Doug Blough

I recently wrote about a court case in which I squared off against wily prosecutor Scott Kolpitcke in a driving-while-suspended case in which I lost solely because I refused to lie to the jury. But Scott had reminded my brother about another time we locked horns in a “failure-to-appear” case. It was I and not Scott who had failed to appear at a scheduled court hearing. In my defense, my OCD facilitates lots of unopened mail stacked around my rat's nest.

As I teased in that column, Al Simpson wanted to appear with me as a character witness. Another old friend of mine and Al's who he was boyhood buddies with, Charlie “Clell” Wynn, said he also wanted to speak on my behalf. So on the day of the hearing, I explained to Judge Webster how I had neglected to open my mail which would have alerted me to the hearing I had failed to show for. Kolpitcke was seated at the adjoining table next to me when the judge said, “Mr. Blough, I understand you have some people who would like to speak on your behalf. Mr. Simpson, if you'd approach the defendant's table?”

Big Al said, “Thank you your honor, I'd like to explain a little about OCD and what victims of it go through. You know Eddie,” (you know you're in good hands when your witness addresses the judge by his first name) “most of us would just reach over and take a drink from that water glass. But someone with OCD might have to tap the glass three times before they drink.” Al Actually grabbed the glass and tapped it to demonstrate.

“Now I've been to Doug's house and it is a mess with newspapers and unopened mail everywhere. It's not that he likes living in that mess, but his OCD compels him to hoard papers and not open mail. His intention was not to try the court's patience, but simply had the proper document buried under other unopened mail. Thank you your honor.”

Judge Webster said, “Mr. Wynn, you wished to say something in Mr. Blough's defense?” “Yes your honor,” Clell said as he came and stood beside me. “Ya know, I have a stepson who is developmentally disabled and he has a full-time caretaker. I'm not so sure Doug couldn't use that same thing.” I tapped Scott Kolpitcke with wide eyes and did my best impression of Rodney Dangerfield tugging at his tie. Scott's big grin was comforting.

Then the judge invited my friend Linda Kolak up to speak on my behalf, who I didn't even know was going to be there. Linda went into this whole diatribe about her mentally ill son who is not able to care for himself and will probably always be under her care. “So I really understand mental illness,” she concluded.

After she finished cracking open the mental institution door for me, Judge Webster said, “Mr Blough, before I pronounce sentence, is there anything you'd like to say?” I said, “Yes, your honor. I knew I had a few problems, but I had no idea I was THIS screwed up!”

Once again laughter was the best medicine as everyone broke up and the tension was dealt a serious blow. I got off with only a lecture about opening mail and how it would no longer be accepted as an excuse in the future. I was good with that and on the way out of the courtroom, Al put his long, Ichabod Crane arm around me and said, “Now, if you ever drink and drive again, me and Clell (both in their 80s) are gonna beat the holy hell out of you.”

So I have reformed and open most mail soon after it arrives without any full-time caretaker … I guess by the grace of God I haven't had to be incarcerated in a hospital for the criminally insane.