Harvard Law School Janitors Admit Applicants Under The Table -Screenplay treatment

Harvard Law School Janitors Admit Applicants Under The Table -Screenplay treatment

The Cleaners

September 29, 2006

Sean Beecroft had never wanted to be a lawyer. Even before graduating the police academy and working late into the night with the assistant district attorneys, who only continued working for hours after he went home, he had no delusions of grandeur or earning obscene settlement amounts by punishing successful multinational corporations. He would never have even taken an LSAT had he not been getting paid for his time and after taking the exam once a week for six months, he still couldn’t score above what 60% of all other people taking the exam scored. Being unable to only do the minimum in his job and on each case he was leading, it was even more painful for him to read, "One L: The Turbulent True Story of a First Year at Harvard Law School," by Scott Turow. The detective found, "Brush with the Law," by Robert Byrnes and Jaime Marquart resonated with his one views of the hierarchy much more harmoniously. He and Chuck were of the same opinion on that point. They felt law schools should be prosecuted for alluring applicants to not only send them $70 along with their near-hopeless application but then graduating with almost $100,000 in debt and a job which would keep them away from their families every day seemed to warrant multiple felony charges, at the least.
After working half-heartedly on a personal statement, Sean took it more seriously, and asked himself, "What would I write about if I actually did want to attend law school?" He pondered on that for a while and then started to type.
"Friends, an inadequate word to describe people I view as brothers. Let me tell you about a few of them.
Meet my friend Joe Blakeley. After over a month of daily after school success, he and I were caught stealing from "Teddy Bears: Your Cozy Lil’ Market," across the parking lot from the elementary school where we were in second grade together. His idea to steal sprung up one afternoon after our class was dismissed and we realized that neither of us had any money. But this wasn’t the start of our partnership in crime; that moment came when he and I sloughed school and spent the day in his garage, eating popsicles after we nearly got caught returning the coat of his little sister, who was in Kindergarten at the time.
Meet my friend Barry Barker. He and I hid from the police when we were sneaking out to the grocery store around 1:00 am on a Friday night in the early fall. At Clinton Elementary, we hid behind the wall separating the front yard of the school and the sidewalk as the patrol car circled in and searched slowly for us. Our partnership in crime began at Sunset Junior High, when we would cut classes and steal candy from the local grocery store. After walking a mile from the scene of the crime there were some old storage sheds, where we would pen our backpacks and divide what we had stolen on a strict 50/50 basis. Having learned only a little from when I had been caught shoplifting at age eight, I reduced my "borrowing" to Kool Aid packets while Barry continued obtaining king size candy bars. His Wilderness Program hiking through the deserts of the west for over six months helped him loose over twenty pounds but did not provide an adequate deterrent and he soon found himself in jail for possession and intent to sell a controlled substance. When I was volunteering and saw a street sign in a trailer park which named the meeting of the two streets, "Barry," and "Sean," I couldn’t help take a picture and send it to the inmate.
Meet my friend Cody Baker. He and I have been friends for over twenty years. He grew up in foster homes and set me up on a few blind dates. We skipped church together and stayed out late in the suburb we lived in, playing basketball and wasting time. He is now in prison, serving out the sentence for breaking his son’s leg in an attempt to stop him from crying.
My desire to attend law school springs from these friends of mine. I want to be able to defend them, should they need such assistance in the future. My letters to them are not enough to thank them for shaping me into who I am today. I believe there is a reason I was never arrested and turned from the path that so many of my close friends followed."

After half a dozen people edited it and he tweaked it to convey the accurate message, he set it aside, knowing that he would only continue to change it if he kept analyzing it.

As Detective Beecroft entered the testing center, he was not intimidated by the required thumbprint of each test taker, or the stringent timing of each of the five sections of the Law School Aptitude Test. Two logical reasoning sections were followed by one analytical reasoning portion. During the fifteen minute break, Sean bought a Snickers candy bar and ate it slowly and deliberately, trying to casually mingle with the other frazzled test takers. After the break and mentally exhausted, the applicants completed two reading comprehension sections before sputtering out whatever sentences their minds could construct for the nearly worthless writing sample. The writing sample at the end of the exam was a joke which Sean knew most of the law schools and Harvard in particular, wouldn’t even read.
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November 5, 2006
Detective Sean Beecroft’s neighbor Donna Mandri had been a nurse for two decades before teaching the same subject at local community colleges. She had injured her neck and was able to work for several months. Sean was trying to help her avoid foreclosure but didn’t know what he could do other than listen and bring her warm soup on days when the humid ocean cold didn’t quit.
