Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
Someone’s life is at stake, Armen had said. Get involved. I put the note back in my pocket and slip my car key in the door. There’s going to be an investigation, but it’ll have to be my own. Because I’m involved, starting now.
Sarah wants to represent the downtrodden, not mingle with them.
“When we talk about justice,” Ben says, “we shirk thinking in legal terms.” “I’m impressed, Ben. Did you make that up all by yourself?” “No. Oliver Wendell Holmes said it.”
“Didn’t you know, Grace? Ben is waiting for a phone call from Justice Scalia. He’s this close to a Supreme Court clerkship.” Artie squints at his forefinger and thumb, held a half-inch apart. “Maybe even this close, am I right, Ben? This close?” He makes his fingers touch.
Empty coffee cups dot the surface of Armen’s conference table, along with sheaves of curly faxes, photocopied cases, and trial transcripts from the Hightower record. We worked straight through dinner and into the night, reading cases and talking through the opinion. Then Armen began to tap out an outline on his laptop and I picked up the habeas petition to check our facts. It says that Thomas Hightower was seventeen when he cut school to go drinking with a fast crowd, which got him drunk and dared him to kiss the prettiest girl in school. Hightower went to her farm, where he found Sherri Gilpin in the shed. He asked her out, and she laughed at him.,, Allegedly. In a drunken rage, Hightower slapped her and she fell off balance, cracking her skull against a tractor. He tried to give her CPR, at which point her little sister Sally came in and began to cry. Hightower says he panicked. He couldn’t leave witnesses; it would have killed his mother. So he throttled the child, then, full of shame, he got back into his car and drove himself into a tree.
Enter the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, which saved his life, reserving for itself the honor of putting him on trial. For death. Hightower couldn’t afford a lawyer, not that one in the small coal-mining town would represent him anyway. The county judge appointed a kid barely out of night law school to the case, and the jury convicted Hightower of capital murder. During the sentencing hearing, where the jury decides life or death, Hightower’s lawyer argued from the wrong death penalty statute, one that had been ruled unconstitutional three years earlier by the Pennsylvania Supreme Court. Somehow he had missed that. The obsolete death statute, the only one presented to this predominantly white jury, said nothing about the fact that a jury could consider Hightower’s youth, his diminished capacity because of alcohol, his lack of a prior criminal record, and the remorse that he demonstrated by his suicide attempt as “mitigating circumstances” in deciding whether to impose the death penalty. The jury took only fifteen minutes to reach its decision. Death. I set the papers down and look out the huge windows that make up the fourth wall of the office. It’s the dead of night. Orangey streetlamps stretch toward the Delaware River in ribbons. White lights dot the suspension cables on the Ben Franklin Bridge. Traffic signals blink on and off: red, yellow, green. The lights remind me of jewels, twinkling in the black night. I watch them shimmer outside the window and turn the legal issues over in my mind. The question is whether Hightower’s lawyer was so ineffective that the trial was unfair. Strictly as a legal matter, Hightower probably deserves a new trial; what he deserves as a matter of justice is another matter. This is why I practiced commercial litigation. It has nothing to do with life or death; the questions are black and white, and the right answer is always green. “Well,” Armen says to himself. “Well, well, well.” He stops typing and reads the last page of his draft. The office is quiet now that Bernice has stopped snoring. I feel like we’re the only people awake, high in the night sky over the twinkly city. “Well what?”
“I think we’re going to save this kid’s life. What do you think?” The question takes me aback. “I don’t know. I don’t think of it that way.” “I do.” He smiles wearily, wrinkling the crows’ feet that make him look older than he is. “I wouldn’t stop if I didn’t think so.” “Was that your goal?” “It had to be. His lawyer was incompetent. Anybody else would have gotten him life in prison, instead he’s scheduled to die. They set him up.” He leans back in the chair. Fatigue has stripped something from him: his defenses, maybe, or the professional distance between us. He seems open to me in a way he hasn’t before. “I didn’t think of it as saving his life. I thought of it as a legal issue.” “I know that, Grace. That’s why I wanted you on this case. You narrowed your focus to the legalities, divorced yourself from the morality of the thing.” It stings. “Do you fault me? It’s a legal question, not a moral one.” “Really? Who said?” “Holmes.” “Fxxx Holmes,” he says, stretching luxuriously in a blue oxford shirt. His shirtsleeves are bunched at his elbows; his tie is loose. He’s so close I can pick up a trace of his aftershave.
“It’s both those things, Grace, law and morality. You can’t separate law from justice. You shouldn’t want to.” “But then it’s your view of justice, and that varies from judge to judge.” “I can live with that, it’s in my job description. Judges are supposed to judge. When I read the Eighth Amendment, I think the framers were telling us that government should not torture and kill. That’s the ultimate evil, isn’t it, and it’s impossible to check.” His face darkens. “I don’t understand,” I say, but I do in part. Armen’s culture is written all over his olive-skinned features, as well as his chambers: the framed documents in a squiggly alphabet on the walls, the picture of Mount Ararat over his desk chair, the oddly ornate lamp bases and brocaded pillows.
“It started piecemeal with the Armenians,” he says, leaning forward. “Our right to speak our own language was taken away. Then our right to worship as Christians. By 1915, they had taken our lives. We were starved, hanged, tortured. Beaten to death, most of us, with that.” He points at a rough-hewn wooden cudgel mounted over the bookshelf. “I didn’t know.” “Not many do. Half my people were killed. Half a million of us, wiped out by the Turkish government. All my family, except for my mother.” A flicker of pain furrows his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes it off. “The point is, government cannot kill its own citizens, not with my help.
