Seattle University - Aegis Yearbook (Seattle, WA)

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THE ECHO v honor, their souls, for the white poison. In vivid language the young lawyer, with all the accumulated fire and imagery of his French ancestors, told of the reasons why the backbone of the dope trust should be broken and why Reynolds as the leader should be punished. He compared him with an insidious octopus who had entwined his victims and threatened to drag the whole nation beneath the surface of civilization, down into mire of his existence. In a masterful conclusion he finished: “You stand there on the witness stand. George Reynolds, pleading Not guilty,’ and yet your face belies your words. Not guilty,' you say to the dope selling charges preferred against you: Innocent.’ you reiterate, of selling soul and body destroying poison to these children, but your pallid countenance, your hot breath tainted with the character of the devil you serve, your eyes—windows of your soul—if you still possess a vestige of that noble gift of God—are dark and satanic and shrunken, and shriek in noiseless but penetrating tones the exact contrary of your lying tongue. “Here is a miserable, shuddering and shattered wreck, a mere handful of nerves, with a system poisoned by cocaine and morphine. Once. O how long ago. this small body, now doomed to die. was a bright, healthy, red-cheeked girl. Ten summers had touched her golden tresses and tinted her laughing face: every day was a new adventure: life stretched out before her in a silver thread, like a path that leads to unknown Edens and fairy-like Paradises. “But. and here the red grasp and sinister influence of Hell, in the person of this prisoner you see before you, took hold, and this fair child was turned into a more horrid ruin of physical and moral self than we can contemplate. “Reynolds, no punishment : no death can satisfy or remedy what you have done, but only that your kind may turn from this nefarious traffic by the example of your punishment, I do ask the Court to hang you by the neck until dead. If my tongue could express my thoughts, your soul would shrink and shrivel under the lashing, and if my eyes could burn and consume you. a drop, if there is that much good in your diabolical make-up. I

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THE ECHO behind them, and with scores of reliable witnesses, were on one side, while Hammerstein and Parker, the deans of the city’s legal talent, were cross-examining with a brilliancy and a sharpness that caused the courtroom to hold its breath. Though the two veterans stabbed the witnesses with shrewd remarks, though they interrogated cuttingly and even insulted them, though they brought forth a caustic wit, a tongue as sharp as a rapier's point, the witnesses for the state were firm and their testimony could not be shaken. One old man brought tears to the eyes of many in the crowded courtroom. In halting, countrified language he told of the defendant visiting his home in the suburbs and insinuating himself into the confidence and home-life of the family. Three months after he abruptly left, the two small girls of the family, rosy-cheeked twins of ten years, were sent home from school as dope fiends. They had been caught selling the white snow to their schoolmates for money to buy more of the soul and body-destroying poison: and when questioned they had accused Reynolds of starting them on their downward path. This piece of evidence was invaluable and counteracted all that the defense had been able to assert. Tears and angry, shocked faces appeared when the Prosecutor showed one of the twins as a proof of the old man’s story. The sight was terrible: a child, as nearly as anyone could guess, of ten or eleven years, with a drawn yellow face and two eyes livid as hot coals, giving the child an appearance of a death’s-head. The small body was emaciated and quivering. The golden hair, a fitting crown for any beauty, was the sole remaining natural quality, and it was the contrast that brought tears to the jurymen—that tightened the rope around the prisoner’s neck. The cross-examination was finished: the defendant’s lawyer completed his plea. Rochet rose. The whole courtroom waited with baited breath on his first words. In simple, though forceful language he told the history of Reynolds and of the present case, showing an astonishing knowledge of the events in the criminal’s life leading up to the trial. He told of victims the dope trust had enslaved, picturing young boys who had been ruined and made criminals, girls and women who had been induced to leave virtuous lives, to sell their health, their 19

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THE ECHO would be the only remains of that putrid substance that stands before me. “If there is a God in Heaven, and a justice in this Universe, you. devil incarnate, will suffer for the human devastation you have caused.” Amidst a thunder of applause that threatened the walls of the courtroom and that lasted fully two minutes, Rochet, flushed but happy, sat down knowing that he had succeeded. T he crowd told him in its enthusiasm that his speech had been fit, that it had flowed from his spirit and mouthed his sentiment. As the jury filed out and friends gathered round to congratulate him. Rochet thought he saw a ghost. But it was none other than “Old John Burns, the Prosecuting Attorney, with his clothes awry and much the worse for dirt, but with a smile as big as life lighting his cheerful, ruddy “map of Ireland.” “Son. you win: pick up the side bets. I got away from that bunch of dope-hound chinks who tried to shanghai me just in time to hear your masterpiece. Let me shake you by the hand; neither these walls nor any other in this city have ever heard any better display of oratory than that which you have just finished. I’m proud of you. Why hide your light under a bushel, you should be prosecuting attorney. Today I resign in your favor. I’ve got enough salted away to take care of myself and leave Virginia a dowry that would make the Prince of Wales marry her: but I’ve an idea that there’s a wild Frenchman for whom she cares more than all the Princes in Westminster Abbey and you’ve got my blessing.” Bill wrung the hand of his friend, counsellor and evidently father-in-law. 'Fears nearly came to his eyes when he thought over the swift moving events of the day. In two hours the jury returned and announced the verdict “Guilty,” recommending imprisonment for life, and Rochet, mindful of his own happiness, was glad that it was not “Punishment—Death.” —Bertrand Curran, ’26. 21