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Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Introduction
Ma&i.r He~gings
The papers in this vofume have been collected as a tribute to Tony Dudley-
f3vans on his retirement from the University of Birmingham. The authors arc
all pcoplc who know Tony well both professiondy and persctnally, having
worked with him in various ways in the world of EngIish language teaching, as
colleagues, students, or in connection with his editorship of the journal iiit<qfis;sil
fir SpecificI't/rpofes.
The significance of Tony's contribution to English language teaching was
already well established before he joined the Universityof Birmingham, partic-
ulady through his work on the pioneering Nz~cie~fs
seriesof textbooks. l-fowewr,
it has been during his 25-year association wirh the English for Intemationd
Students Unit at the university that his work on the teaching of academic
literacy has flourished.The university has a sizeablepopulation of international
students, and successive groups have presented Tony with both the challenges
and opportunities to further his interests in this area. Throughout this period, a
number of themes have been recurrent in his work. Clne is his recognition of
the importance of understanding the widcr socid, institutional and disciplinat.;v
context within which academic texts are produced, both those written by
students and by professionals. Academic tests have discipline-specificcharac-
teristics and conventions, and making students aware of these can ease thcir
progress towards becoming successful communicators within their chosen
specialisation. To identify such features,Tony has advocated the importance of
close cooperation between English language specialistsand subject specialists.
His work, together with his long-standing colleague Tim Johns, on the team
teaching of lecture comprehension and writing skiUs fix students of highway
engineering and piant biology has been particularly influential and widely
reported. More recently, his research with colleagues in the field of economics
has illustrated the siffriticance of insights from applied linguistics in analping
the relationship between the cbscipline and its writing.
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Publications by
Tony Dudley-Evans
1974 with Bates, M. Notes on the introductory English course for
students of Science and Technology at the University of Tabrix.
f:'I,T Doc~tnle~~ts
74, 4. The British C:ouncil.
1975 with Shettlesworth, C. and Philips, M.K. Aspects of the writing and
teaching of EST courses. EIdTDocft~~~e~its
75, 2. The British Council.
1976 with Bates, hil. NiiccIez~s:GerzeralSca'etzce.Harlow: In3nbman.
197640 with Bates, M. (series editors) N~jcIe~ts:
Iifglishfarscietzce atld tcch~zo/?gp,
Harlow: Idonman.
1978 Report writing. In R. R. Jordan (ed.), I-3esessio1tal coursrsfar or*ersous
sttider~ts.EIdT Don~n~etrts,
75, 2. I5TIC Publications, The British
Council.
- Planning a course for science and engncering students. In 11.
EIoldcn (ed.), Etlq/ishjor.Tpecif;c Ptlrposes bp.38-41). Modern Irnglish
Publications.
- Helping teachers to use Nr~cIer~s.
fitgfishfar .Yciet~ceur/d T>chtio/qg,21.
Oregon.
- with Smart, T. and Wall,J. NfrcIetts:fitlgijzee~i~,q.
Harlow: Ixlnpan.
1980 withJohns, T. An experiment in the team teaching of overseas post-
graduate students of Transportation and Plant Biology. In Eutu
teachitgit1 IiSl-? fiIdTDocztn~et~ts
106 (pp.6-23). The British Council.
- with Swales,J. Study modes and srudcnts from the Xfiddle East. in
G. M. Greenall and J. E. Price (eds), Siiaj ?Itodesaid acad~~~iic
derralp
nlertt of ogerseusstiidetrts. E1,T Documents Special, 1t19.
1981 The RI,U survey on Ngec Ann College graduates' requirements of
English. IUiIICjortrt~al,12, 1.
- with Johns, T. A team-teaching approach to lecture comprehension
for overseas students. In Z%!eteachitg af list~frir4q
co~~@rrhrrtsiort.
1Q.T
Documents Special.
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Distanced and refined selves:
educational tensions in writing
with the power of knowledge
We often look on the rise of disciplines and professions with some suspicion
as they are rightfully seen as the site of the aggregation of power - power
granted by the importance of knowiedge in contemporary society, which is
now being regularly designated as an information society (Bazerman forth-
coming; Dizard 1982).We now have many historical, sociological and rhetor-
ical accounts of how that power was aggregated and maintained within
bounded disciplinary spaces (for example Bazerman 1999; I,att>ur and
Woolgar 1979;Shapin 1982, 1994), how institutions of knowledge grew and
gained influence (Atkinson 1999; Hall 1984; Jacob 1988; Merton 1973;
MorreU and Thackray 1981; Shapin and Schaffer 1985), how decisions
became matters for experts (Porter 1995), how authority was constructed for
those beyond (Gieryn 1999), how negotiations, cooperations and alliances
were created with other powerful disciplines and social actors @,atour 1987;
van Nostrand 1997) and how public issues became re-framed to incorporate
or exclude various forms of disciplinary and professionat knowledge (Myers
1990;Nelkin 1979,1987; Rudwick 1985).Some of these studies take a highly
sceptical view of these powerful formations (Barnes and Shapin 1979;Bijkur
ef a/. 1987). Others see that the knowledge developed within disciplines
warrants the strong influence disciplines and professions maintain over their
own conduct and over other domains which depend on their knowledge
(Abbott 1988; Gregory and Miller 1998). And many take the middle grtlund,
seeing inappropriately self-interested use of the power of kno~vledge,
and the
need for decision making to include interests and knowledge that estcnd
beyond the bounds of the professions. Consider, for example, the &story of
environmental concern - where different sciences (including chemistry,
ecology, biology and demography), government regulators, lawyers, corpora-
tions, economists, activists and community groups have all taken complex and
shifting roles.
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
The future is with us: preparing
diverse students for the
challenges of university texts
and cultures
Ann M.]ohn.i-
in his thought-provoking volume, Writa'fg
theFa~ttln,:
Engiisb and theMakitrq of
a Cilltrre of I~novarian(1995), Eunther ICress argues that English educators
should be at the forefront of curricular innovation, since the interactions of
language, text, and technology are central to our current and future worlds,
These are the curricujar principles that he urges us to follow:
1 A curriculum should envisage, project, and aim to produce an individual who is at
ease with difference and change, whose fundamental being values lnnovauon and is
therefore able to quesuon, to challenge, and above all, to propose alternatives
constructively.
2 This curriculum should project and aim to take a central role in producing a society
which values humans, accords them real dignity, and aims to provide for all its
members the possibility of a quality of life which is at least no worse than that
enjoyed by my generation. (p.29)
My purpose in this paper is to honor Tony Dudley-Evans, an outstanding
English for Specific Purposes practitioner, by using ECress's ambitious goals to
outline my own English teaching situation, which is somewhat parallel to
Tony's, to discuss some of the challenges that are posed by attempting to
achieve the aims that ICress espouses, and to present our local attempts to
develop English language curricula which, in our view, honor difference,
encourage innovation, and exploit multimodal literacies.
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Descriptions or explanations?
Some methodological issues in
Contrastive Rhetoric
Anna Mazrranen
Contrastive Rhetoric (CR) is a typical field in applied linguistics in that it has
arisen from practical observation in the context usually taken to be the core
of applied linguistics, or even 'linguistics applied': second language teaching.
In this way, CR has not had any obvious theoretical foundation, nor has it
arisen from a methodologcal problem to be solved. This origin is present in
the field even now that it has become quite established - the theorising that
there is has arisen from the need to explain the findings, and the research that
has been carried out has made use of a number of methods and method-
ological emphases, none of which is unique to CR.
In recent years there have been demands, if not downright for more theory
in CR, at least for new types of description which also bring cultural and
linguistic aspects into a principled relationstup. The point has been raised by
a number of scholars that we need 'ttucker' descriptions of texts in the
Geertzian sense (e.g. Huckin 1997; Swales 1998). In the same vein, demands
for 'explanation' have been made (e.g. Melander 1996; Scollon 1997) which
bear close affinity to the approach to explanation adopted in Critical
Discourse Analysis (e.g. Fairclough 1992a, 1995), and also resemble attempts
in other disciplines to make sense of cultural comparisons of scientific prac-
tice (e.g. Hanvood 1995). In what follows, I shall look into some of these
demands and criticisms and assess their value for moving CR onwards, partic-
ularly in the context of academic writing.
A case study of Contrastive Rhetoric
I,et me start by presenting an example of a study in Contrastive Rhetoric for
illustration. This is my own research (hlauranen 1993) concerning rhetorical
differences in the academic texts written by Finnish and Anglo-American
researchers. I analysed the use of text reflexivity, or metadiscourse, and
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
From evidence to conclusion:
the case of 'indicate that'
In 1991Tony Dudley-Evans and I decided that it would be good for the souls
of those of us in the English for Overseas Students Unit to undertake some
joint research into the English of scientific research papers, since this is one
of the main genres where we try to help our students. Tony had already
organised the sampling and scanning of a corpus of 434,000 words from the
high-prestige research journal Natore comprising articles and letters to Nutlrrtt;
and we concentrated on examination and analysis of that material. In the
event, our weekly Wednesday afternoon meetings were very enjoyable and
proved excellent as a way of bonding old and new members of the unit, but
somehow we never got round to our original intention of publishing the
results of our efforts. As both Tony and I are now taking retirement from the
unit (since renamed the English for International Students Unit) this may be
an appropriate occasion to rescue, reconsider and expand upon a small piece
of work done for one of those Wednesday afternoon sessions ten years ago.
As one of my contributions I offered to look at the main verbs followed
by that-clauses in the data, with the results presented in Figure 1. (For a more
detailed analysis see http://~eb.bham.ac.uk/johnstf/5~verbs.htm).
The two most striking features of these results both concern the verb indi-
cate. Firstly, in these data it is in this syntactic context by far the commonest
verb. This contrasts sharply with its frequency in other genres of Iinglish: in
a comparable corpus of texts from the newspaper the G~arnial~,
indicate
comes in 65th place among the verbs followed by that-clauses. This striking
difference forms a strong prima facie argument that the verb has a special and
privileged communicative role in the Natzlre tests.
The other striking feature of indicate is in its selection of subjects. The
starting-point here is the observation that of these five verbs, only one -find
- is in these tests used exclusively with human subjects. Three of the other
first five verbs (show, suggest and demonstrate) are in this contest more
often used with non-human than with human subjects, their essential
Academic Writing In Contexts Implications And Applications Martin Hewings Editor
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
"And first as to their number twelve: and this number is no less
esteemed by our law than by Holy Writ. If the twelve apostles on
their twelve thrones must try us in our eternal state, good reason
has the law to appoint the number of twelve to try our temporal.
The tribes of Israel were twelve, the patriarchs were twelve, and
Solomon's officers were twelve. Therefore not only matters of fact
were tried by twelve, but of ancient times twelve judges were to
try matters in law, in the Exchequer Chamber, and there are
twelve counsellors of state for matters of state; and he that
wageth his law must have eleven others with him who believe he
says true. And the law is so precise in this number of twelve, that
if the trial be by more or less, it is a mistrial." (Cf. Thayer's
Preliminary Treatise, as cited, p. 90.)
[39] Cf. "Criminal Law and Its Administration," by Robert Earl, 2
Columbia Law Rev. 144.
[40] Many cases result in mis-trials owing to the sickness or death
of a single juror. In persecutions which it can be foreseen will be
long the swearing of an extra juror would obviate this difficulty.
Cf. "Newspapers and the Jury," Clarence B. Smith, 17 Greenbag
223.
CHAPTER XII
THE WITNESS
The probative value of all honestly given testimony depends,
naturally, first upon the witness's original capacity to observe;
second, upon the extent to which his memory may have played him
false; and third, upon how far he really means exactly what he says.
This is just as true of testimony in cases of so-called circumstantial
evidence as in cases where the evidence is direct, for the
circumstances themselves must be testified to by witnesses who
have observed them, and the authoritativeness of everything these
witnesses have to say must lie in their ability to see, remember, and
describe accurately what they have seen.