At about 7:00pm, Detective Beecroft took the Red Line subway from South Station to the Harvard Square Station, and inconspicuously walked towards the escalators leading up to 1400 Massachusetts Avenue and 1 Brattle Street. He lived in South Boston and didn’t feel like driving his usual route. Not this day. This day was the one he had anticipated for over five years. Operation "Ivy Rat" had finally reached its concluding phase, setting the bait, trapping the culprit, and bringing the illegal house down. His team wasn’t sure how many people were in on the scheme and couldn’t risk being seen leaving or even coming from the police station on Sixth Street.
On the ground level there were about 30 people protesting China’s relationship with Tibet, complete with candles, poster signs, and authentic Buddhist prayers and meditations being announced over a megaphone. The detective watched them, as an eager newcomer to Cambridge would, before crossing the street and entering the campus grounds. His arrival at such a time meant that most of the black iron gates would be closed. The only open ones were main throughways for the evening school students and instructors, which Beecroft found out after following the same path back the way he came after scoping out the law school and realizing the gate he had previously entered was shut and locked. As he entered one of the main gates, between the Wadsworth and Wigglesworth buildings on Massachusetts Avenue, he contemplated getting a quick cup of coffee from the very small Starbucks-like café on the ground level of the Wadsworth building but decided against it. He continued walking, passing Boylston Hall on the right and Grays Hall where he turned left. As he passed the evening students, he wondered if any of them had bought their way into the university through the moles. As the detective passed Matthews Hall, he forced himself to focus and try to act like a bright-eyed, naively optimistic law school applicant. As he entered the law school library, in Hollis Hall, he exhaled.
"Would they recognize me from when we staked out the place? Do I really look like a law school applicant? Will they realize what I’m trying to do and run before I can get anything?" Beecroft couldn’t stop his thoughts. He had served on the Cambridge Police Squad instead of the South Boston patrols because he didn’t want to be expected to fulfill the footsteps nor live in the shadow of his father, the previous Chief of the South Boston Police. "How many of the kids here are trying to please or out do their parents?" He disdainfully smirked.
Sean had deep set eyes and a Black Irish profile, with dark black hair and a darker skin color, and went out of his way to have his eyes noticeably wide open. "Deer in the headlights," he kept telling himself. His boss suggested that he view the place as if he had been there for the first time and had waited all his life to see it. The librarians looked at him as if to ask if he needed help but he only kept walking, and after passing them, immediately turned left and walked down the stairs.
The lockers on the bottom floor of Griswold Hall make it look like a high school, especially with the varying pastel colors. Beecroft noticed that one of the lockers had been left open and he decided that an over-eager applicant would probably peek in. He did so, only to see a stack of books and a jacket. He contemplated taking one out and skimming it while waiting for the lead janitor. A little uncomfortable with the possible theft claim against him and how his investigation would be set back significantly by such, he passed over the idea and continued walking. His shoes were the only sound, coming down repeatedly on the linoleum paneled floor.
"With all the money these guys get for tuition, why don’t they put in a decent floor?" he thought as he reached the north end of the building. His eyes caught a book entitled, "Federal Rule of Evidence." Without having spotted anyone, he sat down and began skimming it.
He had glanced at the pages in no particular order for about twenty minutes when Chuck entered the hall from the above Lionel Hall, with his wheeled garbage can and cleaning supplies. He saw the detective but made it a point to not disturb the law school students when they were studying. Chuck cleaned the first classroom and when he entered, he looked at the man reading at the end of the hall once more. Something about him seemed out of place. Again, Chuck brushed aside his suspicion and entered the next room. He vacuumed it well, rather than deliberately fast and after washing both sides of the glass pane in the door, Beecroft spoke up.
"Boy, this is tough stuff." He said before immediately scolding himself for such a stupid ice breaker.
"Yeah," Chuck laughed. "It’s not something I’m interested in."
Sean turned to look at the cover and replied, "Federal Rules of Evidence." The detective shook his head and said, "I thought law school was supposed to teach exciting things."
Chuck placed the plastic bottle of glass cleaner in its spot on the rim of the gray, forty gallon garbage can.
"Are you in your first year?" the janitor asked.
