The Judge

Virginia Wilcox, better known as Ginger because of her red hair, was one of two women I had gotten to know well in college.

Ginger and I had dated frequently and always had fun together, both in and out of bed. Most of what I knew about sex I had

learned from her.

We were both in agreement that our relationship would never become a serious romance, primarily because Ginger made it

very explicit that she was going to be a career girl and would not want the encumbrance of a marriage.

Her goal in life was to be a new Barbara Walters.

The other girl in my life was one I could get serious with. As in the case with Ginger, I had met Vivian Randolph at a college

function and began dating her.

There was a world of difference between Ginger and Vivian, not only in looks but in their perspective of life. Ginger was a

party girl and let everyone know it. Vivian was quiet and more serious about life. Of the two, I thought of Ginger with her red

hair, as pretty but Vivian, to me was a beautiful brunette, much more attractive than Ginger. To Ginger sex was all important;

Vivian made it clear she had promised her mother she would not have sex until she married. Our dates were quieter and

more sedate than those with Ginger.

In spite of this element missing from our relationship we always enjoyed each other’s company. She frequently came to see

shows that I helped produce for the drama club I was involved with and I went to several piano recitals she participated in. Her

dream was to become a concert pianist; I think she had the talent for it. I hoped I could date her again when she returned to

Yale for her senior year.

For this romantic adventure, though, I was going to accept Ginger’s invitation and sow some of the wild oats the judge had

mentioned. I called Ginger before leaving Atlantic City and arranged to be in Paris the following Saturday.

The judge and I flew back from Atlantic City on Sunday. On Monday I checked with Andy to see how much progress she had

made. She admitted it was slow going but had succeeded in getting the entire month of June, 1975 into the computer and

had high-lighted several potential transcripts for future use by the judge.

“As I get into the swing of it I think it will go faster. As of now, if I continue at the same rate, it could take years.”

“If you could use some help, let me know. I’m certain the judge would be willing to hire an assistant for you.”

“I’ll think about that,” Andy replied. Then she added, “I’d like to copy the files on a CD, as a backup; perhaps two for each

year. Would you okay that? I can leave a little early today and pick up some on my way home.”

“Sounds like a good idea. You pick them up and I’ll reimburse you.”

“One other item, I’d like to take the first two weeks in August for a vacation. Would that be okay?”

“Fine, you do that. I’ll be leaving Saturday for a week and Judge Summers will be gone all that week also. When I return, we’ll

discuss getting an assistant for you.”

For the rest of the week I kept busy reading files and ear-marking potentially interesting ones. By the end of the week I had

finished a quick read of the files through September, 1975 and had found a few good excerpts. By Friday, I was a little

bleary-eyed.

On Saturday I flew to Paris and was met at the airport by Ginger. I knew I had found her attractive in the past, but I was

astounded by how beautiful she looked when I saw her waiting for me outside customs. She was dressed in a skin-tight

dress that molded perfectly to every curve of her body. I was not the only male to stare at her; many women stared also.

She rushed into my arms and literally covered me with kisses, to the applause of an appreciative audience. “I have a taxi

waiting,” she whispered in my ear. “Let’s go to my place and make love."

And that we did for more than an hour before stopping and ordering room-service dinner. After dinner we went back to bed

and continued our love making off and on, mostly on, throughout the night.

For the remainder of the week Ginger kept us busy. We went sightseeing each day to some of the outstanding wonders that

make Paris what it is: the Louvre, Notre Dame Cathedral, Montmartre, among others. We took the Metro everywhere or

walked hand in hand like star-crossed lovers.

At night it was almost continuous sex so that, at the end of the week, I was worn out. When the week ended I vowed that I had

sown enough wild oats to last a lifetime and would have to let Ginger become an item of the past. I flew home Saturday and

spent Sunday recuperating.

I had dinner with Judge Summers Sunday evening and made a brief reference to my week in Paris.

“And how was the young lady?” he asked, again with a twinkle in his eye.