The subject of perjury is so distinct and far-reaching that it deserves
separate consideration. The crime is easy to commit and difficult to
establish by competent proof, for it is a highly technical offence and
one which juries seem to find it easy to condone. The brother or
friend of the accused has but to take the stand and swear to an alibi
and lo! he is free. The chance of detection is small in comparison
with the immediate benefit secured, while the temptation to swear
falsely must, at least in the case of the immediate family of the
prisoner, often be overwhelming. Where convictions for perjury are
secured heavy sentences are invariably imposed and a wholesome
apprehension instilled into the hearts of prospective witnesses, yet
the amount of deliberate false swearing in our criminal courts would
be inadequately described as shocking. To estimate its quantity
would be difficult if not impossible, for it varies with the character of
the case and the nature of the defence. When the latter is an alibi
the entire testimony for the prisoner is frequently manufactured out
of whole cloth, and it is probably not very wide of the mark to say
that anywhere from a quarter to seventy-five per cent of the
testimony offered by the defendant's witnesses upon the direct point
in issue in the ordinary run of criminal trials is perjured.
Yet a careful scrutiny of even the honestly given testimony in such
cases gives rise to the belief that the amount of strictly accurate
evidence adduced is relatively small, so small as probably to stagger
the credulity of the layman and to give the lawyer ground for
reflection. It must be borne in mind, however, that this refers to
criminal trials only and to testimony of a character closely relevant to
the issue.
The first consideration is how far the witness was originally capable
of receiving correct impressions through his senses. Naturally this
depends almost entirely upon his physical equipment and the
keenness and accuracy of his general observation, both of which are
usually evidenced to a considerable degree by his appearance and
conduct upon the stand.
Children are proverbially observant, and make remarkable witnesses,
habitually noticing details which inevitably escape the attention of
their elders; while various classes of persons by reason of their
professional requirements are, of course, better qualified than others
to observe certain facts or conditions, as a gem merchant the shape
and cutting of a diamond, or a doctor the physical condition of a
patient.
Witnesses are often honestly mistaken, however, as to their own
ability to observe facts, and will unhesitatingly testify that they could
hear sounds and discern objects at extraordinary distances. Lawyers
frequently attempt to induce aged or infirm witnesses to testify that
they could hear plainly what was said by the defendant, in an
ordinary tone, at a distance, say, of forty feet. The lawyer speaks in
loud and distinct tones during the preliminary examination, and then
gradually drops his voice to that usually employed in speaking, in the
hope that the witness will ask him to repeat the question. This ruse
usually fails by reason of the fact that the lawyer, in his anxiety to
show that the witness could not possibly hear the distance claimed,
lowers his voice to such an extent that the test is obviously unfair.
For similar reasons counsel often call upon such witnesses to state
the time by the clock which usually hangs upon the rear wall of the
court-room. A distinguished but conceited advocate, not long ago,
after securing an unqualified statement from an octogenarian, who
was bravely enduring cross-examination, that he "saw the whole
thing as if it had occurred ten feet away," suddenly challenged him
to tell the time by the clock referred to. The lawyer did not look
around himself, as he had done so about half an hour before, when
he had noticed that it was half after eleven. The old man looked at
the clock and replied, after a pause, "Half-past eleven," upon which
the lawyer, knowing that it must be nearly twelve, turned to the jury
and burst into a derisive laugh, exclaiming sarcastically, "That is all,"
and threw himself back in his seat with an air of having finally
annihilated the entire value of the witness's testimony. The
distinguished practitioner, however, found himself laughing alone.
Presently one of the jury chuckled, and in a trice the whole court-
room was in a roar at the lawyer's expense. The clock had stopped—
at half-past eleven.
The professional actor upon the stage presents the illusion of nature
by exaggerating those details of action which ordinarily would
escape the attention of the observer.
In daily life we are quite as likely as not to be deceived by what we
have seen, and this fact is so familiar to jurors that they are apt to
distrust witnesses who profess to have seen much of complicated or
rapidly conducted transactions. They want the main facts stated
convincingly. The rest can take care of themselves. The
extraordinary extent to which the complex development of modern
life has dwarfed our powers of observation is noticeable nowhere
more markedly than in the court-room. Things run so smoothly,
transportation facilities are so perfect, specialization is carried to so
high a degree, and our whole existence goes on so much indoors,
that it ceases to be a matter of note or even of interest that the
breakfast is properly cooked and served, that we are whisked
downtown (a little matter say of five miles) in ten or twelve minutes,
that we are shot up to our offices through twenty floors in an electric
elevator, that there is a blizzard or a deluge, or that part of
Broadway has been blown up or a fifteen-story building fallen down.
We pass days without paying the remotest attention to the weather,
and forget that we have relations. Instead of walking home to
supper, pausing to talk to our friends by the way, we drop into the
subway, bury ourselves in newspapers, and are vomited forth almost
without our knowing it at our front doorsteps. The multiplicity of
detail deprives us of either the desire or the capacity to observe, and
we cultivate a habit of not observing lest our eyes and brains be
overwhelmed with fatigue. Observation has ceased to be necessary
and has taken its place among the lost arts.
Compare the old days when a Greek could go to hear the "Œdipus,"
and on returning home could recount practically the whole of it from
beginning to end for the benefit of the wife, who was not allowed to
go herself, or even the comparatively recent period when the funeral
oration over Alexander Hamilton could be reported in the "Evening
Post" from memory.
Much the more difficult problem, however, is to determine how far
the witness is the victim of his memory and is unconsciously
confusing fact with imagination, or knowledge with belief. It is a
matter of common experience that almost all cases are stronger in
court than they give the impression of being when the witnesses are
first examined in the private office. Time and again, cases which in
the beginning have seemed hopeless to prosecute have resulted in
verdicts of conviction, and defences originally so fragile as to appear
but gossamer have returned many a defendant to his despairing
family.
The reason is not far to seek. Witnesses to the events leading up to
a crime are acquainted with a thousand details which are as vivid,
and probably more vivid, to them than the occurrence in regard to
which their testimony is actually desired. It may well be that the
immaterial facts are the only ones which have interested them at all,
while their knowledge of the criminal act is relatively slight. For
example, they know, of course, that they were in the saloon; are
positive that the complainant and defendant were playing cards,
even remembering some of the hands dealt; are sure that the
complainant arose and walked away; have a very vivid recollection
that in a few moments the defendant got up and followed him
across the room; are pretty clear, although their attention was still
upon the game, that the two men had an argument; and have a
strong impression that the defendant hit the complainant. In point of
fact, their evidence is really of far less value, if of any at all, in
regard to the actual striking than in regard to the events leading up
to it, for at the time of the blow their attention was being given less
to the participants in the quarrel than to something else. Their ideas
are in truth very hazy as to the latter part of the transaction.
However, they become witnesses, pronouncing themselves ready to
swear that they saw the blow struck, which is perhaps the fact. Their
evidence is practically of no value on the question of justification or
self-defence. But finding, on being examined, that their testimony is
wanted principally on that aspect of the case, they naturally tell their
entire story as if they were as clear in their own minds upon one
part of it as another. Being able to give details as to the earlier
aspect of the quarrel, they feel obliged to be equally definite as to all
of it. If they have an idea that the striking was without excuse, they
gradually imagine details to fit their point of view. This is done quite
unconsciously. Before long they are as glib with their description of
the assault as they are about the game of cards. They get hazy on
what occurred before, and overwhelmingly positive as to what
occurred towards and at the last, and on the witness-stand swear
convincingly that they saw the defendant strike the complainant,
exactly how he did it, the words he said, and that the complainant
made no offer of any sort to strike the defendant. From allowing
their minds to dwell on their own conception of what must have
occurred, they are soon convinced that it did occur in that way, and
their account flows forth with a circumstantiality that carries with it
an irresistible impression of veracity.
The witness remembers in a large proportion of cases what he
wants to remember, or believes occurred. The liar with his prepared
lie is far less dangerous than the honest, but mistaken witness, or
the witness who draws inadvertently upon his imagination. Most
juries instinctively know a liar when they see and hear one, but few
of them can determine in the case of an honestly intentioned
witness how much of his evidence should be discarded as unreliable,
and how much accepted as true.
The greatest difficulty in the trial of jury cases so far as the evidence
is concerned lies in the fallibility of the human mind, and not in the
inventive genius of the devil. An old man who combines a venerable
appearance with a failing memory is the witness most to be feared
by either side.
In a recent case a patriarch of some eighty-five years positively,
convincingly, and ultra-dramatically identified the defendant as a
man who had knocked him down and robbed him of a ring. The
identification was so perfect that on the evidence of this aged
witness alone the jury convicted the defendant after but a few
moments' deliberation. He was sentenced to ten years in State's
prison, although he denied vehemently that he had ever seen the
complainant. As he was being led from the bar, the real criminal
arose among the audience and gave himself up, stating that he
could not sit by and see an innocent man receive so great a
punishment. The inference was, that had the sentence been lighter
his conscience would not have pricked him sufficiently to sanction
his act of self-sacrifice. In cross-examination lies the only corrective
of this sort of specious testimony, but it would be manifestly
inadequate to prevent injustice in such an instance as that just
described. Juries must and do take the evidence of most well-
intentioned witnesses with a grain of salt.
Both men and women habitually testify to facts as actually occurring
on a specific occasion because they occurred on most occasions:
Q. "Did your husband lock the door?"
A. "Of course he did."
Q. "How do you know?"
A. "He always locks the door."
Witness after witness will take the stand and testify positively that
certain events took place, or certain acts were done, when in point
of fact all they can really swear to is that they usually took place or
usually were done:
Q. "Did he put on his hat?"
A. "Certainly he did."
Q. "Did you see him?"
A. "No, but he must have put on his hat if he went out."
And the probability is that the whole question to be determined was
whether or not "he" did go out or stay in.
The layman chancing to listen to a criminal trial finds himself
gasping with astonishment at the deluge of minute facts which pour
from the witnesses' mouths in regard to the happenings of some
particular day a year or so before. He knows that it is humanly
impossible actually to remember any such facts, even had they
occurred the day before yesterday. He may ask himself what he did
that very morning and be unable to give any satisfactory reply. And
yet the jury believe this testimony, and because the witness swears
to it it goes upon the record as evidence of actual knowledge. In
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred counsel's only recourse is to
argue to the jury that such a memory is impossible. But in the same
proportion of cases the jury will take the oath of the witness against
the lawyer's reasoning and their own common-sense. This is
because of the fictitious value given to the witness's oath by
talesmen who attach little significance to their own. "He swears to
it," says the juryman, rubbing his forehead. "Well, he must
remember it or he wouldn't swear to it!" And the witness probably
thinks he does remember it.
Yet who of us could state with certainty the guests at a particular
dinner six months ago? Or the transactions of a morning only a
week ago, with any accuracy as to time? What the witness
frequently does is to discuss the matter with his friends who were
present on the occasion in question, and, as it were, form a sort of
"pool" of their common recollections, impressions, and beliefs. One
suggestion corrects or modifies another until a comparatively lucid
and logical story is evoked. When this has been accomplished the
witness mentally exclaims: "Of course! That was just the way it was!
Now I remember it all!" The time is so distant that whatever the final
crystallization of the matter may be, it is far from likely that it will
thereafter be shown to be inaccurate by any piece of evidence which
will present itself to the witness and his friends. The account thus
developed by mutual questions and "refreshing" of each other's
recollection becomes, so far as the parties to it are concerned, the
fact. The witness is now positive that he did and said exactly so and
so, and nothing will swerve him from it, for inherently there is
nothing in the story or its make-up that affords any reason for
questioning its accuracy. This story repeated from time to time
becomes one of the most vivid things in the witness's mental
experience. He repeats it over and over, is cross-examined by his
own attorney upon it, incorporates it in an affidavit to which he
swears, and when he takes the stand recounts these ancient
happenings with an aggressiveness and enthusiasm that bring
dismay to the other side.
