On 2008-11-11, I was stopped in Goffstown and ticketed for violating RSA 266:5, “Penalty for Failing to Obey Inspection Requirements,” a $60 fine. I checked off “not guilty” on the ticket and sent it in. I finally got notice in the mail, at the end of January, that the trial had been scheduled for 2009-05-12 at 13:00. With a backlog like this in Goffstown District Court, I knew it was going to be interesting…

On the day of the trial, Bill D., G. M., and I got there a little before 13:00. The plan was that I’d wait for my turn to come at trial, plead not guilty, and proceed with trial. I had questions prepared to cross-examine the officer, in order to make it apparent that the RSA that I violated is about revenue generation and not vehicle safety. I planned to then make a closing statement basically saying I wouldn’t be a revenue source for them, and ask the judge to suspend the fine, or I’d take the jail sentence in lieu of fine—and cost Hillsborough County several hundred dollars.

The fun starts as soon as we got there. We get the camera bag through the front security with no issues, then we went upstairs to wait at the Clerk’s office to hand in the motion form. The bailiff is standing next to the line and asks me what’s in the bag. I just answer that it’s a camera bag. We explain that we have the motion form for videoing in the courtroom; apparently the bailiff has no idea what this is. Bill tells the guy outright: It’s not his decision, it’s the judge’s.

Clerk calls on Bill and he hands in the form. It’s also obvious she’s never seen one before. Bill explains it’s a form for videoing in the courtroom; I add that we’re going through the exact same motions as we did in Manchester District Court, and that the form is even one I wrote up based on the one they hand out. She notices what I put on the media organization line and says to Bill, clearly shocked, “This is for YouTube?!” Two clerks confer briefly; Bill again says it’s not their decision, it’s up to the judge. Both of them go away.

We wait about ten minutes while two other clerks futz with the computer for another “customer” (the software didn’t enter his bail correctly or somesuch) and the line builds up. Two or three court security personnel are hovering around us by this point.

I finally check in, and we go and wait in the waiting room. There was a second guy sitting out there at a desk who told us we were supposed to check in with him after checking in with the clerk; now he’s not there. Typical bureaucracy so far—make things just confusing and inefficient enough that it keeps people (who aren’t expecting this sort of bullshit) off their balance.

Some guy comes out and tells everyone in the waiting room—three other people there for their own cases, alone, plus all of us—to follow him to the back. At first we think this is a bailiff, meaning the court’s open or somesuch, but it turns out to be the prosecutor, Kerry P. Steckowych (“Stecky”). I immediately realize that this court must go through so many of these petty cases, that they just assume that everyone’s going to go deal with the prosecutor first. Who’d bother with a trial, right?

All of us are led to a conference room where we wait, while Steckowych takes people one by one to his office. The whole thing has the feel of being called to the principal’s office, which I’m sure is the psychological intent of it all. While waiting, we all talk with the other guys there waiting for their cases; two of them actually seem somewhat receptive to the idea of always taking a trial, if not to win, just to slow them down and perhaps get them to blink first. The third guy is more concerned about the fact that he’s missing work, and just wants to get it over with. That is, of course, what they hope for with cases like this: Just go in, give ’em your $60 or $100 or $150, and be done with it. (This courthouse is huge for a town the size of Goffstown, probably bigger than Manchester’s. Gee, I wonder how they paid for it?)

Ivy arrives at this point and we let her into the conference room.

Eventually the prosecutor gets to us four; we had let him take all the other guys first so we’re not contributing to wasting their time like the State is. He brings us to his office and leaves briefly. He’s already acting a bit off as he’s not used to dealing with one person with two others with him, and now a third has shown up.

He leaves briefly and comes back with the paperwork. He starts describing the case from the paperwork and asking me what my plan is; he’s perplexed why I want to actually take a trial since this is a “strict liability” offense. Apparently Goffstown’s court literally does interpret checking off “not guilty” on the tickets to mean that a person wants to deal with the prosecutor—not that one would actually want a trial and, you know, plead “not guilty.” He gets agitated when I start to explain I’m not planning on paying the fine. I probably say a few things to the prosecutor I shouldn’t about the facts of the case, but I’m not actually trying to contest the facts, just the law, so I’m not thinking in “remain silent” mode. Someone (I forget who) brings up that we want the trial so we can video it; he starts to become more agitated and says he won’t consent to being audio recorded because he doesn’t want to be made a fool of, and we don’t need to video anyway, because the court will for us (so in other words, he will be videoed being made a fool of, just not by us). He tries to cite “RSA 570” (it’s RSA 570-A); Ivy and him get into an argument about State Supreme Court cases requiring judges to allow videoing in their courtrooms and that it’s not up to him but the judge, and then he completely loses it.

The poor bureaucrat realizes he’s lost control at this point—his behavior starts to remind me of a highschool bully who got sucker-punched in the gut for the first time. He demands that Ivy leave “unless you’re his attorney,” and she waits outside. Bill asks if he wants us all to leave (except me), and he says no, only Ivy. Another thirty seconds or so of exchange and it’s, “Fine, take this to court, you’ll be found guilty.” As we’re on our way out, he says something like, “You can then take this to your precious Supreme Court,” and storms off.

We all go wait in the hallway and Ivy starts looking up stuff on her laptop for Bill to cite when he gets to argue his video motion. Numerous court officials walk by our little meeting overhearing us discussing this or that court case, legal terms, &c.. A bailiff shows up with another security minion and asks us to go wait in the lobby.

We wait ten or fifteen minutes, talking to another batch of State victims about their rights. Obviously everyone can overhear us now, as we’re on opposite sides of a fairly large waiting room. One guy learns that he can open-carry with a loaded firearm; he thought OCing was only legal with an unloaded weapon. Another guy tells us about all sorts of trouble he’s having in his town with some corrupt selectman cum police officer, going after him about how his driveway is laid out or somesuch. We convince him to get it all on video and try to always keep a camera with him at all times.

Steckowych comes back later and says, “It’s your lucky day, Mr. Olson.” He explains that the cop who stopped me, Patrol Officer Paul Lavallee, is at home today “with a sick son” so he can’t make it to trial, so Stecky here is going to nol pros the case. I tell him that I’m not leaving until I get it in writing. He acts like of course, that’s what he meant all along; he’d be back with it in a few minutes.

We wait another ten minutes or so, chatting with all the people in the waiting room. Steckowych comes back and hands me the paper without so much as a word, and so obviously refusing to look at all of us that I nearly burst out laughing. Ivy asks him if this is being dismissed “with prejudice” (meaning they can’t bring it back), because we were under the impression that we’d need a hearing in front of a judge in order for that to be done. He says it’s “completely gone,” that it’s “expunged.” Fine, so we leave. We have three witnesses to Stecky telling me it’s gone, so if it comes back, it’s going to be a whole lot of fun all over again.

We were out of there at 14:17.