"Nah. I wish. I took the LSAT, or the law school test, at the end of September and am just waiting to hear from the admissions committee. I shouldn’t even have applied here, but figured it’s at least worth a shot," Beecroft divulged as he looked at the floor unconfidently.
"Well, I’ve been here over thirty years and I’ll tell ya, it’s no picnic. Some of the professors don’t’ even enjoy real, actual legal work, outside of this place," Chuck informed as he tapped the top end of his broom against one of the pale lockers.
"I just don’t want to end up working for $10/hour, after going to college, like my Mom does. No offense to you, it’s just I always felt like I could accomplish a lot and all that." Sean said.
"You know, one of the other janitors here always says, ‘If you count my wealth in happiness, I’m a millionaire.’ Maybe think about it like that." Chuck said, trying to avoid his memorized sales pitch for helping such people get accepted.
"Yeah. I guess you’re right," the Detective said as he stood to leave. "I just wish I could’ve sent in a more competitive application. I mean, I’m not gonna lie. I’m not a minority; I don’t have a disability; I’m not female. Ah, forget it. I’m gonna go get some coffee."
As he reached the stairs leading back up to the library, he asked if Chuck wanted a cup as well, fully anticipating a negative response and a "back to the drawing board" meeting with his boss and coworkers.
"Thanks, kid. That’d be nice." The Janitor told him, never expecting to see him again.
When Sean returned from the campus café 15 minutes later, Mr. Holmquist smiled.
"I knew I liked you," the janitor quipped as he removed his gloves and accepted the cup from the undercover detective.
Beecroft smiled as he took another sip of his coffee.
"Thanks for listening to my ranting. I should just be happy with what I have, like you said."
"That’s what works for me," Chuck said, taking another drink of his warm joe.
"Well, I gotta go. I’m Collin," the policeman lied as he extended his right hand.
"Chuck," the lead janitor replied with a smile, unaware of the caffeine-induced trap he was being led into.
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One Week Later – Meeting on the Library Steps:
The lead janitor opened the clichéd small brown bag his toasted ham and cheese sandwich as well as a large and shiny red apple were inside and started with the fruit.
"You know," Chuck started and broke the sentence by taking a bite of the apple. "This is just my opinion but I think if Harvard and other top schools wanted a truly diverse group of students, their applications wouldn’t have names on them, let alone areas where people of every race except Caucasian can earn more points on their application.
Beecroft nodded silently and waited for his prey to walk further into the criminal justice trap.
"What if there were a group of people, like and admissions committee, that helped applicants who had worked throughout their high school and bachelor’s degree years? What if there was a group that could…influence the admissions committee regarding certain applicants? A while back, I talked to Dean Parilla about the possibility but she only paid me lip service and didn’t want to tell me what my field of expertise is." Holmquist asked before taking another large bite out of his appetizer.
Beecroft acted uncomfortable with Chuck’s theoretical suggestion, though still maintaining his deception, answered.
"That would be nice…I guess." The pseudo-student stated, apparently uneasy at what the janitor was implying.
Chuck wanted to close the deal before his lunch break ended and skipped a few of the negotiation techniques he usually used.
"Well, my break’s about up. Do you wanna walk back to the law school with me?" he asked.
"Sure," the detective responded, as he lifted himself off the library steps and started across the quad.
"You know, I’ve actually heard of groups like that," Chuck continued. "Even here. At Harvard." Chuck said while raising his eyebrows, implying what Beecroft had been seeking for too many of his previous years.
"Boy, that’d be nice." Beecroft said acceptingly. "I had to work from the time I was sixteen, to help my family, and when my brother broke his back, my grades suffered. I doubt the admissions committee would care though. My dad and grandfather didn’t even go to college, let alone donate millions to an ivy league."
Chuck had been quickly finishing his "Well, I’ll talk to Bill inside. He mentioned it a while back. Maybe he still knows something about it."
"Sounds good. I’ll see ya next week." Beecroft said as he walked back toward the Harvard Square Subway station. Chuck saw him glance back at the huge gray pillars of the law school seemed to bar him from even an evening entrance. Chuck did feel bad for the young man but wasn’t about to divulge his ivy league-wide network and millions of dollars it had made over the past twenty-plus years after only a few short meetings with his potential client.
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One Week Later:
Chuck was sitting on the same library step and this time had a previously grilled chicken and cheese sandwich and an orange. He found that if routines were followed, he was able to ponder on subjects more interesting than floor and glass cleaning equipment. Beecroft had been inside the library for the past two and a half hours, hoping he had not already blown his cover or scared the suspect janitor away by coming on too strong, too soon. He smiled as he exited the library and, placing his backpack on the steps, asked the eating Mr. Holmquist, "Hey. You mind if I sit by you for a minute?"
