his deepest secret? I asked him why.
"Because you're children and you can understand it," he said, "and
because I heard that one-"
He jerked his head at Dill: "Things haven't caught up with that
one's instinct yet. Let him get a little older and he won't get sick
and cry. Maybe things'll strike him as being- not quite right, say,
but he won't cry, not when he gets a few years on him."
"Cry about what, Mr. Raymond?" Dill's maleness was beginning to
assert itself.
"Cry about the simple hell people give other people- without even
thinking. Cry about the hell white people give colored folks,
without even stopping to think that they're people, too."
"Atticus says cheatin' a colored man is ten times worse than
cheatin' a white man," I muttered. "Says it's the worst thing you
can do."
Mr. Raymond said, "I don't reckon it's- Miss Jean Louise, you
don't know your pa's not a run-of-the-mill man, it'll take a few years
for that to sink in- you haven't seen enough of the world yet. You
haven't even seen this town, but all you gotta do is step back
inside the courthouse."
Which reminded me that we were missing nearly all of Mr. Gilmer's
cross-examination. I looked at the sun, and it was dropping fast
behind the store-tops on the west side of the square. Between two
fires, I could not decide which I wanted to jump into: Mr. Raymond
or the 5th Judicial Circuit Court. "C'mon, Dill," I said. "You all
right, now?"
"Yeah. Glad t've metcha, Mr. Raymond, and thanks for the drink, it
was mighty settlin'."
We raced back to the courthouse, up the steps, up two flights of
stairs, and edged our way along the balcony rail. Reverend Sykes had
saved our seats.
The courtroom was still, and again I wondered where the babies were.
Judge Taylor's cigar was a brown speck in the center of his mouth; Mr.
Gilmer was writing on one of the yellow pads on his table, trying to
outdo the court reporter, whose hand was jerking rapidly. "Shoot," I
muttered, "we missed it."
Atticus was halfway through his speech to the jury. He had evidently
pulled some papers from his briefcase that rested beside his chair,
because they were on his table. Tom Robinson was toying with them.
"...absence of any corroborative evidence, this man was indicted
on a capital charge and is now on trial for his life...."
I punched Jem. "How long's he been at it?"
"He's just gone over the evidence," Jem whispered, "and we're
gonna win, Scout. I don't see how we can't. He's been at it 'bout five
minutes. He made it as plain and easy as- well, as I'da explained it
to you. You could've understood it, even."
"Did Mr. Gilmer-?"
"Sh-h. Nothing new, just the usual. Hush now."
We looked down again. Atticus was speaking easily, with the kind
of detachment he used when he dictated a letter. He walked slowly up
and down in front of the jury, and the jury seemed to be attentive:
their heads were up, and they followed Atticus's route with what
seemed to be appreciation. I guess it was because Atticus wasn't a
thunderer.
Atticus paused, then he did something he didn't ordinarily do. He
unhitched his watch and chain and placed them on the table, saying,
"With the court's permission-"
Judge Taylor nodded, and then Atticus did something I never saw
him do before or since, in public or in private: he unbuttoned his
vest, unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie, and took off his
coat. He never loosened a scrap of his clothing until he undressed
at bedtime, and to Jem and me, this was the equivalent of him standing
before us stark naked. We exchanged horrified glances.
Atticus put his hands in his pockets, and as he returned to the
jury, I saw his gold collar button and the tips of his pen and
pencil winking in the light.
"Gentlemen," he said. Jem and I again looked at each other:
Atticus might have said, "Scout." His voice had lost its aridity,
its detachment, and he was talking to the jury as if they were folks
on the post office corner.
"Gentlemen," he was saying, "I shall be brief, but I would like to
use my remaining time with you to remind you that this case is not a
difficult one, it requires no minute sifting of complicated facts, but
it does require you to be sure beyond all reasonable doubt as to the
guilt of the defendant. To begin with, this case should never have
come to trial. This case is as simple as black and white.
"The state has not produced one iota of medical evidence to the
effect that the crime Tom Robinson is charged with ever took place. It
has relied instead upon the testimony of two witnesses whose
evidence has not only been called into serious question on
cross-examination, but has been flatly contradicted by the
defendant. The defendant is not guilty, but somebody in this courtroom
is.
"I have nothing but pity in my heart for the chief witness for the
state, but my pity does not extend so far as to her putting a man's
life at stake, which she has done in an effort to get rid of her own
guilt.
"I say guilt, gentlemen, because it was guilt that motivated her.
