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THE LAW IS A ASS for 10/03/2000
DOCKET ENTRY
"The Law is a Ass" Installment # 63
Originally written as installment # 52 and published in Comics Buyer's Guide issue # 592, March 22, 1985 issue
You have to admire those Golden Age creators. What with today's two- and three-panel pages, it's sometimes difficult for the modern creator to tell a story in nine issues, let alone only nine pages. But here it is, a "done-in-one" story with a beginning, middle, and end from the Golden Age of comics. And all in only nine pages.
How did they manage to fit so much plot into only nine pages? Don't ask me. I still trying to figure out how they could fit both a complete story and so many errors into only nine pages.
******
"The Law is a Ass"
Installment # 63
by
Bob Ingersoll
Okay, a show of hands. How many of you are tired of reading about the Flash and his unconstitutional murder trial in this column? (Of course, unconstitutional. Surely you've heard of the constitutional right to a speedy trial? Flash has to have been deprived of that by now.)
A pause while Ingersoll counts the hands... Not so fast there, Cary Bates, you don't get a vote!
Well, I've got some good news. According to Crisis On Infinite Earths # 2, by Flash # 350 the trial will be over, and Flash will have disappeared. (Gods! Even if Crisis On Infinite Earths wasn't infinitely better that Secret Wars--which it is--that news alone makes Crisis the most sought after comic on my shopping list.)
Let's see: Flash # 350. Why that's only six issues away. Of course, the bad news is that there may be six more issues about the trial, thus maybe six more columns. Actually, I guess for me that's good news.
But, if you feel it's bad news and want to stop them then do what Randy Freeman from Riverside, California did. Randy sent me photostats of an old (like 1946) Zebra story from Green Hornet #30 with a letter that said, "The enclosed story should provide you with a great opportunity to ignore the Flash for a column."
Oh, it has, it has. This story was great fun, and I really enjoyed receiving it. Many thanks, Randy. If any of the rest of you have any old stories that you think might fit in my column, then send me photostats of them (black and white are fine) and I'll talk about the story here. If I get enough, I may never have to write about Flash again.
(Notice the finesse with which Ingersoll shamelessly solicits contributions to his comic book collection.)
The Zebra is an old Harvey character that fellow Comics Buyer's Guide columnist Ron Goulart hasn't written about yet in his Golden Age heroes column. It's not that Zebra's too obscure--or even too gawdawful!--it's just that Ron hasn't gotten to the Z's yet. Good, now I get to be the one to fill you in. Zebra was attorney John Doyle, who was framed for a murder. Doyle escaped from prison and while still wearing his striped prison suit, proved his innocence. Doyle decided to make sure no one else was used the way he was, so he fashioned a costume after the prison suit that inspired him and became the Zebra, a hero who sports this ridiculous short sleeved, short pants, black and white striped costume and is also known by the nickname--are you ready for this?--the Striped Striker for Right. Honest! Don't like that one? Don't worry, there's lots more coming.
The story I read was called "The Phantom Philtre." Since this is a full-service column, I'll save you the trip to your Webster's. A philtre is a potion credited with magical properties, especially those that induce love. Apparently, a phantom philtre induces death, but why be picky?
Our story starts outside the Supreme Court building, where an angry mob is protesting the impending murder trial of the evil Dr. Diabole. Right away my legal trained mind said, "Tilt!" No, not because people were protesting and demanding that Diabole be hanged without a trial. I'd be ignorant of history if I thought that never happened, and ignorant of current events, if I thought that it didn't still happen.
No, my problem was that the Supreme Court is a review court. It handles only appeals and doesn't do trials. I wondered whether the story might take place in New York, where, for some strange reason, the trial level courts are called the supreme court. (Only in New York can the lowest court be supreme.) But no, Page 1, Panel 2 shows the exterior of the Supreme Court building and clearly shows the Capitol Building in the background, the one where Congress meets. So we must be talking about the U.S. Supreme Court. (Actually, I suspect the writer, probably a native New Yorker, meant the N.Y. Supreme Court, but the artist thought he meant the U.S. version so put the Capitol in the panel. And the editor either didn't catch it or didn't know the difference.)