"It’s all yours," Chuck replied with a smile and a mouth half full of his lunch.
"Changing it up, huh?" Sean said as he pointed to Chuck’s sandwich.
"Yeah," the janitor chuckled as he put the sandwich down and started peeling his fruit, placing every piece of the peel inside the small brown bag he brought it to work in. "It’s Wednesday, and I wanted to celebrate for making it to the half-way point of the week."
"I was in the library doing more research on people who have been accepted into HLS without aristocratic ancestry and without straight "A" grades form Kindergarten on up." Beecroft reported. The janitor forced himself to resist and listened to Beecroft’s tirades, but did not reflect any facial gesture which would reveal what his views were on the students and practices of his employer.
"Any luck?" Chuck asked, knowing the answer before he asked, uncannily similar to a technique lawyers use during examination and cross examination.
"Not really. Maybe a non-campus library would help." Sean almost muttered.
"Maybe. I’m not sure." Chuck replied as he took a drink of the 20 ounce Diet Coke he purchased from one of the law school’s vending machines and offered Sean a slice of the orange.
"Oh! That reminds me," Chuck started. "I spoke with Bill and he said he couldn’t really remember much about it and only heard some previous students talking about it."
"That’s too bad." Beecroft said, as he ate the orange slice and glanced down at the library steps.
"Yeah. Bill said they sued to use locker 172, but as long as I’ve worked here, I never saw anyone using it other than students." Chuck said, hoping to deflect any further interrogation, as he put the red cap on top of his empty drink bottle.
Detective Beecroft memorized the locker number but couldn’t leave it at that point and hope that in another week, Chuck might divulge more. His chief told him that if more concrete progress was not evident in the next two weeks, the case would be closed and Sean knew that he would not be allowed to reopen it.
"I don’t get it. How would a locker help them? Why wouldn’t they meet somewhere off campus and away from security? That sounds pretty dumb to me. Maybe it’s just a rumor." Sean said, knowing fully that the system had worked for decades at least and had infiltrated every Ivy League school, hoping to draw more out of Chuck by mocking his intelligence.
"Yeah. Probably." Chuck said finishing the last bite of his orange, finally refusing to take the bait.
"I can look at the locker after my shift tonight if you think it would help." Chuck offered, attempting to lift the detective’s spirits, and inadvertently admitting he had access to all of the lockers.
"Nah. I’m sure there’s nothing there." Beecroft said without glancing upward, pretending he didn’t catch the implication of Chuck being able to help him get accepted into Harvard Law School after an adequate deposit was anonymously left in the said locker.
Chuck picked up the plastic Ziploc bag and Diet Coke bottle with his left hand and told Beecroft, "Well, I’ll check it a week from now, just to be sure."
Mr. Holmquist was getting frustrated at all of the implications the detective was missing, and proceeded to the double-down technique lawyers and salespeople use when they are not sure if their potential client is confident of their expertise. The detective walked over to the green recycling garbage can where Chuck tossed his Ziploc bag and plastic bottle. Before he threw away his brown bag, he reached out his hand and said, "You wanna meet here, maybe next Thursday or Friday?"
"Sure," Sean said as he shook the janitor’s hand as he made another mental note of his recycling since during all of the previous stake outs, Chuck was not one of the janitor’s who supported the global warming movement.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>><><><><><><><>><><>< Four Days Later Beecroft slipped the envelope inside locker #172 and exhaled discouragingly as he walked up the stairs and out of the library, questioning why he invested so much into this case. His walk back to the subway station matched the pace of his regret and he didn’t scope out the campus or the subway station as he rode back to South Station. He was mentally exhausted and tired of trying, confused at why he was letting his emotions get the best of him. "I should forget this whole thing and just apply to law school at U Mass or Northeastern." At the end of his shift that night, Chuck ignored that feeling that something about Beecroft was wrong, and wondered, "Why were the police pursuing a janitor or group of janitors? Why shouldn’t they buck the system after cleaning up after the arrogant elitists for decades? Spoiled brats given nothing but opportunity, with their grandfather congressman progenitors; I hope I do get arrested. My defense will be nothing but a political tirade against the class struggle and how the Ivy League schools in reality, thrive on rejecting over 95% of their applicants and think they are better than those who were rejected." He realized he was arguing with himself and that his own beliefs made for a great audience. The Janitor concluded his sermon to himself and stepped off his silent soap box as he opened the locker and removed the envelope. He put it on the side of his wheeled garbage and started for the janitor’s closet. <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>><><><><><><><><><><>
Tuesday – Late November/Early December 2007 - Interior of Cambridge Police Station:
As the arresting officer handcuffed and told him his Miranda rights, Chuck wondered if she knew about the origins of the policy she was emotionlessly telling him.