I know Hightower did a terrible thing. He killed, but I won’t kill him to prove it’s wrong. He should be locked up forever so he never hurts another child. He will be, if I have any say in it.” He seems to catch himself in mid-lecture; then his expression softens. “So thank you, for getting involved.” “Did I have a choice?” “No.” He relaxes in the leather chair. “You are involved, you know,” he says quietly. I see the city lights glowing softly behind him and feel, more than I can understand, that we aren’t talking about the case anymore. “I don’t know—” “Yes, you do. I’m involved too, Grace. Very involved, as a matter of fact.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I feel my heart start to pound softly. “We can’t do anything about it.” “Yes, we can. Give me your hand.” He holds out his hand to me. I look at it, suspended between us, at once a question and an answer. This situation is supposed to be black and white, but it doesn’t feel that way inside. “Stop thinking. Take it.” So I do, and it feels strong and warm. He pulls me in to him, as naturally as if we’ve done this a million times before, and in a second I feel myself in his arms and his kiss, gentle on my mouth.
Suddenly I hear a noise outside the office and push myself away from his chest. “Did you hear that?” “What?” “There was a noise. Maybe the door?” ...
~~~
I'm certainly happy I kept on reading... You see, Lisa Scottoline has taken readers much further into the entire Justice System than most legal fiction books do. I even checked and the first 10% of this book introduces us to a group that we rarely even learn about other than as a very minor character. In this book, you see, it is the clerks of the judges who are leading much of the action--along with a certain undercover FBI agent... In fact, the POV is from Grace, who becomes the "amateur detective" since... well... because... Let me just tell you what happened...
Grace, has just come back to her law career, after a divorce. She is older than those who are just out of Law School, thrilled to be selected as a clerk, but, often, are lacking, shall we say, in the decorum, or, even more so, the maturity of what we normally see within legal communities--in books or television. Hey, I've been a Law and Order Fan for uncountable years!
The support of Judge Gregorian, Chief, is presently working on The Hightower (name of accused) case and discussion is moving throughout all levels as the political component moves into the forefront for affecting the decision... Yes, and readers will see much of the action of the opinions based upon each of the judges... Now, one totally irrelevant legal point is that there are several of the females supporting this apparently very striking judge becomes relevant very soon...
And that actually begins the investigation... It was Grace, who was not in criminal law, who was chosen to assist the Judge in preparing his final opinion... She was one of those who was attracted to her boss... So she was scared to have been chosen because she wouldn't know relevant laws, but at least she thought she could deal with her own issues...
At least until they were finally closing the all-night work session in the early AM hours and it was the Judge who initiated the seduction, ultimately telling her that he loved her... You'll have to read the details of those last few hours, however...
Because the important thing was that Judge Gregorian was dead by the next morning... Supposedly by suicide...
And of course Grace doesn't believe it... And through some strange and funny scenes, she is ultimately asked to assist the undercover FBI agent to be his informant...
I think about Hightower, who had no suburban soccer field, no fancy jersey or hundred-dollar cleats. One will go to Harvard; the other will be put to death. No justice, no peace.
“Let’s do it,” Eletha says grimly as we encounter the first wave of reporters along the wall of the outer lobby to the courthouse. “Grace! Grace Rossi!” one of them shouts. Shocked, I turn toward the voice. It’s the reporter from the day before, Sandy Faber. He’s wearing the same sport jacket and more stubble. “Remember what I said, Ms. Rossi?” “Which judge does she work for?” one of the women reporters asks. He ignores her, so she shouts at me. “Who do you work for, Ms. Rossi? Do you have any comment on Hightower? Why did it take so long to get the transcripts of the oral argument?” “Holy shit,” I hear Eletha mutter beside me. I push forward away from the reporters, but the lunchtime crowd is barely trickling out the narrow courthouse doors. “Come on, Ms. Rossi!” Faber shouts. “You gonna talk to me? Come on. Gimme a break here.” The heads of three other reporters snap in my direction. I feel Eletha’s hand on my forearm. “Who do you work for, Judge Meyerson? Judge Redd?” the woman shouts at me. “I can find out, you know.” “No comment,” I say. “Aw,” the woman says, “just tell me who you work for. It’s Simmons, right? That’s who? Simmons?” I feel Eletha’s talons dig into my arm; she seems shaken. I press ahead, pushing in line for the first time in my life as a good girl. It works. The crowd surges forward, and Eletha and I squeeze out the door and into the crowd outside the courthouse. “You all right?” I say to Eletha, but she can’t hear me over the Hightower supporters to our left.
“No justice, no peace!” they chant.
Their signs read: DEATH PENALTY=GENOCIDE OF AFRICAN AMERICANS! ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY! SUPREME COURT ADMITS “DISCREPANCY CORRELATES WITH RACE!”
“Let’s just get out of here,” Eletha says. “I’m trying, El.”
One of the signs is a picture of a young black teenager with smooth clear skin and a shy smile. He wears a red varsity football jacket. Hightower. The sound of the chanting resounds in my head. At the front line of the swelling Hightower contingent is a prominent black city councilman and members of the black clergy. An older black woman standing next to one of the clergymen catches my eye; she’s heavyset but dignified in an old-fashioned cotton dress, a calm eye at the center of a media hurricane. I recognize her from TV: Hightower’s mother, Mrs. Stevens. “Are you surprised by the amount of support that’s being shown for your son?” a TV reporter says to her, thrusting a bubble-headed microphone in front of her face. Mrs. Stevens looks startled, then the black councilman steps closer to the microphone, obstructing her from view. “We are going to hold a round-the-clock vigil to protest the death penalty, to show that it has always been racist in this country,” the councilman says. “The Baldus study shows that African Americans are more likely to receive the death penalty than whites.”