But what a farce to call this recollection! What is this circumstantial
romance when it comes to be analyzed? Jones, a friend of Smith the
prospective witness, is anxious to establish an alibi, and asks Smith
if he doesn't remember meeting him in the club on February 12, two
years before. Smith has no recollection of it at all, but Jones says:
"Oh, yes, you were going to the theatre with Robinson." Of course, if
Jones is so sure, Smith naturally begins to think it is probably the
fact, and he does remember vaguely that he and Robinson spent an
evening together. So he consults his diary and finds it recorded there
that he did attend the theatre on the day in question with Robinson.
He does not remember the play, but Robinson recalls that it was
"The Chinese Honeymoon," and believes that they dined together
first at the club. Smith now thinks he remembers this himself. Then
Robinson suggests that they probably went to the theatre in a cab.
They look in a file of old papers and find that it was raining. That
settles it—of course, they went in a cab. The next question is the
hour. They have no recollection of being late, so they must have
arrived on time. Well, the paper says the play commenced at eight,
and it takes a cab about twenty minutes to get from the club to
Daly's Theatre, so it is reasonably clear that they must have started
a little before eight. Smith unconsciously is persuaded to believe that
if Jones was right about their going to the theatre, he must also
have been in the club at the time he says he was there. Both he and
Robinson recall that Jones was always hanging round the club two
years ago, and as neither can remember an evening when he wasn't
there, they decide he must have been there that night. Robinson has
a dim recollection that they had a drink together. That is a pretty
safe guess and has all the air of verisimilitude. In an hour or two
Smith is ready to swear positively from recollection that he dined
with Robinson at the club on February 12 two years ago, met Jones,
had a drink with him, that this occurred at seven fifty-five, that it
was raining, that they took a cab, etc., etc. In its elements this
testimony is entirely hearsay upon the only vital point, i.e., Jones's
presence in the club at that time, and the immaterial remainder is
made up of equal parts of diary, newspaper, play-bill, weather
report, usual custom, reliance on Robinson's alleged recollection,
and belief in Jones's innocence. He has practically no actual memory
of the facts at all, and the only thing he really does remember is that
a long time ago he did attend some theatre with Robinson.
The common doctrine of what is known as "refreshing the memory"
in actual practice is notoriously absurd. Witnesses who have made
memoranda as to certain facts, or even, in certain cases, of
conversations, and who have no independent recollection thereof,
are permitted to read them for the purpose of "refreshing" their
memories. Having done so, they are then asked if they now have,
independently of the paper, any recollection of them. In ninety-nine
cases out of a hundred it would be absolutely impossible for them
really to remember anything of the sort. They read the entry, know it
is probably accurate, and are morally convinced that the fact is as
thereon stated. They answer yes, that their recollection has been
refreshed and that they now do remember, and are allowed to testify
to the fact as of their own knowledge. In most instances they do not
clearly understand the distinction they are called upon to draw
between actual independent recollection and a strong belief on their
own part that the fact must be as recorded. It is the exceptional
witness indeed who makes any such distinction.
There are also many cases where a defendant has been put in
jeopardy because some one, remembering that he intended to do an
act, becomes convinced that he has done so, to the extent of being
willing to swear thereto. No better illustration of this kind of error
could be given than the disappearance of the famous necklace of a
prominent resident of Newport during the summer of 1904. There
lives hardly a family which has not frequently had such an
experience. Some night the husband can't find his pearl shirt-studs.
He knows he had them on the evening before. The hue and cry is
raised. Maledictions are called down upon Anna or Delia or Nora. But
the studs are not in the shirt. Their owner swears he left them there.
Then Delia tremblingly suggests that "master dined in his ordinary
clothes last evening," and he realizes that it was so late when he got
home that at the last minute he decided not to change. Amid great
excitement the studs are located in the bureau drawer where they
belonged.
The final question to be determined by the juror in regard to the
testimony of any witness is how far the latter has succeeded in
conveying his actual recollections through the medium of speech and
gesture. This necessarily depends upon a variety of considerations.
Among these are his familiarity with the English language;
inadvertent accentuation of wrong words or of the less important
features of his testimony; his physical condition, which in nine cases
out of ten is one of extreme nervousness and timidity, if not of
actual fear; and a hundred other trifling, but, in the aggregate,
material matters.
The most effective testimony is that which is given with what the
jury regard as the evidences of candor. It is a familiar fact that the
surer a person is of anything, particularly among the laboring
classes, the more loudly will he assert its truth. This is so well known
to the jury as ordinarily constituted that unless testimony is given
with positiveness it might as well not be given at all. Much as it is to
be deprecated, an assertive lie is of much more weight with a jury
than an anemic statement of the truth. The juror imagines himself
telling the story, and feels that if he were doing so and his testimony
were true, he would be so convincing that the jury could have no
doubt about it at all. Ofttimes a witness leads the jury to suspect
that he is a liar simply because he has too strong a sense of the
proprieties of his position vehemently to resent a suggestion of
untruthfulness. The gentleman who mildly replies "That is not so" to
a challenge of his veracity, makes far less impression on the jury
than the coal-heaver who leans forward and shakes his fist in the
shyster's face, exclaiming: "If ye said that outside, ye little spalpeen,
I'd knock yer head off." "Ah," say the jury, "there's a man for you."
Just as your puritan is at a disadvantage in an alehouse, and your
dandy in a mob, so are the hyper-conscientious and the
oversensitive and refined before a jury. The most effective witness is
he whom the general run of jurors can understand, who speaks their
own language, feels about the same emotions, and is not so
morbidly conscientious about details that in qualifying testimony he
finds himself entangled and rendered helpless in his own
refinements. A distinguished lawyer testifying in a recent case was
so careful to qualify every statement and refine every bit of his
evidence that the jury took the word of a perjured loafer and a
street-walker in preference. This kind of thing happens again and
again, and the wily witness who thinks himself clever in appearing
overdisinterested is "hoist by his own petard." The jury at once
distrust him. They feel either that he is making it all up, or is in fact
not sure of his evidence, else, they argue, he would be more positive
in giving it.
Most witnesses in the general run of criminal cases have no
comprehension of the meaning of words of more than three
syllables. It is hopeless to make use of even such modest members
of our national vocabulary as "preceding," "subsequent," "various,"
etc. A negro when asked if certain shots were simultaneous replied:
"Yas, boss. Dat's it! 'Zactly simultaneous! One right after de odder."
The ordinary witness usually says "minutes" when he means
"seconds." He will testify without hesitation that the defendant drew
his revolver and immediately shot the complainant, illustrating on
the stand the rapidity of the movement. When asked how long it
took, he will answer: "Oh, about two or three minutes."
A proper medium in which to converse between the lawyer and
witness is sometimes difficult to find, and invariably much tact is
required in handling witnesses of limited education. The writer
remembers one witness who was completely disconcerted by the use
of the word "cravat," and at the precise moment the attorney was so
confused as not to be able to remember any synonym. The
Tenderloin and the Bowery have a vocabulary of their own differing
somewhat from that of beggars and professional criminals. The
language of the ordinary policeman is a polyglot of all three. Popular
writers on the "powers that prey," and dabblers in criminology in
general, are apt to become the victims of self-alleged "ex-convicts"
and "criminals" who are anxious to sell unreliable information for
honest liquor. A large part of the lingo in realistic treatises on prison
life and "life among the burglars," originates in the doped
imagination of whatever fanciful "reformed" thief happens to be the
personal gold mine of that particular author. Thieves, like any
distinct class, make use of slang, some of which is peculiar to them
alone. But for the most part the "tough" elements in the community
make themselves easily understood either in the office or on the
witness-stand.
Where the witness speaks a foreign language the task of discovering
exactly what he knows, or even what he actually says, is herculean.
In the first place interpreters, as a rule, give the substance—as they
understand it—of the witness's testimony rather than his exact
words. It is also practically impossible to cross-examine through an
interpreter, for the whole psychological significance of the answer is
destroyed, ample opportunity being given for the witness to collect
his wits and carefully to frame his reply. One could cross-examine a
deaf-mute by means of the finger alphabet about as effectively as an
Italian through a court interpreter, who probably speaks (defectively)
seventeen languages.
The reader might perhaps conclude from what has been said that
the action of the ordinary jury in most cases must be founded simply
upon shrewd guesswork. To a certain degree this cannot be denied,
and it is equally true that all the delicate processes of the human
mind, and the shadowy presences there of intent, motive, and
recollection, can never be demonstrated save by inference. Our
machinery is crude indeed. Ofttimes it is like trying to dissect a
butterfly with a pair of pincers, and the wonder is that the jury are
able to get at the truth as frequently as they do. Hence the necessity
for the advocate to assist the jury and remedy their ignorance of the
psychology of testimony by his own observation, knowledge, and
experience. With the jury keenly alive to all the possibilities of error
in the testimony of even the most honest of witnesses, it is for the
advocate, the psychologist of the law, to test by his cross-
examination and demonstrate in his summing up the precise
probative value of the evidence, frequently revealing, below an
apparently limpid stream of truth, a turbid bed of conjecture,
assumption, belief, hearsay, and inaccuracy of expression, with the
rank weeds of perjury growing just beneath the surface.
CHAPTER XIII
THE VERDICT
The judge having delivered his charge, and the jury having gathered
up their collection of miscellaneous garments and retired to the jury-
room, a court officer claps the prisoner upon the shoulder and leads
him away to the prison pen. Once the door of the court-room has
closed behind him, he is conducted along a narrow corridor to the
head of a flight of iron steps at the foot of which stands a keeper. As
he descends the stairs the attendant notifies the keeper that the
defendant is on his way down: and once the latter is safely below
the keeper shouts "All right!" to the officer above, who returns once
more to his duties in the court-room. Since there is little danger of
an escape the officers sometimes become a trifle lax in the handling
of prisoners awaiting the verdict.
An incident recently occurred which shows how much care is
necessary in guarding a defendant who confidently expects a verdict
of conviction. At the conclusion of a trial for grand larceny the jury
went out and the prisoner was conducted to the head of the stairs
leading down to the pen. The court officer notified the keeper when
the prisoner was about half-way down, and distinctly heard the latter
reply "All right!" He thereupon departed. The keeper, however, had
not uttered a syllable and was entirely unaware of the return of the
defendant, who, being something of a ventriloquist, had answered
for him, and had then calmly reascended the stairs, passed through
the corridor to another court-room where he had mingled with the
crowd, and later had had no difficulty in making his escape first into
the main corridor and thence into the street. When the jury
presently returned and the prisoner was sent for, his flight was
discovered. The court waited patiently while the pens, corridors and
finally the entire building were searched, but without disclosing a
trace of the prisoner. Meanwhile the jury, who had found the
defendant guilty, wondered why their verdict was not received.
According to law, however, all the proceedings incident to a trial for
felony up to and including the rendition of the verdict must take
place in the presence of the prisoner, and in this case his voluntary
absence compelled the court to declare a "mistrial." When it became
evident that the defendant was unlikely to return, terrible was the
humiliation of the court officers, who, for a few days, lived in terror
of losing their official heads, if not of being imprisoned and fined for
contempt.
The prisoner's wife, however, had been present throughout the trial
in the court-room, although, as his escape was entirely
extemporaneous, she was as much surprised as anybody else at his
departure. After the discharge of the jury several detectives followed
her to her home in Hoboken. Late in the evening she left the house
in response to a message and met her husband in a deserted part of
the city, where he was recaptured. He was immediately brought
back to New York and his case placed once more on trial; but this
time he pleaded guilty. From a dramatic point of view it is to be
regretted that the jury at the first trial had not found a verdict of
"not guilty."
As the first talesman who happens to be selected for the jury in any
given case becomes ipso facto its foreman, amusing incidents
sometimes occur owing to his inexperience. Where an indictment
contains but a single count, as, for example, "receiving stolen
goods," the foreman's answer to the clerk's interrogation of, "Do you
find the prisoner guilty or not guilty," is, of course, simple enough;
he answers "guilty" or "not guilty," or "not guilty, with a
recommendation to the mercy of the court"; but where the
indictment contains either a number of counts set forth separately,
or the crime charged is of such a character that the jury may find in
a lesser degree, some confusion is apt to result. If, for example, a
defendant is being tried for murder in the first degree the court is
obliged to submit, under the law, not only murder in its first degree,
but the lesser crimes of murder in the second degree, manslaughter
in the first degree, manslaughter in the second degree and
occasionally assault in one or more degrees. Sometimes the foreman
forgets entirely what he was going to say and stands staring, open-
mouthed, until the clerk comes to his assistance.