“All I can say is, she was too much for me.”

“Enough said,” then he dropped the subject.

Monday morning Andy informed me she had completed July, 1975 and was half-way through August. “At this rate, it will take

about four years to complete, so if you need to have it finished sooner I will need some help.”

“I’ll speak to the judge and recommend it,” I told her.

That evening, at dinner, I brought up the subject of Andy’s time projection and suggested that if he wanted a quicker

completion we could hire an assistant for Andy. “If we hire someone it should be right away as Andy is going on vacation in

three weeks and would need to show the assistant what is being done before that time.”

“Four years, eh! I had no idea it would take that long. I don’t know if I’ll still be around in four years.”

“I’d like to explain, Sir, that she is doing much more than typing your files into the computer. She is reading the files thoroughly

first and high-lighting some of the good ones to make a separate file.”

“If she needs help, you go hire someone, the judge replied.

Tuesday morning I returned to the employment agency and was able to hire a recent business school graduate, 20 years old,

whose school record showed excellence in typing.

Andy was pleased with my choice. “While I’m reading ahead and ear-marking, Frances can be typing the main files into the

computer and making back-up CDs for each six months as we arrive at them. You need to look at some of the finished

product and see if they meet your requirements.”

She showed me, on the computer, what the first six months looked like and then, part of the separate file she had made for

the judge.

“Excellent,” I told her. “And I agree with how you will use Frances.”

“Fran,” Frances said.

“I stand corrected. I’ll introduce you to the judge in a day or two. Don’t be put off by his blunt mannerisms. He has a heart of

gold.”

To Andy, I added, “I made a few excerpts for the year through September, 1975. You might compare and see if we have the

same ones.”

I let the two of them go back to their work and went for a long walk with Champ. It felt good to get out and get some needed

exercise. Except for the walking I did in Paris I had been ignoring this important aspect of life.

That week I decided to look at some of the judge’s most recent files and start working backwards with them. It didn’t surprise

me that the cases he handled in his last years on the bench were more complicated than the early ones.

His last month was a homicide, one that had received national press coverage. I had to go back to the previous month to get

to the beginning.

The year of the trial was one in which gang related shootings had developed into a national disgrace, even in the staid old

city of New Haven, Connecticut. This was the situation in this case.

A young Hispanic male, 17 years of age, had been indicted as the perpetrator in a drive-by shooting in which two young

members of a different gang were killed. He had been identified by a passer-by whose reliability was questioned by the

defense and also had received a death threat.

The wrangling went on for almost six weeks. Two of the impaneled jurors had to be replaced as they also had received death

threats. One other juror was dismissed when the defense discovered she was related to one of the victims. Finally, two other

witnesses came forth and agreed to testify.

The perp received a life sentence; two other occupants of the car were sentenced to 25 years.

As a result of the shooting, and the trial, New Haven began a major gang clean-up program. Shortly after, Judge Summers

retired.

After reading those final two months of Judge Summers’ career I decided that going backwards would be too complicated as

months seemed to run into each other and overlap. I went back to a continuation of where I left off in September, 1975.

Fran proved to be a quite capable typist, perhaps even faster than Andy but not as capable in pre-reading and recognizing

the little tidbits we were looking for as excerpts.

When Andy went on vacation in early August Fran was able to enter almost three months of files into the computer. She

admitted to me that continuous typing was tedious and somewhat boring.

“Take a half hour break in the morning and again in the afternoon,” I suggested.

This she started doing and thanked me for the suggestion. “I feel more relaxed after a break; you’re a good boss to work for.”

* * *

That Friday I decided to call Vivian, at her home near Pittsburg, PA. When she came on the line and I identified myself she

sounded ecstatic.

“Charlie, my goodness, I thought I would never hear from you again. Where are you and what are you doing?”

“I’m still in the New Haven area; I work for a retired judge.”

“A what?”

A retired judge; I’m his man Friday. Basically, I’m helping him become a better speaker by inserting some humor into his

speeches.”

“And how do you do that?”