Be that as it may, we have a precedent shattering event here, a trial in the U.S. Supreme Court. Certainly so historic an event would have to be shown in the pages of this story. But right away, that hope is threatened, when we read the opening caption, "Within justice's imposing structure, however--as a tense courtroom bates breath [interesting notion that, rooms that breathe] as a famed criminal lawyer [John Doyle] makes an impassioned defense." Doyle says, "Your Honor, I submit that to electrocute my client is miscarrying justice outrageously." Hmmm, see my problem? Sounds to me like we're past the trial stage as the defense is pleading for mercy, before the judge passes sentence. And we have no idea how we got this far, either. Fortunately, or unfortunately for those of us who have actually read this story, "The Phantom Philtre" then slips into flashback mode as Doyle continues his speech and he fills us in.
The case of Dr. Diabole started a month ago, when patrons of an Eatomat restaurant died from poison. For those of you who may be too young to remember the Eatomat--or Automat, as it was more commonly known--a brief history lesson. The Eatomat was a cheap restaurant, where meals were prepared in advance and placed into little cubbyholes on wall-sized shelving units with sliding glass doors. Patrons would see which entree they wanted, deposit sufficient coin of the realm into a slot, then slid open the glass door and get their meal. (Yes, I know it's really an early version of the vending machines found in college student unions. Remember, not all good things began with our generation.) Anyway, at this Eatomat, people were dying from poisoned food.
Oh my god, bad food in the Eatomat! What are the odds? Still, we are talking food so bad that people are actually dying by eating it, I admit a valid cause of concern among the patrons. But not to the extent that the patrons go in this story. See, these patrons panic and, in the ensuing rush of people stampeding to escape the restaurant and its bad food, several more persons were trampled to death. Why there was such overreaction and panic about poisoned food, I can't say. Mindless, stampeding panic isn't necessary to escape a poisoned dinner, simple abstinence would do the trick. Just don't eat the meal and walk away alive. Heck, I do that in some restaurants, where there isn't a maniac trying to poison me. Like, for example, the vending machines found in college student unions.
The day after the poisonings, attorney John Doyle received a strange visitor, who held a gun on Doyle and said, "I am the world's greatest scientist! I say this without false boasting." (Does that mean he was saying it with true boasting?) The visitor was "in great trouble, and even greater danger" so needed the help of the "world's greatest lawyer," Doyle.
The man, Dr. Diabole in case you hadn't guessed, was quickly growing mad. Five years ago he was searching for a radium deposit in the Amazon jungle. He contracted a tropical disease, which consumed him. Literally. The left side of the good Doctor's face was still flesh covered, but the flesh on the right side had been eaten away, so that his skull was exposed. For five years Diabole "wandered like an animal... eating bugs and roots," which is still healthier than food from an Eatomat. Finally he returned home.
At this point of his story Diabole fired his gun at Doyle then ran out of the office. It almost makes one wonder why he went there in the first place. (I mean, if this what Diabole does, when he's trying to be charming and solicit help, one can only imagine that tactical nuclear weapons come out when he wants to be standoffish.) Anyway, that was the last time that Doyle saw Diabole, until "the great man who entered the case" (that is the Zebra, modest Doyle ain't) turned Diabole over to Doyle.
Now the jury gets involved. The foreman states that they're entitled to hear Zebra's evidence, and demands that Doyle produce him. (Hey, you know that the Fifth Amendment prevents the jury from making such a demand, and I know the Fifth Amendment prevents the jury from making such a demand, but cut the jury some slack. They don't even know what supreme court they're in or what's going on in the trial. See, remember how I said before, that Doyle's argument sounded like one begging for mercy at the time of sentencing, so we were probably past the guilt or innocence stage of the trial? It wasn't. Turns out the jury hadn't reached its verdict yet. I don't know why Doyle was talking about leniency at sentencing, if the jury hadn't returned its verdict yet. Doyle would have looked real silly asking the judge for lenience in the sentence, if the jury had happened to come back with a not guilty verdict. Still, I guess he had his tactical reasons. After all, Doyle is the "world's greatest lawyer," and I'm just a lowly public defender.