"Miranda v. Arizona," He thought.
"Decided in 1966 by the Supreme Court, with Justices Harlan, Stewart, White, dissenting and Justice Clark concurring in part and dissenting in part. Warren, Black, Douglas, Brennan, and Fortas made up the majority. The majority decreed that both inculpatory and exculpatory statements of a defendant resulting from interrogation would only be admissible before a jury if the prosecution could demonstrate or document that the defendant had been made aware of their right to consult with counsel not only before but during questioning as well. The accused also had to be notified of their right against self-incrimination before the police questioned them. Further, it had to be made clear before an interrogation that the defendant both understood and voluntarily waived these rights."
"Did the arresting officer know that the United States Supreme Court decision in Miranda also combined three equally, if not more important cases: California v. Stewart, Westover v. United States, and Vignera v. New York?" Chuck silently asked himself.
He was calm as he was led from the law school, across the campus lawns, to the police car which was complete with flashing lights.
"What? No siren?" He asked Officer Warriner.
She didn’t think he was funny and shut the door to the driver’s side back seat barely after he was in.
After the lights on top of the police car were turned off, it headed east on Cambridge Street and concluded the trip by turning left on Sixth Street. Chuck was handcuffed in the back seat and smiled reassuringly as he remembered taking the bus and walking to Harvard for his interview to be a janitor, back in 1972. Nixon was in office and despite his intelligence and experience, like over-zealous law school applicants and students, dishonest determination got the best of not only him but his entire cabinet. Gerald Ford did as best he could and Chuck’s vote for him and his predecessor in a state as blue as Massachusetts. Jimmy Carter had been the biggest joke of a president Chuck had ever lived through. Failures in foreign policy in Russia, and the Middle East, his one term seemed to last longer than Chuck’s thirty-five year tenure as a janitor. President Ronald Reagan was a little over a year into his first term and the opposition research of Harvard was already in full roar. George H.W. Bush was elected without help from Massachusetts and Chuck couldn’t have been happier.
The janitor kept his politics to himself during the interview and as much as possible afterward. Despite his leanings, something about Cambridge and even Harvard resonated with him. Maybe it was the rebellion against the system or the clout of the professors. Chuck’s politics were so far to the right that he and the far left students and faculty agreed on several issues Congress repeatedly failed to adequate address. He actively campaigned against both of Bill Clinton’s Presidential runs but could only volunteer and refrained from donating too large of an amount of money under him or his wife’s name. Holmquist wasn’t thrilled with the second George Bush but compared to the alternative, voted for him twice anyway. Bush seemed like McCain in that they claimed to be conservatives but would support the Democrats on pivotal issues, like immigration and pacifism and appeasement as foreign policy pillars. It had been extremely difficult for Chuck to abstain from joining any of the campus groups which reflected his own beliefs and interests: Harvard Republicans, Harvard Libertarians, Harvard Pro-Lifers, Harvard United against a Palestinian State, Harvard against Affirmative Action, Harvard for Secure Borders, Harvard for ending Illegal Immigration, and so on.
Chuck started tapping the seat behind him to the tune of "I got stripes," by Johnny Cash, and thinking to himself, "On A Tuesday, I was arrested. (Uh Huh) On A Tuesday they locked me in jail (poor Boy). On A Wednesday my trial was attested. On A Thursday they said guilty and the judge's gavel fell. The police were only a day off with their arrest but close enough," he though with a quiet chuckle.
The ride from Harvard Campus to the Cambridge Police Station was quicker than Chuck’s complete recall of one of his favorite Johnny Cash songs. Officer Warriner led him by the arm into the station and Beecroft was reviewing the file when the grandpa-like criminal was led into one of the interrogation rooms at the Cambridge Police Station.
"So," Officer Beecroft exhaled the smoke from the last cigarette from his pack of Marlboro’s, and immediately cut to the heart of the matter. "Did you deposit the $15,000 cashier’s check I left in the restroom or deliver it to someone else?"
