The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.
After my trial, I just knew that my dear Wendi and her sister Cindi would finally get justice. How could they not after young Shawn Taylor’s eyewitness testimony?
I could not have been more wrong. Randall, James, and John were arrested with a million-dollar bond set in each case. Within two days the three were back on the street. The four cheerleaders were also arrested with much lower bonds. They too bonded out. In less than a week the Prosecutor mysteriously resigned. Two days later Shawn and his father were killed in a freak car accident in Mountainboro, just south of Boaz.
The newly appointed Prosecutor pursued the three defendants but was unable to convince a Grand Jury to indict them. There were two insurmountable problems. Most people in the area believed that Wendi and Cindi were dead but their bodies had never been discovered. This was not the most difficult issue for the new Prosecutor. Now, after Shawn’s death, there was no witness other than myself who could or would say that Wendi and Cindi had left the camp with Randall, James, and John. Mysterious to Matt, the new Prosecutor didn’t even call me to testify before the Grand Jury. It was not until many years later that I finally understood why the Prosecutor could not offer as evidence at trial the written transcript of Shawn’s testimony from my own trial. It was a common legal principle known as hearsay.
The cases against Randall, James, and John were eventually dismissed. Again, without Shawn’s testimony, the new Prosecutor couldn’t very easily refute the four cheerleaders’ testimony from my trial.
A few days after my trial Matt called and asked me if I still hoped to become a lawyer someday. I told him I did and had already requested information from several different law schools around the southeast. He said that was good but suggested I not gaze too much at the top of the mountain but turn my attention to the valley beneath, the one I was in. He asked me if I wanted to start learning what goes on in a law office. The next afternoon I started work with the man who had literally saved my life. He seemed to see something in me that I couldn’t see. He saw something that didn’t even exist in my imagination. For the next six months Matt, with patience of no other human, gave me introductory lessons in case law research and memorandum writing. He even let me shadow him to court on numerous occasions. But, even more importantly, he allowed me to witness him interviewing and counseling his clients, and let me sit in the conference room as he brainstormed the clearest and most persuasive way to present a case to a jury.
This time with Matt solidified my decision to become a lawyer. Just as important, and even more unsuspected, Matt guided my thoughts on how and where to pursue my formal education. He thought I should decide against returning to Snead State Junior College in September for my freshman year, and then on to Auburn University to complete my undergraduate degree. He knew that both James and Randall would be there on basketball scholarships. He also knew that Wade, Fred, and John were headed to the University of Alabama. The bottom line, Matt believed I needed to get away to rebuild my life.
Ultimately, Matt helped guide me to Emory University in Atlanta. It was his alma mater. For the next seven years—spending summers in Boaz clerking for Matt—I earned an undergraduate degree in English, and a Juris Doctorate degree from the Emory University School of Law. Again, with much help from Matt and my parents, along with scholarships, grants, work-study jobs, and clerking my senior year for a law firm in Atlanta, I graduated June 10th, 1980 owing less than $10,000 in student loans.
The Pencil-Driven Life 