Jim Crow Law Essay

Jim Crow Law Essay Free Online Research Papers Discrimination and prejudice were very common acts during the time that To Kill A Mockingbird took place. Prejudice in this book is displayed by the acts of hate and misunderstanding because of someones color. For example when Tom Robinson was on trial for rape that everyone knew he didn’t commit, but because of the color they still want to put him in jail. During this time in the southern states, black people had to use separate bathrooms, drinking fountains, sections in restaurants, churches, sit in separate places, and even go to separate schools. An example in this book that shows that they sat in different places was in the court room the colored sections had to sit up in the balconies. Even though a lot of the discrimination was towards blacks, there was also discrimination towards families that did not have money, such as the Ewell family. One of the Jim Crow laws stated that a black male could not shake hands with a white male because that would show that the two races are socially equal. Also if a black male offered a hand or any other part of his body to a white woman, he would be accused of rape. This law is similar to Tom Robinson’s rape case. Tom Robinson is being accused of rape because when he was called in the Ewells’ house by Mayella to break a bureau for her, but as he was doing that she grabbed his leg, wrapped her arm around his waist, and then kissed him. As the only witness was Mayella’s father Bob Tom Robinson had no chance of winning because even though the jury knew he was innocent in their heart they would have to show him guilty because they had to give the public what they wanted. Another Jim Crow law states that black people cannot sit near each other, because it would show that they are socially equal, which is not true. One place that this law comes up is when the colored people had to sit in the balcony during when the trail was going on. Blacks and Whites were always separated everywhere. For example, on the bus blacks at in the back and whites in the front and when a black person is riding in a car with a white person, the colored person has to sit in the back of the car to show that they are not socially equal. The Jim Crow laws did not only apply to black people but to any family that was very poor, such as the Ewell family. When the Ewell family was first introduces in the book, everyone was judging them because their mother died, the father was a drunk, the family was full of young children, they were dirty and poor, and their social statues was like a hair above all colored people. In To Kill A Mockingbird, we see a black man put on trial for a crime he clearly did not commit. The jury was so afraid of what everyone else would have thought if they made Tom Robinson innocent so, they chose the verdict that the public wanted, even though that was not what they felt in their hearts. Research Papers on Jim Crow Law EssayRacism and InjusticeEmmett Till BiographyThe Colour PurpleThe Obama Presidency EssayBooker T. Washington, W.E.B. Du Bois, Ida B. Wells-BarnettLegalization of Same Sex MarriagesEssay on â€Å"I have a Dream† Dr KingThe Legal ProcessThe Broken FamilyHistory of Rap Music Essay

Sample Example Paragraph - Junk Food Junkie

Sample Example Paragraph - Junk Food Junkie One way to make our writing more vivid and interesting is to add examples that support a main point. The following student  paragraph is clearly organized and effectively developed with specific examples. The one thing the paragraph lacks is a satisfactory concluding sentence. Respond to the questions that follow Junk Food Junkie, and see if you can come up with a good ending for the paragraph. Junk Food Junkie I confess: I am the worst junk food junkie in this great gluttonous galaxy of sugar, salt, and fat. You can keep your lentils, granola, and prunes. I want calories and carbohydrates, burgers and fries. Within minutes after waking up grouchy and puffy eyed in the morning, I stumble to the kitchen and pour myself a tall glass of ice cold Pepsi. Ahh! My tongue tingles and my eyes pop open. I then have the energy to eat. I rummage through the refrigerator, push aside the yogurt and apples, and there it is: a slice of congealed pepperoni pizza. Thats enough to get me off to school and through my first class. Of course, I then head to the store on my first break for a Snickers bar and a Diet Mountain Dew. The lite soft drink, you see, compensates for the calories in the candy. An hour or two later, for lunch, I gobble down a row of Golden Double Stuf Oreos and a peanut butter sandwich, all sloshed down with a pint of chocolate milk. Later in the afternoon I stop at Five Guys to devour a do uble bacon cheeseburger and a monster order of sodium-loaded fries. Finally, before going to bed, I knock off a bag of Philly Cheese Steak Rippled Potato Chipsdripping with onion dip. Study Questions The writer uses chronological order to organize her examples. List the time transitions that you find in the paragraph.  (See  Cohesion Strategies: Transitional Words and Phrases.)Identify the short sentences used by the writer to guide us from the Pepsi example to the pizza example.What sentence does the writer use to guide us from the pizza example to the next example?Create a sentence that you think would conclude this sentence effectively. For sample responses to these study questions, go to page two. Here are sample responses to the study questions that accompany the student paragraph developed with examplesJunk Food Junkieon page one. (1) The time transitions in this paragraph include Within minutes after waking, then, An hour or two later, Later, and Finally.(2) and (3) These sentences should be easy to spot:- Ahh! My tongue tingles and my eyes pop open. I then have the energy to eat.- Thats enough to get me off to school and through my first class.Note that complete sentencesas well as individual words and phrasescan be used to make smooth transitions in a paragraph.(4) Various answers are possible. Heres the concluding sentence that appeared in the students original paragraph: Only then do I drift off to sleep, counting onion rings in the deep fry and hot dogs on the grill. See also: Sample Example Paragraph: Confessions of a Slob.