“Push, Grace,” Eletha says. “Okay, okay,” I say. I force my way past the man in front of me, but find myself face-to-face with Mr. Gilpin, who’s standing in my path. Even in the midst of the hubbub, his face relaxes into a smile. “Hello there, my friend,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the din. “Is this pretty lady a friend of yours?” A tall black man in an X baseball cap chants over his shoulder, and behind him is the TV reporter and the black councilman. Gilpin acts like none of this is happening, as if it’s a squabble over a suburban fence, not an incipient race war. “Mr. Gilpin, this is Eletha Staples,” I say. Eletha extends a hand reluctantly. “Hello, Mr. Gilpin.” “Call me Bill, Eletha. You girls goin’ out to lunch?”
“No justice, no peace!” booms a clear voice behind him, and the crowd begins to shove me aside. “We’d better go, we’re blocking the way,” I say. I edge forward, but Eletha gets jammed between one of the Hightower supporters and a TV technician. Gilpin grabs her arm and pulls her lightly to her feet. “Are you all right?” he says. “Get me out of here, please. I hate crowds.” She places a hand to her chest and starts breathing in and out. I’m worried she’s going to hyperventilate and Gilpin must see it too, because in one swift movement he scoops us up by the elbows and drives through the mob. He deposits us at the curb and brushes back a pomaded hank of hair. “I played football in high school,” he says. Eletha tugs a handkerchief from the sleeve of her sweater and dabs at her forehead. “Thanks a lot.” Gilpin’s eyes skim the crowd unhappily. “We started this, I know. But it’ll be over soon.”
Which is when it occurs to me. The politics of the new Hightower panel is all over the newspapers; Galanter and Foudy aren’t closet conservatives. Gilpin must realize that Hightower’s going to lose, and he’s about to see his daughters’ murder avenged. I wonder if Gilpin is happy that Armen was killed. Suddenly I like him less. “We’d better be going,” I say. He nods. “Sure enough.” “Thanks again,” Eletha says, recovering. We cross Market Street and the chanting trails off into the noontime traffic, making me suddenly aware of Eletha’s stone silence. She chugs along the sidewalk like a locomotive and I tense up, feeling like a curtain has fallen between us: white on one side, black on the other. We come to the corner of Sixth and Chestnut and she squints up at the light.
An executive takes a second look at her, then stares right at my breasts.
My tension, pent up, bubbles over. “They’re a B-cup, okay?” I spit at him. “Any other questions?” The man hurries past us, and Eletha bursts into startled laughter. “I can’t believe you said that!” she says. “Neither can I. It felt great. Absolutely great.” I laugh, suddenly lighthearted. “I’ve been wanting to do that all my life.” “So have I.” I meet her eye. “Are you mad at me, girlfriend?” She shakes her head, still smiling. “I’m getting over it.” The traffic light turns green and we cross Chestnut. “It’s not my fault I’m white.” She laughs again. “It’s not that. It’s that I can’t believe you’re messin’ with Gilpin. You know better than that.” “I’m not messin’ with him. He talked to me the first day.” “You shoulda walked away.” “I couldn’t walk away, he’s a person.”
She holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know he’s a person, and I don’t want to know Hightower’s a person. These are names on a caption, not people. If you start thinkin’ they’re people, you won’t be able to do your job. Look what happened to Armen.” “What?” We stop in front of Meyer’s Deli, the only place she’ll eat; Eletha’s not Jewish, but she practically keeps kosher. “What do you mean by that, about Armen?” She looks warily at the lunchtime crowd. “Let’s talk inside, okay?” We head into the noisy deli, with its old-time octagonal tile floor and embossed tin roof. Meyer’s is always mobbed, but the line moves quickly because everybody inhales their food; the clientele consists almost exclusively of hyperactive trial lawyers. The hostess accosts us at the door and hustles us to an orange plastic booth against the wall. Our waitress, Marlene, appears at our table from nowhere. “You havin’ the tuna fish?” she says to me, already writing down #12 on her pad. “Only if you call me ‘honey,’” I tell her. “I want someone to call me ‘honey,’ and not just for my body.” Eletha smiles. “Do what she says, Mar. She just attacked a man on the street.” “Okay, honey,” Marlene says mirthlessly. She tears off the check and puts it face down, like we’re at the Ritz-Carlton. “You havin’ the whitefish on bagel, Eletha?” she says, scribbling on the order pad. “Yes,” Eletha says. “What’s goin’ on at the courthouse, girls?” Marlene says. She rips Eletha’s check off the pad and slaps it face down on the table.
“They gonna kill that kid?” Jesus. “We have no comment,” I say. Marlene scowls as she slips the ballpoint into her apron pocket. “I’m sick of the whole thing anyway,” she says and vanishes. Eletha leans forward. “So. I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said, about Armen. About him being murdered.” “What?” “Just accept that he’s gone, Grace. That’s hard enough. Anything else is a waste of time.” “I don’t understand. You don’t think he was murdered?” “I’m not so sure.” Now I really don’t understand. “Since when? That’s not what you said yesterday.” “I know what I said. But last night I tried to quit school, and they told me Armen paid already, in advance.” “What are you talking about? You go to school?” “Night school, at the community college. I got two more years left, and I’ve had it up to here.” She draws a line across her throat. Marlene materializes with our food. “Enjoy,” she barks and takes off again. “Eletha, I didn’t know you went to school.” “I thought Armen might’ve told you.” She picks up a bagel half and spackles it with whitefish salad. “He didn’t, but why didn’t you?”