In a case where the court charged the jury that they could find the
defendant guilty of murder, manslaughter, or assault, or else acquit
him on the ground that he was justified in taking the life of the
deceased, the jury retired and deliberated for many hours. As the
time dragged on the defendant became convinced that he was to be
convicted. Late at night the jury informed the court that they had
agreed upon a verdict. They filed back and took their places in the
box. The defendant was arraigned, pale with apprehension. The
clerk arose.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said he, "have you agreed upon a verdict?"
"We have," replied the foreman.
"The jury will rise," continued the clerk. "The defendant will rise."
The jury and prisoner arose.
"Jurymen, look upon the prisoner. Prisoner, look upon the jury,"
continued the clerk, and turning to the foreman, "How say you? Do
you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?"
"Guilty," stammered the foreman.
The defendant uttered a loud groan and collapsed into the arms of
the court attendant beside him.
"Of justifiable homicide," hastily added the inexperienced foreman.
In spite of the laughter of the rest of the jurymen and the smiles of
the court it took some moments to convince the unnerved prisoner
that he was not to be electrocuted.
In a recent case the jury returned a verdict of "Pretty nearly guilty!"
A very considerable proportion of jury trials in criminal cases result in
disagreements. The question of reasonable doubt is always a
troublesome one, and even where all the jury believe the defendant
guilty, as likely as not half of them will not think that they are
convinced beyond what they regard as a reasonable doubt. On this
account many jurors are of the opinion that what is known as a
Scotch verdict, or a verdict of "Not proven," should be allowed. The
writer has been informed on good authority that in one of the recent
trials of Nan Patterson eleven of the twelve jurymen believed her
guilty, but that only six of them were of the opinion that they were
so convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. Had the Scotch verdict
been permissible it would probably have been rendered in this case.
Inasmuch as the ordinary American petit jury are apt to go outside
the evidence and to decide the issue, in some degree at least, on
evidence which properly they should not consider at all, no further
loopholes of escape from rendering a verdict one way or the other
should be afforded them. Had we the Scotch verdict, instead of
disagreeing and giving the prosecution the opportunity to try the
defendant over again, juries would probably make use of it in all
cases where they disliked to render a verdict in accordance with the
evidence.
Juries frequently incorporate with the verdict of guilty the words
"with a recommendation to mercy." Of course this is no part of the
verdict and has no legal effect whatever. It is merely a formal
expression of opinion that in the eyes of the jury it would be well for
the court to treat the defendant with leniency. The judge usually
comments upon this recommendation and intimates that he will give
it consideration in imposing sentence. It is not likely, however, that in
any case which has appealed to the sympathies of the jury the court
will not be equally moved. In point of fact, did juries fix the sentence
in cases where they found the defendant guilty it is exceedingly
probable that they would be much more severe than the bench.
Most jurors, however, are under the impression that "a
recommendation to mercy" is an integral part of their verdict and it
frequently does yeoman's service by inducing a juror or two who
have a lingering feeling that perhaps the crime has not been as fully
proven as it might have been, or that maybe the defendant is not
guilty after all or should be given another chance, to agree with the
majority of their fellows. The writer had one panel of jurors in the
General Sessions which, having returned a verdict of guilty "with a
recommendation to mercy" in the first case tried during the month,
affixed the same recommendation to each verdict which they
rendered thereafter. It is his impression that they convicted every
prisoner who came before them, so that the recommendation must
in many cases have seemed to the hapless defendant but a hollow
mockery. There is even a traditional case where a jury in a murder
trial found the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree, "with a
strong recommendation to the mercy of the court."
Verdicts of murder in the first degree are comparatively rare and are,
practically, only to be expected when the circumstances surrounding
the crime are peculiarly atrocious. It is also a well-known fact that
juries rarely find a verdict in a degree of crime higher than the one
for which the majority vote upon the first ballot. For example, if on
the first ballot the jury stands five for murder in the first degree, six
for murder in the second degree and one for manslaughter only a
miracle could account for a final verdict of murder in the first degree.
In other words, a jury will almost never work up their verdict,
argument invariably tending to work them down to a lesser degree.
Most cases of what is technically murder in the first degree result in
verdicts of murder in the second degree, and most cases of murder
in the second degree result in verdicts of manslaughter.
The jury having rendered a verdict of conviction, say of murder in
the first degree, there remains to counsel but one last act which he
can perform in his client's behalf, namely, to demand that the jury be
polled. This must be done upon the requirement of either the
defendant or the People, in which case, "they must be severally
asked whether it is their verdict; and if any one answer in the
negative, the jury must be sent out for further deliberation." The
writer has never heard of a jury which, on being polled, showed a
disagreement. It is not unusual, however, as the roll is called to see
various members of the jury look apprehensively towards one of
their number who has evidently put up in the jury-room a hard fight
for a lesser degree and may be "of the same opinion still." A
prosecutor always breathes more freely when the ordeal is over, and
probably experiences during the process very much the same kind of
emotion as that felt by the bride-groom at the altar as he listens
apprehensively at the conclusion of the clergyman's announcement
that "if any one has any just cause, etc., let him now speak or
forever hold his peace."
Defendants who are convicted rarely show any emotion when
receiving the verdict. This is of course to be expected, as the
defendant, if guilty, has probably been anticipating that he will be so
found by the jury, and has steeled himself for the occasion, while an
innocent man is practically never convicted. Hundreds of defendants,
however, who confidently expect to be convicted, are acquitted
through the leniency of the jury. Their exclamations of gratification
and joy upon such occasions are frequently most amusing. Such a
defendant not seldom thanks the court and the jury for their
kindness, and in some cases his thanks are certainly due to those
who have violated the letter and spirit of their oaths in acquitting
him. The writer recalls one old colored mammy who, on being
acquitted of stealing some wash which had been confided to her
care, curtsied in all directions and remarked, "Ah t'anks your honor,
an' Ah t'anks your Honors, gen'lemen ob de jury, one an' all." An
Irishman, who had been but a few weeks in this country, and who
had been acquitted on the charge of stealing a truck and horse
which had been left in his charge, on learning of his acquittal invited
the jury collectively in a loud voice to come across the street and
have a drink.
Before the jury is discharged, however, and the prisoner remanded
to the Tombs for sentence, he is required to answer certain
questions relative to his age, parentage, education, previous
convictions, etc. If the spectator is fortunate enough to be able to
forget the solemnity of what has taken place, he may well be
entertained, not only at the answers given by the defendant, but at
the method of conducting the examination by the court officer. The
clerk takes the indictment and, with a large rubber die, stamps upon
it the statement that the defendant, on being arraigned, made
answer to the questions put to him, as follows:
Counsel Assigned ............................................
Sex .........................................................
Age .........................................................
Nativity ....................................................
Residence ...................................................
Occupation ...................................................
Married or Single ............................................
Education ....................................................
Religious Instruction ........................................
Parents Living ...............................................
Temperate or Intemperate .....................................
Before Convicted .............................................
Of course, the court officer who repeats the prisoner's answers to
the clerk is usually so familiar with the order of the questions as to
render any vocal action upon the part of the clerk unnecessary. The
officer stands by the prisoner and, leaning over, asks in a low tone
how old he is, if his parents are living, if he is addicted to the use of
liquor, if he has had any religious instruction, or if he has been
previously convicted of crime. It is really the officer to whom the
defendant makes his replies, the former repeating them in a loud
voice to the clerk. In some courts the clerk does not put the
questions at all, but the officer merely gives in their order the
answers of the defendant. For example, in Part II, upon the
rendition of a verdict one will see Mr. Samuel Wolff, the clerk, stamp
the indictment, dip his pen in the ink, turn to the officer of the court
and say, "All ready?"
The officer answers, "Yes."
A subdued conversation then takes place between the prisoner and
the officer, who raises his voice and answers:
"Twenty-nine;—U.S.—No;—None;—Single—Yes;—No.—" All of which
answers are properly recorded opposite the appropriate questions
upon the indictment.
All this is a little startling to the juror who has rendered his first
verdict. He has no idea at all of what is going on. The officer returns,
if possible, a categorical reply to each question, but frequently
prisoners make statements which are of course irrelevant in
character and are not incorporated in the answer. At times it requires
quite a little cross-examining on the part of the officer to determine
whether or not the defendant is temperate or intemperate, or
whether he has really ever been convicted of crime theretofore. Any
one who could overhear these colloquies would be well repaid for his
trouble. The writer knows of one officer of a somewhat waggish
disposition who, when he approaches the interrogation directed
towards the prisoner's usual habits, first puts the question in its
proper form:
"Are you temperate or intemperate?"
The prisoner, who perhaps does not understand these terms, or, at
any rate, is a little doubtful himself as to his usual condition,
stammers and hesitates. The officer, dropping his voice, remarks,
confidentially:
"Say, do you ever take a drink?"
"Sure," says the defendant, without hesitation.
"Moderate," shouts the officer to the clerk.
A certain element of humor enters into the situation when a
defendant convicted of bigamy is asked if he is married. The answer
"Yes" is generally accompanied by an irrepressible grin.
There used to be an old court officer in one of the parts of the
General Sessions a few years ago who was a loyal son of Old Erin
and a devout member of the Roman Church.
On one occasion, a defendant having been found guilty he was
arraigned at the bar for the purpose of having his pedigree taken,
old Flaherty officiating. The conversation which ensued may be
worth preservation.
Flaherty to Defendant: "Say, me friend, where was ye born?"
Defendant to Flaherty: "Lowell, Mass."
Flaherty to Clerk: "Lowell, Mass."
Flaherty to Defendant: "Where do yez hang out?"
Defendant: "Nowhere."
Flaherty to Clerk: "Ain't got none."
Flaherty to Defendant: "Phat do yez do fer a livin'?"
Defendant: "Nothin'."
Flaherty to Clerk: "Ain't got none."
Flaherty to Defendant: "Are ye married?"
Defendant: "No,—thank God."
Flaherty to Clerk: "He says 'No, thank God!'"
Flaherty to Defendant: "Ever receive any previous religious
instruction?"
Defendant: "How's that?"
Flaherty to Defendant: "Phat's yer religion?"
Defendant: "Don't believe in nothin'."
Flaherty to Clerk (loudly): "PROTESTANT!"
For a convict to give under oath false answers to the questions thus
put to him is, of course, perjury. It is frequently of no small
importance for a prisoner to conceal his identity, or at least his
record. But if a Bible is thrust into his right hand he is loath to put
himself within the statute governing false swearing, for the chances
are all in favor of his being found out, in which case his punishment
will be severe. The writer recalls a dramatic incident of a man who
endeavored to prevent his past offences coming to the knowledge of
the judge. He bore, however, all the ear-marks of an ex-convict, and
the court became suspicious that all was not right. He had just been
convicted of stealing a purse. The jury had remained out until eleven
o'clock at night and the court-room was practically deserted. The
prisoner was placed before the bar. We will call him James Graham.
The clerk put the usual questions and then inquired:
"Have you ever been convicted before?"
"No," answered the prisoner in a low voice.
There was a long pause, and then the judge, looking down intently
from the bench, said:
"Graham, is that the truth?"
"Yes, sir," replied the prisoner.
"Are you quite sure?" insisted the court.
"Yes, sir."
"Swear him!" ordered the judge.
The officer started to place the Bible in Graham's hand, but he
refused to take it.
"No, no, I can't!" he whispered. "I can't—I—I—it's no use!" he
added.
"When were you convicted?"
"I served six months for petty larceny about five years ago."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Quite sure? Think again."
"Yes, sir."
"Swear him!"
Again the book was placed in his hand and again it was declined.
