A trip to the courthouse

Dear Congressman,

On Monday I finally got back the post office return receipt for one of the final pieces of information I needed to complete the filing of account for the probate of my mother's estate. Needless to say it has been a long and arduous process in getting it completed, mainly because I had to open probate in two different countries to complete it.

So this morning I borrowed the wife's car and tootled off to Hamilton to the Butler County Probate clerk's office to file some of the final paperwork required by the court. The probate office opens at 8:30 am, so I arrived about 5 minutes past that appointed time to circle the courthouse and find a parking space. Fortunately, the meter where I parked displayed a notice that it was not enforced until after 9:00 am, so the need to feed coins into the metallic lollipop on the curb was not required, as I was fairly certain I would be in and out in less than ten minutes. (a correct assumption on my part)

The courthouse is an old building, having been completed in 1889. Now I know by European standards that is practically brand new, but since it was probably last painted in 1909 and the woodwork inside is all original, it does have an ambiance that would be more suited to listening to Perry Como rather than the Black Eyed Peas.

Only one entrance is open to the courthouse, and that houses the metal detectors and Sheriff's deputies who work the post. Once past this guard post, the center of the build is an open design with a view in the center up to the top of the building, once a dome but now closed off after a 1912 fire. The two staircases on either side of the building that ascent to the upper floors are a deep rich walnut that has wear patterns on the banisters from over a century of hands grabbing on as people walked up for their appointments.

Today was a court session day for the criminal court, so there were people milling about inside the central area of the courthouse, with even more waiting in the wing across from the guard post that housed the trial courtroom.

In front of my staircase I could not help but notice a family sitting in the four matching walnut chairs that lined the front of the staircase leading up to the probate clerk's office. In front of the family was a lawyer discussing something with them. He was kneeling down in front of all of them and speaking directly to a young man whose head was down as he listened.
The family members were all leaning in with concerned looks on their faces as they took in every word that the young lawyer was conveying to them. On either side of the young man was his mother and father, with other siblings on the outside of the huddle and what I can only guess was an uncle stand by on the bottom rung of the staircase leaning over them and listening as well.

Everyone had a concerned look on their face as the lawyer was talking. The young man had a pale look as he was described his options. If this was not the saddest day of his life, his posture and expression would indicate that it was a close second. As a family they had the appearance of working class, based on my observation of their appearance and dress. They did not present as "trailer trash", but also by no means had the box next to the Vanderbilts at the Opera on Saturday night.

The lawyer, continuing in his whispered tones, was mentioning something about "pleading no contest" and a potential for a shorter jail sentence by a few years, so obviously there was some type of felony involved in the young man's indictment. I continued past them and up the stairs without breaking pace, as this was a sad time for them and not a moment for me to hang around and rubberneck.

As I past, the uncle on the stairs looked up at me with a solemn gaze. I nodded as I approached, respecting the moment. He held my gaze for a split second, slightly nodded in return, and put his attention back to kneeling lawyer with the bad news.

Within a few minutes I had filed the paperwork and headed back out the door of the probate office. As I came past the lawyer was still talking, but now the mother figure was sobbing as he spoke. I did not look back or slow down as I past them, but kept a respectable pace and headed out the same guard post I had entered from not five minutes before. My day in court was done; the young man's day in court was ahead.