Anyway, Doyle ignored the jury's demand, so at least he knew it was wrong even if he didn't know where he was in the trial, and continued with his narrative. Zebra decided to track down the mad Eatomat poisoner, and he'd hardly deserve the sobriquet Striped Striker for Right if he didn't. But while Zebra was looking for the killer, Diabole was looking for another Eatomat; this time to poison the soda pop.
Zebra's "keen ears" heard the screams of the victims, and he swung into the Eatomat. Zebra analyzed the poison and determined that it contained an Amazonian root plant. (He let the victims writhe around in agony, but--damn!--he checked out that poison good.) Immediately Zebra remembered his strange visitor and determined that this man was the mad poisoner. Circumstantial evidence, I'll grant you, but this was only a nine-page story, Zebra didn't have enough pages to consult the FBI crime lab.
Using his "nimble brain" Zebra found Dr. Diabole's hideout. How? Did he analyze mud from Diabole's shoes and determine that type of mud was found in only one place in town? No, too plebeian! Did he find traces of thirteen different species of dog hairs and deduce that Diabole was hiding in a kennel? No, even someone without a "nimble brain" could do that! How then did nimble-brained Zebra find Diabole's hideout?
He looked it up Diabole's address in the phone book! Ha! Let's see The Batman try that sometime.
Zebra confronted Diabole in his hideout. They fought, but Diabole defeated Zebra. Specifically he hit Zebra in the face with a stream of Foamite from a pressure-driven nozzle. I guess that's why he's the "world's greatest scientist," he's smart enough to fight dirty.
Diabole tied Zebra over a vat of acid, then set a lit candle under the rope. When the rope burned through, Zebra would fall into the acid vat and die. (Holy hydrochloric, Batman!) Then Diabole left to attend to his next diabolic plot.
Oops! The Russian Judge just deducted points from Diabole's standing as the "world's greatest" scientist. I mean how much intelligence does it take to realize that he should have just thrown Zebra into the vat rather than set up this involved deathtrap?
Zebra escapes, naturally, and pursues Diabole.
What? You say you want to know how Zebra escaped. Look, just because the jury started making demands, doesn't mean you get to. Besides, you really don't want to know how he escaped. No, you don't. No, really you don't. Trust me.
Oh, all right. Zebra was tall enough that he could catch one side of the vat with his hands and the other with his feet. He bridged the open vat then flipped over it and escaped. (Lucky for the Atom that no one used the same trap on him. He'd have been history.)
What do you mean the momentum of the fall would have produced so much force that Zebra's feet would have bounded off the vat wall, and he would have fallen into the acid anyway? I know that. I told you, you didn't want to know how Zebra escaped. Now will you trust me?
Zebra tracked down Diabole at his latest crime. No, I'm afraid Zebra wasn't quite as clever this time. Not even the phone book would tell him that. He read Diabole's laboratory notebook, the last entry of which detailed Diabole's upcoming plot. I guess not even Zebra can be nimble-brained all the time.
Zebra was at the Volk Bottling Plant, where he was going to infuse his phantom philtre into the supply of a famous soda pop. Boy, talk about your antisocial behavior! Fortunately, the not-nimble-brained but still "Agile Acrobat" rushed in. He and Diabole fought. During the fight the "Nimble Nemesis" knocked Diabole into a vat of soda pop. The soda ate the rest of Diabole's skin away--that does it, I'm switching to Vodka, it's much safer!--and Diabole was defeated. He was also defaced and declawed.
Now, back to the trial. Doyle argues impassionedly to the judge and jury. "Gentlemen of the jury," he says, "I insist you declare my client, Dr. Diabole, guilty in the first degree! I demand the death penalty!"
Back up there! Isn't this the defense counsel? Isn't he the one who's supposed to be representing Diabole? You know the one who demands the jury find Diabole not guilty and pleads with the judge not to sentence Diabole to death? The same man who on Page 2, Panel 2 said to execute Diabole would be miscarrying justice outrageously?
Let me check.
Yes.