"I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged
two months ago."
"Is that all?"
"O God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner, breaking
down completely. "No, sir, it isn't all! It's always been the same old
story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown—
Yes, six times. Twelve years!—I'm a jail bird!"
Before rendering a verdict the members of almost every jury take
the opportunity in the jury-room to stretch their legs and satisfy their
craving to smoke. Juries rarely return in less time than it takes to
burn a cigar. While this may torture the prisoner it would seem a
fairly earned perquisite on the part of his judges. Some jurors are
instinctively, and a few are actually lawyers. These rarely add much
to the general usefulness of the panel. Jurymen not infrequently
seize the opportunity to display their oratorical ability, since their
audience cannot get away and must perforce hear them out. The
writer recalls one instance where in a well-known extortion case an
enthusiastic talesman made a digest of the speeches of counsel for
the defence and for the prosecution and then prepared a long
harangue of his own which he committed to memory. When the jury
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  • 7. Introduction Ma&i.r He~gings The papers in this vofume have been collected as a tribute to Tony Dudley- f3vans on his retirement from the University of Birmingham. The authors arc all pcoplc who know Tony well both professiondy and persctnally, having worked with him in various ways in the world of EngIish language teaching, as colleagues, students, or in connection with his editorship of the journal iiit<qfis;sil fir SpecificI't/rpofes. The significance of Tony's contribution to English language teaching was already well established before he joined the Universityof Birmingham, partic- ulady through his work on the pioneering Nz~cie~fs seriesof textbooks. l-fowewr, it has been during his 25-year association wirh the English for Intemationd Students Unit at the university that his work on the teaching of academic literacy has flourished.The university has a sizeablepopulation of international students, and successive groups have presented Tony with both the challenges and opportunities to further his interests in this area. Throughout this period, a number of themes have been recurrent in his work. Clne is his recognition of the importance of understanding the widcr socid, institutional and disciplinat.;v context within which academic texts are produced, both those written by students and by professionals. Academic tests have discipline-specificcharac- teristics and conventions, and making students aware of these can ease thcir progress towards becoming successful communicators within their chosen specialisation. To identify such features,Tony has advocated the importance of close cooperation between English language specialistsand subject specialists. His work, together with his long-standing colleague Tim Johns, on the team teaching of lecture comprehension and writing skiUs fix students of highway engineering and piant biology has been particularly influential and widely reported. More recently, his research with colleagues in the field of economics has illustrated the siffriticance of insights from applied linguistics in analping the relationship between the cbscipline and its writing.
  • 15. Publications by Tony Dudley-Evans 1974 with Bates, M. Notes on the introductory English course for students of Science and Technology at the University of Tabrix. f:'I,T Doc~tnle~~ts 74, 4. The British C:ouncil. 1975 with Shettlesworth, C. and Philips, M.K. Aspects of the writing and teaching of EST courses. EIdTDocft~~~e~its 75, 2. The British Council. 1976 with Bates, hil. NiiccIez~s:GerzeralSca'etzce.Harlow: In3nbman. 197640 with Bates, M. (series editors) N~jcIe~ts: Iifglishfarscietzce atld tcch~zo/?gp, Harlow: Idonman. 1978 Report writing. In R. R. Jordan (ed.), I-3esessio1tal coursrsfar or*ersous sttider~ts.EIdT Don~n~etrts, 75, 2. I5TIC Publications, The British Council. - Planning a course for science and engncering students. In 11. EIoldcn (ed.), Etlq/ishjor.Tpecif;c Ptlrposes bp.38-41). Modern Irnglish Publications. - Helping teachers to use Nr~cIer~s. fitgfishfar .Yciet~ceur/d T>chtio/qg,21. Oregon. - with Smart, T. and Wall,J. NfrcIetts:fitlgijzee~i~,q. Harlow: Ixlnpan. 1980 withJohns, T. An experiment in the team teaching of overseas post- graduate students of Transportation and Plant Biology. In Eutu teachitgit1 IiSl-? fiIdTDocztn~et~ts 106 (pp.6-23). The British Council. - with Swales,J. Study modes and srudcnts from the Xfiddle East. in G. M. Greenall and J. E. Price (eds), Siiaj ?Itodesaid acad~~~iic derralp nlertt of ogerseusstiidetrts. E1,T Documents Special, 1t19. 1981 The RI,U survey on Ngec Ann College graduates' requirements of English. IUiIICjortrt~al,12, 1. - with Johns, T. A team-teaching approach to lecture comprehension for overseas students. In Z%!eteachitg af list~frir4q co~~@rrhrrtsiort. 1Q.T Documents Special.
  • 21. Distanced and refined selves: educational tensions in writing with the power of knowledge We often look on the rise of disciplines and professions with some suspicion as they are rightfully seen as the site of the aggregation of power - power granted by the importance of knowiedge in contemporary society, which is now being regularly designated as an information society (Bazerman forth- coming; Dizard 1982).We now have many historical, sociological and rhetor- ical accounts of how that power was aggregated and maintained within bounded disciplinary spaces (for example Bazerman 1999; I,att>ur and Woolgar 1979;Shapin 1982, 1994), how institutions of knowledge grew and gained influence (Atkinson 1999; Hall 1984; Jacob 1988; Merton 1973; MorreU and Thackray 1981; Shapin and Schaffer 1985), how decisions became matters for experts (Porter 1995), how authority was constructed for those beyond (Gieryn 1999), how negotiations, cooperations and alliances were created with other powerful disciplines and social actors @,atour 1987; van Nostrand 1997) and how public issues became re-framed to incorporate or exclude various forms of disciplinary and professionat knowledge (Myers 1990;Nelkin 1979,1987; Rudwick 1985).Some of these studies take a highly sceptical view of these powerful formations (Barnes and Shapin 1979;Bijkur ef a/. 1987). Others see that the knowledge developed within disciplines warrants the strong influence disciplines and professions maintain over their own conduct and over other domains which depend on their knowledge (Abbott 1988; Gregory and Miller 1998). And many take the middle grtlund, seeing inappropriately self-interested use of the power of kno~vledge, and the need for decision making to include interests and knowledge that estcnd beyond the bounds of the professions. Consider, for example, the &story of environmental concern - where different sciences (including chemistry, ecology, biology and demography), government regulators, lawyers, corpora- tions, economists, activists and community groups have all taken complex and shifting roles.
  • 28. The future is with us: preparing diverse students for the challenges of university texts and cultures Ann M.]ohn.i- in his thought-provoking volume, Writa'fg theFa~ttln,: Engiisb and theMakitrq of a Cilltrre of I~novarian(1995), Eunther ICress argues that English educators should be at the forefront of curricular innovation, since the interactions of language, text, and technology are central to our current and future worlds, These are the curricujar principles that he urges us to follow: 1 A curriculum should envisage, project, and aim to produce an individual who is at ease with difference and change, whose fundamental being values lnnovauon and is therefore able to quesuon, to challenge, and above all, to propose alternatives constructively. 2 This curriculum should project and aim to take a central role in producing a society which values humans, accords them real dignity, and aims to provide for all its members the possibility of a quality of life which is at least no worse than that enjoyed by my generation. (p.29) My purpose in this paper is to honor Tony Dudley-Evans, an outstanding English for Specific Purposes practitioner, by using ECress's ambitious goals to outline my own English teaching situation, which is somewhat parallel to Tony's, to discuss some of the challenges that are posed by attempting to achieve the aims that ICress espouses, and to present our local attempts to develop English language curricula which, in our view, honor difference, encourage innovation, and exploit multimodal literacies.
  • 41. Descriptions or explanations? Some methodological issues in Contrastive Rhetoric Anna Mazrranen Contrastive Rhetoric (CR) is a typical field in applied linguistics in that it has arisen from practical observation in the context usually taken to be the core of applied linguistics, or even 'linguistics applied': second language teaching. In this way, CR has not had any obvious theoretical foundation, nor has it arisen from a methodologcal problem to be solved. This origin is present in the field even now that it has become quite established - the theorising that there is has arisen from the need to explain the findings, and the research that has been carried out has made use of a number of methods and method- ological emphases, none of which is unique to CR. In recent years there have been demands, if not downright for more theory in CR, at least for new types of description which also bring cultural and linguistic aspects into a principled relationstup. The point has been raised by a number of scholars that we need 'ttucker' descriptions of texts in the Geertzian sense (e.g. Huckin 1997; Swales 1998). In the same vein, demands for 'explanation' have been made (e.g. Melander 1996; Scollon 1997) which bear close affinity to the approach to explanation adopted in Critical Discourse Analysis (e.g. Fairclough 1992a, 1995), and also resemble attempts in other disciplines to make sense of cultural comparisons of scientific prac- tice (e.g. Hanvood 1995). In what follows, I shall look into some of these demands and criticisms and assess their value for moving CR onwards, partic- ularly in the context of academic writing. A case study of Contrastive Rhetoric I,et me start by presenting an example of a study in Contrastive Rhetoric for illustration. This is my own research (hlauranen 1993) concerning rhetorical differences in the academic texts written by Finnish and Anglo-American researchers. I analysed the use of text reflexivity, or metadiscourse, and
  • 53. From evidence to conclusion: the case of 'indicate that' In 1991Tony Dudley-Evans and I decided that it would be good for the souls of those of us in the English for Overseas Students Unit to undertake some joint research into the English of scientific research papers, since this is one of the main genres where we try to help our students. Tony had already organised the sampling and scanning of a corpus of 434,000 words from the high-prestige research journal Natore comprising articles and letters to Nutlrrtt; and we concentrated on examination and analysis of that material. In the event, our weekly Wednesday afternoon meetings were very enjoyable and proved excellent as a way of bonding old and new members of the unit, but somehow we never got round to our original intention of publishing the results of our efforts. As both Tony and I are now taking retirement from the unit (since renamed the English for International Students Unit) this may be an appropriate occasion to rescue, reconsider and expand upon a small piece of work done for one of those Wednesday afternoon sessions ten years ago. As one of my contributions I offered to look at the main verbs followed by that-clauses in the data, with the results presented in Figure 1. (For a more detailed analysis see http://~eb.bham.ac.uk/johnstf/5~verbs.htm). The two most striking features of these results both concern the verb indi- cate. Firstly, in these data it is in this syntactic context by far the commonest verb. This contrasts sharply with its frequency in other genres of Iinglish: in a comparable corpus of texts from the newspaper the G~arnial~, indicate comes in 65th place among the verbs followed by that-clauses. This striking difference forms a strong prima facie argument that the verb has a special and privileged communicative role in the Natzlre tests. The other striking feature of indicate is in its selection of subjects. The starting-point here is the observation that of these five verbs, only one -find - is in these tests used exclusively with human subjects. Three of the other first five verbs (show, suggest and demonstrate) are in this contest more often used with non-human than with human subjects, their essential
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  • 56. "And first as to their number twelve: and this number is no less esteemed by our law than by Holy Writ. If the twelve apostles on their twelve thrones must try us in our eternal state, good reason has the law to appoint the number of twelve to try our temporal. The tribes of Israel were twelve, the patriarchs were twelve, and Solomon's officers were twelve. Therefore not only matters of fact were tried by twelve, but of ancient times twelve judges were to try matters in law, in the Exchequer Chamber, and there are twelve counsellors of state for matters of state; and he that wageth his law must have eleven others with him who believe he says true. And the law is so precise in this number of twelve, that if the trial be by more or less, it is a mistrial." (Cf. Thayer's Preliminary Treatise, as cited, p. 90.) [39] Cf. "Criminal Law and Its Administration," by Robert Earl, 2 Columbia Law Rev. 144. [40] Many cases result in mis-trials owing to the sickness or death of a single juror. In persecutions which it can be foreseen will be long the swearing of an extra juror would obviate this difficulty. Cf. "Newspapers and the Jury," Clarence B. Smith, 17 Greenbag 223. CHAPTER XII THE WITNESS The probative value of all honestly given testimony depends, naturally, first upon the witness's original capacity to observe; second, upon the extent to which his memory may have played him false; and third, upon how far he really means exactly what he says. This is just as true of testimony in cases of so-called circumstantial evidence as in cases where the evidence is direct, for the circumstances themselves must be testified to by witnesses who have observed them, and the authoritativeness of everything these witnesses have to say must lie in their ability to see, remember, and describe accurately what they have seen.
