to talk to a real star for the first time.
One of the male students whose name I didn’t catch asks if Robin had ever said that she liked Dade or thought he was attractive. I listen carefully for Shannon’s answer, but she disappoints me by saying, “She never said she liked him like he was some guy she had a thing for,” her tone matter-of-fact.
“But she liked him as a person. She thought he was a friend, I guess, not just somebody she was helping.”
The black math professor. Dr. Glazer, picks up on this question.
“Ms. Kennsit, if Robin had been attracted to Dade,” she asks, her voice slightly ironical and detached, “given the fact that he is an African-American and she is white, and the fact that public interracial relationships are rare on this campus, is she the kind of person who would be sure to confide in you or her friends, or might she be more cautious and not say anything, especially at first?”
Shannon, whose most attractive characteristic as a witness thus far has been her lack of guile, hesitates for the briefest of instants before answering, “Robin is kind of private, but I think she would have told me if she had liked Dade, you know, that way.”
“Ms. Kennsit,” the same woman asks again, “who else might Robin have confided in?”
Bless this woman’s soul. Whether she knows it or not, this woman is helping us out, if not today, then for the trial. I think she is trying to help us out.
“Robin and I are best friends,” Shannon says eagerly.
“If she didn’t tell me, I don’t think she would tell anybody.”
I don’t think this girl is lying. But if Dade is telling the truth, there is more to this case than meets the eye. Robin could easily be hiding something but what is it? I don’t have a clue. At least I will have plenty of time to work on Dade before the trial.
The hearing speeds up considerably after Shannon finishes. Mary Purvis, the counselor from the Rape Crisis Center, is the next witness, and I don’t regret not having caught up with her. She is in her early
twenties and she lacks the experience to make a useful witness. A student board member, a boy I thought was having trouble staying awake for the last hour, asks her exactly how many rape victims she has counseled after she says that “Robin’s reaction was typical.” Three, is her reply. No one asks her any more questions after this admission.
After she departs, Dr. Haglar says that the board will consider the hospital admission record which contains the nurse’s comments and the physician’s examination.
Since this evidence is favorable (there is no indication whatsoever that Robin was hurt or suffered any sexual trauma), I have no problems with it.
The last witness is Harris Warford, who tells the board that he saw Dade about nine-thirty, less than an hour after the rape was supposed to have occurred.
“Did he seem any different to you or say anything about what had happened Dr. Haglar asks.
Buddha-like in his calm passivity, Harris appears more relaxed than any witness so far.
“Dade seemed puzzled more than anything,” he says quietly.
“He told me he’d gone to study at Eddie’s house with Robin, but ended up doin’ her. He said it was weird because she was all hot, and then when it was all over, she got out of there like she didn’t even know him. I kidded him about how she must not have liked it, but he said she wasn’t hurt or anything.
She just got up and took off.”
This answer prompts a number of questions, but the most persistent come from Dr. Glazer, who asks, “Did Dade ever tell you or anyone you know that he liked Robin more than just as a friend, or that he’d like to have sex with her?”
“After the time she and her roommate came to Eddie’s house in the spring, we ragged him some about her,” Harris says without changing his expression, “but he never said he liked her.”
“Do you think he did?” Dr. Glazer presses him.
“Dade had plenty of girls,” Harris says as if he were commenting on the weather, but not answering her question
“He didn’t worry much about any particular one.”
Dr. Glazer, judging from her expression, doesn’t seem to think much of that answer, but lets it go, and ten minutes later Dr. Haglar, after consulting with Ms. Dozier, announces we are done. I had expected the hearing to last much longer. Dade is visibly relieved, but if he thinks this was bad, the trial will be ten times worse. Dr. Haglar says that a decision will be made as quickly as possible, and shows us a way out through the back door to avoid the re porters. I look at Dade, who nods gratefully at him. He has to be ready for practice at three. I take it as a good sign that a couple of the students wish him good luck against Alabama.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Dade asks, “What do you think they’ll do?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly as I try to keep up with him.
“They weren’t as hostile as I thought they’d be. But we can’t forget that the burden of proof is not like it is in a criminal case. I think it will just come down to whether they want to believe her or you.”
Amazingly, we have come out at the back of the Union, and there isn’t a reporter in sight. I remind him not to make any comment regardless of the outcome.
“Remember that you have a right to appeal, and nothing will happen until that process is over, and it could take weeks. Good luck tomorrow.”
He nods.
“You’ll do more at the trial, won’t you?” he asks.
“I know you couldn’t ask questions or say anything here” I laugh for the first time today.
“A hell of a lot more. I can guarantee you that.”
Twenty minutes later, as I go to check out of the Ozark, I have a message to call Barton before I leave town: he has a ticket for me to the Alabama game. Good of’ Barton!
I had resigned myself to watching it on TV with Clan tomorrow. I hope he has a place for me to stay, too. The Ozark and every other motel around here has been taken this weekend for weeks, probably months. The game is at two, so I can still get home tomorrow night in time for my date with Amy. I’ll need to find a washing machine, too. I’ve run out of clothes.
“Hell, you deserve to go to this game,” Barton says an hour later. He hands me a beer he has taken from a little bar he has in a small room off his office, which is now unofficially closed in honor of the Arkansas-Alabama battle to come tomorrow.
“You’re single-handedly responsible for us having a chance to win it.”
I pop the top on a Tecate and marvel at the human animal’s capacity for hero worship.
“I haven’t done much,” I say modestly, knowing Barton won’t believe me.
“But at least he’ll play tomorrow, whatever they decide.”
Outside, we can see students driving the square, honking their horns, their “Beat “Bama” signs plastered all over their cars. It is not even five o’clock in the afternoon, but Hogs football fans have waited years for a chance to play a game that means something. If we win, we’ll surely be ranked in the top five and have a real shot at playing for the national championship on New Year’s Day.
“If the board’s smart,” Barton says, pouring bourbon for himself, “they won’t announce their decision until Monday. Why take a chance on messing with Dade’s head? That boy’s gonna need to concentrate all he can.”
“That’s for sure,” I say. There is no point in tormenting Barton with the information that a good many people within the university community would like nothing better than to sky write over Razorback stadium tomorrow afternoon a message that the business of rape is more important than a football game.
Within an hour’s time Barton and I are feeling no pain, which is fortunate, because he gets a call from his wife to turn on the five o’clock news. The “J” Board is reported to have made a decision. Barton snaps on his stereo, and we see the luscious female reporter, who is usually on later, reading into the camera, “.. . will no longer be permitted to take part in intercollegiate athletics the remainder of the year but will be permitted to attend classes.
Clarise Dozier, the All-University Coordinator of Judicial Affairs, has just explained that any disciplinary action will not go into effect until the vice-chancellor and chancellor have ruled on any appeal and reviewed the actions