“It’s a secret.” She bites into her sandwich, but I’m still too surprised to start mine. “In case I flunk out.” “You won’t flunk out.” “You never know. The whole damn thing was Armen’s idea. Now he’s gone.” “But I think it’s wonderful, Eletha.” “You don’t have to do it, girl. Three nights a week I get home at eleven o’clock. I gotta take two buses, then transfer to the subway. Malcolm’s in bed, I don’t even get to see him. If I’m lucky, I got an hour left to fight with Leon. I figured if I got an associate’s degree, maybe I could transfer the credits and go on to college, then who knows.” “Maybe to law school?” She smiles. “Maybe.” “That sounds great. I think it’s great.” She puts down her sandwich. “Nah, it was a pipe dream. The only reason I didn’t quit was Armen. He’d have been on my case forever, like he was till I quit smoking. That man was too much. He paid my tuition for me, clear through to graduation.” “But why does he pay it at all, if I can ask?” “I couldn’t afford to, so we had an agreement. He lent me the money and I paid him back in installments. When they told me it was all paid off, I started thinkin’. Maybe it was a suicide. Maybe he was fixing it so I couldn’t quit after he was gone.” It can’t be. “Maybe he just wanted you not to worry about it.” She shakes her head. “I feel like quitting anyway.” “Don’t. He wouldn’t want you to.” “I know that.” She bites into her sandwich. “El, can I ask you a question?” She nods, her mouth full. “How much money are we talking about for your tuition?” “Couple thousand a semester.” “Where would Armen get that kind of money?” “He makes a fine livin’, hundred thirty thousand a year, and he saved like a fiend. He never spent a dime, that man.” It doesn’t make sense. Why would Armen save if he had over half a million dollars? “He was a saver?” “Always. But he was cheap, they all are.” “Who’s they? Judges?” “Armenians. You should see, when they’d have a dinner, I’d be countin’ dimes on my desk. Who had the iced tea, who had the wine. I’m serious.” “That’s racist, El.” “I know. But it’s true.” She laughs. “Did his family have money?” “No. Susan’s did, but he didn’t.” “So how much did he have saved, do you think?” “Maybe fifty–sixty thousand. He told me not to worry about it, he’d take care of Malcolm’s college. I worried plenty, but I don’t make enough to save shit. Why?” I look down at a half-eaten pickle. “Just curious.”
We split up after lunch because Eletha has to run an errand; she promises me she’ll take the back entrance into the building, because there’s no demonstration there. As I reach the courthouse, I consider doing the same myself. The mob has grown. People spill out past the curb and into the street, filling the gaps between the TV vans and squad cars. The police ring the crowd, trying vainly to keep it out of Market Street. I cross against the traffic light, which turns out to be advisory anyway. A gaper block stalls traffic up and down the street. As I get closer to the courthouse, I see that something seems to be happening. The chanting stops suddenly; the crowd noise surges. Reporters and TV cameras rush to the door. I pick up my pace. It looks like breaking news, maybe the panel decision. My pulse quickens as I reach the edge of the crowd. I look for the hot orange cones that mark the walkway into the courthouse, but they’ve been scattered. “What’s going on?” I say, but am shoved into a woman in front of me. I turn around to see who’s pushing. A cameraman stands there, and a lawyer with a trial bag. “Sorry,” says the lawyer, sweating profusely behind horn-rimmed glasses. “It’s this person behind me.” “No!” someone screams at the head of the crowd, and then there’s more shouting and pushing. The mob’s moving out of control. I feel a sharp elbow in my back. It knocks me off balance. “There’s a decision!” someone shouts up front; then there’s more yelling, even screaming. I feel panic rising in my throat as the crowd swells toward the door, carrying me with it, almost off my feet. Suddenly there’s a painful whack at the back of my head. I feel faint, dizzy. Everything gets fuzzy. My arms flutter, groping for anything to stay upright. Gunshots ring out like distant firecrackers, and there’s screaming and shouting, also far away. Strong hands catch me from behind. Someone says in my ear, “This is a warning. Let the judge rest in peace.” The words and the pain melt together. And then slip beyond me.
~~~
One will go to Harvard; the other will be put to death. No justice, no peace.
It reminds me of Armen, and our talk that night, over Hightower. Law and morality. You can’t separate them, why would you want to? Then I think of his broad back slumped over his desk. Armen was murdered, and murder is wrong. Illegal and immoral. Nothing I’ve learned tonight changes that, and I’m still the only one who has a chance of getting to Galanter. I rise, unsteadily. “Maybe I’m not out, Rain Man.”
If you have questions of exactly how and why we've begun to be greatly concerned about Justice in America, this is an excellent book from which you can learn about the inside of the system... We've seen the introduction of bias against non-white citizens and, the implementation of DEI, the override of established laws by The Supreme Court, in this case, resulting in the death of one judge and subsequent criminal actions which were discovered...by those in the legal staff... Yes, this is fiction, but there was too much that ran parallel to things happening today. By the way, the Judge's wife was a Senator and they were heading for divorce, but she asked that the judge stay with her until "after the election..." Manipulation, seeking personal power, and yet, learning of how it is the single individuals who work to investigation who in the end do...find...justice...
GABixlerReviews
Sometimes free will is not freeing. “I just don’t know. Whatever you think, Miss Rossi."
It’s difficult to understand why one missing-person case catches the nation’s heart and soul while thousands more hardly get thirty seconds on the local news. You know the type of high-profile case I’m talking about. The one that gets near-constant play on CNN, Fox, MSNBC, and every other national media outlet hungry for ratings. Polly Klaas. Elizabeth Smart. Natalee Holloway. Laci Peterson. Caylee Anthony.
Nancy Grace will yack about one particular case for an hour without telling the viewer anything new. Looping the same video over and over. There’s something salacious about it. It seems to be more about entertainment — and ratings — than about offering information that may somehow help solve the case. Something else bothers me, too. The cases that receive mega-airtime almost exclusively involve a white victim. An upper middle-class white victim. An attractive, upper middle-class white victim. I’m not sure if that says something about the value we place on various members of society, but I hope not.
Regardless, for whatever reason, Tracy Turner quickly became one of those high-profile cases. When I got home and turned on the TV, there she was on the screen, hair in pigtails, and I could feel a hole open up in my chest. The news anchor was talking to an expert who was delivering statistics that I knew, unfortunately, by heart.
