Hey there, I’m Gary Port, and let me take you back to 1992, a wild time in New York City where crime was as common as pigeons in Central Park. I was an assistant District Attorney then, fresh from a stint as an army officer. Picture this: It’s midnight in night court, and the place is buzzing like a beehive on a hot summer day. The judge is as irritable as a bear with a sore paw, and the courtroom is packed with every character you can imagine.
So, in struts this guy, being arraigned for burglary. He’s got more keys on him than a janitor at the Empire State Building – 60 to be exact. As I’m flipping through his file, I notice this isn’t his first rodeo; he’s out on bail for not one, but two other burglaries. Thinking it’s time to put a stop to his one-man crime wave, I stand up and ask for $25,000 bail.
That’s when the legal aid attorney jumps up, all fire and brimstone, accusing me of being prejudiced against her client. She’s making a scene, saying I’m out to lock him up and throw away the key. I look at the judge, the courtroom, and then back at her and say, “Prejudiced? You bet I am. The guy’s a burglar, and last time I checked, that’s exactly where burglars belong – in jail! Beside, I’m not sure throwing away the key would help, he’d probably pick the lock!”
The courtroom goes silent for a moment, and then erupts into laughter like we’re at a comedy club. Even the judge cracks a smile, trying hard to keep his gavel in check. The burglar, standing there with a keychain that could rival a piano’s weight, just shakes his head, probably wishing he’d left a few keys at home.
And just like that, the tension in the room deflates like a balloon after a birthday party. The judge, still chuckling, agrees with my bail suggestion, and Mr. Keymaster is escorted out, jingling all the way back to his cell.
As the night rolls on, I can’t help but smile. Only in New York, I think to myself. In a city full of surprises, sometimes all you need is a little humor to make sense of the madness. That night, amidst the chaos of night court, we found a moment of unexpected laughter, and I realized that sometimes, the best way to fight the darkness is with a little light.
