For the layperson, 95% of the time the law does not permit a lawyer to inquire of a witness's criminal history beyond two questions: "Have you ever been convicted of a crime?" And if so, "How many times?" With that background I ran across this exchange in a case I was reading:
Prosecutor: This gentleman named Zack, what was he doing time for?
The Court: Excuse me?
Defense: Objection, your Honor.
The Court: Approach.
(sidebar)
The Court: Shawn, [prosecutor] do you know what you just said?
Prosecutor: Mr. Zaccarino—
The Court: You said, What was he doing time for?
Prosecutor: Oh,…
Defense: Your Honor, we’re going to move at this time for a mistrial…The inference is obvious regarding the conversation and the location of the conversation.
Prosecutor: Oh, I can’t believe I said that. I don’t know---that is unbelievable. I don’t know if a curative—
The Court: No.
Prosecutor; Doggone it.
The Court: I’ll take the motion for mistrial under advisement and rule on it before the State rests.
Prosecutor: Can –maybe I can try to rehabilitate.
The Court: I will let you rephrase your question. And let’s not say anything further about it.
Poor Shawn! A case of temporary insanity. He didn't even know what he had said. When you are tired, and trials are exhausting, sometimes you don't even know where you are. Oh my God, I chuckled out loud in the library when I read that. Everytime I thought of it I laughed to myself. I forgot about it until this post and when I began typing I laughed out loud again.
I think the most endearing thing about the criminal bar is that we're small compared to the civil bar. Vastly smaller. We--judges, prosecutors, and defense attorneys--all know each other, we've known each other for years and years. When court is in session of course it is "Your Honor," "Mr. Smith," "Ms. Jones." Especially in front of the jury. But out of the hearing of the jury as here, or when court is not in session judges address us by our first names. Familiarity breeds affection.
Never enjoyed myself so much in a law library as when I read that case.
Prosecutor: This gentleman named Zack, what was he doing time for?
The Court: Excuse me?
Defense: Objection, your Honor.
The Court: Approach.
(sidebar)
The Court: Shawn, [prosecutor] do you know what you just said?
Prosecutor: Mr. Zaccarino—
The Court: You said, What was he doing time for?
Prosecutor: Oh,…
Defense: Your Honor, we’re going to move at this time for a mistrial…The inference is obvious regarding the conversation and the location of the conversation.
Prosecutor: Oh, I can’t believe I said that. I don’t know---that is unbelievable. I don’t know if a curative—
The Court: No.
Prosecutor; Doggone it.
The Court: I’ll take the motion for mistrial under advisement and rule on it before the State rests.
Prosecutor: Can –maybe I can try to rehabilitate.
The Court: I will let you rephrase your question. And let’s not say anything further about it.
Poor Shawn! A case of temporary insanity. He didn't even know what he had said. When you are tired, and trials are exhausting, sometimes you don't even know where you are. Oh my God, I chuckled out loud in the library when I read that. Everytime I thought of it I laughed to myself. I forgot about it until this post and when I began typing I laughed out loud again.
I think the most endearing thing about the criminal bar is that we're small compared to the civil bar. Vastly smaller. We--judges, prosecutors, and defense attorneys--all know each other, we've known each other for years and years. When court is in session of course it is "Your Honor," "Mr. Smith," "Ms. Jones." Especially in front of the jury. But out of the hearing of the jury as here, or when court is not in session judges address us by our first names. Familiarity breeds affection.
Never enjoyed myself so much in a law library as when I read that case.