Chuck looked at the table and wondered what cleaner the janitors had been using.
"You might get better results if your offices were cleaner," he said as he collected dust with the pointer finger of his left hand and examined it closer.
The detective slammed his fist on the table, after finally getting one of the perpetrators arrested after seven years of work on the case. "Did you deliver the cashier’s check or cash it yourself?" Beecroft repeated.
Suspect Holmquist moved his hands off the table immediately and looked at Beecroft and more importantly, Officer Warriner, disconcertingly. He knew in that moment that Beecroft had already invested too much into the case and that Chuck would be acquitted, if a trial was even pursued. The lowly janitor was, to say the least, well versed in the line of interrogation the detective was using and refused to impart anything useful. He had recorded the lectures of every professor for the last two and a half decades and had copies of ever book and document they used each semester. Chuck knew that he could teach the arrogant students whose way he always moved out of, and he knew that interpretation of precedence guided one’s legal philosophy and politics. Scotoma, the eye see what it wants to see. Chuck’s eyes saw an overly aggressive detective and a rookie female officer attempting to interrogate a man who persuaded dozens of federal judges and Supreme Court Justices to break the law and bribe him in order to quiet their immoral ambition and get into a top law school.
"Do you know what the average salary is for graduates of Harvard Law School, detective?" Chuck queried as he brushed the dust off his hand and on to the floor.
"So you don’t care about your retirement? You want your wife to go to work at Wal-Mart while you rot in jail for grand larceny and fraud?" Beecroft vented.
The senior janitor could not help but laugh at these threats.
"It’s too late for me to make a career change," Chuck replied with his typical cryptic dual meaning.
"But…would you like my retirement package, Mr. Beecroft? Wal-Mart employees have a much better 401K and company matching program. My employer’s president resigned rather than get fired last June and Wal-Mart probably earned billions. When our neighbors and friends give us gifts we don’t want, my wife and I have taken them to Wal-Mart and purchased groceries with the refund. Speaking of wives though, how’s yours?" Chuck asked.
"I’m going to ask you one last time and if you don’t answer, you can forget about a plea bargain.”Did you deliver the cashier’s check or cash it yourself!?" Beecroft shouted unforgivingly.
Mr. Holmquist knew that the district attorney, not Detective Beecroft would determine whether to accept a plea bargain, which over 70% of cases are resolved with anyway and waited until the tension was palpable.
"I have answered your questions, sir. I told you what my wife and I prefer. If you don’t want to answer my questions, we aren’t really having a conversation are we?" He said, looking up at the detective for the first time in the interview. Beecroft walked out of the room angrily and the door shut itself with its remaining velocity. Chuck flashed a small, sly smile toward the two-way mirror on his way out.
"No? Did you know that Miranda requires that you tell me before and during questioning that I have a right to an attorney and against self incrimination?" Chuck arrogantly asked as he walked out of the interrogation room. Beecroft looked at Chuck while he was asking the question but then quickly walked to break room, to keep his aggression controlled.
He rubbed his wrists, to further the illusion of him being a frail, old man, shackled in ruthless and rough handcuffs. He wondered how long the police station had been there on sixth street, since it needed not only a good cleaning but some other repairs as well.
"You know, I do handy man work on the side Mr. Beecroft. If you want this building properly cleaned and those cracks in your walls fixed, just give me a call." Chuck waited. "I’ll drive myself next time….Oh, and if this whole’detective’ thing doesn’t work out for you, maybe you should consider law school. I can recommend some great pre-law advisors."

At that point, Chuck’s attorney entered the interrogation room, respectfully dispersed her business card and took Chuck to a more private room in the jail.
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Wednesday
Wednesday was a typical day for Chuck. He arrived at work a little early, about 5:45pm and laughed out loud when he heard his fellow janitors joking about him being arrested.
"Yeah. Chuck got arrested and spent some time in jail." Bill said.
"I guess that would explain the dragon tattoo I saw when he was bending over cleaning the restroom."
"Hey! That wasn’t a dragon. That was a plumber’s snake." Chuck replied, returning the joke.
After he said that, all the janitors started laughing.
"What can I say? I’ve got friends in low places." Chuck continued, as their laughter grew louder.
"I’m just glad that I didn’t have a cellmate, you know what I mean?" the lead janitor concluded as he removed his Red Sox jacket and put it in his locker.