She has committed no crime, she has merely broken a rigid and
time-honored code of our society, a code so severe that whoever breaks
it is hounded from our midst as unfit to live with. She is the
victim of cruel poverty and ignorance, but I cannot pity her: she is
white. She knew full well the enormity of her offense, but because her
desires were stronger than the code she was breaking, she persisted in
breaking it. She persisted, and her subsequent reaction is something
that all of us have known at one time or another. She did something
every child has done- she tried to put the evidence of her offense
away from her. But in this case she was no child hiding stolen
contraband: she struck out at her victim- of necessity she must put
him away from her- he must be removed from her presence, from this
world. She must destroy the evidence of her offense.
"What was the evidence of her offense? Tom Robinson, a human
being. She must put Tom Robinson away from her. Tom Robinson was her
daily reminder of what she did. What did she do? She tempted a Negro.
"She was white, and she tempted a Negro. She did something that in
our society is unspeakable: she kissed a black man. Not an old
Uncle, but a strong young Negro man. No code mattered to her before
she broke it, but it came crashing down on her afterwards.
"Her father saw it, and the defendant has testified as to his
remarks. What did her father do? We don't know, but there is
circumstantial evidence to indicate that Mayella Ewell was beaten
savagely by someone who led almost exclusively with his left. We do
know in part what Mr. Ewell did: he did what any God-fearing,
persevering, respectable white man would do under the circumstances-
he swore out a warrant, no doubt signing it with his left hand, and
Tom Robinson now sits before you, having taken the oath with the
only good hand he possesses- his right hand.
"And so a quiet, respectable, humble Negro who had the unmitigated
temerity to 'feel sorry' for a white woman has had to put his word
against two white people's. I need not remind you of their
appearance and conduct on the stand- you saw them for yourselves.
The witnesses for the state, with the exception of the sheriff of
Maycomb County, have presented themselves to you gentlemen, to this
court, in the cynical confidence that their testimony would not be
doubted, confident that you gentlemen would go along with them on
the assumption- the evil assumption- that all Negroes lie, that
all Negroes are basically immoral beings, that all Negro men are
not to be trusted around our women, an assumption one associates
with minds of their caliber.
"Which, gentlemen, we know is in itself a lie as black as Tom
Robinson's skin, a lie I do not have to point out to you. You know the
truth, and the truth is this: some Negroes lie, some Negroes are
immoral, some Negro men are not to be trusted around women- black or
white. But this is a truth that applies to the human race and to no
particular race of men. There is not a person in this courtroom who
has never told a lie, who has never done an immoral thing, and there
is no man living who has never looked upon a woman without desire."
Atticus paused and took out his handkerchief. Then he took off his
glasses and wiped them, and we saw another "first": we had never
seen him sweat- he was one of those men whose faces never perspired,
but now it was shining tan.
"One more thing, gentlemen, before I quit. Thomas Jefferson once
said that all men are created equal, a phrase that the Yankees and the
distaff side of the Executive branch in Washington are fond of hurling
at us. There is a tendency in this year of grace, 1935, for certain
people to use this phrase out of context, to satisfy all conditions.
The most ridiculous example I can think of is that the people who
run public education promote the stupid and idle along with the
industrious- because all men are created equal, educators will gravely
tell you, the children left behind suffer terrible feelings of
inferiority. We know all men are not created equal in the sense some
people would have us believe- some people are smarter than others,
some people have more opportunity because they're born with it, some
men make more money than others, some ladies make better cakes than
others- some people are born gifted beyond the normal scope of most
men.
"But there is one way in this country in which all men are created
equal- there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of
a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the
ignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution,
gentlemen, is a court. It can be the Supreme Court of the United
States or the humblest J.P. court in the land, or this honorable court
which you serve. Our courts have their faults, as does any human
institution, but in this country our courts are the great levelers,
and in our courts all men are created equal.
"I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts
and in the jury system- that is no ideal to me, it is a living,
working reality. Gentlemen, a court is no better than each man of
you sitting before me on this jury. A court is only as sound as its
jury, and a jury is only as sound as the men who make it up. I am
confident that you gentlemen will review without passion the
evidence you have heard, come to a decision, and restore this
defendant to his family. In the name of God, do your duty."
Atticus's voice had dropped, and as he turned away from the jury
he said something I did not catch. He said it more to himself than
to the court. I punched Jem. "What'd he say?"
"'In the name of God, believe him,' I think that's what he said."
Dill suddenly reached over me and tugged at Jem. "Looka yonder!"
We followed his finger with sinking hearts. Calpurnia was making her