International marketing Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1000 words - 5

International marketing - Essay Example companies, in particular, are increasingly going global to ease competition pressure in the domestic market and to explore new market opportunities for growth. Pig meat is one of the agricultural products that are produced in large quantities in the U.K. Statistics show that the production of pig meat has been increasing every year in the country. Unfortunately, the production appears to outweigh the demand available considering that a section of the U.K. citizens does not eat pork because of cultural issues. Accordingly, the low demand for pig meat has been affecting most farmers negatively because it results in losses for farmers as they are forced to lower their prices because of the low demand. In March 2015, the U.K pig meat production totaled 69,300 tons, accounting for about 5% increase compared to the same March 2014 (Pig World 2015). The high production of pig meat experienced in recent months has resulted in a huge drop in prices. Therefore, the best way to save the U.K. pig farmers is perhaps to look for new market opportunities in the global market where the demand for pig meat is high. China will be the right target market for the U.K. surplus pig meat. This is because of the high demand for pork in China. Studies show that China is the worlds leading consumer of pork, which accounts for more than three-quarter of the meat consumed in the country. Currently, each Chinese consume an average of 84 pounds of pork every year (Hoffman 2014). The high consumption of pork is attributed to the fact that pork is the meat of choice among Chinese people. In fact, pork consumption in China is projected to reach more than 70 million tons by 2017(Larsen 2012). Accordingly, this makes China a lucrative market for expansion for U.K. pig farmers. Considering that China is also the most populous county in the world with more than 1.3 billion people, who eat pork, this is certainly a lucrative pork market that must be exploited by the U.K. pig meat producers who

Three-river-source ecological environment protection strategy Essay

Three-river-source ecological environment protection strategy - Essay Example To achieve ecological and environmental protection in this region, an innovative environmental protection strategy is required. New developments in environmental policy, coupled with a new global awareness are sure to help the environmental cause. The establishment of a permanent ecological conservation zone will serve as a model for the region. The establishment of the Three-River source region’s ecological protection foundation is crucial, and so is building a long-term ecological environment compensation policy. The compensation policy serves for relocating people, who depend on the region, to towns and cities, in order to restore its rivers’ ecological environment. The establishment of an ecological conservation zone has become an important protection activity in natural areas around the world. The establishment of an ecological conservation zone is not only beneficial for conserving the flora and fauna, but it also generates economic benefits for communities living in rural and remote areas. Generally speaking, conservation strives to practice the sensible use of natural resources and maintains the biological diversity. It limits the adverse effects of human activities by establishing an ecological conservation zone. It serves to restore timber, improve water quality and provide an area to graze livestock. Conservation practice concerns all kinds of disciplines. It is relevant for subjects- such as philosophy, economics, and sociology - that are concerned with the social environment.

Exploring How State of Matter Affects the Rate of Diffusion Essay Example for Free

Exploring How State of Matter Affects the Rate of Diffusion Essay Introduction Diffusion is the random process by which particles distribute themselves within a container or medium. There are two factors that distinguish how substances move passively through membranes. The first factor is hydrophobic , a nonpolar molecule that can dissolve in a lipid bilayer and freely move through the membrane. However a hydrophillic molecule consisting of ions and polar molecules inhibit in their movement through the membrane making it a slower diffusion process. Selectively permeable, moreover, are charged atoms and molecules that are mostly blocked from traveling through the membrane due to the hydrophobic center. The purpose of this experiment was to test how the state of matter affects the rate of diffusion in a semi-solid vs. a liquid state. If the Potassium Permanganate crystals are placed in Petri dishes filled with water and 2% agar, then the crystals will diffuse at a faster rate in water than in the agar. The addition of the Potassium Permanganate crystals to the water and agar, there will be a result of more diffusion and more obvious color change in water compared to agar which will result in a slower less obvious diffusion. Materials The materials needed for this experiment are: One Petri dish with 2% agar and one Petri dish of water filled half way up to test the rate of diffusion. Also, two small crystals of potassium permanganate and one pair of forceps will be needed to place in the Petri dishes. One metric ruler will be need as well to measure the change of color in diameter and one 8 x 11 piece of white paper will also be used for safety precautions. Methods First, a member of the group will gather all the materials including the Petri dishes filled with tap water and 2% agar, forceps, ruler, 