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Thursday – Interior of Dean’s Office:
　　　　　　　　　　　　The Dean of the law school was Azenett Parilla de Kokal, from Argentina, and she usually was in her office at least until 6:30pm every night. Chuck usually ended his cleaning routine with her office and tried to make no changes on Thursday night. Instead, the Dean approached him and asked if they could speak in her office when he reached a point where he could take a break. Mr. Holmquist learned early on in his career that whenever someone asked if they could speak with him, he was automatically busy and could only meet with them in a few minutes, when his current chore was finished.
Dean Parilla de Kokal was not, or at least, tried not to be an elitist, like the wealthier circle of university donors she biannually contacted, in search of ever more funds. She liked to believe that her political views and her own career in particular, supported "the little guy," the poor, blue collar class of workers, the descomisados of her parent’s native country, and believed she fully understood the lack of education and career opportunities such people endure. The Dean was collected though perturbed and straightened her business suit after closing the door behind the chief janitor, who had a more hunched walk, with each step sending a small ripple up his two-sizes-too-large pants, secured by black, worn suspenders. Several years prior, he had changed his shoes from the type with lace to the Velcro variety, while the Dean had recently purchased $400 Christian Dior shoes. In reality her patience was gone, after being distracted by suspicious professors and students for too long, but she was not the confrontational type, regardless of what her curriculum vitae suggested. She already knew that she would be playing the role of messenger, not decision maker. Indeed, Chuck had been cleaning the law school before Parilla was accepted there. When she clerked for the United States Supreme Court and worked in private practice for three years after, he was promoted to assistant manager of maintenance. At the time she was hired as an assistant professor, he was successfully fulfilling all of the responsibilities of his lower management position. Chuck had been promoted to Manager of the maintenance department several years before the Dean was promoted from assistant to full professor. By the time she was appointed to be the dean of the law school, Chuck had been systematically scheming optimistic applicants out of awesome amounts of money in return for coveted "top law school" acceptance letters.
"Chuck, you’ve been working here a long time and I know their accusations are, without question, absurd but can you tell me something about your current financial situation?" Parilla started.
Chuck pondered as he entered and sat down in the chair directly in front of the Dean’s opulent antique onyx with a satin finish desk. "Negotiation. Etymology: derived from the Latin idiom, ‘negotiatus’, a past participle of the word ‘negotiare,’ connoting ‘to carry on business.’ Related derivatives include ‘negotium’ which is typically translated as meaning ‘not leisure’".
"Well, I’ve been working here for thirty five years and am hoping to retire in somewhere around five years from now, or whenever my wife tells me to." He informed her with a slight smile after intentionally employing the negotiation tactics many lawyers use, by deferring to the decision maker.
"My husband’s the same way," the Dean lied like a lawyer, and smiled in return.
"In your opinion, would your wife be open to that happening sooner?" the Dean probed.
Chuck slowly sighed as he furled his brow.
"Maybe but she already told me she doesn’t want me to quit because of this silly police thing." Janitor Holmquist made sure to use the vocabulary the professors and students expected of a blue collar worker such as himself.
"I’d really rather not see you involved in anything with the police or with a law suit, Chuck. Do you think it would be easier to retire rather than answer all their questions, even though there really is no basis for their inquiries?" Parilla suggested.
"Nah, I’m not too worried about the police and my Dad always told me, ‘If you start a job, make sure you finish it,’ and I really want to do that here Dean." He answered.
"That’s fine Chuck but if the police do find anything, the university will also be forced to press charges. Do you know what I mean?" She told him.
"Using the person’s name and asking temperature questions, like ‘Right?’ and, ‘do you know what I mean?’ builds rapport and disarms a person you are negotiating with." Chuck recalled from the multi-part video series Jerome Facher made for the Boston Bar Association named "Excellence in The Courtroom."




He contemplated calling her by her first name, Azenett, but purposely decided to not raise any suspicions whatsoever regarding his intellect. His interest in law began as a hobby and when he first started cleaning Harvard Law School. He would drive home to Lexington each night and when he got tired of watching television, he read about law schools. He went on to learn about the proliferation of law schools, the sixty to eighty hour work weeks, and the pervasive, widespread unhappiness most lawyers encounter. After that, he took on the LSAT, never taking the exam and applying to law school but testing himself. The skill-based scores the examination reflected did present an enjoyable challenge for Chuck but as the months and years went on, he started reading about Civil Procedure and Intellectual Property Litigation.