  • 57. The subject of perjury is so distinct and far-reaching that it deserves separate consideration. The crime is easy to commit and difficult to establish by competent proof, for it is a highly technical offence and one which juries seem to find it easy to condone. The brother or friend of the accused has but to take the stand and swear to an alibi and lo! he is free. The chance of detection is small in comparison with the immediate benefit secured, while the temptation to swear falsely must, at least in the case of the immediate family of the prisoner, often be overwhelming. Where convictions for perjury are secured heavy sentences are invariably imposed and a wholesome apprehension instilled into the hearts of prospective witnesses, yet the amount of deliberate false swearing in our criminal courts would be inadequately described as shocking. To estimate its quantity would be difficult if not impossible, for it varies with the character of the case and the nature of the defence. When the latter is an alibi the entire testimony for the prisoner is frequently manufactured out of whole cloth, and it is probably not very wide of the mark to say that anywhere from a quarter to seventy-five per cent of the testimony offered by the defendant's witnesses upon the direct point in issue in the ordinary run of criminal trials is perjured. Yet a careful scrutiny of even the honestly given testimony in such cases gives rise to the belief that the amount of strictly accurate evidence adduced is relatively small, so small as probably to stagger the credulity of the layman and to give the lawyer ground for reflection. It must be borne in mind, however, that this refers to criminal trials only and to testimony of a character closely relevant to the issue. The first consideration is how far the witness was originally capable of receiving correct impressions through his senses. Naturally this depends almost entirely upon his physical equipment and the keenness and accuracy of his general observation, both of which are usually evidenced to a considerable degree by his appearance and conduct upon the stand.
  • 58. Children are proverbially observant, and make remarkable witnesses, habitually noticing details which inevitably escape the attention of their elders; while various classes of persons by reason of their professional requirements are, of course, better qualified than others to observe certain facts or conditions, as a gem merchant the shape and cutting of a diamond, or a doctor the physical condition of a patient. Witnesses are often honestly mistaken, however, as to their own ability to observe facts, and will unhesitatingly testify that they could hear sounds and discern objects at extraordinary distances. Lawyers frequently attempt to induce aged or infirm witnesses to testify that they could hear plainly what was said by the defendant, in an ordinary tone, at a distance, say, of forty feet. The lawyer speaks in loud and distinct tones during the preliminary examination, and then gradually drops his voice to that usually employed in speaking, in the hope that the witness will ask him to repeat the question. This ruse usually fails by reason of the fact that the lawyer, in his anxiety to show that the witness could not possibly hear the distance claimed, lowers his voice to such an extent that the test is obviously unfair. For similar reasons counsel often call upon such witnesses to state the time by the clock which usually hangs upon the rear wall of the court-room. A distinguished but conceited advocate, not long ago, after securing an unqualified statement from an octogenarian, who was bravely enduring cross-examination, that he "saw the whole thing as if it had occurred ten feet away," suddenly challenged him to tell the time by the clock referred to. The lawyer did not look around himself, as he had done so about half an hour before, when he had noticed that it was half after eleven. The old man looked at the clock and replied, after a pause, "Half-past eleven," upon which the lawyer, knowing that it must be nearly twelve, turned to the jury and burst into a derisive laugh, exclaiming sarcastically, "That is all," and threw himself back in his seat with an air of having finally annihilated the entire value of the witness's testimony. The distinguished practitioner, however, found himself laughing alone. Presently one of the jury chuckled, and in a trice the whole court-
  • 59. room was in a roar at the lawyer's expense. The clock had stopped— at half-past eleven. The professional actor upon the stage presents the illusion of nature by exaggerating those details of action which ordinarily would escape the attention of the observer. In daily life we are quite as likely as not to be deceived by what we have seen, and this fact is so familiar to jurors that they are apt to distrust witnesses who profess to have seen much of complicated or rapidly conducted transactions. They want the main facts stated convincingly. The rest can take care of themselves. The extraordinary extent to which the complex development of modern life has dwarfed our powers of observation is noticeable nowhere more markedly than in the court-room. Things run so smoothly, transportation facilities are so perfect, specialization is carried to so high a degree, and our whole existence goes on so much indoors, that it ceases to be a matter of note or even of interest that the breakfast is properly cooked and served, that we are whisked downtown (a little matter say of five miles) in ten or twelve minutes, that we are shot up to our offices through twenty floors in an electric elevator, that there is a blizzard or a deluge, or that part of Broadway has been blown up or a fifteen-story building fallen down. We pass days without paying the remotest attention to the weather, and forget that we have relations. Instead of walking home to supper, pausing to talk to our friends by the way, we drop into the subway, bury ourselves in newspapers, and are vomited forth almost without our knowing it at our front doorsteps. The multiplicity of detail deprives us of either the desire or the capacity to observe, and we cultivate a habit of not observing lest our eyes and brains be overwhelmed with fatigue. Observation has ceased to be necessary and has taken its place among the lost arts. Compare the old days when a Greek could go to hear the "Œdipus," and on returning home could recount practically the whole of it from beginning to end for the benefit of the wife, who was not allowed to go herself, or even the comparatively recent period when the funeral
  • 60. oration over Alexander Hamilton could be reported in the "Evening Post" from memory. Much the more difficult problem, however, is to determine how far the witness is the victim of his memory and is unconsciously confusing fact with imagination, or knowledge with belief. It is a matter of common experience that almost all cases are stronger in court than they give the impression of being when the witnesses are first examined in the private office. Time and again, cases which in the beginning have seemed hopeless to prosecute have resulted in verdicts of conviction, and defences originally so fragile as to appear but gossamer have returned many a defendant to his despairing family. The reason is not far to seek. Witnesses to the events leading up to a crime are acquainted with a thousand details which are as vivid, and probably more vivid, to them than the occurrence in regard to which their testimony is actually desired. It may well be that the immaterial facts are the only ones which have interested them at all, while their knowledge of the criminal act is relatively slight. For example, they know, of course, that they were in the saloon; are positive that the complainant and defendant were playing cards, even remembering some of the hands dealt; are sure that the complainant arose and walked away; have a very vivid recollection that in a few moments the defendant got up and followed him across the room; are pretty clear, although their attention was still upon the game, that the two men had an argument; and have a strong impression that the defendant hit the complainant. In point of fact, their evidence is really of far less value, if of any at all, in regard to the actual striking than in regard to the events leading up to it, for at the time of the blow their attention was being given less to the participants in the quarrel than to something else. Their ideas are in truth very hazy as to the latter part of the transaction. However, they become witnesses, pronouncing themselves ready to swear that they saw the blow struck, which is perhaps the fact. Their evidence is practically of no value on the question of justification or self-defence. But finding, on being examined, that their testimony is
  • 61. wanted principally on that aspect of the case, they naturally tell their entire story as if they were as clear in their own minds upon one part of it as another. Being able to give details as to the earlier aspect of the quarrel, they feel obliged to be equally definite as to all of it. If they have an idea that the striking was without excuse, they gradually imagine details to fit their point of view. This is done quite unconsciously. Before long they are as glib with their description of the assault as they are about the game of cards. They get hazy on what occurred before, and overwhelmingly positive as to what occurred towards and at the last, and on the witness-stand swear convincingly that they saw the defendant strike the complainant, exactly how he did it, the words he said, and that the complainant made no offer of any sort to strike the defendant. From allowing their minds to dwell on their own conception of what must have occurred, they are soon convinced that it did occur in that way, and their account flows forth with a circumstantiality that carries with it an irresistible impression of veracity. The witness remembers in a large proportion of cases what he wants to remember, or believes occurred. The liar with his prepared lie is far less dangerous than the honest, but mistaken witness, or the witness who draws inadvertently upon his imagination. Most juries instinctively know a liar when they see and hear one, but few of them can determine in the case of an honestly intentioned witness how much of his evidence should be discarded as unreliable, and how much accepted as true. The greatest difficulty in the trial of jury cases so far as the evidence is concerned lies in the fallibility of the human mind, and not in the inventive genius of the devil. An old man who combines a venerable appearance with a failing memory is the witness most to be feared by either side. In a recent case a patriarch of some eighty-five years positively, convincingly, and ultra-dramatically identified the defendant as a man who had knocked him down and robbed him of a ring. The identification was so perfect that on the evidence of this aged
  • 62. witness alone the jury convicted the defendant after but a few moments' deliberation. He was sentenced to ten years in State's prison, although he denied vehemently that he had ever seen the complainant. As he was being led from the bar, the real criminal arose among the audience and gave himself up, stating that he could not sit by and see an innocent man receive so great a punishment. The inference was, that had the sentence been lighter his conscience would not have pricked him sufficiently to sanction his act of self-sacrifice. In cross-examination lies the only corrective of this sort of specious testimony, but it would be manifestly inadequate to prevent injustice in such an instance as that just described. Juries must and do take the evidence of most well- intentioned witnesses with a grain of salt. Both men and women habitually testify to facts as actually occurring on a specific occasion because they occurred on most occasions: Q. "Did your husband lock the door?" A. "Of course he did." Q. "How do you know?" A. "He always locks the door." Witness after witness will take the stand and testify positively that certain events took place, or certain acts were done, when in point of fact all they can really swear to is that they usually took place or usually were done: Q. "Did he put on his hat?" A. "Certainly he did." Q. "Did you see him?" A. "No, but he must have put on his hat if he went out." And the probability is that the whole question to be determined was whether or not "he" did go out or stay in.
