I first wrote about this subject more than 30 years ago. It is as true now and raises the same questions as it did then and every word of it speaks loudly down through the years. It is about how my young son, now grown to adulthood, viewed the world of justice through his then, nine-year-old eyes. “Then” is three decades ago, and I was doing at the time a lot of court work as a reporter.

It is fascinating covering court and the justice system, but it just sucks the life right out of you. It is a difficult place and there are so many sad stories. In those days, if you scratched any court story, you would find alcohol somewhere in there. Today it is mostly drugs.

One Saturday I was downtown with my oldest son who as I mentioned was about nine years old at the time. We stopped at the courthouse on Duckworth Street. I knew all the Commissionaires so I asked the one on duty if I could show my boy Supreme Courtroom Number One. He said sure and unlocked the door. It was a Saturday and there was nothing going on. It wasn’t exactly “Father of the Year” stuff but I did a lot of that kind of thing with my boy. If you have never been to the Court House, it is a very imposing place. Soaring ceilings and lots of old wood and old benches. It is said Joseph R. Smallwood carved his name in one of those benches up front. I never did look for it, but I am told it is so. If my initials are carved there, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.

Supreme Court is a room steeped in the history of Justice in Newfoundland and Labrador. Some of the great trails of the last century were held there plus countless proceedings and arraignments. I showed my son where the judge sat. Then I brought him over to the jury box and showed him where the jurors took their places. I showed him as well the table where the press covering various trails were seated. Next, I showed him the tables and benches where the lawyers plied their trade.

Here is where this story gets interesting and while it is a tale of the innocence of youth it is somehow much more than that. He said, “Dad, I have a question for you. Where do the poor people sit?” I didn’t know at first what he meant. He said, “you know the poor people, the ones who commit the crimes.” His words stopped me in my tracks. He was all of nine or 10 years old and knew of courts only through radio and television and print. What he gathered from all of that is that is that it is just poor people who commit crimes.

Being a parent isn’t easy, and I have to tell you I don’t know what I said to my son. I just mumbled something, I think. Parents do that sometimes when they don’t know the answer to a question. I still don’t know the answer to the idea that it is poor people who commit crimes. It is a very complicated question. It isn’t true that poor people commit the crimes, but it is true that a lot of the people involved in the justice system are poor.

The questions are raised. Are some people forced into a life of breaking the law? Is it something related to things like upbringing or lack of opportunity. Sometimes there are things as simple as a matter of luck. Given my own journey and yours on some level I suspect I was lucky. I am not poor now for a variety of reasons but one of them certainly is that I got some lucky breaks along the way.

By the way, I recently spoke to my son about the incident at the courthouse. He said it sounds very interesting, but he doesn’t remember it. I, on the other hand, do.

You can contact Jim Furlong at [email protected]