Sex and Violence in Hollywood (54 page)

“Sorry. I guess I’d be more interested in the whole thing if the people you were choosing were going to decide somebody else’s future. This is too boring to bear. And too scary.”

* * *

Lazar asked, “How did you become acquainted with Adam Julian, Mrs. Boam?” He faced the witness stand from a lectern on which he had placed his notes.

“He was a student in my eighth grade English class,” Mrs. Boam said.

Her face was just as Adam had remembered it—still frozen in a disgusted grimace of disapproval. Mrs. Boam looked no older than when he had last seen her, but she had always looked old, whatever her age. In yearbook photos from decades ago, she had not looked a day younger than she’d looked during Adam’s eighth grade year. She looked no different on the witness stand.

“Do you remember what kind of student he was?” Lazar asked.

“He was a very intelligent boy with a great deal of potential. But he was terribly misguided.”

“Misguided? Could you explain, Mrs. Boam?”

“He had a natural grasp of the English language and showed talent as a writer. But his use of that talent was...unsatisfactory.” She wrinkled her nose and her already sour face shriveled a bit more.

Lazar asked, “What do you mean by—”

“No, unsatisfactory is not the proper word,” Mrs. Boam interrupted, frowning as she held up an index finger. “I suppose his work would have been satisfactory to someone who liked that sort of thing. I did not and do not, and it was inappropriate for an eighth grade English class.”

“What sort of thing was that, Mrs. Boam?”

“Oh, they were awful stories about people killing and...torturing each other. He described the violence in such explicit detail. I came to dread those papers.”

“Were these assignments?”

“They were all assignments. But no matter how benign the assignment, he would turn it into some kind of bloody horror story. I remember the first assignment I gave his class. I asked them for an essay on how their summer ended.” She turned to Adam at the defense table. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head disapprovingly, lips pressed together, mouth turned down. “Adam wrote that he and his friend Carter Brandis went on a killing spree across the country. They killed people at random, assigning points to people of different ages and with various physical attributes. And he wrote that they managed to escape the police so they could get back home in time for school to start.”

Suppressed chuckles came from the spectators.

Mrs. Boam’s face made her disapproval clear as she looked over the crowd. “Well, I did not find it funny.” She looked at Lazar again. “But he found it funny. And so did his friend.”

“What friend?”

“Carter Brandis. A portly boy who shared Adam’s fascination with violence.”

“Do you remember any other details, Mrs. Boam? Details like that paper Adam wrote?”

“One particular story stands out in my memory. It was the last straw for me.”

“Could you tell us about the story?”

“It was about a boy whose mother is regularly beaten by his father. The boy loves his mother very much and wants to make a better life for her, so he plans to kill his father.”

A mild gasp fluttered through the courtroom.

“He decides to make it look like a robbery,” Mrs. Boam said. “As if a crazed junkie came into the house desperate for money and killed his father. He waits until his mother is at work and brutally kills his father with a large knife from the kitchen. It was horribly bloody and gory and...awful, it was just awful. The boy plans the murder too well. The police do not suspect him for a moment, but they are suspicious of his mother. She is arrested and charged with murder. The boy tries to tell them the truth, but no one believes him. They think he is simply covering for his mother. She is convicted and sentenced to death. The story was made up mostly of graphic descriptions of the father’s murder and the mother’s death in the electric chair. It was dreadful.”

“How did you handle the problem, Mrs. Boam?”

“Well, after that, I stopped assigning him papers and stories. I gave him assignments separate from the rest of the class. And Carter, too, because his papers were just as odious, but not as well written. The subject of the papers was not as important as the mechanics, you see. It was an English class, after all. It’s my job to teach my students the proper use of the language, whether written or spoken. Assigning papers or stories aren’t the only ways to do that. So I assigned Adam and Carter book reports.”

Lazar said, “What went through your mind when you read those gory papers of Adam’s?”

“I’m not finished, Mr. Lazar.”

Even Judge Lester laughed.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Boam. Please go on.”

“The book reports were no different. At first, I gave him his choice of books. And what did he choose?” Her back stiffened. “Horror novels. True crime books about the most disgusting murders imaginable. Books about serial killers and rapists and c-cannibals. Can you believe that? A thirteen-old-boy reading such things? So I picked the books for him myself. At first, that didn’t work, either. He would find a single violent passage in the book, or something even more disgusting than violence if it was there, and focus his entire report on that.” Another put-upon shake of her head.

“What did you do after that?”

“I learned Adam had lost his mother a year or so before that. I thought perhaps I had been too hard on him. I spoke to Principal Neuman and told him I thought Adam needed some...help. It was arranged for Adam to see one of the school’s counselors three times a week.”

“Did that help?”

Mrs. Boam closed her eyes and sighed. “Only for a while. Then he was at it again. I spoke to his father on the telephone, but Mr. Julian did not share my concern. He said, ‘Imagination runs in my family.’”

Adam was surprised. He had no idea Mrs. Boam had spoken to his dad. Michael had said nothing about it. He held back a smile at his dad’s response to Mrs. Boam.

“What bothered you most about Adam’s writings, Mrs. Boam?”

“Well, as I said, they were terribly explicit. Adam wrote at length about people being stabbed or dismembered or tortured. He seemed to enjoy it so much. As if he had no natural aversion to violence or death. It was fun for him.”