Roughly 800,000 children are reported missing in the United States every year. Two thousand every day. Many of them are runaways, some are abducted (usually by a family member), and some are lost or injured. Child abductions leading to murder are relatively rare. One hundred cases a year. Most are “average” kids leading “normal” lives with “typical” families. Three quarters of the victims are female. Eighty percent of the time, the initial contact between victim and killer takes place within a quarter-mile of the child’s home. The average abductor-killer is twenty-seven years old, unmarried, and has at least one prior arrest for a violent crime. He lives alone or with his parents. He’s unemployed or working in an unskilled or semi-skilled occupation. He’s what cops and psychologists and criminal profilers call a “social marginal.” When a child goes missing — listen up, mom and dad; listen up, small-town deputy who thinks the kid might’ve just wandered off — you’d better get your ass in gear, regardless of what the statistics say. More than three quarters of children who are abducted and murdered are dead within the first three hours. Yes, the odds are overwhelming that a missing kid won’t be killed, but if he or she is in the hands of a killer, time is absolutely of the essence. Three hours. That’s how small the window is. Tracy Turner had been missing for 36 hours. When — okay, if — I had seen her this afternoon, she’d been missing for about 32 hours. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I had to hope that since she’d made it past the first three hours, that she’d make it for many more.
~~~
You know, folks--yes, I know Biden is gone, but I miss his quiet handling of our government so very much that I'm still going to call you all, folks. Hope that is ok because I'm still trying to decide how to deal with this book... I want to talk about it, but I don't want to review it--after all it was in the running for an award. LOL... That doesn't mean much when you want to review it, and can't figure out how to... Let's face it, some books are purposely written to obfuscate. This one does it extremely well. Take, for instance, the very first video that I just had to share... If you can actually get to the review, let me know. All I got was some spooky music, a tag for a review...but...it's only 13 seconds! Does that tell us anything?
But, wait, perhaps that reviewer wondered just as I did. First, What in the World is that Title supposed to mean?! Now, I will share that I "kinda" got the idea of what he was trying for, but, frankly, to me, it wasn't worth the anxiety for this reader throughout the book... On the other hand, the author gives very few clues for the reader to enjoy in trying to understand what is going on.... Let me just say, this author pulled a "Columbo" on us, you know, right at the end of the book???
So here's the thing, the only way I could be truthful in talking about the book, as written, is to mislead... just like the author did... So do I, too, mislead and share about something happening which has little to do with the case of the missing girl? You see, my quandary. I feel like I'm getting the diversions from the president which have nothing to do with the supposed discussion... Yeah, it's that bad...
So, after all that, I'll tell you about the case that is being worked on by Roy Ballard...only...and not about all the other stuff you will be reading...which actually I would love to tell you about, but then people say that would be spoiling the book... even though you may never know about what else happened by talking about something that is ongoing but will never be explained until the very end... And I checked, the book description doesn't mention it either--obfuscation? Writer's prerogative, of course...
Anyway, Roy Ballard is a videographer who works for insurance companies to review cases that look questionable and confirm or prove that the individual is indeed faking an injury for which he's asked for time off coverage... He's good at this job and has been successful in remaking a past history which includes excessive drinking...
So, on a routine case of a man who supposedly hurt his hand by falling at his work, Roy notices something that was totally different from the information given to him... He sees a little girl at the door of this man's house... It appears that she is wearing the same clothes that had been identified when the amber alert was provided to the public... Of course, he reports it to the police hotline... But, in the meantime, since he has to do surveillance on the man anyway, which includes planting a "rock" video camera... he begins his own investigation... Obsessively...
Readers will learn that many years ago, his daughter was kidnapped from their car, when he had left her for a "few minutes..." From that point on, he has lived in torture, now divorced and alone, having worked through his loss with depression and all it entails, until he was able to begin his life again... He does have one female friend who helped him through all this and she soon is taking a job with Roy to learn and partner in his insurance cases... By the way, there is no licensing for this type of job, like a private investigator--the activities are similar, but normally aren't dangerous... This one turned out to be different since discussions with known acquaintances of the possible insurance scammer, were also potentially related to the kidnapping!
I was hooked, but I also had quickly come to question exactly who was doing what and who was the villain... Thus my wondering why this tactic without one hint which is extremely unusual in a mystery. And, actually, while I had been hooked from the beginning, I did not like the outcome as a book ending...
I did like Roy Ballard greatly and the other characters... May I recommend to the author obfuscation for the purpose of enticing doesn't always work for average readers... We've had years of that from our president...
P.S. You all missed out on the book's playlist, got too frustrated...LOL
The Gathering Storm: Donald Trump and the Four Horsemen of Revelation
A Pattern Emerges
In August 2025, an unprecedented event occurred in American democracy. President Donald Trump federalized the Washington D.C. police force. He deployed the National Guard to the nation's capital, declaring it "Liberation Day in D.C." This dramatic action came despite violent crime in Washington being at a 30-year low, raising profound questions about the true motivations behind such an extraordinary assertion of federal power.
This wasn't an isolated incident, but part of a broader pattern of militarization that has unfolded across the country. Thousands of troops have been deployed to the southern border, while additional thousands of National Guard troops and Marines were sent to Los Angeles following immigration protests. Military zones have been expanded along the Texas border, where troops can detain civilians for federal prosecution.
What makes this particularly concerning to those familiar with biblical prophecy is how these developments align with long-standing evangelical eschatological expectations that have been influencing U.S. foreign policy for years.
The Evangelical Foundation
The theological groundwork for current events was laid decades ago through the influence of evangelical eschatology on American politics. Key developments include:
Jerusalem and Temple Reconstruction: The 2017 relocation of the U.S. embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem was heavily advocated by evangelical groups who viewed it as fulfilling biblical prophecy. This wasn't merely diplomatic policy—it was seen as preparing the way for end-times events, including the rebuilding of the Third Temple that many evangelical interpretations require for Christ's return. To see how far this process has gone, see: https://templeinstitute.org/
Prophetic Politics
The appointment of evangelical leaders to key diplomatic positions, including Mike Huckabee as ambassador to Israel, reflects the deep integration of eschatological beliefs into foreign policy. The expansion of U.S.-Israel military cooperation and the establishment of American military installations within Israel further demonstrate how prophetic expectations have become foreign policy reality.
