The Underground Man

9

As the court officers led Jack Walsh into the courtroom, Steve Winslow realized his most fervent prayer had not been answered. Apparently Walsh had resisted all efforts on the part of the staff of Bellevue Hospital to modify his appearance. His stubble was unshaven, his face was unwashed, and his hair was uncombed. On top of that, whatever drugs they’d been giving him to damp him down had reduced his pupils to pinpoints, and given his eyes a glassy quality that made them seem to glow on their own. The end effect was not just to give him the appearance of a lunatic. Jack Walsh looked like a demon straight from hell.

His manner wasn’t helping matters any either. He kept muttering and growling and trying to twist away from the court officers. The officers were smiling at each other and saying soothing things to him, which only served to further enrage him.

Fortunately, they’d come in through the side door, so the distance to the witness stand was relatively short. Nonetheless, their progress was slow.

Steve Winslow tore his eyes away from Walsh long enough to glance up at the judge’s bench. Judge Washburn was a seasoned jurist, who’d undoubtedly presided over hundreds of competency hearings. As such, he naturally retained an air of judicial impartiality. He wasn’t rolling his eyes to the ceiling, or glancing pointedly at either of the attorneys. Still, his eyes spoke volumes. Behind the judicial facade there was an ordinary man saying to himself, as any man would, “Why me?”

Eventually Jack Walsh was installed on the witness stand. Once that was accomplished the court officers withdrew, but remained standing and alert, ready to jump in again at a moment’s notice.

Judge Washburn looked down at him from the bench. “Mr. Walsh?”

Jack Walsh gripped the arms of the witness stand. His mouth was set in a firm line. He turned to glare up at the judge with his demon eyes. “Yes?” he snapped.

“Mr. Walsh,” the judge said in a fatherly tone. “I’m Judge Washburn. I have to ask you some questions. First of all, are you aware that this is a courtroom?”

Walsh exhaled noisily and shook his head. “Sheesh.” He held up his hand, then pointed his finger at the judge. “First of all, Your Honor, we’ll do a lot better if you stop talking to me as if I were a child of four. Yes, I am aware this is a courtroom. Now, no one will say anything to me except, ‘there, there,’ and ‘take it easy old timer,’ but I would assume this is a competency hearing. In which case, the bone of contention here is whether a bunch of greedy relatives who can’t wait for me to die can find a legal way to get their hands on my money any sooner.” Walsh squinted up at the judge. “Am I right so far?”

Judge Washburn smiled slightly. “That is not exactly the way I would have phrased it.”

“Of course not,” Walsh said. “You’re a judge. You’re impartial. You can’t make irresponsible statements. You’re not going to call my relatives greedy, and you’re not going to refer to me as the nut-case, but that’s what’s going on here. Well, I ain’t a judge, so I’m free to say what I like.” Walsh shrugged. “At least to an extent.”

Judge Washburn frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Walsh said, “considering the nature of these proceedings, I understand an irresponsible statement could cost me my freedom.”

“That’s going a little far, Mr. Walsh,” Judge Washburn said. “No one’s going to judge you on a slip of the tongue. And any statement you make, you will have an opportunity to explain. Before we go any further, I just want you to understand that.”

“I understand that. So now what?”

“As I said, I’m going to ask you some questions. I’d like you to answer as freely and as fully as you like.”

“Fire away.”

“So far I’ve heard the story of your incarceration in Bellevue from Jason Tindel, who signed the commitment paper, from Fred Grayson, who observed you on the subway, and from Dr. Feldspar, the psychiatrist in charge of your case.”

Walsh snorted and shook his head.

“Yes,” Judge Washburn said. “I’m sure you have opinions about that. And you’ll have an opportunity to express them. But first, having heard their stories, I’d now like to get it from you. So to begin with, in your own words just tell me what happened.”

“Well,” Walsh said, “I was in the subway station. Thirty-third and Lex. IRT line. I was talking to one of the homeless men down there. Suddenly two men approached me. Hospital orderlies in white uniforms. They called me by name, asked me to go with them.”

“What did you do?”

“Told them to get lost.”

“What did they do?”

“They kept hassling me. They had the papers, and I had to go with them.”

“Papers? What papers?”

Walsh shrugged. “I assume they meant commitment papers. One guy waved a paper at me, but he didn’t say what it was. They had the papers, and I had to go.”

“So what did you do?”

“I told him what he could do with his papers.”

Judge Washburn smiled slightly. “And what did they do?”