8X11 piece of white paper and the jar that contains the potassium permanganate crystals, and bring the materials back to the designated area. Then the experimenter will start to conduct the experiment. Then the experiment will consist of placing the empty Petri dish and the agar Petri dish on top of the white paper side by side. Second, Tap water will be added to a half way point in the empty Petri dish until it is approximately the same level as agar in the other Petri dish. Before continuing, wait for the water to stop moving to get an accurate measure of the diffusion. After that, have lab partner assist with placing potassium permanganate crystals into the agar Petri dish, while at the same time, the primary experimenter places the other two potassium permanganate crystals into the tap water. Be sure not to splash water in the aqueous dish. The moment that each crystal has been lowered is Time Zero. A purple color will be obvious immediately. Next have the experiment observe the diffusion rate for every 3 minutes for the next 15 minutes. For every 3 minutes, measure the diameter of the diffusion circle in millimeters (mm) and write down the measurement on the chart given. Be careful not to disturb the aqueous Petri dish. Discussion The results show that there a major difference in the rate of diffusion between 2% agar and tap water. Immediately, when the potassium permanganate crystals were dropped at 0, there was already an instant diffusion of 2 mm, compared to agar which was 1mm. Because water is a polar molecule, diffusion across membranes travel quicker compared to a nonpolar substance like agar that diffuse though the lipid part of a membrane. At the first 3 minute mark, it shows that the crystals have diffused relatively fast at 15 mm, compared to the diameter in agar which has slowly diffused to 5 mm. for the next 12 minutes, results have show that the diameter in water has increase about 8 10 mm every 3 minutes and agar has stayed the same throughout. Due to passive transport, the movement of molecules from the potassium permanganate have a higher concentration, and are then added to water which diffuses from that high concentration to a lower concentration. This was the expected result. Since water is polar, the crystals can easily diffuse through the gradient. Furthermore, with agar being a nonpolar molecule, it maintained a state of dynamic equilibrium because it diffused slower but was diffused evenly. However since other factors do play a role in the rate of diffusion, maybe temperature could have changed the rate of diffusion for the two Petri dishes. Also had the allotted time been different there may have also been a change in the results. There were no negative results or errors made during this experiment. Based on the results it can be concluded that dropping potassium permanganate crystals into water, diffuses across the gradient faster compared to 2% agar. This does support the initial hypothesis and the predictions were accurate.

Essay on Camus’ The Stranger (The Outsider): Conformity

Conformity in Camus' The Stranger (The Outsider) Camus' novel The Stranger presents the character of Meursault who, after killing an Arab, is sentenced to death. This conflict portrays the stark contrast between the morals of society and Meursault's evident lack of them; he is condemned to death, less for the Arab's murder, than for refusing to conform to society's standards. Meursault is an anomaly in society; he cannot relate directly to others because he does not live as they do. Meursault is simplistic, even detached; he speaks of his mother's death without regret for her loss, merely stating: "Maman died today." He goes on to mention that perhaps it was yesterday - he is not sure which. He cannot abide by the same moral confines as the rest of the world because he does not grasp them; he is largely indifferent to events occurring around him. Meursault's entire being is sensuous, yet unemotional. He derives a certain level of pleasure from eating and drinking, smoking cigarettes, sitting on his balcony to watch passersby. He likes to wash his hands, especially at work in the morning, when the roller towel is dry. He likes sex. When Marie leaves, he lies in bed and tries to get the salty smell of her hair from the pillow. Yet all these things are tactile; Meursault derives physical satisfaction from them, but there is no emotion attached. This is in direct contrast to society, whose strict guidelines focusing on right and wrong depend on the individual's sense of these concepts. Meursault is perfectly capable of analyzing the situation, but not of responding to it as society wishes him to. Life or death, and anything in between, makes no difference to him. The nurse at his mother's funeral had warned him that if h... ...re is no inherent meaning in life - its entire value lies in living itself. Meursault feels he has been happy, and longs to live. When he must die, he wants a crowd to greet him "with cries of hate"; they are screaming because they want life and the world to have meaning; they need this because that is what their entire existence is built upon. As the magistrate asked of Meursault, "Do you want my life to be meaningless?" Meursault understands how estranged the individual truly is from society. Until the conclusion, he was a stranger to himself as well as to the rest of the world. In the end, he opens himself "to the gentle indifference of the world," and "finding it so much like myself, - like a brother really," feels he has been happy, and is again. Society finds this unacceptable, and by refusing to conform to its face-value standards, Meursault must die.

