My Brush With The Law

The tension and anxiety are over, only frustration and some anger remain. My second court appearance worked out almost as I had hoped. With several coaching sessions from public defender friend Risa I was able to get my “possession of knife” summons dismissed.

The Crime:

It’s the end of July, Friday evening, leaning against a column reading the New Yorker waiting for the 1 train to take me uptown. A sleazy looking shaven headed character sidles up to me with something cupped in his hand held at his side. He moves his hand close to me and I realize it is a small gold colored badge. “Why are you carrying a knife?” he asks.

There is a small pocket knife clipped to the inside of my back pocket. Apparently the clip, much like the clip on a pen, is visible. I explain that I occasionally use it at work, opening tape boxes and dvd packages. He asks me to give him the knife. At this point I am puzzled. I have carried a pocket knife of some sort since I was a child. I ask if he wants to keep the knife remembering a baggage inspector in the Delhi airport who was very interested in a bike tool I had with me. The baggage inspector let me proceed to the plane only after I suggested he keep the tool

Rather than accepting my offer he asks me to come over to a bench where another shaven headed man in three quarter length shorts and sweatshirt is standing. I am asked to produce identification and if I have ever been arrested. I tell them I haven’t been and the second man begins to radio my id info to the mother ship.

While this is happening the first man is attempting to open the knife by flicking the blade with a wrist action. This does nothing as the knife is a tiny simple model with a 2.25 inch blade. While I mention this and say that I was under the impression that knives with blades of less than four inches are legal, they start to fill out a summons. They have me sign a voucher and they keep the knife. The second man with the radio tells me all I have to do is appear in court on the date on the summons and probably pay $20 and I will get the knife back. They thank me and move off. By this time four trains have gone by. When I eventually reach the party I was heading to uptown, I have a great conversation starter and am surprised by how many other people have had similar demeaning and baffling encounters.

The Ticket:

The summons states that I am in violation of section 10133 sub section c and the description of the criminal offence is “possession of knife.”

After Googling the NY Administrative Code I become convinced that I have done nothing wrong. It says knives with blade length over four inches are not legal unless they are used for work. After speaking to several lawyers I am even more convinced that I have been misused by New York’s finest.

Arming myself with a copy of the Administrative Code, spec sheet from the knife company and a ruler, I head to court.

The Ordeal:

After the now usual airline style security there are the expected long lines and in about half an hour I show my summons to a man behind a little window and get a piece of yellow paper instructing me to go to court room #2. Here is another line but eventually we file into the court room. The place is staffed by large people stuffed into uniforms who seem to enjoy telling everyone what to do. Sit down, remove your hat, no gum chewing, no talking and no cell phones even if you are just reading your book on it.

It’s hard to tell what is happening from the audience section of the room. People are called up. There is a sign on the left side of a podium facing the elevated judge’s desk. The sign reads: Defendant Stand Here. A man stands on the right of the defendant and some whispering goes on followed by the man speaking to the judge who then responds, often with a “dismissed” which gives me courage.

It’s finally my turn and I realize the man on my right must be a court assigned lawyer. Without identifying himself he asks me what kind of work I do that involves the use of the knife. I can only assume my statement that I use it for work has somehow been translated to the lawyer with my paperwork.

The procedures here seem to be known by everyone except the defendant whose job is to figure out what is going on and what is expected.

I explain that I must open boxes of tape and DVDs occasionally in my job as video editor. The lawyer repeats this to the judge who says something I cannot hear. When asked to repeat it he says “$70.”

In shock I say I think that based on my reading of the Administrative code this case should be dismissed. The judge responds with “no, this is a good ticket, $70 unless you want a trial.”

I ask for a trial and am told to wait outside the courtroom.

After another wait my name is called and I am given a piece of paper with a court date explaining that if I don’t show up, a warrant will be issued for my arrest.

Part Two:

Eight weeks go by and I am back for a second try.