I can only guess that, as he told his story between pages two and nine, Mr. Doyle became convinced of Diabole's guilt and changed his mind. So he started arguing like a prosecutor. Of course, Doyle stands to get disbarred for violating his ethical duty to represent his client's interests and selling him down the river, but what the hey, it's only comics. Right?
But wait! There's more. The prosecutor objects. "The state declares this man insane! I ask life imprisonment!" the prosecutor bellows belligerently, if ungrammatically. Can the state declare a man insane? No. Insanity is a question of fact for the jury. Only the jury can declare a man insane, not the prosecutor. Insanity is also a defense, which only the defendant can ask the jury to consider. The prosecutor can't ask the jury to find a defendant insane.
Moreover, if Diabole is declared insane, then he can't receive life imprisonment. Insanity means that Diabole is not guilty, because his mental illness affected his ability to know right from wrong. But if Diabole isn't guilty, because he's insane, then he can't be imprisoned. Oh, he can be civilly committed, institutionalized until he's restored to sanity, but not imprisoned. So, if you happen to own a copy of this 1946 Green Hornet comic, white out the words "life imprisonment" and put in the word, "civil commitment." Sure the book won't be mint anymore, but with a story like "The Phantom Philtre" in it, it wasn't mint to begin with.
Now, the presiding judge is no dummy. He realizes that there's something wrong in his court. He's got the defense attorney playing prosecutor and the prosecutor playing defense attorney. The judge asks Doyle what's going on. Doyle explains. It is Diabole's wish that he be executed. "He's a great scientist! He prefers the chair to years of agony!"
That may be what Diabole wants, but I'm still not sure if Doyle can argue this position ethically. I'm not sure if he's really representing his client's best interests. I'm not sure if Diabole is competent enough to know what his best interests are.
Anyway, the jury is swayed by Doyle's arguments. They ask Doyle one question. "Before we reach a verdict, Mr. Doyle--one question. Why did Dr. Diabole poison all those people?" So, the jury hadn't reached it's verdict yet. Then what was all this posturing about what the appropriate sentence should be. The jury is allowed to consider only questions of guilt and innocence. Questions of punishment are exclusively for the judge to decide. Would it help you at all if I said this story was starting not to make any sense?
Doyle answers their question. Dr. Diabole, "was seeking to inoculate the population!" Doyle explains, and in so doing tells the jury things his client told him, thereby violating the attorney client privilege, so we get to disbar Doyle for another violation of professional ethics, "He feared his rare disease would be catching." Good plan, Doc! Now only does your inoculation kill the people it's supposed to save, but it was available only in limited quantities. Even if it did work right, the only people who'd be safe would be those who ate in Eatomats or drank Volk Cola. The rest of the city dies, right? Diabole may have thought ebola strike, but with thinking like that, I guess we're lucky that he wasn't the second-greatest scientist in the world. We'd probably all get the plague.
Well, the jury comes back with its verdict. Actually, it doesn't come back. The judge never instructed the jury on the law, and the jury never retired to the jury room to deliberate. It announced its verdict right away. That's only totally improper and constitutes reversible error per se.
Now, I know what Doyle was really doing. He knew he couldn't win this trial, so he was trying to mess things up so badly that the appeals courts would have to overturn the conviction and Doyle would have another chance at it. No wonder he's the "world's greatest" lawyer. I would never have thought of that!
The jury's verdict is, what else, "guilty in the first degree." What's that, a new crime? First- degree guilt? And if this is a crime, what do you plea bargain down to: second-degree involvement?
Diabole is elated by this result. He clasps his hands together and shakes them above his head, as if he had just been elected to public office and says, "Ha-Ha-Haaa! I'm so happy. Thank you, Gentlemen! Thank you!" Come to think of it, with that degree of mental competence, Diabole probably was elected to public office.
That's it. The story is over. Except that the judge's asks Doyle if he knows Zebra. Doyle's turns to the reader, winks in typical Clark Kent fashion, and thinks, "If he only knew!"
On second thought, maybe you shouldn't send me those old stories. I think I'd rather read Flash.
BOB INGERSOLL
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