Bag of Bones CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The ringing of the phone or, more accurately, the way I received the ringing of the phone was as familiar as the creaks of my chair or the hum of the old IBM Selectric. It seemed to come from far away at first, then to approach like a whistling train coming down on a crossing. There was no extension in my office or Jo's; the upstairs phone, an old-fashioned rotary-dial, was on a table in the hall between them in what Jo used to call ‘no-man's-land.' The temperature out there must have been at least ninety degrees, but the air still felt cool on my skin after the office. I was so oiled with sweat that I looked like a slightly pot-bellied version of the muscle-boys I sometimes saw when I was working out. ‘Hello?' ‘Mike? Did I wake you? Were you sleeping?' It was Mattie, but a different one from last night. This one wasn't afraid or even tentative; this one sounded so happy she was almost bubbling over. It was almost certainly the Mattie who had attracted Lance Devore. ‘Not sleeping,' I said. ‘Writing a little.' ‘Get out! I thought you were retired.' ‘I thought so, too,' I said, ‘but maybe I was a little hasty. What's going on? You sound over the moon.' ‘I just got off the phone with John Storrow ‘ Really? How long had I been on the second floor, anyway? I looked at my wrist and saw nothing but a pale circle. It was half-past freckles and skin o'clock, as we used to say when we were kids; my watch was downstairs in the north bedroom, probably lying in a puddle of water from my overturned night-glass. ‘ his age, and that he can subpoena the other son!' ‘Whoa,' I said. ‘You lost me. Go back and slow down.' She did. Telling the hard news didn't take long (it rarely does): Storrow was coming up tomorrow. He would land at County Airport and stay at the Lookout Rock Hotel in Castle View. The two of them would spend most of Friday discussing the case. ‘Oh, and he found a lawyer for you,' she said. ‘To go with you to your deposition. I think he's from Lewiston.' It all sounded good, but what mattered a lot more than the bare facts was that Mattie had recovered her will to fight. Until this morning (if it was still morning; the light coming in the window above the broken air conditioner suggested that if it was, it wouldn't be much longer) I hadn't realized how gloomy the young woman in the red sundress and tidy white sneakers had been. How far down the road to believing she would lose her child. ‘This is great. I'm so glad, Mattie.' ‘And you did it. If you were here, I'd give you the biggest kiss you ever had.' ‘He told you you could win, didn't he?' ‘Yes.' ‘And you believe him.' ‘Yes!' Then her voice dropped a little. ‘He wasn't exactly thrilled when I told him I'd had you over to dinner last night, though.' ‘No,' I said. ‘I didn't think he would be.' ‘I told him we ate in the yard and he said we only had to be inside together for sixty seconds to start the gossip.' ‘I'd say he's got an insultingly low opinion of Yankee lovin,' I said, ‘but of course he's from New York.' She laughed harder than my little joke warranted, I thought. Out of semi-hysterical relief that she now had a couple of protectors? Because the whole subject of sex was a tender one for her just now? Best not to speculate. ‘He didn't paddle me too hard about it, but he made it clear that he would if we did it again. When this is over, though, I'm having you for a real meal. We'll have everything you like, just the way you like it.' Everything you like, just the way you like it. And she was, by God and Sonny Jesus, completely unaware that what she was saying might have another meaning I would have bet on it. I closed my eyes for a moment, smiling. Why not smile? Everything she was saying sounded absolutely great, especially once you cleared the confines of Michael Noonan's dirty mind. It sounded like we might have the expected fairy-tale ending, if we could keep our courage and hold our course. And if I could restrain myself from making a pass at a girl young enough to be my daughter . . . outside of my dreams, that was. If I couldn't, I probably deserved whatever I got. But Kyra wouldn't. She was the hood ornament in all this, doomed to go wherever the car took her. If I got any of the wrong ideas, I'd do well to remember that. ‘If the judge sends Devore home empty-handed, I'll take you out to Renoir Nights in Portland and buy you nine courses of French chow,' I said. ‘Storrow, too. I'll even spring for the legal beagle I'm dating on Friday. So who's better than me, huh?' ‘No one I know,' she said, sounding serious. ‘I'll pay you back for this, Mike. I'm down now, but I won't always be down. If it takes me the rest of my life, I'll pay you back.' ‘Mattie, you don't have to ‘ ‘I do,' she said with quiet vehemence. ‘I do. And I have to do something else today, too.' ‘What's that?' I loved hearing her sound the way she did this morning so happy and free, like a prisoner who has just been pardoned and let out of jail but already I was looking longingly at the door to my office. I couldn't do much more today, I'd end up baked like an apple if I tried, but I wanted another page or two, at least. Do what you want, both women had said in my dreams. Do what you want. ‘I have to buy Kyra the big teddybear they have at the Castle Rock Wal-Mart,' she said. ‘I'll tell her it's for being a good girl because I can't tell her it's for walking in the middle of the road when you were coming the other