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In the southeast of Europe one feels the breath of Asia. Although it may be said that here, in classical Greece, European civilization was born. Today the countries that lie between the Adriatic and the Black seas are the least European parts of Europe…and that may not be a bad thing! They also form the least homogenous part of the continent. Romania and Bulgaria are orthodox communist countries gradually evolving into capitalist democracies. Yugoslavia, for many years a multi-ethnic federation governed by its own brand of independent communism, is in a state of flux. Greece, where the idea of democracy was conceived, and Turkey, only a small portion of which lies within Europe at all, are democratic republics. Albania, the last hardline Communist People’s Republic in Europe, is out of step with all its neighbors, and the poorest country of the continent.
Democracy, philosophy, drama…all the essentials of western civilization around this great limestone table, the foundation of Athens, Greece. At its summit, the Parthenon, built between 447 and 432 BC by Pericles and containing a large gold and ivory statue of the city’s protectress, Athena. The Greek citadel and refuge was approached from the west through Propylaea, a series of buildings, which included a temple to Athena Nike.
But then none of these countries is naturally rich. Romania has oilfields, which have been, during the twentieth century, one of Europe’s chief strategic prizes. Yugoslavia has bauxite. Turkey has chrome. The vast majority of these peoples, however, have always lived severely, by agriculture and pastoralism in terrain that is often harshly demanding. Sometimes it is hard to realize that one is in Europe at all, so remote do these hard flinty places feel from the lush meadows and grand mountain landscapes of the west. The Turkish metropolis of Istanbul, ne Constantinople, is indeed almost an epitome of Asianism, crowned as it is by minarets and clamoring with bazaars directly upon the Bosporus which is Asia’s frontier. And on the island of Crete, the greatest of Greece’s innumerable offshore islands, there are times when the sky is darkened by the dust-clouds blowing across the sea from Libya.
Spiritually, too, these countries are instinct with the exotic. The legends of classical Greece, speak of an ancient world, which looked to the east for its source of inspiration and delight. The glorious Byzantine buildings, which ornament the region, remember a time when the epicenter of Europe was on the edge of Asia. The cities are often like Levantine cities, pungent with spice and acumen. The Orthodox Christianity, which prevails in these parts is a scented, mystically, hauntingly lyrical version of the creed, and the local histories are full of eastern Intruders-Persians, Mongols, Russians, Turks.
Turks, the most persistent and savage of these intruders… especially, because for several centuries almost all these territories formed part of the Ottoman Empire, which belonged to them. The Turkish armies were turned back at the gates of Vienna in 1529, but it was not until the twentieth century that they were obliged to withdraw from the last of their European conquest. For much of their modern history, then, these countries lived under Islam-Greece itself, that lodestar of democrats everywhere, being the first to throw off the thrall and thus to kindle among the Europeans a Byronic passion by national liberty which has been intermittently blazing ever since.
Yet Islam, and the Asia that conceived it, has never quite withdrawn from these regions of Europe. In some parts it remains a living religion. There are some 80,000 practicing Muslims; and in Albania, Islam was the almost universal religion until, in 1967, all religion was officially abolished. In many other regions, even in Greece, it remains an elusive echo, expressed in old buildings, in attitudes and values, in the way a woman wears her shawl or a man strikes a deal. Asia is present in Europe still, in these chequered countries of the continental east.
The bridge at Mostar is one of the most photographed monuments in Yugoslavia, the 90 foot (27 meter) span, at the heart of the city’s Turkish Old Town, was built in 1556 on the site of a Roman bridge.
The crops are well combed in the Sava River Valley in Slovenia. The river rises near here in the Kara Vanke Mountains, which resemble the neighboring Austrian Alps, and flows southeast to meet the Danube at Belgrade.
IX
The Police Come for Joe Tough
A casualty of freedom lost, one of the most feared of all, is that of being dragged from the warmth and safety of your home by the police in the dead of night. A common practice, even today, utilized by the police to intimidate, frighten and incarcerate for periods up to a month without notice of crime.
You can imagine the impact on a child…even though the child is a man beyond twenty-one years of age. It happened to Joe Tough, (aka Joseph Marshall) in the cold early morning hours of December 5, 1950. The police came, asked for Joseph Marshall, whom Tough did not know…he was cuffed and taken to St. Mark from St. Joseph (if the saints can’t help you, who can?) and placed in the city jail.
By the time school had started everyone in the orphanage knew that Tough had been arrested but no one, except Bobby Joe Ratterman, suspected that Buddy Quinn would somehow be involved. Ratterman was unable to squeeze any information out of Quinn, except that Quinn had given up his desert for a week for Ratterman’s silence.
Of course Buddy was beside himself…what had started as an act of kindness on the part of his friend, Joe Tough, had now escalated into Tough’s arrest, for what and for how long was unknown.
Father Hermann and Sister Mary Como had gathered to discuss the situation, which obviously involved the retention of legal counsel for Joe Tough.
“Sister Mary Como, what do you know of this matter?” the good priest asked.
