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There is a full moon over Birmingham. The pre-trial motions have all been filed, argued and ruled upon. Lawyers have come and gone. Words have flown back and forth and have been hushed-up silent; except a couple of peeps because attorneys are not very good at being quiet. Jurors have come and gone, and been subjected to quiet signals from silent lawyers, and they have been selected and impaneled. It is the Eve of a Day in Court. A day in court has arrived. On a mountain overlooking Birmingham, there is a statue of Vulcan. Not one of the guys from the Enterprise, but the Roman god of the forge. While standing watch over the city, he is a visible reminder of the city’s unique past. Birmingham was planned to sit on the intersection of north-south and east-west rail lines, and to be a steal-producing city of the Industrial Age. The city dates to 1871, and it was an unusual venture for the South, where the agrarian society had been crippled by the Civil War. It would become a manufacturing center, and although it has branched into other industries, notably medical research and banking, there is at least one steal-producing company in the area. It is not a crime to be eccentric, nor is it a crime to be successful. If it were, our courts would be jammed and our jails would be full of the Ray Krocs, the Donald Trumps, the Tom Monahans, the Richard Bransons, the Ted Turners and countless others who have been successful and have used their success to pursue their own version of a lifestyle. |
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