“When they saw I wasn’t going to cooperate, they started circling me sort of. Then they jumped me, grabbed me, wrestled me to the ground. One guy held me while the other guy got a straightjacket on me.”

“Did you protest?”

“What, are you nuts? I screamed and kicked and yelled bloody murder.”

“What happened to the other man? The man you were talking to?”

“He ran.” Walsh shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame him. For all he knew, they were after him too.”

“What happened then?”

“They dragged me out of the station, threw me in a van and ran me down to Bellevue.”

“What happened there?”

“They wrestled me inside where some lunatic in a white coat with a clipboard came up and started screaming proverbs in my face. Frankly, by that time I was slightly incoherent. As I recall, I made a few choice remarks about his hospital, his proverbs, and his parentage, as well as a few suggestions involving certain choice portions of his anatomy.”

“What happened then?”

“They locked me in a room, shot me full of drugs.”

“What kind of drugs?”

“You think they told me? It was all ‘there, there,’ and ‘this is for your own good.’”

“Did you object to taking the drugs?”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t swallow nothing. When they tried to stick me, I broke the needle.”

“Then how’d they get you to take them?”

“Two guys held me, one guy stuck me.”

“How often did they give you drugs?”

“Whenever they damn well felt like it.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“No, I couldn’t. It’s hard to tell time when you’re doped up and locked in a room. Besides, sometimes the drugs would knock me out. All I know is, as soon as I wake up they come in and stick me again.

“Once I woke up and they were trying to shave me. They tried when I was awake and I wouldn’t let ‘em do it, so they tried when I was asleep.”

Judge Washburn looked at him. “They don’t seem to have succeeded.”

“No, they didn’t. I woke up, screamed, flailed my arm, broke the damn electric razor. After that they gave up trying.”

“Why do you object to shaving?”

“I don’t object to shaving. I object to being shaved. Big difference. I object on principle to anything being done to me against my will. If you can’t understand that, there’s no point in this hearing.”

“I didn’t say I can’t understand that, Mr. Walsh. I just want to get your point of view.”

“You got it. What else you want to know?”

Jack Walsh was so swift on the returns Judge Washburn was momentarily taken aback. He took a few seconds to gather himself. “Well now,” he said. “As you understand, this is a competency hearing. Certain allegations have been made to the effect that you’re not competent to handle your affairs. This hearing is for the purpose of determining whether these allegations are true. Now, as part of these allegations, I have heard testimony from certain witnesses regarding your behavior. Behavior which, if taken at face value, could be construed not to be the acts of a rational man. We have the testimony of two of your relatives …” Judge Washburn referred to his notes. “… Mr. Jason Tindel and Mr. Fred Grayson, to the effect that recently you sold your house out from under you, that you have no fixed address, and that you have taken to living on the subway in the manner of an indigent, when in fact you actually have ample funds to live anywhere you wish.

“Now, I’d like to give you an opportunity to reply to these allegations. So I ask you, are the allegations of your relatives true?”

Jack Walsh scowled. He squinted up at the judge. “You keep calling them my relatives. Jason Tindel and Fred Grayson happened to marry into the family. I don’t see that that makes them kinfolk, somehow.”

“Very well,” Judge Washburn said. “Your in-laws, then. How’s that?”

“Fine. In-law is where we are, and what this is all about. I quite approve.” Jack Walsh punctuated this by nodding in agreement with himself.

Judge Washburn frowned and took a breath.

Steve Winslow stirred restlessly. Jack Walsh was making no effort to answer the question. Instead he was engaging in various evasions and deflections. In short, acting like a man with something to hide.

Judge Washburn cleared his throat. His voice took on a slightly insistent tone. “Mr. Walsh, what reason would your in-laws have for making these statements?”

“Because they’re stupid.”

Judge Washburn frowned. “That’s hardly a complete answer.”

“Also because they’re greedy.” Walsh nodded judiciously. “Yeah. Greedy and stupid. That about covers it.”

Judge Washburn exhaled. “Mr. Walsh-”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Walsh said. “I have to prove I’m sane. Funny, isn’t it? If I were charged with a crime I’d be presumed innocent until proven guilty. Here it’s the other way around. Some guy says I’m crazy, and the burden of proof is on me to prove I’m sane.” Walsh squinted up at the judge. “Something a little wrong with that, isn’t there?”

“Mr. Walsh, that is not exactly the case-”

“It’s close enough. You’ll pardon me if I don’t take kindly to it. Understand, I have no contempt of court. I do have a certain amount of contempt for my in-laws.”

