That Was a Sad Video

I’m tired and I should be asleep right now, but obviously, I’m not. I went to court yesterday and I’m still wound tight. I am replaying the events of the hearing in my head over and over, hoping for some clarity and closure. So far, I’ve had no luck with that. Maybe by writing about the episode, I can sort things out. It’s got to be better than lying in bed and staring at the skylight for the next several hours.

This is about the sentencing of a young woman, a person who is dear to me. It’s been a long time coming. The woman was in court yesterday for two felony convictions: battery on a police officer and her fifth drunk driving charge. The arrest for battery occurred about two and a half years ago. The OWI (Operating While Intoxicated) charge is 17 months old. Finally, after numerous delays, the two cases have been resolved.

The young woman dragged her feet in the judicial process in hopes of avoiding prison. She has done time before. At one point, she wanted to go to trial for the OWI charge. She eventually changed her mind, bowed to the inevitable outcome, and pleaded guilty. Things wrapped up at yesterday’s hearing.

A sentencing is like an inverted graduation ceremony. It’s a turning point in a person’s life. You just don’t get a diploma.

The young woman wanted me to be there for her sentencing. I’m not quite sure why she wanted that, especially since I was instrumental in getting her in that courtroom in the first place. I turned her in for drunk driving because I thought she was going to hurt or kill somebody. I called the cops just prior to the battery incident because she was drunk and angry, and I have learned the hard way that I should not interact with her when she is in that condition. When the woman is drunk, I let the police handle her. They get paid to do that sort of thing.

In any case, I was there for the hearing at 10 a.m. The courtroom is nothing fancy. It’s a cramped, claustrophobic space with a small gallery for visitors. A courtroom, any courtroom, is an uninviting place. Nobody really wants to be there. Like a hospital ER, a courtroom is somewhere you have to go because you or someone you know is in trouble. In an ER, it’s for a medical issue. In a courtroom, you are there for a different kind of trouble.

The woman’s hearing was scheduled for 10 a.m., but it didn’t start until almost noon. That’s typical. These things seldom start on time. While I was sitting in the gallery, I got to watch the warm-up act. A young Black man was pleading guilty to armed robbery and fleeing an officer, and then was sentenced for those crimes. The prosecution, in its effort to get the guy four years in prison, presented a dashcam video of the high-speed chase through a residential area of the North Side of Milwaukee. The police were following the defendant’s car through this maze of side streets at 70 miles an hour. If nothing else, the video showed that the young man had demonstrated exceedingly poor judgment. The young man had friends and/or family in the gallery who got to watch the show. I wondered what they were thinking.

Dashcam and bodycam videos are commonplace tools for the prosecution. A picture is worth a thousand words in many cases. A video is worth even more.

When the young woman finally arrived, she was shackled, which is common practice when a defendant is in custody. The public defender made a point of telling the judge that I was in the gallery to show support for the woman. The prosecution talked about the plea agreement, three years inside and three out, and then she wanted to show bodycam footage of the incident involving battery on the police officer to give the judge a sense of what the young woman was like when intoxicated. Oh yeah …

It should be noted that I was physically present for all of that mayhem. I have vivid memories of that day. The bodycam recorded all of it, albeit from a different angle. I quickly realized as I watched the show that I was in the video. I was an unwilling participant in the action. That still feels utterly surreal. At one point, I am in the background, observing the chaos. There is also a brief close-up of one of the three cops giving me the keys to the young woman’s car. It was a reality show that was actually real.

So, what happened during the few minutes of the video? It was action packed. The young woman had backed her car into a ditch. She was drunk, with a blood alcohol level of .20. In Wisconsin, the legal blood alcohol level is .08, so she was two and a half times the legal limit. The three cops tried to coax her out of the car. They were remarkably polite and patient with her. She was belligerent. They finally got her out of her vehicle and cuffed her. At this point, she screamed:

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Okay. Then a female officer began to escort the young woman across the street to a squad car. The young woman kicked the cop, knocked her over, and they went down hard on the pavement. Two of the three police officers got the woman back on her feet, and the female officer limped slowly away to lean heavily on the hood of another squad car. The officer was clearly in pain.

The young woman once again screamed, “I will fucking kill you!”

Then she gave a wild laugh like Bellatrix Lestrange from Harry Potter as they pushed her into a squad car.

It was really quiet in the courtroom for a few moments. The judge looked at the young woman, and at me, and said:

“That was a sad video.”

Sad? I could think of other far more descriptive adjectives for that shitshow, but the judge was a professional and a master of understatement. He went on to tell the defendant that the police had been patient, and even kind to her. He described her own behavior as “ridiculous.” Once again, I can think of other adjectives for her actions.

On the plus side, the judge noted that the young woman has made repeated attempts to get into recovery and stay sober. He mentioned a letter I had written to him in which I had said the woman never gives up. That is true. She never quits. She is strong and resilient. She sincerely wants to get healthy and stay that way.

The prosecution, public defender, and the judge all focused on the defendant’s mental health and addiction issues. The plan was for her to get enrolled in the Substance Abuse Program (SAP) as soon as possible once she gets to Taycheedah, a prison near Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. The judge decided to give her 18 months inside for the battery charge and two years for the drunk driving. The sentences are to run concurrently. If she successfully completes the SAP, then she can qualify for the Early Release Program at 14 months. She estimates that she can be out in 18 months. That sounds about right.

The young woman called me from jail later yesterday to explain more of what will happen to her. I told her that all I want is for her to get healthy and be able to care full time for her little boy. Maybe that is a big ask. I don’t know.

That’s the story thus far.

I hope I didn’t bore you.

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Frank Pauc is a former Army aviator, a longtime trucking-company supervisor, and a contributor to The Havok Journal. A West Point graduate from the Class of 1980, he completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course and flight school, served with the 3rd Armored Division in West Germany and the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, and left the Army in 1986. He later taught citizenship classes through Voces de la Frontera in Milwaukee, took part in peace and protest work, and writes largely about veterans, family, grief, and the long aftermath of military service.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.