“Do you disapprove of violence in literature?” Lazar asked, turning a page on the lectern.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Boam said with some indignance. “Some of the greatest literature ever written has involved violence, sometimes a great deal of it. Including the Bible, I might add. But the violence is there for a reason, and it is unpleasant, painful. More often than not, it is there to protest violence. It’s not funny, it’s not there to be enjoyed. Violence in literature must be accompanied by compassion, by a recognition of the priceless value of human life. Otherwise, it’s nothing more than a kind of pornography. And that was how Adam wrote it. Like pornographic sex. And I found that very disturbing.”

Adam thought, You wouldn’t recognize pornographic sex if Larry Flynt beat you over the head with a copy of Hustler.

“Thank you, Mrs. Boam.” Lazar looked at the judge as he gathered up his notes and said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”

As Lazar returned to his table. Judge Lester said, “Ms. Horowitz?”

Horowitz was already on her way to the lectern, on which she placed her yellow legal pad. She stood in front of the lectern rather than behind it. Smiled with warmth at the woman on the stand. “Tell me, Mrs. Boam, how long have you been a teacher?”

Mrs. Boam returned the smile as she said, “Next year will be my forty-ninth.”

“Forty-nine years! Congratulations, Mrs. Boam. It is an honorable profession and you should be very proud of those years.”

Still smiling, she said, “I am. I may not be rich or famous, but my students mean far more to me than wealth or notoriety ever could.”

“For just a moment, let’s forget about the papers Adam wrote for you in class. Other than that, what kind of student was he?”

Mrs. Boam frowned, tilted her head slightly. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Well, was he...polite?”

“Oh, yes. He was always polite and well-spoken. Quite eloquent for his age.”

“Did he have problems with the other students?”

“Not that I was aware of. You mean...did he get into fights?”

“Fights, arguments, any kind of trouble at all?”

“No.”

“Was he popular among the other students?”

“He spent most of his time with Carter, and they kept to themselves.”

“You mean they never interacted with the others?”

Mrs. Boam shook her head. “Not very much.”

“Do you have any idea why they kept to themselves?”

“I suppose a few of the other students...well, you know how children are. They can be terribly cruel. Adam was a very skinny boy. And of course. Carter was quite rotund. Things like that...well, you know the kind of attention they get among youngsters.”

“Attention, Mrs. Boam? Do you mean Adam was picked on by the other students?”

“Not by all of them, of course. But by some, yes.”

“Did you ever intervene when you saw that happen?”

Mrs. Boam chuckled without smiling. “One can only do so much. That sort of thing is part of school life, a part of growing up. If teachers were expected to step in every time there was some name-calling or bickering, we’d never get anything done.”

“I see.” Horowitz looked down at her notes.

“Of course, if it gets out of hand, that’s different,” Mrs. Boam explained quickly. “The safety of our students comes first, and I would never stand by if someone were being hurt.”

“Of course not.” Horowitz looked up and smiled again. “Forty-nine years is a long time. During that time, do you think you have become good at reading your students?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Well, let me put it this way. Do you think you are a good judge of character, Mrs. Boam?”

“Oh, I see. Yes, I think I am. People are people the world over, after all. The same can be said of children.”

“When he was your student, what did you think of Adam Julian? What did you think of him personally?”

“What did I think of him? I believe I made that clear.”

“Actually, you only told us what you thought of the things he wrote. What was your opinion of Adam himself?”

Mrs. Boam hesitated. A look crossed her face that Adam had seen before, whenever she suspected someone was up to something. “Well, naturally, I thought he was...troubled. Disturbed. Normal boys simply do not write such things.”

“So, you thought he was abnormal?”

“Yes, you could say that. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I believe his fascination with violence was a symptom of a deeper problem, something the school counselor was unable to deal with or even reach. And if I may say so—” She looked at Adam with a slight smile of satisfaction, “—I think Adam has proven me right.”

“Are you able to read all your students so well, Mrs. Boam?”

“I think so.”

“Do you stay in touch with many of your students?”

“I see some of them at reunions now and then, but outside of that, no, I’m afraid not.”

“You had a student in 1982 named Timothy Simon. Do you remember him?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Lazar said as he stood. “Mrs. Boam’s other students, past or present, are irrelevant to this case.”

“Your Honor,” Horowitz said, “this line of questioning addresses Mrs. Boam’s credibility.”

After a moment, Judge Lester nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Lazar sat down again.

“You may answer the question, Mrs. Boam,” Judge Lester said.

“Yes, I remember Tim well. He was an exceptional student.”

“Exceptional in what way?” Horowitz asked.

“In every way. He was a straight-A student with outstanding athletic abilities. He was involved in school politics, edited the school paper. He was very popular with the other students. Everyone loved Tim. At the time, he said he wanted to be a journalist. And he always said it with such determination, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that’s exactly what he’s doing today.”

“How would you compare Timothy Simon to Adam Julian?”

Mrs. Boam frowned, looked suspicious again. “I...I’m not sure.”

“You described Adam Julian as abnormal, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Would you use that word to describe Timothy Simon?”

“Oh, my, no. Tim was not abnormal. Not in that way. He was very...wholesome. He was above average in every way, but not at all abnormal.”

“Would it be accurate to say, then, that in your opinion as a veteran teacher who has learned to read her students well over the years, Timothy Simon was normal?”

“Yes, I would say so.”

“Do you know what Timothy Simon is doing today?”

Standing again, Lazar nearly shouted, “Objection!”