College of Emporia - Alla Rah Yearbook (Emporia, KS)

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Junior Prophecy. The hot july afternoon had begun in the city of Emporia on july 12, 1940. Judge of the juvenile Court, Leo. F. Bracken, leaned back in his chair and furtively wiped the dust and perspiration from his shiny bald head. The day had been full, and instead of going home he had had to make a rush visit to Ernest L. Brown's Short Order Restraurant for dinner, and was tired from the walk. With the customary hum, the crowd began to assemble. The warden of the jail, G. W. Lawrence, led a boy of ten to one of the front seats. The lawyers and spectators came strag- gling in. For ten minutes things noisily adjusted themselves. Then, as the hands of the clock on the wall pointed to two, the judge rapped upon his desk and called the Court to order. The prosecutor, Mr. Goodwin, will come forward and deliver the accusation, he said gruifly, with his eyes wandering vacantly over the little company before him. A gray-haired man, once of middle height, now bowed with cares more than with years, arose, and, leaning upon his cane, said in a sharp, squeaky voice, Your Honor, I always, when possible, have my secretary, Mr. Bowman, talk for me. At this a corpulent, long-haired man with a black mustache arose and, swaying to and fro, started to read from a large sheet of foolscap. July 12, 1940. Emporia, Kansas. Guy S. Goodwin vs. Michael Foley. Guy Goodwin brings suit herewith against Michael Foley on the charge of breaking a plate glass window, valued at a hundred and fifty dollars 181503, on the west side of the front room of the Emporia Farmers and Drovers Bank, on july 10, 1940, while the proprietors were nicht zu hause. The Judge turned to the clerk of the Court, and said, Take that down, please, Miss La- Louettef' He next announced: The accused will come forward. The warden led the crest-fallen little street gamin to a position before the Judge's desk. The Judge was tired, but his gruff voice softened perceptibly as he spoke to the little fel- low before him. That was the reason that he had held the well-paid position of Judge of the Juvenile Court for so many years. His voice and his heart always softened to children. Well, sonny, what's your name? Michael S. Foley. Where do you live? H212 Merchant Street. What's your father's name? Mister Foley. But what's his first name? What does your mother call him? 'Leonard, dearg' and she calls me 'chickenf The judge gave a start, reached his big arm around the desk and drew the shrinking little figure toward him, Heck, he muttered, as he looked into the boy's dark eyes. Say, sonnyg we'll give you fair play here. Did you break that window? No, sir, I never. The Judge turned to Mac Haag, the attorney for the offence. You may cross-question the accused. What does your father do, Mickey, said the lawyer, pulling his goatee. He was not used to this sort of cases. 26

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Sells hot tamales and weenies and Otto Hendrick's 58 varieties of pickles, on Sixth and Commercial. As the conversation verged from the first person to a subject of family pride, Mickey became more communicative. And what do you do? said the lawyer. I take care of Mrs. Bess Potter Witherspoon's furnace and Mrs. Ethel W, Sankey's cats, an' I get three dollars a week. Do you go to school, Mickey? No, sir, pa don't believe in co-education, so he won't send me to school. He teaches me logic and the multiplication table at home, and I go to our preacher's house every Saturday and eat supper with Mrs. Nellie van Guard, she's his wife and she's fine. There's a lot of us boys and she gets Mrs, Ethel Brooks Burley to come an' cook up for us. We've got a club an' our pass-word's D-ye-lov-me. It's bully, an', say, Boss- 'That's all right in its place, Mickey, but it's off the subject. Did you say you didn't break that window? Mickey came suddenly to earth. No, sir, I never. Excuse me, your Honorg I would like to say a word, said a sweet-faced, gray-haired lady of forty-tive, rising from her seat beside the Secretary. I was sitting at the desk in the bank otlice the day that the window was broken, doing some copying for my husband, and I don't believe that little boy did it. A green flying-machine was passing at the time, and I can't help but think that the piece of iron must have come from it. The corpulent man through this had been extremely nervous. Half rising, he said, Now, May, you are out of order. You must remember- That's all right. That's all right, my dear, said the judge benignly. Let me see, let me see. The lady sat down and, leaning over to her husband, said, See what a dear little hat he has, just like one we had in our store. The Judge pressed a button at his side. When the tall, spare form of the janitress ap- peared at the door, he said, Miss Polk, will you please go to the information bureau and ask Mrs. J. Douglass-jones, who in town own green flying-machines. As the janitress disappeared a scared, wrinkled, careworn face was thrust in at the door: Excuse me, Monsieur, but is this the room where my divorce case is to be tried? No, it isn't. You'll have to go down to the general office and find out there. The judge's voice had strangely not resumed its harshness as it generally did when he spoke to men. That fellow, Marquis, does have a lot of trouble in his life, he said. By this time the Janitress had come back. Please, your honor, she said, Mrs. J. Doug- lass-Jones says that the Woemans are the only ones around town who have a green flying- machine. Its number is 2-3-4-1, and it's manufactured by the Charles Lewis Flying Machine Company, of Olpe. Go to the wireless office and ask the operator, Mrs. Mary MacDun, to send word to Mrs. Woemans and their chauffeur that they're subpoenaed to be at the Juvenile Court Office at three-thirty. Please, your honor, sir, the stooped millionaire banker rose and leaned on the back of his chair as he spoke, I have some direct evidence to offer here against that boy's character. He has been in the State Reformatory twice, and I brought Mr. Nicholas along to testify to it. At this, a man with dark hair and a long, flowing beard, who had been sitting quietly in the back of the room, rose, and said, I am compelled to apologize, your honor, for a mistake which I made. I had a boy in charge at the school whose name was Foley, but when I saw this boy I knew there was no resemblance between them. That point is settled and dismissed, said the judge curtly, and Mr. Nicholas subsided. As the clock pointed to three twenty-seven, the Woeman's family, looking a little dizzy from their hurried ride, came in, the mother first, followed by three children, the youngest of her ten, and the chaffeur. They were accompanied by Kate Taylor Hunt, a famous author from New York, who spent part of her summers on the Woemans' quiet farm. There was a preceptible interest on the part of the Court as they entered, for the Woemans were the wealth- iest and most respected gypsum-growers in the State. 27