Judge Oswalt had read the newspaper reports and heard some of the gossip. He had spoken twice on the phone with John Wilbanks, a lawyer he greatly admired. He had also spoken on the phone with the district attorney, Miles Truitt, a lawyer he admired less. On Friday morning, the bailiff cracked the door to the judge’s chambers behind the courtroom and reported that a crowd was waiting.
Indeed it was. Friday just happened to be a scheduled docket day for routine appearances for criminal matters and motion hearings in civil suits. No jury trials were planned in Ford County for months, and normally such a dull lineup on a Friday would attract almost no spectators. Suddenly, though, there was curiosity, and admission was free. The curiosity wasn’t limited to the few courthouse regulars who whittled carvings and dipped snuff under the old oaks on the lawn while waiting for some action inside. The curiosity consumed Ford County, and by 9:00 a.m. the courtroom was filled with dozens of people wanting to get a glimpse of Pete Banning. There were reporters from several newspapers, one from as far away as Atlanta. There were a lot of Methodists, now committed anti-Banning folks who bunched together on one side behind the prosecutor’s table. Across the aisle were assorted friends of Pete and Dexter Bell, along with the courthouse regulars, as well as a lot of townsfolk who managed to sneak away from their jobs for the moment. Above them, in the balcony, sat a few Negroes, isolated by their color. Unlike most buildings in town, the courthouse allowed them to come and go through the front door, but once inside they were banished to the balcony. They too wanted a look at the defendant.
No members of the Bell or Banning family were present. The Bells were in mourning and preparing for a funeral the following day. The Bannings were staying as far away as possible.
Because they were officers of the court, the town’s lawyers were allowed to come and go beyond the bar and around the bench. All twelve were present, all wearing their best dark suits and feigning important legal business while the crowd looked on. The clerks, normally a languid if not lethargic group, were shuffling their useless paperwork with vigor.
Nix Gridley had two full-time deputies—Roy Lester and Red Arnett—and three part-timers, along with two volunteers. On this fine day the entire force of eight was present, all in proper, well-starched, and almost matching uniforms and presenting an impressive show of muscle. Nix himself seemed to be everywhere—laughing with the lawyers, flirting with the clerks, chatting with a few of the spectators. He was a year away from reelection and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to appear important in front of so many voters.
And so the show went on as the crowd grew and the clock ticked past nine. Judge Oswalt finally emerged from behind the bench in his flowing black robe and assumed his throne. Acting as if he hadn’t noticed the spectators, he looked at Nix and said, “Mr. Sheriff, bring in the prisoners.”
Nix was already at the door by the jury box. He opened it, disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with Pete Banning in handcuffs and wearing bulky gray overalls with the word “Jail” across the front. Behind Pete was Chuck Manley, an alleged car thief with the misfortune of being arrested a few days before Pete shot the preacher. Under normal circumstances, Chuck would have been hauled in from the jail, frog-marched in front of the judge, appointed a lawyer, and sent back to jail with hardly a soul knowing anything about it. Fate intervened, though, and Manley’s alleged crime would now be known to many.
Pete moved as if on parade, ramrod straight with an air of confidence and a nonchalant look. Nix led him to a chair in front of the empty jury box, and Manley sat beside him. Their handcuffs were not removed. The lawyers found their seats and for a moment all was quiet as His Honor studiously reviewed a few sheets of paper. Finally, he said, “The matter of State versus Chuck Manley.”
A lawyer named Nance jumped to his feet and motioned for his client to join him in front of the bench. Manley stepped over and looked up at the judge, who asked, “You are Chuck Manley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Mr. Nance here is your lawyer?”
“I guess. My momma hired him.”
“Do you want him to be your lawyer?”
“I guess. I’m not guilty, though; this is just a misunderstanding.”
Nance grabbed his elbow and told him to shut up.
“You were arrested last Monday and charged with stealing Mr. Earl Caldwell’s 1938 Buick out of his driveway over in Karraway. How do you plead?”
Manley said, “Not guilty, sir. I can explain.”
“Not today, son. Maybe later. Your bond is hereby set at $100. Can you pay this?”
“I doubt it.”
Nance, eager to say something in front of such a crowd, bellowed, “Your Honor, I suggest that this young man be released on his own recognizance. He has no criminal record, has a job, and will show up in court whenever he is supposed to.”
“That true, son, you have a job?”
“Yes, sir. I drive a truck for Mr. J. P. Leatherwood.”
“Is he in the courtroom?”
“Oh, I doubt it. He’s very busy.”
Nance jumped in with “Your Honor, I’ve spoken with Mr. Leatherwood and he is willing to sign a guarantee that my client will appear in court when directed. If you’d like to talk to Mr. Leatherwood, I can arrange this.”
“Very well. Take him back to jail and I’ll call his boss this afternoon.”
Manley was escorted out of the courtroom less than five minutes after entering it. His Honor signed his name a few times and reviewed some papers as everyone waited. Finally he said, “In the matter of State versus Pete Banning.”
John Wilbanks was on his feet and striding to the bench. Pete stood, grimaced slightly, then walked to a spot next to his lawyer. Judge Oswalt asked, “You are Pete Banning?”
He nodded. “I am.”
“And you are represented by the Honorable John Wilbanks?”
Another nod. “I am.”
“And you have been arrested and charged for the first-degree murder of the Reverend Dexter Bell. Do you understand this?
“And do you understand that first-degree murder is based on premeditation and can possibly carry the death penalty, whereas second-degree murder is punishable by a long prison sentence?”
“I understand this.”
“And how do you wish to plead?”
“Not guilty.”
“The court will accept your plea and enter it on the docket. Anything else, Mr. Wilbanks?”
The lawyer replied, “Well, yes, Your Honor, I respectfully request the court to consider setting a reasonable bond for my client. Now, I realize the gravity of this charge and do not take it lightly. But a bond is permissible in this case. A bond is nothing but a guarantee that the defendant will not flee, but rather will appear in court when he’s supposed to. Mr. Banning owns an entire section of land, 640 acres, free and clear, with no debts whatsoever, and he is willing to post the deed to his property as security for his bond. His sister owns the adjacent section and will do the same. I might add, Your Honor, that this land has been in the Banning family for over one hundred years and neither my client nor his sister will do anything to jeopardize it.”