Justice is a fickle thing
Musings and memories
I first created this as a note… instead of my usual journaling with pen and paper. I realize now that it should be a post as it’s a memory I’d like to share.
I remember when Robbie was working on this song. It was April and Robbie had been busy touring since the end of February so we were on our way for a weekend away to celebrate our anniversary. We didn’t have much money then, but Robbie flew so much for his gigs and tours that he had the miles and a hotel discount, enough for a short break. In my mind’s eye, I see us sitting in an airport terminal gate waiting for our connecting flight, Robbie intently working on some scraps of paper and me with my head in a Dean Koontz novel, escaping from the tedium of waiting for the next part of our trip.
I confess that, as a native born US citizen, there was a great deal I didn’t know about the judicial system. I had no idea that, unlike a prison cell, when one is in a city jail holding cell, one does not have access to books, papers, television, radio… nothing to occupy one’s mind, no mental escape from the tedium of waiting for the next part of one’s life. It would have driven me mad. Joe Doherty was in that holding cell—he had not been charged or convicted of anything—for nine years.
Addendum:
A few years ago, when Norwegian Airlines started flying from Providence, RI to Cork, Ireland, Robbie and I started traveling back to Ireland more often—we had just bought a small cottage for when we would retire so we could be closer to his sister. On one return trip, we had the usual Duty Free things to bring back to our family… including some smoked salmon. Robbie was still asleep on the plane when I filled out the family disembarkation forms and, while I knew the bottle of whiskey for our son-in-law and the chocolate for my daughter and friends did not need to be listed, I thought the smoked salmon probably did need to be listed—so I did.
When we got through immigration, we and our bags were sent through to customs where all our bags needed to be scanned… because I had declared something on the form. Robbie, a much more seasoned traveler than I, was tired and irritated. The customs officer agreed with Robbie that the salmon could have been left off because it was bought in the Duty Free shop. As the bags came out of the scanner and he prepared to stamp our form, he looked at the passports and then up at Robbie and said, “Well, justice is a fickle thing.” Turns out he had heard Robbie perform this song with the Clancy Brothers at a music festival in Providence almost a decade before.1 It had stuck with him.
You write something, you sing something, you put it out there in the universe… you never know where it will land.
I think there’s a version on YouTube of that performance.