The Superior Court in Portland, Maine is housed in an intimidating building of stone that remains a foreboding gray even on the sunniest of days. At first glance, its color somehow seems out of sync with its purpose of delivering clear, unambiguous justice. One wonders where the shining white marble and statue of blind justice are.
Entering the courthouse is confusing if you do not know where you are going. The lobby is very dark and built of the same stone as the exterior. There is no information desk. There is no directory of offices readily visible. Many people, all of whom seem to know where they are going, rush through the forlorn entrance.
A number of places in the courthouse seem surprisingly busy given that Maine has one of the lowest crime rates in the nation. The courthouse, however, does take care of more than just adjudication of criminal matters.
Countywide records offices?dealing with everything from wills to divorce?are located in the basement of the courthouse. Courtrooms, jury rooms, and record-viewing rooms are on the second floor. From the windows one can see the District Court, one building over.
There is a Maine Superior Court in every county in the state. Jury trials can only take place in the Superior Court; district courts handle non-jury cases.
It is lunchtime and the courthouse's basement level is empty: no snaking lines of people, no commotion. A lone middle-aged man, tall with muscles bulging under his maroon shirt, stands back from the counter, looking at the ground. He is either a manual laborer or a constant presence at the local gym. The man is perfectly still for a few moments. Slowly he begins to rock uncomfortably from one foot to the other. A clerk notices him, but remains silent at first. A beat. She asks, "Sir, can I help you with something?" He looks up and gingerly steps towards the desk. "I need a copy," his voice wavers, "of my divorce judgment."
The man swallows hard as the clerk takes his name and walks toward a wall of files. "I just wish this could all be over," the man says to no one in particular, deep melancholy echoing in each of his words. The man, despite his build, looks weak and vulnerable. He bites his lower lip in an effort to suppress the sobs welling up in his throat.
Two floors up, a rotund clerk for the criminal division of the court is filing papers. Every case gets a file with police reports and court documents. A sheet that is included in every file notes the suspect's financial status. A lawyer is provided if the person is "indigent" and many suspects are?over 20,000 people live below the poverty line in Cumberland County. And Cumberland County has the lowest poverty rate in Maine.
"Can you make me a copy of some of these files," a man in the records viewing room, face obscured by a pile of files, questions a passing court employee. "Just take them to the front," she responds with annoyance. "Carry them to the front?" he asks, surprised. "Isn't that what I said?" The employee walks away, head held high, with an indignant snort.
"Could you copy these pages for me?" the man asks the rotund clerk at the criminal section who is now messily eating a blueberry muffin. Enraged, the clerk demands why he took the files out of the viewing room. She stands up, launching cyan crumbs all around her. He insists that an employee told him to. "What did she look like?" He describes the rude woman who apparently works as a clerk in civil cases. "Oh God," she passionately invokes the Almighty, "I hate people from Civil." The burning contempt in her voice is palpable.
A man in worn Timberland boots pays a fine. A woman, clutching her oversized purse, rushes towards a jury room. As they walk towards juvenile drug court, a mother glares at her son?a gesture lost on the young man whose head is bowed. A well-dressed lawyer heartily laughs about her client not having a telephone and thus not knowing that the day of his hearing has changed. A judge presides over his court, dressed in the requisite black robe. The courthouse bustles with activity, punishing those who have overstepped the bounds of "civilized behavior."
The fate of many people has been and will be decided in the Superior Court?cases of murderers and reckless drivers, rapists and drug dealers, drunk drivers and burglars will be adjudicated. The suspects will be found guilty?or not?by a jury of their peers. Or so it is supposed to go.
The American justice system is a theoretical pillar of our society. The real manifestation of the glue that holds our society together, the law, can be found at the courthouse. And there, the perfect theory is marred by the imperfections of reality.
In the courthouse, manifestations of the darkest evil and the brightest good?and everything in between?can be found. It is no surprise then that, on second look, the grey stone seems somehow befitting of Cumberland County Superior Court.