Anger and Fear in a Post-Sept. 11 Courtroom

Since Sept. 11, a lot of Americans have been talking about righteous anger. They’re fearful, they’re angry, and they want to mete out justice. The sooner the better.

I wonder if that notion will find its way into an Orange County courtroom this week as a second jury decides what to do with Pete Solomona.

Nobody ranks these things, but few murder trials around here have produced the kind of divided public opinion that Solomona’s did a year ago.

You might wonder how that can be, given that Solomona concedes he took a .357 magnum from his house, approached a parked car in the street and put the gun inches from the head of an unarmed teenage boy behind the wheel.

In my world, that’s a crime. When the gun went off--as it did in this case--and killed 17-year-old Brandon Ketsdever, it’s murder.

There is another detail, though.

Minutes before the shooting in October 1999, Ketsdever and his two passengers had swiped a 3-foot plastic jack-o’-lantern from Solomona’s porch. They drove off, but in a fatal twist of fate, ended up blocked by another car in front of Solomona’s house.

Solomona has said the gun went off when he bumped the side of the car. He testified he thought it was unloaded. He says he was only trying to scare the boys.

Last December, at Solomona’s first trial, jurors found him guilty of second-degree murder. Two months later, the judge overturned the verdict, saying he had given the jury improper instructions.

Even by then, the case had divided the public into two camps. One was aghast at Solomona’s reaction to the theft, dismissing it as a prank not unlike those pulled every Halloween.

The other camp, equally adamant if not as large, argued that Ketsdever and his friends brought their problems on themselves with their petty larceny. I remember the vehemence of those who defended Solomona in either phone calls or e-mails to me, not for a second seeming to note the incongruity of linking a prank with a death sentence.

I joined the second camp only so far as to understand Solomona flaring for an instant. I dropped out at the moment he grabbed the handgun and pointed it at the boys, especially as he continued berating them over the theft.

Yet I never wanted Solomona’s head. Like most outside observers, I think, I felt sympathy for a man who had never been in legal trouble and who had been living an anonymous life in Buena Park until that fateful night.

However, the greater injustice would have been to acquit him. Because no one could read his mind about intent, we had to go with the outcome: He had fatally shot a 17-year-old boy over a stolen plastic pumpkin.

No law-abiding society can accept that. It doesn’t mean we send Solomona, who turns 50 this week, to prison for the rest of his life. But, as the line goes, attention must be paid.

Now comes the second trial. As we’ve been told, America is a different place than it was two months ago, and I get the feeling Solomona’s new defense attorney is trying to latch onto that.

As the trial began this week, Solomona’s attorney argued for the first time that his client feared for his safety the night of the shooting. Instead of just wanting to scare off the boys when the gun accidentally fired, attorney Milton Grimes now says, Solomona “was scared, but he had to do something because somebody was trying to get into his home and disrespect his family and his property. This isn’t about a plastic pumpkin; it’s about a man’s right to protect his home.”

Solomona, in so many words, is claiming his own righteous anger. He was terrorized by the carload of boys and was protecting himself. He went outside to mete out justice.

More now than ever, Americans understand invasion and fear. Without overtly linking Solomona’s fear with America’s fear, Grimes must be hoping he can at least plant the seed in jurors’ minds.

As I said, I’m not out to put Solomona away forever.

But, with one jury conviction already on the books, this newfound defense of righteous anger sounds too much like righteous convenience.

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.