Thanks to Bailiff, Mother’s Christmas Wish Comes True

Criminal court isn’t where you go to find Christmas stories. It’s not a place of happy endings, because the most elemental truth about the courtroom is that it’s open for business only because, somewhere, there’s a victim.

But life plays itself out in unexpected ways, forcing you to sometimes take your blessings where you find them. An Orange County couple who thought as recently as little more than a year ago that life had been abundantly good to them found themselves in a courtroom last week hoping for tiny miracles.

The trail leading them there over the past year has been filled with disbelief and heartache, ever since their 17-year-old son was arrested in connection with a violent crime that left him charged with attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon and conspiracy to commit robbery.

I’m not identifying them or their son, because my intention isn’t to evoke sympathy for the parents or their son. This is meant to be nothing more than a story of a family suddenly jarred loose, and the search for anything to make the whole thing somehow feel better.

Because he was 17 when arrested late last year, the son was sent to Juvenile Hall, where parents can mingle freely with their children during visitation. But when he turned 18 in February, he was transferred to the County Jail.

As with all adult prisoners, visits in County Jail are confined to phone conversations through a glass partition. As the months dragged on, with only the visits and periodic court appearances offering a chance to see their son, the parents struggled with their inability to so much as touch him.

“We go to court for every court appearance, whether it’s for the most minuscule thing or not,” the boy’s father said. “We’re sitting there and listening, and if we get an opportunity to see our son, even if it’s for a fleeting moment, we feel it’s worth it.”

The family isn’t condoning what happened. “We’re believers in a reasonable penalty for the charge,” the father said. “On the other hand, we don’t want to not be able to see our son for the next 20 years either. That’s the hardest thing to deal with, that he could be sent to prison for 20 years.”

Earlier this month, the father asked his wife what she wanted for Christmas. She said she “wanted to be able to get close to (their son) and give him a hug,” the father said. Mindful of court policy that generally forbids contact, he said he gently suggested that she think of something else.

The irony of it all hasn’t eluded them. Here are a couple that, by their own reckoning, have all the material possessions they need. What they wanted this Christmas was to touch their 18-year-old son for the first time in 10 months.

“It’s hard for us to realize this happened to us in our family,” the father said. “Virtually the night before (the incident last year), our older son proposed marriage to the girl he ultimately married, and now they’re going to have a child in February. So, we went from that high--from ‘Gee, this is fantastic’--to the next morning I went to Chicago on business and that night was when it all happened. I got awakened at 4 in the morning in Chicago to find out my son may or may not be in a lot of trouble.”

Last Friday, eight days before Christmas, their son had another Superior Court appearance, this time to set a trial date. Unlike previous occasions, this time their son was not confined to a closed-off and partitioned row for prisoners but brought into court and, though handcuffed, seated in the jury box.

For safety and other reasons, court policy forbids spectators from communicating with prisoners. The parents arrived early. Seated in the gallery, they were close enough to make meaningful eye contact. The judge was still in chambers. A lawyer who had been preparing some papers in the courtroom also left, presumably for the judge’s chambers.

Several minutes passed. Then, the father saw the bailiff whisper something to the marshal on duty. “The next thing I knew, the bailiff was coming over to my wife and saying, ‘Would you like to talk to your son?’ My wife said, ‘What?’ and he repeated it and she said yes. He escorted us over to the jury box. Our son was in about the middle of the first row. My wife started bawling. I made small talk and we probably talked for several minutes and then my wife saw the lawyers coming back. She turned to the bailiff and asked if it would be OK if she gave our son a kiss.

“The bailiff said it would be OK, and she leaned over the rail and gave him a kiss, and he put his arm around her and it was quite an emotional deal. Then, she gave me an opportunity to be with him.”

Although not unprecedented, the bailiff’s action was unusual.

The parents aren’t deluding themselves into thinking the bailiff’s action represents any “turning point” in either their or their son’s ordeal. Rather, they’re merely accepting the gesture as the gift they wanted.

“It was in the spirit of Christmas,” the father said. “I guess that’s the best way to put it. It seems to us that a prayer was answered.”