way.' ‘Just not a black one,' I said. The words were out of my mouth before I knew they were even in my head. ‘Huh?' Sounding startled and doubtful. ‘I said bring me back one,' I said, the words once again out and down the wire before I even knew they were there. ‘Maybe I will,' she said, sounding amused. Then her tone grew serious again. ‘And if I said anything last night that made you unhappy, even for a minute, I'm sorry. I never for the world ‘ ‘Don't worry,' I said. ‘I'm not unhappy. A little confused, that's all. In fact I'd pretty much forgotten about Jo's mystery date.' A lie, but in what seemed to me to be a good cause. ‘That's probably for the best. I won't keep you go on back to work. It's what you want to do, isn't it?' I was startled. ‘What makes you say that?' ‘I don't know, I just . . . ‘ She stopped. And I suddenly knew two things: What she had been about to say, and that she wouldn't say it. I dreamed about you last night. I dreamed about us together. were going to make love and one of us said ‘Do what you want.' Or maybe, I don't know, maybe we both said it. Perhaps sometimes ghosts were alive minds and desires divorced from their bodies, unlocked impulses floating unseen. Ghosts from the id, spooks from low places. ‘Mattie? Still there?' ‘Sure, you bet. Do you want me to stay in touch? Or will you hear all you need from John Storrow?' ‘If you don't stay in touch, I'll be pissed at you. Royally.' She laughed. ‘I will, then. But not when you're working. Goodbye, Mike. And thanks again. So much.' I told her goodbye, then stood there for a moment looking at the old fashioned Bakelite phone handset after she had hung up. She'd call and keep me updated, but not when I was working. How would she know when that was? She just would. As I'd known last night that she was lying when she said Jo and the man with the elbow patches on the sleeves of his sportcoat had walked off toward the parking lot. Mattie had been wearing a pair of white shorts and a halter top when she called me, no dress or skirt required today because it was Wednesday and the library was closed on Wednesday. You don't know any of that. You're just making it up. But I wasn't. If I'd been making it up, I probably would have put her in something a little more suggestive a Merry Widow from Victoria's Secret, perhaps. That thought called up another. Do what you want, they had said. Both of them. Do what you want. And that was a line I knew. While on Key Largo I'd read an Atlantic Monthly essay on pornography by some feminist. I wasn't sure which one, only that it hadn't been Naomi Wolf or Camille Paglia. This woman had been of the conservative stripe, and she had used that phrase. Sally Tisdale, maybe? Or was my mind just hearing echo-distortions of Sara Tidwell? Whoever it had been, she'd claimed that ‘do what I want' was the basis of erotica which appealed to women and ‘do what you want' was the basis of pornography which appealed to men. Women imagine speaking the former line in sexual situations; men imagine having the latter line spoken to them. And, the writer went on, when real-world sex goes bad sometimes turning violent, sometimes shaming, sometimes just unsuccessful from the female partner's point of view porn is often the unindicted co-conspirator. The man is apt to round on the woman angrily and cry, ‘You wanted me to! Quit lying and admit it! You wanted me to!' The writer claimed it was what every man hoped to hear in the bedroom: Do what you want. Bite me, sodomize me, lick between my toes, drink wine out of my navel, give me a hairbrush and raise your ass for me to paddle, it doesn't matter. Do what you want. The door is closed and we are here, but really only you are here, I am just a willing extension of your fantasies and only you are here. I have no wants of my own, no needs of my own, no taboos. Do what you want to this shadow, this fantasy, this ghost. I'd thought the essayist at least fifty per cent full of shit; the assumption that a man can find real sexual pleasure only by turning a woman into a kind of jackoff accessory says more about the observer than the participants. This lady had had a lot of jargon and a fair amount of wit, but underneath she was only saying what Somerset Maugham, Jo's old favorite, had had Sadie Thompson say in ‘Rain,' a story written eighty years before: men are pigs, filthy, dirty pigs, all of them. But we are not pigs, as a rule, not beasts, or at least not unless we are pushed to the final extremity. And if we are pushed to it, the issue is rarely sex; it's usually territory. I've heard feminists argue that to men sex and territory are interchangeable, and that is very far from the truth. I padded back to the office, opened the door, and behind me the telephone rang again. And here was another familiar sensation, back for a return visit after four years: that anger at the telephone, the urge to simply rip it out of the wall and fire it across the room. Why did the whole world have to call while I was writing? Why couldn't they just . . . well. . let me do what I wanted? I gave a doubtful laugh and returned to the phone, seeing the wet handprint on it from my last call. ‘Hello?' ‘I said to stay visible while you were with her.' ‘Good morning to you, too, Lawyer Storrow.' ‘You must be in another time-zone up there, chum. I've got one-fifteen down here in New York.' ‘I had dinner with her,' I said. ‘Outside. It's true that I read the little kid a story and helped put her to bed, but ‘ ‘I imagine half the town thinks you're bopping each other's brains out by now, and the other half will think it if I have to show up for her in court.' But he didn't sound really angry; I thought he sounded as though he was having a happy-face day. ‘Can they make you tell who's paying for your services?' I asked. ‘At the custody hearing, I mean?' ‘Nope.' ‘At my deposition on Friday?' ‘Christ, no. Durgin would lose all credibility as guardian ad litem if he went in that direction. Also, they have reasons to steer clear of the sex angle. Their focus is on Mattie as neglectful and perhaps abusive. Proving that Mom isn't a nun quit working around the time Kramer vs. Kramer came out in the movie theaters. Nor is that the only problem they have with the issue.' He now sounded positively gleeful. ‘Tell me.' ‘Max Devore is eighty-five and divorced. Twice divorced, in point of fact. Before awarding custody to a single man of his age, secondary custody has to be taken into consideration. It is, in fact, the single most important issue, other than the allegations of abuse and neglect levelled at the mother.' ‘What are those allegations? Do you know?' ‘No. Mattie doesn't either, because they're fabrications. She's a sweetie, by the way ‘ ‘Yeah, she is.' ‘ and I think she's going to make a great witness. I can't wait to meet her in person. Meantime, don't sidetrack me. We're talking about secondary custody, right?' ‘Right.' ‘Devore has a daughter who has been declared mentally incompetent and lives in an institution somewhere in California Modesto, I think. Not a good bet for custody.' ‘It wouldn't seem so.' ‘The son, Roger, is . . . ‘ I heard a faint fluttering of notebook pages. ‘ . . . fifty-four. So he's not exactly a spring chicken, either. Still, there are lots of guys who become daddies at that age nowadays; it's a brave new world. But Roger is a homosexual.' I thought of Bill Dean saying, Rump-wrangler. Understand there's a lot of that going around out them in California. ‘I thought you said sex doesn't matter.' ‘Maybe I should have said hetero sex doesn't matter. In certain states California is one of them homo sex doesn't matter, either . . . or not as much. But this case isn't going to be adjudicated in California. It's going to be adjudicated in Maine, where folks are less enlightened about how well two married men married to each other, I mean can raise a little girl.' ‘Roger Devore is married?' Okay. I admit it. I now felt a certain horrified glee myself. I was ashamed of it Roger Devore was just a guy living his life, and he might not have had much or anything to do with his elderly dad's current enterprise but I felt it just the same. ‘He and a software designer named Morris Ridding tied the knot in 1996,' John said. ‘I found that on the first computer sweep. And if this does wind up in court, I intend to make as much of it as I possibly can. I don't know how much that will be at this point it's impossible to predict but if I get a chance to paint a picture of that bright-eyed, cheerful little girl growing up with two elderly gays who probably spend most of their lives in computer chat-rooms speculating about what Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock might have done after the lights were out in officers' country . . . well, if I get that chance, I'll take it.' ‘It seems a little mean,' I said. I heard myself speaking in the tone of a man who wants to be dissuaded, perhaps even laughed at, but that didn't happen. ‘Of course it's mean. It feels like swerving up onto the sidewalk to knock over a couple of innocent bystanders. Roger Devore and Morris Ridding don't deal drugs, traffic in little boys, or rob old ladies. But this is custody, and custody does an even better job than divorce of turning human beings into insects. This one isn't as bad as it could be, but it's bad enough because it's so naked. Max Devore came up there to his old hometown for one reason and one reason only: to buy a kid. That makes me mad.' I grinned, imagining a lawyer who looked like Elmer Fudd standing outside of a rabbit-hole marked DEVORE with a shotgun. ‘My message to Devore is going to be very simple: the price of the kid just went up. Probably to a figure higher than even he can afford.' ‘If it goes to court you've said that a couple of times now. Do you think there's a chance Devore might just drop it and go away?' ‘A pretty good one, yeah. I'd say an excellent one if he wasn't old and used to getting his own way. There's also the question of whether or not he's still sharp enough to know where his best interest lies. I'll try for a meeting with him and his lawyer while I'm up there, but so far I haven't managed to get past his secretary.' ‘Rogette Whitmore?' ‘No, I think she's a step further up the ladder. I haven't talked to her yet, either. But I will.' ‘Try either Richard Osgood or George Footman,' I said. ‘Either of them may be able to put you in touch with Devore or Devore's chief counsel.' ‘I'll want to talk to the Whitmore woman in any case. Men like Devore tend to grow more and more dependent on their close advisors as they grow older, and she could be a key to getting him to let this go. She could also be a headache for us. She might urge him to fight, possibly because she really thinks he can win and possibly because she wants to watch the fur fly. Also, she might marry him.' ‘Marry him?' ‘Why not? He could have her sign a pre-nup I could no more' introduce that in court than his lawyers