“I know only that the police came at four this morning, asked for Joseph Marshall and we directed them to the laundry apartment were Joe was arrested and taken to jail.”
“Please try to get Frank Halliburton, the Nashville Lawyer on the phone.”
Frank Halliburton was a legend in Tennessee…he was the resident Perry Mason…whether innocent or guilty, everyone charged with a felony came to Halliburton. It happened that Halliburton was a devout Lebanese Catholic and a member of the Board of Directors at the orphanage.
“Father Hermann, what starts your agenda so early this morning?”
“Have you not heard of the trouble one of our boys is in?”
“Forgive me Father, but you have just caught me on my way out the door to the office. What boy and what is the trouble?”
“Frank you know Joe Tough?”
“Yes, the man with diminished capacity, the challenged man”
“Yes, well Joe’s real name is Joseph Marshall, and as you know Joe has been at the orphanage since 1938…never a moments trouble from Joe in all those years. This morning at four o’clock the St. Mark police arrest Joe without cause or notice and carry him off to jail…that is all I know.”
“Ok Father, I’ll make a few phone calls and get over to the jail to find out what is going on…surely some mistake.”
“Thank you Frank and God bless you…I know that poor Joe is frightened to death…we must get him out of jail.”
“We will Father…trust me.”
Halliburton’s first call was to the police chief at St. Mark.
“Chief, good morning…this is Frank Halliburton.”
“Good morning Frank…thought you would call.”
“Chief, you are holding one of our boys from the orphanage, Joe Tough…I mean Joseph Marshall.”
“Yes Frank…we have him and are binding him over to the Grand Jury on suspicion of murder in the first.”
“Dear God…no!”
“Yes Frank…looks pretty bad for your man…got the murder weapon and an eye witness.”
“Chief, may I see him?”
“Anytime, Frank.”
Halliburton quickly hung up the phone and called Father Hermann. He related what he had heard from the police chief at St. Mark, and informed Father Hermann that he was going directly to the jail.
“Frank, may I go to the jail with you?”
<
br /> “Under the circumstances, I think it would be useful…but it may not be allowed.”
“We’ll take our chances.”
Father Hermann knew that he had better than a good chance with Frank Halliburton. Frank Halliburton was a brilliant criminal defense lawyer who had a facility for convincing anyone listening to him that he believed everything he was saying.
Halliburton reminded Father Hermann of Cicero* and most especially of Alcibiades, one of the most remarkable men who ever lived.
Alcibiades was also a genius. The remarkable thing is that everyone realized what he was from the time he was just a boy. His father had died in battle and he was raised by his uncle, the great Pericles, but educated, if you will, by Socrates. Alcibiades was drawn to Socrates, fascinated by the remarkable and unique power of his mind. And Socrates was drawn to him. There is a place in Theaetetus, in which Socrates says that he loves two things: philosophy and Alcibiades. The only time on record that Socrates said such a thing about anyone. And Alcibiades loved Socrates. He wanted to possess him, to become his lover.
The beautiful young Alcibiades wanted to become the lover of the decidedly unattractive Socrates…but Socrates refused the advances.
Alcibiades was shocked…no one had ever turned him down…once he slept with the wife of a Spartan king, and when she discovered that she was pregnant, instead of trying to conceal her infidelity, she bragged about it! And Alcibiades claimed he only slept with her so his son could become King of Sparta and the Spartans could finally know what it is like to have a real king.
Alcibiades was what Socrates understood him to be: a completely erotic human being…but not in the way we think of it…as physical intimacy at best or pornography at worst. Of course it means the desire for sex, and through sex the desire for a certain kind of immortality. But it also means the passionate pursuit of what we love. Without that nothing important is ever achieved…nothing.
That is what Socrates saw in Alcibiades. The problem, of course, was that Alcibiades was too much in love with what he wanted others to think about him to love the pursuit of wisdom. He was so much in love with his own ambition that nothing else, not even his own country mattered or meant anything to him.
And in the broader sense, Father Hermann saw that Halliburton was completely erotic. He too wanted it all. And, so far at least, he had gotten what he wanted. Already, at less than forty-years-of-age, the most successful lawyer in the region and Father Hermann knew as did Socrates, that success can ruin you, if you are not careful.
Father Hermann knew as well that Frank Halliburton had never lost a capitol murder case and… he knew as well, that Frank Halliburton knew that the only way he could ever loose… was to throw a case…to lose intentionally.
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Father Hermann parked in the city parking lot outside the main entrance to the small town jail. He went inside and wrote his name in a log book. Frank Halliburton came out into the hall and waved for the priest to come over.
“This isn’t good Father.”
“How so?”
“They are moving Joe to the county jail in Jefferson County. The Commonwealth will present the case to the Grand Jury on murder one…they intend to ask for the death penalty.”
“Isn’t the Commonwealth Attorney Edwin Sherwin?” the priest asked.
“Yes Father.”
“Good Catholic boy…I have every confidence that he will do the right thing.”