Here is the blow by blow:  This time I knew the value of arriving early and was sixth on line to enter Court room #2 in the SAP part at 346 Broadway. The courtroom opened at 9 am. We were let in, told to drop our paperwork into a basket, turn off cell phones, remove hats and be seated. During the half hour wait for the judge to appear another court officer requests those of us returning for a second date hand in paperwork. A man sitting next to me pointed out that he had left his paperwork in the basket up front as previously instructed.

The court officer who had made the request responds by saying “oh that must have been what I threw into the garbage”. She retrieves the forms from the wastepaper basket and returns them to the appropriate bin. My seat mate and I exchange glances and disparaging comments about whose hands our fate is in.

Judge Ross eventually appears and court is in session. He is the same judge who presided over my first appearance. This time around the process makes a bit more sense.

The defendant stands facing the judge and a court appointed lawyer stands next to you.

This lawyer does not indicate who they are or that they are there to represent you.

About two hours pass and a lawyer calls my name and asks me to join him outside the courtroom. He has my paper work and I explain what happened. He expresses only doubts about the outcome of the case, but when I explain that I have read the Administrative Code he perks up, and when I say I have a copy he is really attentive and asks to see it. He thinks he can ask for an ACD based on my using the knife for work. Adjournment in Contemplation of Dismissal allows the case to be dismissed in 6 months if you don’t get in any more trouble during that time. It’s a bit more face saving for the court than an outright dismissal.

It’s finally my turn up at the bench. Now there is a new judge, Mr. Delury. My lawyer, Mr. Sandamin, uses my words introducing me as a 61 year old semi retired guy who uses his 2.25 inch knife for work. He attempts to hand the judge the spec sheet indicating the size of the blade. The judge, who is in a jovial mood, asks me what I do. When told I am a video editor he says “Oh you take out all the good parts”.  My response is “as often as I can” which gets a laugh.

At this point he asks the policeman, who is now in uniform and standing next to the lawyer, if I was polite. He responds that I was and the judge agrees to the ACD. I am thrilled, so thrilled in fact that I thank them both and leave.

As I am leaving I realize that I have forgotten the knife. I head back up to the bench and a new case is already underway. I get the attention of a court officer, the same one who threw everything away earlier. She explains that the only way you can get your property back is if your case has been dismissed. When I mention the ACD she asks me to wait and shoves my paper work back in front of the court clerk. The situation is explained to the judge and he says fine, dismissed. OK, yay now it’s dismissed. Wait outside again I am told. I will have to pay $10, in cash to get a document indicating the dismissal, which I can take to 1 Police Plaza to reclaim my knife.

Now I am really ecstatic. Another wait and names are called. I join a line of eight people who are led by another uniformed court officer across the building to a clerk behind a barred window. I pay my $10 and get a form with a seal and signature and I am on my way to Police Plaza to be reunited with my knife.

Once again there is security. Xray machine, metal detector, the works. I punch my name into a computer kiosk and have a photo taken. A printed receipt pops out and I am directed into the lobby. Here I am pointed to a gate where I exchange my receipt for a sticker imprinted with my photo and the floor of the property clerk.

With the sticker on my chest I practically run down the stairs to a room with several clerks behind a wire cage.

The clerk tells me the knife is probably not here and if it is I cannot take it out of the building because you can’t have a knife in Police Headquarters. I suggest that it can be mailed to me. The man behind the cage laughs and says maybe someone can escort me out.

In a few minutes he returns to tell me that yes it is in fact here but he has to talk to someone else to see if he can give it to me because the officer has indicated it is arrest evidence. Evidence cannot be released. I explain that I wasn’t arrested and the summons was dismissed. He leaves to talk with a supervisor.

When he finally returns he explains I cannot have the knife because it is a dangerous weapon and it is NYPD policy that dangerous weapons are not returned. I again point out that the summons was dismissed because I use this 2.25 inch dangerous weapon for work. The best he can offer, after I ask who is going to pay for the knife, is a claim form that he hands me suggesting I get a lawyer to fill out and send to the comptroller’s office.

Game over.