Tuesday morning dawned clear and cold. I loaded up the car and headed for the big courthouse at 7th and Jefferson. At 10:00 a.m. I planted myself in front of one of the big columns, armed with a huge sign and a folder full of flyers. It was a hoot.

The first few people who passed seemed distinctly concerned. I'm pretty sure they thought I was dangerously demented. While I was well dressed, I was standing there with a big poster with two pictures and text that said, "Protect Our Children. Remove Judge Stephen George." Clearly, their anxiety level skyrocketed momentarily - until they were a safe distance away.

But then a strange thing happened. I greeted everyone who passed pleasantly. I didn't foam at the mouth. No innocent passerby was bitten on the leg. And people began to take an interest.
They began to read the sign and ask, "What's going on, anyway?" I gave every person who asked a flyer, and explained the situation.

After about fifteen minutes a very large Deputy Sheriff came out of the building. He looked grumpy. He parked himself in front of my sign and read it. I offered him a flyer, which he politely declined. But he didn't draw his gun or his nightstick, so I figured I was ahead of the game. He went back into the building and began talking to the other Deputies at the door. But none of them came out at the moment.

A few minutes later, a very polite, well dressed woman came out. She wasn't wearing a coat, which indicated she worked inside. She smiled nicely and asked if she could have one of my flyers. I told her she certainly could, and thanked her for asking. She carried it inside, reading as she went. I figured at this point the fat was in the fire. They have photocopy machines inside. I was gratified by the thought, though. If they wanted to copy my flyer and pass it around inside, good. Flyers are expensive to print. (How long's it been since you had to buy cartridges for an ink jet printer? They ain't cheap.) I was heartened by the possibility that the county might be helping pay to circulate my flyer. My tax dollars at work.

I learned quickly that my audience was made up of three types of people. First were the people who worked inside. You could spot them every time. They read the poster, because they wanted to know what kind of nut would picket the courthouse. But then they moved on inside. Their interest didn't extend to the details. They just wanted a broad outline. They were always polite and courteous, though, so I enjoyed them.

The second group were the lawyers. They're hilarious. They approach the building and see a poster. Then they rush to get away, being careful not to display even the slightest interest in what it might say. It's as if they think the poster may have leprosy, and they'll contract it if they read the thing. There's also the possibility they're afraid of "guilt by association." If someone sees them actually reading it, they may somehow be linked to this subversive exercise in free speech. Then there's the frightening possibility that if they read it, I might actually ask them to DO something. God forbid!!! The final possibility (which is my personal preference) is that lawyers have a secret pact. They have to be neutered before they're admitted to the bar. That explains why none of them have enough balls to even read the poster.

Our third group is the people who have business in the building. They're only passing through. They have no stake in the game. So overall they're pretty interested. Most of them stop and look at the pictures (the same two I posted here earlier). They're shocked, and frequently outraged. Most of them take a flyer. A lot of them ask if there's anything they can do to help. The response to my being there is overwhelmingly positive. I'm somewhat shocked at the negative reaction to Family Court, though. They seem distinctly unpopular among people who've been there. More about that in my next post.

Tuesday ends uneventfully but triumphantly (is that an oxymoron?). I was still at large, and had begun to make my point. It was a good day.