could go fishing for who hired Mattie's lawyer and it would strengthen his chances.' ‘John, I've seen the woman. She's got to be seventy herself.' ‘But she's a potential female player in a custody case involving a little girl, and she's a layer between old man Devore and the married gay couple. We just need to keep it in mind.' ‘Okay.' I looked at the office door again, but not so longingly. There comes a point when you're done for the day whether you want to be or not, and I thought I had reached that point. Perhaps in the evening . . . ‘The lawyer I got for you is named Romeo Bissonette.' He paused. ‘Can that be a real name?' ‘Is he from Lewiston?' ‘Yes, how did you know?' ‘Because in Maine, especially around Lewiston, that can be a real name. Am I supposed to go see him?' I didn't want to go see him. It was fifty miles to Lewiston over two-lane roads which would now be crawling with campers and Winnebagos. What I wanted was to go swimming and then take a long nap. A long dreamless nap. ‘You don't need to. Call him and talk to him a little. He's only a safety net, really he'll object if the questioning leaves the incident on the morning of July Fourth. About that incident you tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Got it?' ‘Yes.' ‘Talk to him before, then meet him on Friday at . . . wait . . . it's right here . . . ‘ The notebook pages fluttered again. ‘Meet him at the Route 120 Diner at nine-fifteen. Coffee. Talk a little, get to know each other, maybe flip for the check. I'll be with Mattie, getting as much as I can. We may want to hire a private dick.' ‘I love it when you talk dirty.' ‘Uh-huh. I'm going to see that bills go to your guy Goldacre. He'll send them to your agent, and your agent can ‘ ‘No,' I said. ‘Instruct Goldacre to send them directly here. Harold's a Jewish mother. How much is this going to cost me?' ‘Seventy-five thousand dollars, minimum,' he said with no hesitation at all. With no apology in his voice, either. ‘Don't tell Mattie.' ‘All right. Are you having any fun yet, Mike?' ‘You know, I sort of am,' I said thoughtfully. ‘For seventy-five grand, you should.' We said our goodbyes and John hung up. As I put my own phone back into its cradle, it occurred to me that I had lived more in the last five days than I had in the last four years. This time the phone didn't ring and I made it all the way back into the office, but I knew I was definitely done for the day. I sat down at the IBM, hit the RETURN key a couple of times, and was beginning to write myself a next-note at the bottom of the page I'd been working on when the phone interrupted me. What a sour little doodad the telephone is, and what little good news we get from it! Today had been an exception, though, and I thought I could sign off with a grin. I was working, after all working. Part of me still marvelled that I was sitting here at all, breathing easily, my heart beating steadily in my chest, and not even a glimmer of an anxiety attack on my personal event horizon. I wrote: [NEXT: Drake to Raiford. Stops on the way at vegetable stand to talk to the guy who runs it, old source, needs a good & colorful name. Straw hat. Disneyworld tee-shirt. They talk about Shackleford.] I turned the roller until the IBM spat this page out, stuck it on top of the manuscript, and jotted a final note to myself: ‘Call Ted Rosencrief about Raiford.' Rosencrief was a retired Navy man who lived in Derry. I had employed him as a research assistant on several books, using him on one project to find out how paper was made, what the migratory habits of certain common birds were for another, a little bit about the architecture of pyramid burial rooms for a third. And it's always ‘a little bit' I want, never ‘the whole damn thing.' As a writer, my motto has always been don't confuse me with the facts. The Arthur Hailey type of fiction is beyond me I can't read it, let alone write it. I want to know just enough so I can lie colorfully. Rosie knew that, and we had always worked well together. This time I needed to know a little bit about Florida's Raiford Prison, and what the deathhouse down there is really like. I also needed a little bit on the psychology of serial killers. I thought Rosie would probably be glad to hear from me . . . almost as glad as I was to finally have something to call him about. I picked up the eight double-spaced pages I had written and fanned through them, still amazed at their existence. Had an old IBM typewriter and a Courier type-ball been the secret all along? That was certainly how it seemed. What had come out was also amazing. I'd had ideas during my four-year sabbatical; there had been no writer's block in that regard. One had been really great, the sort of thing which certainly would have become a novel if I'd still been able to write novels. Half a dozen to a dozen were of the sort I'd classify ‘pretty good,' meaning they'd do in a pinch . . . or if they happened to unexpectedly grow tall and mysterious overnight, like Jack's beanstalk. Sometimes they do. Most were glimmers, little ‘what-ifs' that came and went like shooting stars while I was driving or walking or just lying in bed at night and waiting to go to sleep. The Red-Shirt Man was a what-if. One day I saw a man in a bright red shirt washing the show windows of the JC Penney store in Derry this was not long before Penney's moved out to the mall. A young man and woman walked under his ladder . . . very bad luck, according to the old superstition. These