The City fired its opening salvo in the Gas Works Park nuisance lawsuit filed after the death of 15 y.o. Matthies Johnson. This is how the City’s Answer begins:
“The City admits that some trespassers at Gas Works Park who have climbed or attempted to climb the appurtenances to the fenced-in towers have been injured and died in falls.”
The City does not refer to Matthies Johnson or the other 14 young people as humans with names and ages, families and friends. It classifies them as negative disembodied entities. Law breakers. Bad people. Trespassers.
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Gas Works Park is a toxic waste site where oil and other harmful chemicals fester just below the surface. But the city of Seattle had the great idea of turning it into a park - opening it to the public fully in 1976.
Beautiful “kite hill” is actually a mound of sewage and toxic structural materials covered by several inches of clay and a lawn. You can’t dip your toes into Lake Union which surround GWP - because of the toxic sediment which has been waiting for more than a decade to get cleaned up.
But the piece d’ resistance are the cracking towers. A delightful name not to be confused with cracker jacks or anything delicious and safe. This is where carcinogenic chemicals and coal were heated up to create fuel. The environment be damned.
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In order to protect the integrity of the legal process, an attorney for the City of Seattle, has scoured through The Velvet Hammer podcasts, to find the perfect 38 page exhibit. The issue: Whether attorneys from the Stritmatter Law Firm are capable of being unbiased enough to push the record button during a zoom deposition.
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I knew Shawn from another time. Decades ago. She was so lovely. So warm. So loving. We didn’t keep in touch after my divorce. Not really. I would hear about her and Mark her husband. Once in a blue moon would run into them. Then last November, they visited Maui. Came over for a dinner that Cristina put together. And the years melted away. As they always do when you have a friend who has seen all the way inside of you.
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The Velvet Hammer Podcast (TM) was becoming not exactly a chore. And not exactly a bore. But it was destined to either dry up and wither away slowly. Or it needed a major redo.
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We are all gathered. Back in the courtroom. Two and a half hours after closing ended. The presiding juror has handed the verdict up. The judge has read it. Trying to keep face unreadable. Hands it to the bailiff. Who reads it.
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On Tuesday mediation failed which means the wrongful death trial will start August 19. Before my mind switches to battle mode, another thought fills my mind. And that thought turns to feelings. And those feelings begin to spread throughout my body. And then I cry.
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After Nala died I fled to New York for a few weeks. Partly to visit Noelle but also to avoid being in the house on Queen Anne hill. Where Nala lived with me for 13 of her 16 years.
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We drive down the hill to watch the sunset from the beach. Phuong has come for a visit.
We first met in the hospital She had just turned 18. Barely escaped death. During the Ride the Duck crash of September 2015. After the ducks lost its axle and crossed the center line it rammed into and through the tour bus full of international students. If Phuong had been sitting one seat back she would not be here today.
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After hearing I was heading back into trial, a lovely friend from kindergarten urged me to retire. What more do you need Karen. What more do you have to prove. You deserve to relax and spend more time being a grandma. All good and valid points.
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Postscript: this is from my trial diary of prophylaxis class action against seattle children’s hospital.
Trial day 3
6:00 Cockadoodle doo. Wake up.
6:25 Get up and make bed.
6:45 White T. tan lulu shorts. Pink crock slides. Pink sweater jacket picked up over the weekend once decided to stay another week.
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We settled the protest case for $10M the day before. Actually it had been lingering for a week since the mediation. When the city agreed to a deal then two stepped before refusing to put it in writing. Double crossers.
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At first I thought, well Karen - how ridiculous that you would think that you should get award and be mad that you didn’t. As a woman raised in the 60s - we were taught not to be forward, not to expect, to do good work, hope we would be recognized, and not be disappointed when the much louder boys got noticed instead.
But that 60s meek attitude is not how you claw to and survive at the top in the paternalistic world of lawyers. Plus I was raised by parents who believed that if you didn’t fight for yourself and others, then what was the point.
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We watch the flowers rip off the plumeria trees. The glorious hibiscus bushes with their plate size blooms, stripped bare. The areca palm border around the house stands firm, but the fronds are shredding. The pool fills with garden debris. Early in the afternoon, we make our hourly pilgrimage back outside. The air pushes us around. This time we see a large gray cloud. What is that we point. We don’t know. Go inside. Another hour passes. Go back outside. It’s fire. And then Boom.
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Last week, the City told me that a yard blower was a weapon and grounds for arrest when used by a protester to protect others from tear gas. Number of victims: 0. A few days later, the parents of Summer Taylor gave gut wrenching statements during the sentencing the drunk (drugs primarily) driver who took their child’s life and almost killed another.
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Dad turned 90 this week. The family got together at Debbie & Rob’s house to celebrate the way we usually do. With dim sum and cake.
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