in me watching the students suffer and complain. Just at the moment they begin calculating student loan repayments on a barista’s salary, I throw them a life raft by allowing any student to amend his or her answer and present it orally to the class and defend the solution. The grade on the amended assignment would then become the final grade. Foolishly perhaps, at the end of the day I am more interested in advancing critical thinking about the law, and can only torture the students, enjoyable as it is, for a brief period of time.

The Professor Confesses

I was waiting in my sanctuary—or more aptly my shield against life—which was a den with old style shellacked knotty pine panels, scuffed oak floor, and Douglas fir bookcases I purchased at an estate sale years ago. The years of placing and removing books, binders and Scotch bottles had not been kind to the once elegant bookcases in this small craftsman home located in the Channel District, the poorest area of the County. I was seething while reading the latest Southern Poverty Law Center journal on the rise of hate groups in nearly all states of the country. Freaking Nazi, skinhead tweakers. My carefree teaching façade has evaporated. I have always enjoyed making myself miserable lamenting the depravity of the right wing, especially when the cure to my malaise is a joint or Scotch on the rocks. Today, however, such rumination was especially helpful as I anxiously awaited the arrival of my lifelong friend, Angela, whom I had summoned with some urgency. She reluctantly agreed to come over despite hinting that she preferred to be elsewhere.

Angela became my friend and sometime lover over forty years ago. I was hoping today would be a sometime lover day, but, not to appear too evolved, I really needed her comfort and touch more than the act itself. There was also the small, not so surmountable problem that she had been in a committed Lesbian relationship for most of the time I had known her. Aside from our current platonic status, Angela is my best friend. We met at San Francisco State University while she was competing on the fledgling track and field team in the unheralded Division II NCAA status. I was the Captain of the Debate Team, but was only an average college level middle distance runner, or, as I viewed it, an overachieving pothead, while Angela was one of those late bloomers who was overlooked by Division I schools, and settled for an academic scholarship at SF State where she could continue to compete in track and field and became a top performer in the hurdles and long jump.

Our relationship is deeply complicated. While seeing each other nearly every day during our track and field practice, I had hoped she would succumb to my charms. However, it was not until I deviously appealed to her confused Christian heritage by asking her if I could join her for a sermon with Reverend Cecil Williams at Glide Memorial Church that our romantic relationship began to take flight.

We were inspired by the Rev. Cecil Williams, who became Glide’s pastor in 1963,