two didn't know where they were walking, though they were holding hands, drinking deeply of each other's eyes, as completely in love as any two twenty-year-olds in the history of the world. The man was tall, and as I watched, the top of his head came within an ace of clipping the window-washer's feet. If that had happened, the whole works might have gone over. The entire incident was history in five seconds. Writing The Red-Shirt Man took five months. Except in truth, the entire book was done in a what-if second. I imagined a collision instead of a near-miss. Everything else followed from there. The writing was just secretarial. The idea I was currently working on wasn't one of Mike's Really Great Ideas (Jo's voice carefully made the capitals), but it wasn't a what-if, either. Nor was it much like my old gothic suspense yarns; V. C. Andrews with a prick was nowhere in sight this time. But it felt solid, like the real thing, and this morning it had come out as naturally as a breath. Andy Drake was a private investigator in Key Largo. He was forty years old, divorced, the father of a three-year-old girl. At the open he was in the Key West home of a woman named Regina Whiting. Mrs. Whiting also had a little girl, hers five years old. Mrs. Whiting was married to an extremely rich developer who did not know what Andy Drake knew: that until 1992, Regina Taylor Whiting had been Tiffany Taylor, a high-priced Miami call-girl. That much I had written before the phone started ringing. Here is what I knew beyond that point, the secretarial work I'd do over the next several weeks, assuming that my marvellously recovered ability to work held up: One day when Karen Whiting was three, the phone had rung while she and her mother were sitting in the patio hot tub. Regina thought of asking the yard-guy to answer it, then decided to get it herself-their regular man was out with the flu, and she didn't feel comfortable about asking a stranger for a favor. Cautioning her daughter to sit still, Regina hopped out to answer the phone. When Karen put up a hand to keep from being splashed as her mother left the tub, she dropped the doll she had been bathing. When she bent to pick it up, her hair became caught in one of the hot tub's powerful intakes. (It was reading of a fatal accident like this that had originally kicked the story off in my mind two or three years before.) The yard-man, some no-name in a khaki shirt sent over by a day-labor outfit, saw what was happening. He raced across the lawn, dove headfirst into the tub, and yanked the child from the bottom, leaving hair and a good chunk of scalp clogging the jet when he did. He'd give her artificial respiration until she began to breathe again. (This would be a wonderful, suspenseful scene, and I couldn't wait to write it.) He would refuse all of the hysterical, relieved mother's offers of recompense, although he'd finally give her an address so that her husband could talk to him. Only both the address and his name, John Sanborn, would turn out to be a fake. Two years later the ex-hooker with the respectable second life sees the man who saved her child on the front page of the Miami paper. His name is given as John Shackleford and he has been arrested for the rape-murder of a nine-year-old girl. And, the article goes on, he is suspected in over forty other murders, many of the victims children. ‘Have you caught Baseball Cap?' one of the reporters would yell at the press conference. ‘Is John Shackleford Baseball Cap?' ‘Well,' I said, going downstairs, ‘they sure think he is.' I could hear too many boats out on the lake this afternoon to make nude bathing an option. I pulled on my suit, slung a towel over my shoulders, and started down the path the one which had been lined with glowing paper lanterns in my dream to wash off the sweat of my nightmares and my unexpected morning's labors. There are twenty-three railroad-tie steps between Sara and the lake. I had gone down only four or five before the enormity of what had just happened hit me. My mouth began to tremble. The colors of the trees and the sky mixed together as my eyes teared up. A sound began to come out of me a kind of muffled groaning. The strength ran out of my legs and I sat down hard on a railroad tie. For a moment I thought it was over, mostly just a false alarm, and then I began to cry. I stuffed one end of the towel in my mouth during the worst of it, afraid that if the boaters on the lake heard the sounds coming out of me, they'd think someone up here was being murdered. I cried in grief for the empty years I had spent without Jo, without friends, and without my work. I cried in gratitude because those work-less years seemed to be over. It was too early to tell for sure one swallow doesn't make a summer and eight pages of hard copy don't make a career resuscitation but I thought it really might be so. And I cried out of fear, as well, as we do when some awful experience is finally over or when some terrible accident has been narrowly averted. I cried because I suddenly realized that I had been walking a white line ever since Jo died, walking straight down the middle of the road. By some miracle, I had been carried out of harm's way. I had no idea who had done the carrying, but that was all right it was a question that could wait for another day. I cried it all out of me. Then I went on down to the lake and waded in. The cool water felt more than good on my overheated body; it felt like a resurrection.