Project 2025 and Theocratic Aspirations
The comprehensive plan to reshape American government according to conservative evangelical principles represents an attempt to institutionalize religious authority within democratic structures. This blueprint for governance reflects not just political conservatism but a specific theological vision of how society should be ordered in preparation for prophetic fulfillment.
The Four Horsemen Framework
For those versed in Revelation's prophecies, current events bear striking resemblances to the sequential judgments described in the opening of the seven seals:
The First Horseman (White Horse): Represents the rise of a deceiving figure who conquers through apparent peace and authority. The concentration of executive power, the bypassing of traditional democratic constraints, and the use of religious rhetoric to justify authoritarian measures all echo this prophetic pattern.
The Second Horseman (Red Horse) Takes peace from the earth and brings warfare. The militarization of domestic law enforcement, deployment of troops against civilian populations, and the expansion of military zones within U.S. borders suggest a society increasingly governed by force rather than consent.
The Third Horseman (Black Horse) Brings economic disparity where necessities become unaffordable while luxuries remain protected. The gold tariff controversy—where initially gold was going to be subject to tariffs before Trump clarified "Gold will not be Tariffed!"—while imposing severe tariffs on basic goods, eerily parallels Revelation 6:6's command to "hurt not the oil and wine" during times of scarcity.
The Fourth Horseman (Pale Horse) Death follows, bringing widespread mortality through various means. While this stage hasn't fully manifested, the systematic dismantling of democratic safeguards and the normalization of military force against civilians create conditions where such outcomes become possible.
Democratic Institutions Under Siege
The pattern of authoritarian consolidation is becoming unmistakable:
Federalization of Local Law Enforcement: Rep. Jamie Raskin called Trump's D.C. police takeover "a textbook authoritarian maneuver", while Sen. Chris Van Hollen described it as "playing dictator in our nation's capital as a dress rehearsal". This represents a fundamental shift from federal to centralized
control.
Military Deployment Against Citizens
Legal experts note these deployments are "testing the limits of the Posse Comitatus Act, which prohibits the military from conducting civilian law enforcement on U.S. soil." The normalization of military force in domestic affairs marks a dangerous precedent.
Emergency Powers Expansion
The declaration of emergencies based on contradictory evidence—claiming crime emergencies in cities with historically low crime rates—demonstrates how crisis rhetoric can justify extraordinary measures that would otherwise be unacceptable.
The Prophetic Intersection
What makes this moment particularly significant for those who take biblical prophecy seriously is how these political developments align with specific eschatological expectations:
Israel-Palestine and Temple Preparation: The use of evangelical eschatology to justify policies that marginalize Palestinians and prepare for Temple reconstruction connects current geopolitics directly to prophetic interpretation. This isn't coincidental—it's deliberate theological politics. https://templeinstitute.org/
Economic Disparity Patterns: The protection of luxury goods (like gold) while imposing burdens on necessities mirrors the Revelation 6:6 pattern of protecting "oil and wine" during famine. This suggests an economic system designed to preserve wealth for elites while ordinary people struggle.
Authoritarian Religious Alliance: The merger of political power with specific religious interpretations creates the kind of religious-political authority that biblical prophecy warns against. When theological beliefs drive authoritarian policies, both democracy and authentic faith suffer.
A Warning, Not a Blueprint
For those who take biblical prophecy seriously, these developments should serve as a warning rather than a cause for celebration. The book of Revelation describes these patterns not as goals to achieve, but as catastrophes to recognize and resist. The concentration of power, the use of force against civilians, and the merger of religious authority with political control are presented as hallmarks of the very system that faithful believers are called to reject.
The question facing American democracy—and American Christianity—is whether these patterns will be recognized for what they are before they progress further. The theological framework of the Four Horsemen isn't intended to be a political agenda; it serves as a warning about what happens when power becomes divorced from justice, when force supplants persuasion, and when religious conviction becomes a tool for political control.
The choice before us isn't between different interpretations of prophecy—it's between preserving democratic institutions that protect human dignity and allowing those institutions to be dismantled in service of authoritarian ambitions wrapped in religious language.
The signs are visible for those willing to see them. The question is what we will do with what we observe.
Thank you Father, for bringing Michael A. Smith to Book Readers Heaven... I so appreciate his being willing to share his articles on an ongoing basis... Watch for him here, or find him at LinkedIn as well...
Around 1970--yes, I'm that old, LOL--I read the book, The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey... At that time I was a pretty faithful guardian of The Word of the Faithful... It was he who created another end of the world date for all of us to prepare for... Well, of course we all know that that date was quickly bypassed with little fanfare by anybody, except maybe me... Who quickly realized... Not everything written is Truth... In today's world, I do my research upon just about anything being said...and I still don't believe anything coming out of this administration! Especially seeing all the devastation and destruction now underway!
Smith points out the signs are visible... What am I going to do? Keep my eyes on this Man... Who died for us in Love... Read the Words of Jesus...
Christian Nationalism began (early 2000s) to take a more definite shape during this time. While not all Fundamentalists embraced this ideology, there was a growing tendency within the movement to conflate American national identity with Christianity. This often manifested in efforts to emphasize America's supposed Christian foundations, challenges to the separation of church and state, and attempts to glorify conservative Christian values in law and public policy.