“I understand, Mr. Walsh. Still, I am the judge, and I have to make my ruling. Now that may be unfair, but it happens to be the law. So any way you can assist me in doing it, I would appreciate. Now, with regard to the specific allegations: it has been stated that recently you sold the house in which you were living out from under yourself. Is that true?”

Walsh nodded. “Yes. And out from under my relatives. That’s what really set them off.” Walsh looked up at the judge. “I suppose you’d like me to tell you why?”

“That would help.”

“Right. I have to justify my actions. They don’t have to justify theirs.”

Steve Winslow shifted in his seat, started to get up. He thought better of it. Nothing he could do at this point was going to help. Jack Walsh was going to have to sink or swim by himself.

Judge Washburn took a breath. “I think I stated my position, Mr. Walsh. At any rate, this is your opportunity to explain. If you care to do so.”

Walsh nodded. “Yeah, I care to do so. O.K. Here’s the story. My relatives, I’m sorry to say, are a rather shiftless lot. Particularly my in-laws. I don’t want to bore you with specifics, but the fact is, there isn’t a wage-earner among ‘em. In a way it’s my fault-they’ve always had me to lean on. They lived in my house, ate my food. Why the hell should they work?

“Only lately it got worse. In the last year. Suggestions started cropping up. I was getting old. I wasn’t going to live forever. Inheritance taxes were astronomical. Wouldn’t it be nice to get around some of them? How? By making certain gifts during my lifetime. Suggestions of that kind.

“Well, needless to say, I didn’t take kindly to such suggestions. I didn’t make any big deal about it, I just ignored ‘em. But they got more and more persistent.

“Then they stopped talking altogether. That was somewhat strange. I wondered why.

“Then one day I overheard Jason and Fred talking. You know what they were talking about?” Walsh spread his arms wide. “Just what we’re doin’ here. Declaring me incompetent and grabbin’ the cash.

“Well, pardon me, Your Honor, but that was the last straw. I did not need people living in my own house who were plotting against me to get my money. As far as I was concerned, that was beyond all bounds. I confronted them, and told them they could get out.”

“What happened?”

“They laughed at me. Said I didn’t mean it. I was an old man, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Walsh shrugged. “Well, I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do. If they wouldn’t leave, I couldn’t make ‘em. I mean, I could have started legal proceedings to have ‘em evicted, but I figured that would be playing right into their hands. Only a crazy man would try to get the law to throw his relatives out of his own house. If I instituted proceedings, they’d use the fact that I’d done so to try to get me certified insane.

“So I couldn’t do that. But I couldn’t live in the same house with them, not under those circumstances. So I thought it over and decided if they weren’t going to leave, I would.”

Walsh stopped and shook his head. “That was an awfully galling situation. I mean, it was my house, damn it. Why should I go and let them stay?

“So I figured there was only one thing to do. I’d sell the house out from under them. I hated to do it, but I couldn’t live with them, and I was damned if I was going to let them run me out and leave them in charge.”

Walsh shrugged. “So I sold the house.”

Judge Washburn nodded. “And went to live on the subway?”

Walsh made a face. “What, are you nuts? Why should I live on the subway?”

Judge Washburn frowned. “Mr. Walsh, we have the testimony of Jason Tindel and Fred Grayson that you told them you were going to live on the subway. Is that true?”

“Yes, I did. And if you wanna declare me insane for making a facetious remark, I suppose you have the right to do so.”

“Are you saying-”

“Yes I am. I made a wisecrack. A stupid remark. If they took it seriously, it shows how bright they are.

“When I sold the house they were hysterical. They were all over me. ‘You can’t do that. Are you crazy? Where are you going to live?’ I said, I don’t know, I don’t care, I’d rather live on the subway with the bums than in this house with you.’ It was a flippant remark and they took it for gospel. What can I tell you?”

“You’re saying you don’t live on the subway?”

“Of course not.”

“Where do you live?”

“I got a room at the Holiday Inn on 57th Street. I had it ever since I sold the house. I didn’t know how long I’d need it for, so I booked it for a year.” Walsh shrugged. “Little expensive, but I got the money.”

Franklyn struggled to his feet. “Your Honor, this comes as a bit of a surprise. There is no evidence in this case that this man has ever had a room anywhere, and-”

Judge Washburn held up his hand. “Sit down, Mr. Franklyn. Your surprise is noted. This will of course be checked out.”

Judge Washburn turned back to the witness. “Mr. Walsh, you say you’ve been staying at the Holiday Inn on 57th Street?”

“That’s right.”

“You have a key for the room?”

“Not on me. I leave it with the desk.”

