February 3 - I wasn't able to get to the scene until four in the afternoon. There were no protesters in sight and only a few photographers in the media area. There were still plenty of cops everywhere, looking cold and bored.

Maybe the weather kept the protesters away. It was the kind of day that fools you into thinking it's just chilly when you first step outside. Five minutes later, when the breeze has sucked most of the heat from your body, you wish you had worn something more appropriate, like a NASA spacesuit. Maybe the protesters got too cold, or maybe I just missed them.

February 4 It was another cold day, but not cold enough to keep any New Yorker indoors. I counted nineteen protesters in the park, all walking in a slow circle except for one man holding up a professionally made red 3x4 canvas sign that read "The Justice for Diallo Committee." According to one of the other people watching the show no one had been there yesterday.

The green rubber snow fence lining the sidewalks and encircling the park was laid out so that moving from the protest area to anywhere near the courthouse required going up a hill and half way around the park. It was sagging in one spot people had been using as a shortcut. The sag was being guarded by three police officers. As a black woman approached one of the officers stepped on the fence, holding it down, and offered her his hand to help her step over it. She took it reluctantly, looking disgusted, stepped over the fence, then pulled her hand back quickly.

The three cops spoke for a few seconds, then decided to make the gap official. As they rolled the fence back an elderly black woman approached and demanded an explanation. "What are you doing?"

"We're opening this area up. We're trying to help out."

"We'll it's about time," she crabbed, "you don't have to cage us like animals." One of the cops walked away, shaking his head and mumbling "A lot of hate, just a lot of hate. I don't understand it."

The media outnumbered the protesters by at least three to one. NYC talking heads were easy to spot by their pancake makeup. Evidently there is a requirement they all be short, very attractive brunets with shoulder-length hair. One of them was doing a report up the hill from the protesters. She was standing on a metal photographer's case, and he was filming her to show the protesters in the background. He didn't need a wide-angle lens.

Al Sharpton left the courthouse (insert your own wide-angle lens joke here) followed by his personal posse, a dozen people of all ages. The speed of his walk seemed carefully calculated - not slow enough to be obviously milking it, but just the right speed to make the parade last as long as possible.

He approached the microphones and addressed the press, telling them that the testimony this morning met with his approval. He started out calm and slow, explaining that one of the witnesses testified she was terrified of the police in her neighborhood, and it was important for the jury to understand the neighborhood's atmosphere if they were going to make the right decision. He stepped aside and let one of his entourage speak for a few minutes, then moved back to the mikes. A few minutes later he clicked into preacher mode, turning on the theatrics as he ripped into the media for not questioning the cop's story enough. "Why have none of you questioned what happened in those four seconds? The police claim to have identified the gun, told him to stop, fire 41 shots and then give him CPR all in four seconds! I tried to work that out all weekend and there's no way I could to that in four seconds!" The crowed laughed nervously and then, master showman that he is, he walked away from the microphones with his people following him. (Two of the most important rules in show business are "always leave them laughing" and "always leave them wanting more.") He walked through the small crowd that had gathered outside the media area. Directly behind him one of his posse, a thin, elderly man wearing a colorful pillbox hat, put his hand on the shoulder of everyone he passed, saying "Thank you, thanks for being here, thank you for coming…"

Just as Al walked past me someone yelled out "When are you going to apologize to Stephen Pagones?" Without hesitation Al answered "When he wins his case." Pagones, whose life was shattered when he was fingered in the Tawana Bralwely hoax, has won a lawsuit against Sharpton for slander. (After Pagonues was acquitted Sharpton continued to publicly preach his guilt.) "Your credibility is at stake," the man continued, "why don't you just come clean about it?" Al made a brush-off gesture and continued on his way.

Just before I left I counted the protesters again. The crowed had swelled to twenty-eight people.

 

Friday is the anniversary of the shooting, and the judge wisely decided to postpone the trial for a day. It will resume Monday. I'll have another report for you Tuesday or Wednesday.

A friend from England writes: "Diallo who?" These reports don't make much sense unless you know the story so far, and the players involved. For more information and background on the story, start here.

| Jury Selection | The Trial Begins | The Prosecution Finishes | The Defense Begins | The Verdict |