Getting on with Life

Since Daddy died in June, we had all summer to "get back to normal". Normal would actually never be again.

Finally time ticked on and it was time to go back to school. I was entering the tenth grade. I tried so very hard to leave home problems at home.

One of my favorite classes, Journalism, was taught by one of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Estes. We interviewed new teachers and football players, published the menus, and covered any of the other important things that happened in our small little high school.

In October (1973) Mrs. Estes decided that we should cover some of the current events taking place in the community. The high school was only a few blocks from the courthouse and what better place to give all of us the real life experience of covering a trial.

Mama had decided that it was best that my brother and I not attend the trial of Ronnie Morrison. We went to school the week the trial was going on as if nothing was happening.

On the very last day of the trial, my Journalism class took a field trip to the courthouse. This was all before the day that parents had to sign permission slips and such. As we left the classroom headed for the courthouse I felt sick on my stomach. I knew what was going on in that courtroom. I also knew that I really, really didn't want to sit through this with my peers. I was so embarrassed and ashamed.

When we entered the courtroom we were ushered upstairs as the downstairs was full of onlookers. I took my seat between two other classmates and looked down at the judge. He was talking a bunch of "lawyer talk" that I sure didn't understand at the age of fifteen. At the prosecutor's table sat my mother and the prosecutor. Mama looked so out of place and small. At the defendant's table was Ronnie and his attorney.

It turned out that we came in on what was the end of the trial. The jury had already been out and had just been ushered back in to render their verdict. I didn't get to hear the actual trial part. As the foreman began to read the verdict, I remember holding my breath. The verdict was innocent!

As I said I didn't get to hear the trial and Mama sure didn't fill in the blanks, but someone said that it was all self-defense. It was told by the murderer himself (and just who in the world wouldn't believe him!) that Daddy was throwing rocks at him. I guess back in those days that emptying a gun into someone was just cause for rock throwing. I have thought about the outcome a great deal in the last thirty plus years and the verdict didn't seem right then and it still doesn't. People now days get stiffer sentences for speeding!

After the trial I went to Mrs. Estes and told her that I would not be going back to the classroom that day, but I was going to go home with my mother. It wasn't until then that she made the connection. You could just see it in her face.

When we left the courtroom, I don't know why, but Mama drove by Ronnie's house. He was standing on the porch and gave us a big hearty wave. We drove home in silence.

That night the phone rang and Mama answered it. It was Ronnie. He simply wanted to know if we were alright. Mama answered, "Yes" and hung up. To my knowledge he never called our house again.

The next day in school the class had to discuss the field trip. I thought I was going to die. After class Mrs. Estes pulled me over in the hall and apologized profusely. What was I to say? I was learning the hard way that life is not fair. This was just another chapter.