  • 63. The layman chancing to listen to a criminal trial finds himself gasping with astonishment at the deluge of minute facts which pour from the witnesses' mouths in regard to the happenings of some particular day a year or so before. He knows that it is humanly impossible actually to remember any such facts, even had they occurred the day before yesterday. He may ask himself what he did that very morning and be unable to give any satisfactory reply. And yet the jury believe this testimony, and because the witness swears to it it goes upon the record as evidence of actual knowledge. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred counsel's only recourse is to argue to the jury that such a memory is impossible. But in the same proportion of cases the jury will take the oath of the witness against the lawyer's reasoning and their own common-sense. This is because of the fictitious value given to the witness's oath by talesmen who attach little significance to their own. "He swears to it," says the juryman, rubbing his forehead. "Well, he must remember it or he wouldn't swear to it!" And the witness probably thinks he does remember it. Yet who of us could state with certainty the guests at a particular dinner six months ago? Or the transactions of a morning only a week ago, with any accuracy as to time? What the witness frequently does is to discuss the matter with his friends who were present on the occasion in question, and, as it were, form a sort of "pool" of their common recollections, impressions, and beliefs. One suggestion corrects or modifies another until a comparatively lucid and logical story is evoked. When this has been accomplished the witness mentally exclaims: "Of course! That was just the way it was! Now I remember it all!" The time is so distant that whatever the final crystallization of the matter may be, it is far from likely that it will thereafter be shown to be inaccurate by any piece of evidence which will present itself to the witness and his friends. The account thus developed by mutual questions and "refreshing" of each other's recollection becomes, so far as the parties to it are concerned, the fact. The witness is now positive that he did and said exactly so and so, and nothing will swerve him from it, for inherently there is
  • 64. nothing in the story or its make-up that affords any reason for questioning its accuracy. This story repeated from time to time becomes one of the most vivid things in the witness's mental experience. He repeats it over and over, is cross-examined by his own attorney upon it, incorporates it in an affidavit to which he swears, and when he takes the stand recounts these ancient happenings with an aggressiveness and enthusiasm that bring dismay to the other side. But what a farce to call this recollection! What is this circumstantial romance when it comes to be analyzed? Jones, a friend of Smith the prospective witness, is anxious to establish an alibi, and asks Smith if he doesn't remember meeting him in the club on February 12, two years before. Smith has no recollection of it at all, but Jones says: "Oh, yes, you were going to the theatre with Robinson." Of course, if Jones is so sure, Smith naturally begins to think it is probably the fact, and he does remember vaguely that he and Robinson spent an evening together. So he consults his diary and finds it recorded there that he did attend the theatre on the day in question with Robinson. He does not remember the play, but Robinson recalls that it was "The Chinese Honeymoon," and believes that they dined together first at the club. Smith now thinks he remembers this himself. Then Robinson suggests that they probably went to the theatre in a cab. They look in a file of old papers and find that it was raining. That settles it—of course, they went in a cab. The next question is the hour. They have no recollection of being late, so they must have arrived on time. Well, the paper says the play commenced at eight, and it takes a cab about twenty minutes to get from the club to Daly's Theatre, so it is reasonably clear that they must have started a little before eight. Smith unconsciously is persuaded to believe that if Jones was right about their going to the theatre, he must also have been in the club at the time he says he was there. Both he and Robinson recall that Jones was always hanging round the club two years ago, and as neither can remember an evening when he wasn't there, they decide he must have been there that night. Robinson has a dim recollection that they had a drink together. That is a pretty
  • 65. safe guess and has all the air of verisimilitude. In an hour or two Smith is ready to swear positively from recollection that he dined with Robinson at the club on February 12 two years ago, met Jones, had a drink with him, that this occurred at seven fifty-five, that it was raining, that they took a cab, etc., etc. In its elements this testimony is entirely hearsay upon the only vital point, i.e., Jones's presence in the club at that time, and the immaterial remainder is made up of equal parts of diary, newspaper, play-bill, weather report, usual custom, reliance on Robinson's alleged recollection, and belief in Jones's innocence. He has practically no actual memory of the facts at all, and the only thing he really does remember is that a long time ago he did attend some theatre with Robinson. The common doctrine of what is known as "refreshing the memory" in actual practice is notoriously absurd. Witnesses who have made memoranda as to certain facts, or even, in certain cases, of conversations, and who have no independent recollection thereof, are permitted to read them for the purpose of "refreshing" their memories. Having done so, they are then asked if they now have, independently of the paper, any recollection of them. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred it would be absolutely impossible for them really to remember anything of the sort. They read the entry, know it is probably accurate, and are morally convinced that the fact is as thereon stated. They answer yes, that their recollection has been refreshed and that they now do remember, and are allowed to testify to the fact as of their own knowledge. In most instances they do not clearly understand the distinction they are called upon to draw between actual independent recollection and a strong belief on their own part that the fact must be as recorded. It is the exceptional witness indeed who makes any such distinction. There are also many cases where a defendant has been put in jeopardy because some one, remembering that he intended to do an act, becomes convinced that he has done so, to the extent of being willing to swear thereto. No better illustration of this kind of error could be given than the disappearance of the famous necklace of a prominent resident of Newport during the summer of 1904. There
  • 66. lives hardly a family which has not frequently had such an experience. Some night the husband can't find his pearl shirt-studs. He knows he had them on the evening before. The hue and cry is raised. Maledictions are called down upon Anna or Delia or Nora. But the studs are not in the shirt. Their owner swears he left them there. Then Delia tremblingly suggests that "master dined in his ordinary clothes last evening," and he realizes that it was so late when he got home that at the last minute he decided not to change. Amid great excitement the studs are located in the bureau drawer where they belonged. The final question to be determined by the juror in regard to the testimony of any witness is how far the latter has succeeded in conveying his actual recollections through the medium of speech and gesture. This necessarily depends upon a variety of considerations. Among these are his familiarity with the English language; inadvertent accentuation of wrong words or of the less important features of his testimony; his physical condition, which in nine cases out of ten is one of extreme nervousness and timidity, if not of actual fear; and a hundred other trifling, but, in the aggregate, material matters. The most effective testimony is that which is given with what the jury regard as the evidences of candor. It is a familiar fact that the surer a person is of anything, particularly among the laboring classes, the more loudly will he assert its truth. This is so well known to the jury as ordinarily constituted that unless testimony is given with positiveness it might as well not be given at all. Much as it is to be deprecated, an assertive lie is of much more weight with a jury than an anemic statement of the truth. The juror imagines himself telling the story, and feels that if he were doing so and his testimony were true, he would be so convincing that the jury could have no doubt about it at all. Ofttimes a witness leads the jury to suspect that he is a liar simply because he has too strong a sense of the proprieties of his position vehemently to resent a suggestion of untruthfulness. The gentleman who mildly replies "That is not so" to a challenge of his veracity, makes far less impression on the jury
  • 67. than the coal-heaver who leans forward and shakes his fist in the shyster's face, exclaiming: "If ye said that outside, ye little spalpeen, I'd knock yer head off." "Ah," say the jury, "there's a man for you." Just as your puritan is at a disadvantage in an alehouse, and your dandy in a mob, so are the hyper-conscientious and the oversensitive and refined before a jury. The most effective witness is he whom the general run of jurors can understand, who speaks their own language, feels about the same emotions, and is not so morbidly conscientious about details that in qualifying testimony he finds himself entangled and rendered helpless in his own refinements. A distinguished lawyer testifying in a recent case was so careful to qualify every statement and refine every bit of his evidence that the jury took the word of a perjured loafer and a street-walker in preference. This kind of thing happens again and again, and the wily witness who thinks himself clever in appearing overdisinterested is "hoist by his own petard." The jury at once distrust him. They feel either that he is making it all up, or is in fact not sure of his evidence, else, they argue, he would be more positive in giving it. Most witnesses in the general run of criminal cases have no comprehension of the meaning of words of more than three syllables. It is hopeless to make use of even such modest members of our national vocabulary as "preceding," "subsequent," "various," etc. A negro when asked if certain shots were simultaneous replied: "Yas, boss. Dat's it! 'Zactly simultaneous! One right after de odder." The ordinary witness usually says "minutes" when he means "seconds." He will testify without hesitation that the defendant drew his revolver and immediately shot the complainant, illustrating on the stand the rapidity of the movement. When asked how long it took, he will answer: "Oh, about two or three minutes." A proper medium in which to converse between the lawyer and witness is sometimes difficult to find, and invariably much tact is required in handling witnesses of limited education. The writer remembers one witness who was completely disconcerted by the use
  • 68. of the word "cravat," and at the precise moment the attorney was so confused as not to be able to remember any synonym. The Tenderloin and the Bowery have a vocabulary of their own differing somewhat from that of beggars and professional criminals. The language of the ordinary policeman is a polyglot of all three. Popular writers on the "powers that prey," and dabblers in criminology in general, are apt to become the victims of self-alleged "ex-convicts" and "criminals" who are anxious to sell unreliable information for honest liquor. A large part of the lingo in realistic treatises on prison life and "life among the burglars," originates in the doped imagination of whatever fanciful "reformed" thief happens to be the personal gold mine of that particular author. Thieves, like any distinct class, make use of slang, some of which is peculiar to them alone. But for the most part the "tough" elements in the community make themselves easily understood either in the office or on the witness-stand. Where the witness speaks a foreign language the task of discovering exactly what he knows, or even what he actually says, is herculean. In the first place interpreters, as a rule, give the substance—as they understand it—of the witness's testimony rather than his exact words. It is also practically impossible to cross-examine through an interpreter, for the whole psychological significance of the answer is destroyed, ample opportunity being given for the witness to collect his wits and carefully to frame his reply. One could cross-examine a deaf-mute by means of the finger alphabet about as effectively as an Italian through a court interpreter, who probably speaks (defectively) seventeen languages. The reader might perhaps conclude from what has been said that the action of the ordinary jury in most cases must be founded simply upon shrewd guesswork. To a certain degree this cannot be denied, and it is equally true that all the delicate processes of the human mind, and the shadowy presences there of intent, motive, and recollection, can never be demonstrated save by inference. Our machinery is crude indeed. Ofttimes it is like trying to dissect a butterfly with a pair of pincers, and the wonder is that the jury are
  • 69. able to get at the truth as frequently as they do. Hence the necessity for the advocate to assist the jury and remedy their ignorance of the psychology of testimony by his own observation, knowledge, and experience. With the jury keenly alive to all the possibilities of error in the testimony of even the most honest of witnesses, it is for the advocate, the psychologist of the law, to test by his cross- examination and demonstrate in his summing up the precise probative value of the evidence, frequently revealing, below an apparently limpid stream of truth, a turbid bed of conjecture, assumption, belief, hearsay, and inaccuracy of expression, with the rank weeds of perjury growing just beneath the surface. CHAPTER XIII THE VERDICT The judge having delivered his charge, and the jury having gathered up their collection of miscellaneous garments and retired to the jury- room, a court officer claps the prisoner upon the shoulder and leads him away to the prison pen. Once the door of the court-room has closed behind him, he is conducted along a narrow corridor to the head of a flight of iron steps at the foot of which stands a keeper. As he descends the stairs the attendant notifies the keeper that the defendant is on his way down: and once the latter is safely below the keeper shouts "All right!" to the officer above, who returns once more to his duties in the court-room. Since there is little danger of an escape the officers sometimes become a trifle lax in the handling of prisoners awaiting the verdict. An incident recently occurred which shows how much care is necessary in guarding a defendant who confidently expects a verdict of conviction. At the conclusion of a trial for grand larceny the jury went out and the prisoner was conducted to the head of the stairs leading down to the pen. The court officer notified the keeper when
  • 70. the prisoner was about half-way down, and distinctly heard the latter reply "All right!" He thereupon departed. The keeper, however, had not uttered a syllable and was entirely unaware of the return of the defendant, who, being something of a ventriloquist, had answered for him, and had then calmly reascended the stairs, passed through the corridor to another court-room where he had mingled with the crowd, and later had had no difficulty in making his escape first into the main corridor and thence into the street. When the jury presently returned and the prisoner was sent for, his flight was discovered. The court waited patiently while the pens, corridors and finally the entire building were searched, but without disclosing a trace of the prisoner. Meanwhile the jury, who had found the defendant guilty, wondered why their verdict was not received. According to law, however, all the proceedings incident to a trial for felony up to and including the rendition of the verdict must take place in the presence of the prisoner, and in this case his voluntary absence compelled the court to declare a "mistrial." When it became evident that the defendant was unlikely to return, terrible was the humiliation of the court officers, who, for a few days, lived in terror of losing their official heads, if not of being imprisoned and fined for contempt. The prisoner's wife, however, had been present throughout the trial in the court-room, although, as his escape was entirely extemporaneous, she was as much surprised as anybody else at his departure. After the discharge of the jury several detectives followed her to her home in Hoboken. Late in the evening she left the house in response to a message and met her husband in a deserted part of the city, where he was recaptured. He was immediately brought back to New York and his case placed once more on trial; but this time he pleaded guilty. From a dramatic point of view it is to be regretted that the jury at the first trial had not found a verdict of "not guilty." As the first talesman who happens to be selected for the jury in any given case becomes ipso facto its foreman, amusing incidents sometimes occur owing to his inexperience. Where an indictment
  • 71. contains but a single count, as, for example, "receiving stolen goods," the foreman's answer to the clerk's interrogation of, "Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty," is, of course, simple enough; he answers "guilty" or "not guilty," or "not guilty, with a recommendation to the mercy of the court"; but where the indictment contains either a number of counts set forth separately, or the crime charged is of such a character that the jury may find in a lesser degree, some confusion is apt to result. If, for example, a defendant is being tried for murder in the first degree the court is obliged to submit, under the law, not only murder in its first degree, but the lesser crimes of murder in the second degree, manslaughter in the first degree, manslaughter in the second degree and occasionally assault in one or more degrees. Sometimes the foreman forgets entirely what he was going to say and stands staring, open- mouthed, until the clerk comes to his assistance. In a case where the court charged the jury that they could find the defendant guilty of murder, manslaughter, or assault, or else acquit him on the ground that he was justified in taking the life of the deceased, the jury retired and deliberated for many hours. As the time dragged on the defendant became convinced that he was to be convicted. Late at night the jury informed the court that they had agreed upon a verdict. They filed back and took their places in the box. The defendant was arraigned, pale with apprehension. The clerk arose. "Gentlemen of the jury," said he, "have you agreed upon a verdict?" "We have," replied the foreman. "The jury will rise," continued the clerk. "The defendant will rise." The jury and prisoner arose. "Jurymen, look upon the prisoner. Prisoner, look upon the jury," continued the clerk, and turning to the foreman, "How say you? Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?" "Guilty," stammered the foreman.