“I have two secretaries working for me to transfer the transcripts of his files to a computer, and as they are doing that they

look for little tidbits of humor that can be woven naturally into his speeches. It worked quite well in a speech he gave a month

ago in Atlantic City. He thinks I’m a miracle worker because I help him become less of a curmudgeon.

“Enough about me. What have you been doing all summer?”

“Nothing much, mostly lazing around and entertaining my family on the piano. This Sunday my mother and I are flying to New

York so that I can interview at Julliard. If they will accept my credits from Yale I’ll transfer there in the fall.”

“You mean you won’t be returning to Yale?” I was crestfallen.

“That’s what I mean.”

“I was hoping we could renew our friendship and get better acquainted. How long will you be in New York?”

“We plan to stay all week so we can take in a few shows.”

“If I can manage to get away could I come to see you there?”

“Charlie, I’d love to see you,” she replied.

“Okay, where will you be staying and until when?”

She named a downtown hotel and said, “We don’t plan to come home until Sunday afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can book a room there for Friday night. Do you think your mother would mind sharing you with me?”

“She wouldn’t mind. She already knows about you.”

“She does?”

“We talk a lot and have a great relationship.”

“That sounds great. Can I leave a message at the hotel when I complete my arrangements?”

“That sounds good to me,” she replied.

After the call I had a tingling sensation all over. What did it signify that she had told her mother about me?

The following week was one of anticipation. I managed to read through the December, 1975 files, again finding some good

excerpts but nothing Andy had not already discovered.

One in particular stood out as appropriate in some situations: Two divorce combatants threw bombshells at each other

throughout the trial. At one point the man’s attorney noticed that his wife’s attorney laughed at a remark about infidelity. The

man’s attorney claimed that the opposing attorney was showing inappropriate behavior. To which the other attorney replied,

“If you got screwed as frequently as your client you’d be smiling too.”

* * *

Friday didn’t come soon enough. As it was I left after lunch and was able to get a shuttle to New York that arrived at 2:15. I

checked into the hotel at 3:30 and immediately called Vivian’s room. Unfortunately, she and her mother were out. I left a

message for Vivian to call me when she returned.

At 5:15 Vivian called and told me that an early dinner would be fine but it had to be early as they had theater tickets for 8

o’clock. We decided to meet in the hotel dining room at 6.

I arrived a few minutes early to find them already seated, waiting for me.

Mrs. Randolph was an attractive woman in her mid-forties. When she shook my hand at Vivian’s introduction she had a big

smile on her face. “Vivian has told me so much about you that I’ve been anxious to meet you,” was her greeting.

At this I blushed and stammered, “I’m happy to meet you.”

“Vivian says you’re working for a judge. I thought your interests were in literature and writing.”

“They are, but the judge made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He told me he needed someone around who could lighten things

up in his life and as I had lived with him during my last three years at Yale, he knew I had a way of using humor. So he offered

me a job as what he calls his assistant and speech facilitator.

“I have all the freedom I need to go off on my own as long as I’m there to help him lighten up his speeches. And I’ve been able

to hire two secretaries to transcribe his trial transcripts and to search out gems from the transcripts to use in his speeches.”

All through this long-winded explanation Vivian sat there taking it all in. Finally, with a grin, she said, “It sounds to me like you

don’t have to work at all.”

“I keep busy, reading his files and searching for those tidbits to use in his speeches; but you’re right. I can have all the

freedom I need as long as I’m there when he needs me. I couldn’t ask for a better situation.”

Our entrees arrived then and we concentrated on eating so we could have more time to talk before they left for the theater at

7:30. “I’ll call you when we get back,” Vivian told me. “We can visit for a while then.”

At 10:15 I got the call from Vivian telling me she would come to my room, which surprised me. In less than five minutes I

answered the knock at my door and Vivian rushed into my arms; another surprise.

We had a long, lingering kiss before she pulled back, red in the face and said, “I don’t know what got into me; I’ve never done

that before.”

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