Amster is in trial this week. It's a tough case to win, but she's got her exhibits and her opening and her questions and her outfits all in a row. I went to watch some of it today, and managed not to transfer any angst from my experiences across the street in Federal Court.... or so I thought.
But I was antsy on the drive home, and I was antsy while hugging TBG, and I'm antsy now. Am I flashing back to memories I've hidden, or am I just having a bad day? The not knowing is almost worse than the clenching in my stomach and around my heart.
I went through security behind two women who were unable to find the object which caused the scrutinizing agent some concern. The detritus from their purses was strewn over the conveyor belt as the agent loomed over them, glaring.
Their hands were shaking. Whatever they were seeking wasn't in range of their fingertips, and all they could say was Where can it be?
I left before they found it.
The sitting judges have portraits on the wall, interspersed with children's artwork. I imagine that I am the only person who stopped to take a long look at the framed pictures; everyone else was moving with purpose. But it was a nice, quiet moment, looking at how orange and purple are seen through the eyes of a child.
Behind me, there was anxiety and turmoil. On the wall in front of me were serious photographs of serious men and women ready to do serious work... and there were bright splashes of color reminding me that there's more to life than that which brings someone to court.
Time management is a big issue for judges, juries, and attorneys. Because jury selection took a long time, opening arguments were reduced from 90 minutes to 30 minutes - and Amster had a quick minute to cull two-thirds of her carefully planned presentation.
There is no complaining to a judge. There is only Yes, Your Honor and No, Your Honor.
I don't know how she managed not to stamp her foot and scream. That's why she's the lawyer and I am not.
Audio-visual equipment is no easier to manipulate in 2016 than it was in 1960. Those in charge are still tripping over cords, moving large screen on rolling tables, wondering if everyone can see what's projected, asking for the lights to be turned on and then off and then on again.
Even the giant posters were giving them trouble - blocking the rolling carts, slipping down along the side walls, tipping on the easel.
Obviously, there's more to lawyering than that which is learned in Law School.
Amster's client is a sweet young man. He wore a bright lime green shirt and grey pants and black shoes to testify. I would have wondered where his coat and tie were hiding if anyone but the lawyers had been wearing one.
This is Tucson, and all you need for jury duty is a collared shirt and long pants. Sneakers and jeans are okay.
I wonder if Amster was thinking of this as she stood before them in 2" black pumps and hose.
The trial will last all week. I'll fill in the childcare holes and keep offering her dinner and she'll keep her eye on the prize. It takes a village, doesn't it?