Foreword In the tapestry of American history, few threads have been as persistent and influential as the interweaving of religion and politics. From the Puritan vision of a "city upon a hill" to the current debates over the role of faith in public life, the relationship between religious belief and civic identity has been a defining feature of the American experience. In recent decades, this relationship has taken on new dimensions with the rise of Christian Nationalism, which seeks to align American identity and governance with a particular interpretation of Christian principles. This book comprehensively examines Christian Nationalism, tracing its roots in Christian Fundamentalism and exploring its far-reaching implications for American democracy. It is a work of historical scholarship and contemporary analysis, offering readers a deep dive into the ideological, cultural, and political currents that have shaped this influential movement. The following pages provide a nuanced understanding of how Christian Fundamentalism, born in the early 20th century as a reaction to modernism, evolved into the potent political force of Christian Nationalism we see today. From the Scopes "Monkey" Trial to the current debates over abortion rights and LGBTQ+ equality, this book charts the course of a movement that has profoundly shaped American public life. One of the striking aspects of Christian Nationalism, which this work explores in depth, is its particular interpretation of America's role in biblical prophecy. Interestingly, perhaps paradoxically, the United States is not explicitly mentioned in biblical end-times scenarios. This absence has not deterred Christian Nationalists from ascribing a divine purpose to America, often viewing it as a modern-day incarnation of ancient Israel. As the book demonstrates, this belief has had significant implications for U.S. foreign policy, particularly regarding the Middle East. The comprehensive nature of this work allows readers to grasp the full scope of Christian Nationalism's influence. The book illustrates how this ideology has permeated various aspects of American life and governance, from education and the justice system to environmental policy and gun rights. It also explores the movement's global impact, examining how American Christian Nationalist ideas have influenced international relations and religious movements in other countries. Crucially, this book does not shy away from addressing the potential dangers that Christian Nationalism poses to American democracy. By advocating for a fusion of religious identity with national governance, Christian Nationalism challenges fundamental principles of religious pluralism and the separation of church and state. This work provides a clear-eyed assessment of these challenges, offering readers the tools to understand and engage with one of contemporary America's most significant political and cultural forces. At the same time, the book also explores the resistance and opposition to Christian Nationalism, highlighting the diverse array of voices - from secular activists to dissenting Christians - who have challenged the movement's claims and agenda. This balanced approach allows readers to appreciate the full complexity of the debates surrounding Christian Nationalism. As America continues to grapple with questions of national identity, religious liberty, and the proper relationship between faith and governance, the insights provided in this book are more relevant than ever. Whether you are a scholar, a policy maker, or a concerned citizen, this comprehensive primer on Christian Nationalism offers invaluable insights into a movement that continues to shape the American experience in profound ways. In an era of increasing polarization and cultural conflict, understanding the historical roots and contemporary manifestations of Christian Nationalism is crucial for anyone seeking to comprehend the forces shaping American society and politics. This book provides that understanding, offering a roadmap through the complex landscape of religion and politics in America. As you embark on this journey through the following pages, you will gain knowledge and the critical perspective needed to thoughtfully engage with one of the most significant and controversial movements in American public life. In doing so, you will be better equipped to participate in the ongoing dialogue about the future of American democracy and the role of religion in public life. (italics my emphasis)
~~~
(One of the earliest pastors I read about today's world.)
It was just yesterday when I started to read Smith's new book and had finished, looking for more... This historian is also an excellent writer that has the ability to present his knowledge and expertise in a way that quickly pulls in readers at any level of awareness. It was especially interesting at my age, to not find much I was not already aware of as happening... BUT, had not in any way, put the pieces together to form an understanding of exactly how all this has evolved...
For me, living in a country environment where we always attended smaller churches, we were used to hearing a "routine" sermon about the Bible or Jesus and participate with accompanying music, programs and social relationships with our neighbors. Sure there were minor disagreements, but, I guarantee, it was never what has happened to take over America's religion-political connection...
One of my first thoughts was that what was being presented must have been happening at the highest levels of the church's hierarchical structure, which rarely, if ever, was shared with church members. Thus, frankly, I was shocked to realize exactly what had been happening and when efforts were made to actively work to change things...
I was so naïve that, even when there were minor announcements to start to connect within the political environment, via news or television, we quickly forgot about it because nothing more was ever shared...
And that, readers, was what shocked me as this historian began to present his thesis on the how, what, when and where of, exactly, where we are today... For instance, I had never heard of Christian Nationalism until I heard it from Margorie Taylor Green, a woman I find offensive in her manner. While the Pope has also begun what is needed in the Catholic Church... good and bad seems to be happening as more and more people understand what was "expected" from the government... as opposed to where we now are...
Readers, if you, too, have found yourself in the midst of total confusion about what is happening around the world, believe me you are not alone... and here at Book Readers Heaven, I'm trying to share to bring some semblance of effort toward all that we are hearing--and worrying about... One of the reasons I work to share videos of the reality and diversity of the divide we are in, is to allow us all to learn as we move forward...
I believe this book will be of great help in this regard... Think of it as if you were taking a college-level class on the history of Religion. Me, I've never been an individual who paid much attention to denomination. In my opinion, most of us are "born" into the religion of our parents/family, so it became a natural choice for those who were being introduced into a church.
However, we have learned much through the political side of religion? Never thought I would be saying that... that it was a "known" fact that the republic party was made up of many Christians...
One of the major points that Smith brings out is one that I had been spotlighting on an ongoing basis... political activities had begun with slaves being owned, and continued on into the civil rights movement... All efforts to improve the lives of minorities, were to be opposed by the republican party--at least as decided by the hierarchical members??? Indeed, that is where the two parties began to divide. The democratic party, we find now, is actually the group that supports what is morally imperative for the good of all Americans...