“Your possessions are in that room?”

“My immediate possessions. Most of my stuff is stored in a warehouse in Brooklyn. My necessities are at the Holiday Inn.”

“Yet, Mr. Walsh, we have the testimony of Jason Tindel to the fact that he ran into you in the street, and without your knowledge, he followed you to see where you would go. And on that occasion you went down in the subway and took up residence with the homeless there. What do you say to that?”

Walsh grinned. “What Jason Tindel don’t know would fill a book. Without my knowledge, did you say? On that occasion, as you call it, I spotted Jason Tindel well before he spotted me. When I saw he was spying on me, I must admit I decided to yank his chain a bit. He wanted to see how I was living. Well, I told him I was living on the subway, so let him think I was. As soon as he started following me, I went down in the subway and started talking to the homeless there. I knew it would drive him nuts.”

“And the time you were taken to Bellevue?”

“Same thing. Fred Grayson saw me in the street. Started tagging along. So I led him down in the subway. What I didn’t know was that they’d already been in cahoots with a shrink and had commitment papers drawn. Evidently while I was down there Fred Grayson called for reinforcements, Jason Tindel rounded up the Bellevue orderlies, and you know the rest.”

“I see,” Judge Washburn said. “There is another allegation, Mr. Walsh, that you drew out close to two hundred thousand dollars from your bank account, and that you have been wandering around with the money on you in cash.”

“Oh yeah?” Walsh said. “Funny the shrinks at Bellevue didn’t mention it. Now I admit those guys are not very swift, but you’d think if I’d checked in there with two hundred grand on me, even they would have noticed it.”

“You do not have two hundred thousand dollars in cash?”

“Of course not.”

“You withdrew it from the bank.”

“Yes, I did. I did it so these fine gentlemen here couldn’t freeze my bank account and keep me from using my own money. But carry it on me? Don’t be silly. I merely switched banks. I have a new account with Chase Manhattan. You can check with them.

“You also might check with my stockbroker. Two hundred grand’s chicken feed. Most of my money’s in stocks and bonds. If you check with my broker you’ll find I made almost that much this year playing the stock market.

“But don’t tell the guy you’re thinking of declaring me incompetent. Poor guy might have a stroke. I’m his biggest source of income.”

“I see,” Judge Washburn said. “And, uh, the manner in which you’re dressed?”

“Is my own damn business. It happens to be a free country and I can dress as I like. I got this coat at Good Will. It’s warm and fits me fine.

“And I like it. You know why I like it? I dress this way, and no one thinks I got any money. Nobody bothers me. If you never had money, you don’t know what that’s like. I’m tired of people hassling me about money, so I dress like I ain’t got it and they leave me alone.”

Walsh’s eyes gleamed. He grinned and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “And, I must admit, I do it to irritate them. To stick the knife in.

“But I’m sorry about all this. I’m particularly sorry I had to tell you about my room at the Holiday Inn. Now I’ll have to give it up. Move. Now they know where I live, I can’t live there no more.” Walsh shook his head. “Bit of a shame, that.”

Judge Washburn took a breath, blew it out again. Thought a moment. “Can you tell me the address of your branch bank? And the name of your broker?”

Walsh told him and the judge wrote it down.

“Very well,” Judge Washburn said. “I’m going to take a brief recess. If the parties will please remain in court, this should only take a few minutes.”

Judge Washburn went through the door in the back of the courtroom into his chambers. He was back ten minutes later and resumed his place on the bench.

“Let us proceed,” Judge Washburn said. “During the recess I’ve been on the phone with the Chase Manhattan Bank, where Mr. Walsh does indeed have an account. I have also been on the phone with his broker. Also the Holiday Inn.

“These phone conversations bear out Mr. Walsh’s testimony entirely. According to his broker, Mr. Walsh is not only competent to carry out his business, he’s most extraordinarily adept at it.

“The court is now going to rule. The court finds no basis whatsoever for considering Mr. Walsh incompetent. The court feels that attempts to incarcerate him and have him declared incompetent have not been for his own good or to save him from himself, but were motivated purely out of personal gain.

“Furthermore, the court finds no valid reason for said incarceration. And finds the explanation of Dr. Feldspar inadequate at best.”

Judge Washburn fixed Dr. Feldspar with a cold glare. “And you, Doctor, will have an opportunity to appear before me to show cause why I should not consider your failure to respond to the habeas corpus and to produce the petitioner at this hearing to be contempt of court.

“As far as these proceedings are concerned, the habeas corpus is granted, and the petitioner is released.”