  • 72. The defendant uttered a loud groan and collapsed into the arms of the court attendant beside him. "Of justifiable homicide," hastily added the inexperienced foreman. In spite of the laughter of the rest of the jurymen and the smiles of the court it took some moments to convince the unnerved prisoner that he was not to be electrocuted. In a recent case the jury returned a verdict of "Pretty nearly guilty!" A very considerable proportion of jury trials in criminal cases result in disagreements. The question of reasonable doubt is always a troublesome one, and even where all the jury believe the defendant guilty, as likely as not half of them will not think that they are convinced beyond what they regard as a reasonable doubt. On this account many jurors are of the opinion that what is known as a Scotch verdict, or a verdict of "Not proven," should be allowed. The writer has been informed on good authority that in one of the recent trials of Nan Patterson eleven of the twelve jurymen believed her guilty, but that only six of them were of the opinion that they were so convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. Had the Scotch verdict been permissible it would probably have been rendered in this case. Inasmuch as the ordinary American petit jury are apt to go outside the evidence and to decide the issue, in some degree at least, on evidence which properly they should not consider at all, no further loopholes of escape from rendering a verdict one way or the other should be afforded them. Had we the Scotch verdict, instead of disagreeing and giving the prosecution the opportunity to try the defendant over again, juries would probably make use of it in all cases where they disliked to render a verdict in accordance with the evidence. Juries frequently incorporate with the verdict of guilty the words "with a recommendation to mercy." Of course this is no part of the verdict and has no legal effect whatever. It is merely a formal expression of opinion that in the eyes of the jury it would be well for the court to treat the defendant with leniency. The judge usually comments upon this recommendation and intimates that he will give
  • 73. it consideration in imposing sentence. It is not likely, however, that in any case which has appealed to the sympathies of the jury the court will not be equally moved. In point of fact, did juries fix the sentence in cases where they found the defendant guilty it is exceedingly probable that they would be much more severe than the bench. Most jurors, however, are under the impression that "a recommendation to mercy" is an integral part of their verdict and it frequently does yeoman's service by inducing a juror or two who have a lingering feeling that perhaps the crime has not been as fully proven as it might have been, or that maybe the defendant is not guilty after all or should be given another chance, to agree with the majority of their fellows. The writer had one panel of jurors in the General Sessions which, having returned a verdict of guilty "with a recommendation to mercy" in the first case tried during the month, affixed the same recommendation to each verdict which they rendered thereafter. It is his impression that they convicted every prisoner who came before them, so that the recommendation must in many cases have seemed to the hapless defendant but a hollow mockery. There is even a traditional case where a jury in a murder trial found the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree, "with a strong recommendation to the mercy of the court." Verdicts of murder in the first degree are comparatively rare and are, practically, only to be expected when the circumstances surrounding the crime are peculiarly atrocious. It is also a well-known fact that juries rarely find a verdict in a degree of crime higher than the one for which the majority vote upon the first ballot. For example, if on the first ballot the jury stands five for murder in the first degree, six for murder in the second degree and one for manslaughter only a miracle could account for a final verdict of murder in the first degree. In other words, a jury will almost never work up their verdict, argument invariably tending to work them down to a lesser degree. Most cases of what is technically murder in the first degree result in verdicts of murder in the second degree, and most cases of murder in the second degree result in verdicts of manslaughter.
  • 74. The jury having rendered a verdict of conviction, say of murder in the first degree, there remains to counsel but one last act which he can perform in his client's behalf, namely, to demand that the jury be polled. This must be done upon the requirement of either the defendant or the People, in which case, "they must be severally asked whether it is their verdict; and if any one answer in the negative, the jury must be sent out for further deliberation." The writer has never heard of a jury which, on being polled, showed a disagreement. It is not unusual, however, as the roll is called to see various members of the jury look apprehensively towards one of their number who has evidently put up in the jury-room a hard fight for a lesser degree and may be "of the same opinion still." A prosecutor always breathes more freely when the ordeal is over, and probably experiences during the process very much the same kind of emotion as that felt by the bride-groom at the altar as he listens apprehensively at the conclusion of the clergyman's announcement that "if any one has any just cause, etc., let him now speak or forever hold his peace." Defendants who are convicted rarely show any emotion when receiving the verdict. This is of course to be expected, as the defendant, if guilty, has probably been anticipating that he will be so found by the jury, and has steeled himself for the occasion, while an innocent man is practically never convicted. Hundreds of defendants, however, who confidently expect to be convicted, are acquitted through the leniency of the jury. Their exclamations of gratification and joy upon such occasions are frequently most amusing. Such a defendant not seldom thanks the court and the jury for their kindness, and in some cases his thanks are certainly due to those who have violated the letter and spirit of their oaths in acquitting him. The writer recalls one old colored mammy who, on being acquitted of stealing some wash which had been confided to her care, curtsied in all directions and remarked, "Ah t'anks your honor, an' Ah t'anks your Honors, gen'lemen ob de jury, one an' all." An Irishman, who had been but a few weeks in this country, and who had been acquitted on the charge of stealing a truck and horse
  • 75. which had been left in his charge, on learning of his acquittal invited the jury collectively in a loud voice to come across the street and have a drink. Before the jury is discharged, however, and the prisoner remanded to the Tombs for sentence, he is required to answer certain questions relative to his age, parentage, education, previous convictions, etc. If the spectator is fortunate enough to be able to forget the solemnity of what has taken place, he may well be entertained, not only at the answers given by the defendant, but at the method of conducting the examination by the court officer. The clerk takes the indictment and, with a large rubber die, stamps upon it the statement that the defendant, on being arraigned, made answer to the questions put to him, as follows: Counsel Assigned ............................................ Sex ......................................................... Age ......................................................... Nativity .................................................... Residence ................................................... Occupation ................................................... Married or Single ............................................ Education .................................................... Religious Instruction ........................................ Parents Living ............................................... Temperate or Intemperate ..................................... Before Convicted ............................................. Of course, the court officer who repeats the prisoner's answers to the clerk is usually so familiar with the order of the questions as to render any vocal action upon the part of the clerk unnecessary. The officer stands by the prisoner and, leaning over, asks in a low tone how old he is, if his parents are living, if he is addicted to the use of liquor, if he has had any religious instruction, or if he has been previously convicted of crime. It is really the officer to whom the defendant makes his replies, the former repeating them in a loud voice to the clerk. In some courts the clerk does not put the
  • 76. questions at all, but the officer merely gives in their order the answers of the defendant. For example, in Part II, upon the rendition of a verdict one will see Mr. Samuel Wolff, the clerk, stamp the indictment, dip his pen in the ink, turn to the officer of the court and say, "All ready?" The officer answers, "Yes." A subdued conversation then takes place between the prisoner and the officer, who raises his voice and answers: "Twenty-nine;—U.S.—No;—None;—Single—Yes;—No.—" All of which answers are properly recorded opposite the appropriate questions upon the indictment. All this is a little startling to the juror who has rendered his first verdict. He has no idea at all of what is going on. The officer returns, if possible, a categorical reply to each question, but frequently prisoners make statements which are of course irrelevant in character and are not incorporated in the answer. At times it requires quite a little cross-examining on the part of the officer to determine whether or not the defendant is temperate or intemperate, or whether he has really ever been convicted of crime theretofore. Any one who could overhear these colloquies would be well repaid for his trouble. The writer knows of one officer of a somewhat waggish disposition who, when he approaches the interrogation directed towards the prisoner's usual habits, first puts the question in its proper form: "Are you temperate or intemperate?" The prisoner, who perhaps does not understand these terms, or, at any rate, is a little doubtful himself as to his usual condition, stammers and hesitates. The officer, dropping his voice, remarks, confidentially: "Say, do you ever take a drink?" "Sure," says the defendant, without hesitation. "Moderate," shouts the officer to the clerk.
  • 77. A certain element of humor enters into the situation when a defendant convicted of bigamy is asked if he is married. The answer "Yes" is generally accompanied by an irrepressible grin. There used to be an old court officer in one of the parts of the General Sessions a few years ago who was a loyal son of Old Erin and a devout member of the Roman Church. On one occasion, a defendant having been found guilty he was arraigned at the bar for the purpose of having his pedigree taken, old Flaherty officiating. The conversation which ensued may be worth preservation. Flaherty to Defendant: "Say, me friend, where was ye born?" Defendant to Flaherty: "Lowell, Mass." Flaherty to Clerk: "Lowell, Mass." Flaherty to Defendant: "Where do yez hang out?" Defendant: "Nowhere." Flaherty to Clerk: "Ain't got none." Flaherty to Defendant: "Phat do yez do fer a livin'?" Defendant: "Nothin'." Flaherty to Clerk: "Ain't got none." Flaherty to Defendant: "Are ye married?" Defendant: "No,—thank God." Flaherty to Clerk: "He says 'No, thank God!'" Flaherty to Defendant: "Ever receive any previous religious instruction?" Defendant: "How's that?" Flaherty to Defendant: "Phat's yer religion?" Defendant: "Don't believe in nothin'."
  • 78. Flaherty to Clerk (loudly): "PROTESTANT!" For a convict to give under oath false answers to the questions thus put to him is, of course, perjury. It is frequently of no small importance for a prisoner to conceal his identity, or at least his record. But if a Bible is thrust into his right hand he is loath to put himself within the statute governing false swearing, for the chances are all in favor of his being found out, in which case his punishment will be severe. The writer recalls a dramatic incident of a man who endeavored to prevent his past offences coming to the knowledge of the judge. He bore, however, all the ear-marks of an ex-convict, and the court became suspicious that all was not right. He had just been convicted of stealing a purse. The jury had remained out until eleven o'clock at night and the court-room was practically deserted. The prisoner was placed before the bar. We will call him James Graham. The clerk put the usual questions and then inquired: "Have you ever been convicted before?" "No," answered the prisoner in a low voice. There was a long pause, and then the judge, looking down intently from the bench, said: "Graham, is that the truth?" "Yes, sir," replied the prisoner. "Are you quite sure?" insisted the court. "Yes, sir." "Swear him!" ordered the judge. The officer started to place the Bible in Graham's hand, but he refused to take it. "No, no, I can't!" he whispered. "I can't—I—I—it's no use!" he added.
  • 79. "When were you convicted?" "I served six months for petty larceny about five years ago." "Is that all?" "Yes, sir." "Are you sure?" "Yes, sir." "Quite sure? Think again." "Yes, sir." "Swear him!" Again the book was placed in his hand and again it was declined. "I served three years in Charlestown for larceny, and was discharged two months ago." "Is that all?" "O God! Isn't that enough?" suddenly groaned the prisoner, breaking down completely. "No, sir, it isn't all! It's always been the same old story! Concord, Joliet, Elmira, Springfield, Sing Sing, Charlestown— Yes, six times. Twelve years!—I'm a jail bird!" Before rendering a verdict the members of almost every jury take the opportunity in the jury-room to stretch their legs and satisfy their craving to smoke. Juries rarely return in less time than it takes to burn a cigar. While this may torture the prisoner it would seem a fairly earned perquisite on the part of his judges. Some jurors are instinctively, and a few are actually lawyers. These rarely add much to the general usefulness of the panel. Jurymen not infrequently seize the opportunity to display their oratorical ability, since their audience cannot get away and must perforce hear them out. The writer recalls one instance where in a well-known extortion case an enthusiastic talesman made a digest of the speeches of counsel for the defence and for the prosecution and then prepared a long harangue of his own which he committed to memory. When the jury
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