Jerry Falwell, who founded the Moral Majority in 1979, was a key figure in this period. This organization aimed to mobilize conservative Christians as a political force, marking a significant departure from the political quietism of earlier fundamentalism. The Moral Majority focused on issues such as opposition to abortion, support for traditional family values, and resistance to gay rights, framing these as part of a broader struggle to "restore" America's supposed Christian heritage. The 1980 election of Ronald Reagan, who actively courted the support of religious conservatives, marked a turning point. It demonstrated the movement's potential political power and encouraged further engagement with electoral politics. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, organizations like the Christian Coalition, founded by Pat Robertson, worked to increase the influence of conservative Christians within the Republican Party. The political engagement of Fundamentalists during this period was more complex than simply aligning with the Republican Party. While the majority did gravitate toward conservative politics, there were notable exceptions. For instance, Jimmy Carter, a self-professed born-again Christian, attracted some Fundamentalist support in his 1976 presidential campaign. However, disappointment with Carter's presidency among many conservative Christians contributed to the rightward shift of the movement in subsequent years. The formation of the Religious Right wasn't without internal disagreement. Some Fundamentalist leaders, like Bob Jones III, were initially skeptical of political engagement, viewing it as a distraction from spiritual concerns.
And there we have it...
Smith presents a complete review of what has occurred to get us to the point of Christian Nationalism... For me and perhaps many of us, we worked through the emergence of daily activities that were affected by our religious life and the life of an American citizen. I still remember when I was asked to sign a petition to have stores opened on Sunday and I wouldn't sign it... Only to later realize that I was being very prejudicial, especially when I realized that many Christians, for instance, were required to work on Sundays at hospitals and other service agencies and that was the beginning of my acceptance of the need for separation of church and state... This book pulled all of my life's memories into a logical chronology and showed me exactly how and when the evolution occurred... and how it was guided by the republican party members... and, need I say, by those who use politics for power and greed...
By the way, an extensive reading reference list is included as an appendix... I consider this a must-read.
GABixlerReviews
I just had to do it...if you are OK with what this man says...or other similar hate-filled lies... well, then...
you know why the majority of us are working against this administration!
!BTW, I oppose the language of this speaker, but it's the least of problems these days!!!
Isn't it? Work to measure your own concerns and fight for what's right for our country!
Dr. Charles G. Gomillion, Tuskegee Institute Professor and Administrator from 1928 to 1970., Photo Tuskegee Archives
In 1960, the Supreme Court ruled that a map could be unconstitutional if its sole purpose were to silence Black voters. Charles Gomillion, a professor at Tuskegee Institute, had watched as Alabama’s legislature redrew the city’s boundaries into a 28-sided figure—an act of cartographic violence designed to excise nearly all Black residents from the voting rolls surgically. Gomillion refused to accept this as mere politics. He saw it for what it was: a betrayal of democratic promise. In 1956, Gomillion, as President of the Tuskegee Civic League, filed a lawsuit to contest this electoral map. It took this case four years to wind its way to the Supreme Court.
Today, in Texas, we are witnessing a similar betrayal. District lines are being drawn not to reflect communities, but to fracture them. The tactics are more sophisticated, the language more coded, but the intent remains chillingly familiar: dilute the voting strength of those whose voices threaten entrenched power. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who is the target of a political scheme designed to eliminate X-number of people from participating in the process of electing the congressional delegation of Texas.
Gomillion was more than a plaintiff—he was a civic architect. As dean of Tuskegee’s graduate school, he organized voter registration drives, led boycotts against white-owned businesses, and cultivated a generation of students who understood that democracy must be defended, not assumed.
He knew that maps are not neutral. They are declarations of who belongs, who governs, and who gets heard. When the Alabama legislature carved out Tuskegee’s Black population from the city’s voting district, Gomillion didn’t just challenge the lines—he challenged the logic behind them.
Gomillion v. Lightfoot reached the Supreme Court after lower courts upheld Alabama’s redistricting, citing state authority. But the high court reversed those rulings, declaring that the Fifteenth Amendment prohibits states from drawing lines that intentionally disenfranchise voters based on race.
Justice Felix Frankfurter wrote:
“States may not…deprive any citizen of the right to vote because of his race.”
In law school, fourteen years later, I gleefully raised my hand to brief this case. After all, I had met Dr. Gomillion when I was a student at Tuskegee Institute, a few years after he had retired, and he had come on campus to drop off his copies of the Parisian Review and the New Yorker in the student center lounge. He was tall and stately, his eyes penetrated mine, his words buried in my soul till this very day. “The sky is the limit, young man,” he said, then added, “Your people need you.”
It was a landmark decision—one that affirmed the Constitution’s role in protecting against racial gerrymandering. But it also left open a question: What happens when disenfranchisement is cloaked in partisanship rather than race?
Fast forward to 2025. In Texas, redistricting maps
have been engineered to give Republicans five new congressional seats, including placing in jeopardy the congressional seat of Rep. Al Green, a Tuskegee University alum. The methods— “packing” Democratic voters into a few districts and “cracking” others across multiple conservative strongholds—are textbook gerrymandering. But because the lines target party affiliation rather than race, they skirt the protections Gomillion helped establish.
The consequences are profound. Communities of color, who overwhelmingly vote Democratic, find their influence diluted. Urban centers are split and stretched into rural districts. And the rhythm of representation—the syncopated beat of diverse voices rising in chorus—is muffled.
Gomillion’s victory was not just legal—it was moral. It affirmed that democracy cannot be contorted into a tool of exclusion. Texas now stands at a similar crossroads. The question is not whether the maps are legal, but whether they are just. Whether they honor the spirit of representation or betray it.
We must ask: What do these lines remember? What do they forget? And who gets to draw them?
History doesn’t repeat—it syncopates. The beat of disenfranchisement returns in new forms, but so does the counter-rhythm of resistance. Charles Gomillion’s legacy reminds us that maps can be redrawn, but memory cannot be erased. From Tuskegee to Texas, the struggle continues—not just to vote, but to serve, and be counted.
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