“I wish it were that simple Father, you see, justice is whatever the jury decides.”
“Whether the guilty are convicted or the guilty go free, it is still the jury who decides, isn’t it? Strange, when you think about it. The only people in the courtroom who know nothing about the law and nothing about the defendant, make the only decision that matters.” Said a reflective priest.
“Yes Father, their ignorance is the condition of their impartiality.”
“I fear Frank, for Joe, that their ignorance is the condition of their susceptibility to persuasion…and that Frank… is why you always win, because you have the gift of persuasion.” Father Hermann said with a coy smile.
“Yes, and I have persuaded the jailer to let you in to see Joe for a few minutes.”
“Bless you Frank.”
Father Hermann was led to the back of the lock-down. He was taken into a small room, which had a table and two chairs. Joe Tough was led into the room by two deputies, his hands and feet were shackled. Joe sat down in one of the chairs and the officers moved away to the door.
Tough began to cry… the tears ran freely down his black face and Father Hermann reached across to touch his hand.
“Please do not touch the prisoner.” Demanded one of the guards.
Father Hermann looked into the eyes of Joe Tough. They were wide and frightened…he had the look of a Barn-owl sitting in the top of a barns eaves with nothing but the moon light casting shadows over him.
“Joe.” the priest said softly, “We have the best lawyer to represent you, and there is no question that you will soon be free, and Joe…you shouldn’t worry…these people will not harm you…do you understand?”
“I just want to go home Father Hermann…please take me home to the laundry…I told Buddy Quinn that we should not run away…I told Buddy Quinn that there were evil men outside the orphanage just like you told me.”
“And Joe, were these evil people?”
“Yes, they hit Joe Tough with a bat and they tried to do things to Buddy Quinn.”
At that moment the guards moved forward and took Joe Tough by the arms.
“The visit time is up.”
Father didn’t say anything more because he didn’t want to upset Tough any more than he was already. He knew that Frank Halliburton would be back to talk with him soon, he knew as well that there was a lot more to this matter than Frank had been told, and he knew that Buddy Quinn was also a witness and hopefully sufficient to set Joe Tough free.
Once Father Hermann had gotten outside the city building, he was surprised that Frank Halliburton had already departed for the city. Father remembered that his office was in the Home Life building at 5thStreet and Jefferson. He would go there before he went to his own office and report personally to Halliburton on the matter brought to his attention by Joe Tough.
The drive from the St. Mark City Hall and jail was an easy jaunt down Frankfort Avenue into what is called Butcher Town which is an old neighborhood running parallel to the Tennessee River on the north side of the city. All along the river and up to Main Street, the river bank of the city are filled with one scrape metal center after the other, as well as a city dump with who knows what running into the river. Butcher town itself is the killing grounds for all the cattle passing through the city on its way to St. Louis and west to Colorado.
Father Hermann was lucky on this morning, he found a parking meter on 5thStreet where he parked and walked the block to the entrance of the Home Life Building, located across the street from the Jefferson County Court House, Juvenile Court and City Hall. The Nashville Police Department was located at the end of the block at 7thStreet and Billy Goat Strut Alley.
Frank Halliburton’s sprawling office was on the 6thfloor of the building. Father Hermann took the elevator to the 6thfloor and entered the office. The smell of cigars and cigarettes punctured the air where a receptionist read the morning paper.
“Good morning, I am Reverend Hermann…may I please see Frank Halliburton?”
“Let me check to see if he has arrived.”
The young lady picked up the phone and dialed an extension…“Mr. Halliburton, there is a priest here to see you…a Father Hermann.”
“Father, Mr. Halliburton will be out in a moment…may I get you a coffee?”
“That would be very kind of you…black please.”
In a few minutes, Halliburton came to the reception area and took the priest to his office.
“Something very important happened this morning Frank while I was visiting Joe To
ugh…I came directly to make you aware of the fact that Joe wasn’t alone…he was with another one of our boys…Buddy Quinn and they were running away…rather Buddy Quinn was running away and Joe was with him.”
“Yes…and how old is this young Mr. Quinn?”
“Nine…maybe ten.”
“And he has said nothing…this Quinn.”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“This child has had a very traumatic life…recently he nearly died in a horrible accident at the orphanage…”
“What happened Father?”
“The boys were tunneling in dirt I had moved from the excavation of the new wing…it collapsed…Buddy was caught and nearly suffocated…two construction workers were quick enough to dig Buddy out from the cave-in, and saved his life.”
“Well, this is a major event for Joe Tough…we will need to s Strange with Mr. Quinn as soon as it can be arranged.”
“Whenever it is convenient for you Frank.”
“Good, I will be happy to visit with Quinn at the home…shall I call Sister Mary Como directly?”
“To save time…yes Frank, please do.”
“But Father, please don’t get your hopes up, I think it will be difficult to let Joe Tough out on bail because of his mental condition…I believe that he will want to keep him because he may be considered a threat to the community and to himself.”
I'll Love You Tomorrow Page 17