Toronto Teachers College - Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

Page 44 text:

play to decide? After all, none of the evidence had been very damning. lt was mostly circumstantial, and could have been trumped up. Some of the witnesses had seemed rather unsure of their stories. Maybe the man was innocent, and was counting on the iudge to save him. Perhaps he had smiled to let the judge know. The iudge sighed again. That was the whole story. And now he must decide what to do. He got up to put his robe back on, and he threw his smock over his chair. Should the man be sentenced lightly, maybe given a stern warning, or should he be sentenced to death? The iudge didn't want to kill him, but the people had to be considered. They were against the I xx if If fr: -if ,f up X W 32 man, and after all, iustice is nothing more than the will of the maiority. The people must be satisfied, that was important. He clasped his hands behind him and walked slowly towards the courtroom. At the door he stopped. Death! he said, and on that final word, he opened the door and entered the court. Pontius Pilate had made his decision. And Pilate answered and said again unto them, What will ye then that I shall do unto him whom ye call the King of the Jews? And they cried out again, Crucify him. Mark 15: 12, 13 ll Poem - 0de To l-ln Assembly Now Bitter Bain From the Cruel School Made quite a dig As was his rule He certainly Had an axe to grind And in the grinding was unkind He never was A smoker's delight When in the Common Room He'd cause a fright And even on occasion or two He broke reserve and even threw A nasty look at offenders few When into assembly They lately made their way And went so far as to Curse the day They'd decided to throw their life away By choosing a career That does impose Laws, conventions and self-control. So Bitter Bain must scour each hall To gather those who ignore first call And he mentions every now and then That where these few-ture itinerants teach Please keep your children out of reach. SISTER M. ADRIENNE

Page 43 text:

This man has been judged and found guilty of his crime, he announced gravely. He has offered no evidence in his own behalf, and must therefore be sentenced in light of the facts made known by the prosecution. This court will now have a brief recess, and will be recalled when l have decided upon the fate of the prisoner. He glanced at the man quickly, then dismissed the court. Bailiff, remove the prisoner to his cell. A babble arose from the spectators as the judge stood up and started for his chamber. He passed dir- ectly in front of the prisoner and looked squarely at him. And the man smiled at him as he passed. The judge's heavy eyebrows arched in surprise, for never before had a prisoner smiled at him. He continued to his chamber and pushed open the heavy, oaken door. Be- fore closing it, he looked back at the man. A bailiff was escorting him towards the door to the jail and the judge could not see the man's face. He closed his chamber door thoughtfully. Out in the courtroom, the prisoner allowed himself to be pushed through the milling crowd and out of the room. The ghost of a smile still played on his lips, but his eyes were troubled and sad. The judge paced the room. For three hours he had been locked in his chamber, weighing the evidence that had been presented. For three hours he had been pacing the floor, lost in thought, and for three hours he had been unable to come to a satisfactory conclu- sion. This was the part of his job he hated. The decision to sentence a man to death, even when called for by law, was always a hard one for the judge. More times than he cared to remember, he had so paced his room, trying to reach a decision. And many times he had gone out to tell a man that he would be executed. For one man to hold the power of life or death over another man was indeed a massive burden. He sighed deeply. l have to decide now, he said aloud. There's no putting it off until later. He paused. But why wouldn't the man defend himself? He stopped pacing and struck a thoughtful pose in the middle of the lush carpet that covered almost the entire floor. He had shed his robe earlier, when the heat had become too oppressive, and now stood in a light smock which he kept in his chamber for just such occasions. After a minute or two, he strode to his desk, having made up his mind, and slumped into his chair. He would go over the whole thing from start to finish, review the entire story in his mind, and then make a decision. After all, the evidence usually spoke for itself. So there was really no great problem. And on that note, he fell to remembering. The prisoner had been brought to trial, charged by the public prosecutor with sedition and high treason against the state. He had been observed, repeatedly, trying to incite the populace and cause a riot. He had, charged the prosecutor, tried to set up a private army of followers, so that he could overthrow the govern- ment. His close associates were men of a questionable character, and none had any visible means of support. So much for the charges. The man himself was an enigma. Not once, through the whole trial, had the judge detected any anxiety or fear on his face. Indifference, most of the time, or passivity, was all he showed. The prosecutor had ques- tioned him for the better part of an hour, but every query was parried by a question from the prisoner. The prosecutor had failed to get one affirmative reply from the prisoner. He concluded his questioning by throwing his hands in the air, a picture of frustration and annoyance. The judge had even talked to the man. After all the witnesses for the prosecution had testified, the man had been given the chance to defend himself. He had refused it. And the judge had tried vainly to make him change his mind. Are you aware of the gravity of the charges which have been brought against you? he asked. l am. Have you nothing to say to this court in reply to these many accusations? There's nothing l can say, is there? That's for you to tell us, man. You've been accused of treason, of plotting against the state. Are you a traitor, or not? Explain your actions, if you can. I'm afraid I cannot, he whispered. And the judge, too, had thrown up his hands in des- pair. There was no helping the man. And what of the mysterious smile? The prisoner had smiled right at him as he passed, the judge was sure of it. But why? Why would a man who is all but con- demned smile at the man who must sentence him? Did he want to die? The judge couldn't accept that. Nobody wanted to die. The man was obviously un- balanced. Perhaps he should be freed on the grounds that he was insane. But no, the public would not allow it. The outcry would be too great. There was no doubt that the man was unpopular with the people. Look at the crowd in the courtroom, how they had welcomed the verdict. No, the only thing to do was sentence him to death. There would certainly be no outcry over that. The man had no friends, as far as was known. They had all run off when he was arrest- ed. The death sentence was the most sensible decision. But the smile still bothered the judge. Had the man perhaps placed his life deliberately in the judge's hands, depending upon his sense of justice and fair 31

Page 45 text:

The lost lntroverts They breathe, yet inhabit a vacuum sphere, Are rapt with the sickness years multiply Not alone, but lonely For nothingness do they see, hear, To the mechanized eye of society Only blips of a storm-at sea. Some opaque, others bright Rush to their zenith in windward flight, But are elipsedg sunk ln their panic-stricken plight. Only blips of a storm-at sea. In the end - they bend, kneel, pray While God's Gift to the world has a holiday. As effigies in Nadir they hang, trembling, bleeding Great God, there - a soul fleeting. ig. if lk ,? '?r Kb