The Way it Was… The Way it Wasn't…

            There was great excitement in the little town of Mill Creek, Illinois, that afternoon in 1845. Eighth Illinois circuit judge David Davis of Bloomingdale had just arrived. As usual, he was accompanied by several circuit lawyers, including one named Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln's presence added to the stir of excitement, for Mill Creek's citizens had not forgotten the other times when he had come to town with Judge Davis. And in addition to being an excellent lawyer, Abe Lincoln told the funniest stories anyone had ever heard.

            It had been almost six months since the last court session in Mill Creek, and there was quite an accumulation of cases to be tried. Old Thomas Jacobs was suspected of setting fire to the blacksmith's shop. He and the blacksmith had had words. Old Thomas had made some pretty dark threats, and that very night the blacksmith's shop had burned to the ground. There were witnesses who said that they had seen old Thomas there at the fire, laughing like anything and slapping his knees.

            Then there was the fight at the tavern between Henry Whitney and Ebenezer Bates. Whitney had finally pulled out his pistol and shot Ebenezer in cold blood. Some said that Ebenezer had asked for it and that Whitney was only defending himself. But others sided with Ebenezer and said it was murder, plain and simple.

            Perhaps the most outstanding case was that of Jesse Adams. He had ridden into town one day and gone straight up to the Mill Creek Bank, shoved his gun at the teller, and demanded all the bank's cash. He'd managed to get about fifteen miles out of town before the sheriff and his deputy caught up with him. And he had been in the town jail ever since.

            In addition to these more spectacular cases there were the usual disputes over property lines, debts and foreclosures, slander suits. And a man named Silas Foster had been accused of stealing pigs.

            The announcement was made that court would convene the following week, and the people brought in their legal business. The lawyers went to work on the cases assigned to them. And when the time that had been announced arrived, the circuit court convened.

            The whole town crowded into the courthouse, and during each recess could be heard hotly discussing the pros and cons of each case. The lawyers examined and cross-examined and called out objections at every opportunity. Abe Lincoln had a knack for bringing the truth to light, and in the cases that he defended, even the prosecuting attorney ended up admitting that he was right. As the people listened to each case and heard the evidence for themselves, they were convinced that justice was being dealt.

            One by one the cases were brought before the court. The juries withdrew to deliberate, and a verdict was reached guilty or not guilty. As Judge Davis sentenced those who had been found guilty, and acquitted those found innocent, the town was satisfied.

            The last morning the judge and his lawyers were in town, there was a hanging. Henry Whitney had been found guilty of murder. And the circuit judge and his company moved on to the next town.

            The second part of this parable covers the same ground. Back up and start over, please! Are you with me? This time, the story is:

The way it wasn't

            There was great excitement in the little town of Mill Creek, Illinois, that afternoon in 1845. Eighth Illinois circuit judge David Davis of Bloomingdale had just arrived, accompanied by Abe Lincoln and several other circuit lawyers. It has been almost six months since the last court session in Mill Creek, and there was quite an accumulation of cases to be tried.

            Old Thomas Jacobs was suspected of setting fire to the blacksmith's shop. There had been a fight at the tavern between Henry Whitney and Ebenezer Bates, and Ebenezer Bates was dead. Jesse Adams was in jail awaiting trial for bank robbery. And there were the usual assortment of lesser disputes.

            It was announced that court would convene immediately. The whole town crowded into the courthouse. Judge Davis banged his gavel on the desk and said, "Thomas Jacobs, not guilty. Silas Foster, not guilty. Henry Whitney, guilty as charged, to be hanged at sunrise. Jesse Adams, not guilty. Court is closed."

            The prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet. "You can't do that," he cried. "Who do you think you are, anyway? You can't acquit these people without a fair trial or sentence them before they're proven guilty."

            The town' s people sided with the prosecution. "He's right," they said. "How does the judge know who's s guilty and who isn't?"

            Abe Lincoln raised his voice to be heard above the tumult. "Don't you people trust the judge? The judge knows those who are his to acquit. He has been keeping tabs on things while he has been back at Bloomingdale. He has kept careful records. He has evidence, and he doesn't make mistakes.''

            But the people became even more upset. "The judge may have evidence, and he may not,'' they said. "But we don't have evidence. It's not enough just to claim to have evidence. The evidence must be examined openly before the sentence is given. The whole court needs to see the evidence, not just the judge."

            The circuit lawyers kept trying desperately to convince the people of Mill Creek that the judge could be trusted. But the people insisted that trust had to be based on an intelligent understanding of the reasons for the judge's decisions.

            The last morning the judge and his lawyers were in town, there was a hanging. It was the judge who was hanged.