Two rows of troops lined the main sidewalk that divided the lawn and led to the front steps. Another row stood between the sidewalk and the Klansmen, and one between the sidewalk and the blacks.
As the jurors began arriving, they walked briskly through the rows of soldiers. They clutched their summonses and listened in disbelief as the two groups screamed at each other.
The Honorable Rufus Buckley arrived in Clanton and politely informed the guardsmen of who he was and what that meant, and he was allowed to park in his spot marked RESERVED FOR D.A. next to the courthouse. The reporters went wild. This must be important, someone had broken through the barricade. Buckley sat in his well-used Cadillac for a moment to allow the reporters to catch him. They surrounded him as he slammed the door. He smiled and smiled and made his way ever so slowly to the front door of the courthouse. The rapid fire of questions proved irresistible, and Buckley violated the gag order at least eight times, each time smiling and explaining that he could not answer the question he had just answered. Musgrove trailed behind carrying the great man's briefcase.
Jake paced nervously in his office. The door was locked. Ellen was downstairs working on another brief. Harry Rex was at ,the Coffee Shop eating another breakfast and gossiping. The notecards were scattered on his desk, and he was
tired of them. He flipped through a brief, then walked to the French doors. The shouting echoed through the open windows. He returned to the desk and studied the outline of his opening comments to the prospective jurors. The first impression was critical.
He lay on the couch, closed his eyes, and thought of a thousand things he'd rather be doing. For the most part, he enjoyed his work. But there were moments, frightening moments like this one, when he wished he'd become an insurance agent or a stockbroker. Or maybe even a tax lawyer. Surely those guys didn't regularly suffer from nausea and diarrhea at critical moments in their careers.
Lucien had taught him that fear was good; fear was an ally; that every lawyer was afraid when he stood before a new jury and presented his case. It was okay to be afraid- just don't show it. Jurors would not follow the lawyer with the quickest tongue or prettiest words. They would not follow the sharpest dresser. They would not follow a clown or court jester. They would not follow the lawyer who preached the loudest or fought the hardest. Lucien had convinced him that jurors followed the lawyer who told the truth, regardless of his looks, words, or superficial abilities. A lawyer had to be himself in the courtroom, and if he was afraid, so be it. The jurors were afraid too.
Make friends with fear, Lucien always said, because it will not go away, and it will destroy you if left uncontrolled.
The fear hit deep in his bowels, and he walked carefully downstairs to the rest room.
"How are you, boss?" Ellen asked when.he checked on her.
"Ready, I guess. We'll leave in a minute."
"There are some reporters waiting outside. I told them you had withdrawn from the case and left town."
"At this moment, I wish I had."
"Have you heard of Wendall Solomon?"
"Not right off hand."
"He's with the Southern Prisoner Defense Fund. I worked under him last summer. He's tried over a hundred capital cases all over the South. He gets so nervous before a trial he can neither eat nor sleep. His doctor gives him seda-
tives, but he's still so jumpy no one speaks to him on opening day. And that's after a hundred of these trials."
"How does your father handle it?"
"He has a couple of martinis with a Valium. Then he lies on his desk with the door locked and the lights off until it's time for court. His nerves are ragged and he's ill-tempered. Of course, a lot of that is natural."
"So you know the feeling?"
"I know it well."
"Do I look nervous?"
"You look tired. But you'll do."
Jake checked his watch. "Let's go."
The reporters on the sidewalk pounced on their prey. "No comment" he insisted as he moved slowly across the street toward the courthouse. The barrage continued.
"Is it true you plan to ask for a mistrial?"
"I can't do that until the trial starts."
"Is it true the Klan has threatened you?"
"No comment."
"Is it true you sent your family out of town until after the trial?"