"Oh, yeah. I definitely know what you mean." He said, leaving the door of the conversation wide open and deliberately refraining from admitting the confession the Dean was seeking.
"Declining to speak first forces the other party to do so and usually some information about their negotiating position, power, and goals are revealed." Again and immediately, the words from the text "Effective Negotiation Techniques for Lawyers," by Norbert S. Jacker came to his mind and his prolonged silence elicited an unexpected response from the Dean.
"Chuck, what I’m saying is that my hands are tied and if you don’t retire now, the university, as a certainty, will press charges regardless of the outcome of the police investigation. It’s not me but they wanted me to tell you." The Dean confessed and looked at her desk afterward, apparently surprised at what realities had escaped her larynx.
"She’s using the same tactic I already used on her," he thought. "Defer to the decision maker or the all powerful Board, in this case."
The lead janitor was amazed at how much of a used car salesman the Dean sounded like. "That’s fine if they want to pursue that." He said with a pause. "But think about who the judge will be, and think about where she went to law school, and how her LSAT and UGPA were considerably lower than all of the other admitted students.　 Recollect that this was before your precious pet affirmative action was passed by some of my previous clients. On that subject, think about which judge will hear the case on appeal. Think about how many Supreme Court justices went to school here.　 Recall, before you were hired here, when the chief counsel of the university graduated here summa cum laude. You’ve met him. Do you really think that’s an accurate description of his academic ability?" He waited but no response came from the arrogant and speechless Dean.　
"You really think I’ve done nothing but empty your garbage cans and clean your toilets for twenty five years?　 I thought you were an intellectual." Chuck said as he stood up and the plush leather chair refilled with air and walked out of the furious Dean’s office. One final negotiating tactic came to his mind as he was leaving. "When negotiating with a superior or anyone in a position of authority, always refer to yourself as ‘we.’"
"Well, you know where the janitor’s office is. We look forward to receiving your subpoena." Chuck said as he closed the office door. He wondered if he revealed too much by saying "we," referring to all of the janitorial staff, rather than "I" but didn’t worry. He put on his gloves and ever so gently pushed the garbage can back inside the room he had been cleaning before the Dean interrupted.
　Holmquist chuckled to himself remembering when he got butterflies in his stomach, after being hired to work at what he then termed the best university in the world.　 It took him about a year to realize that the knowledge dispensed by the far left professors was no more valuable than the education he obtained in a library, since he could never afford or academically gain admittance to any college. He had channeled all of the rejection his life had into animosity toward the social elitism of not only his employer but the other seven schools which thrived on rejection.
　After pushing the garbage can and vacuuming the hallowed halls of Harvar for over thirty years and establishing an Ivy League-wide network which had helped hundreds of over eager undergraduate, medical, law, and all other graduate school applicants, his wife, children, siblings, aunts, uncles, and in-laws had all received tax free gifts of no more than the annual amount the IRS allowed. Chuck would usually earn his annual salary from two or three overly ambitious students thinking that an Ivy League law degree would somehow change the dysfunction and toxicity of their family history, morph them into brilliant wizards, capable of telepathy, psychic abilities, and all other super hero-type attributes. Beecroft’s $15,000 was a little lower than the usual donation but Chuck didn’t mind, not contemplating the possibility of being the target of the final sting operation of a near-decade long investigation.

The Cleaners
The Cleaner was surprised at the amount of pressure he had to place, not only on the Justices he helped admit into law school but on a fourth, Justice Osborn, as well. Before admitting any over-eager applicant, the Cleaner and all those in his network would acquire information sufficient to prove beyond a reasonable doubt the mens rea or criminal mind of those applicants. The evidence was kept in one of two safe deposit boxes located at the Bank of Watertown, a city which borders Cambridge and is immediately south of the Cambridge's richer neighbor, Belmont, and at the Bank of Revere, a city bordering the bay, which fe, if any, "for the little guy" Harvard professors ever visit, let alone reside in. This evidence was, in the end, the only stick big enough to nudge the three Justices the Cleaner had evidence on, to agree to hear his appeal. The Cleaner ran out of carrots quicker than he thought, finding no ideological agreement from the Justices, for the necessary weakening of elitism, by any means necessary. (EXPOUND)
The Cleaner was not particularly fond of politics, but recognized the opportunity to guide the media first, the general public, second, and the legal profession last by politicizing of his case. After all, a Supreme Court case, where an elite law school is supposedly persecuting a heterosexual Caucasian janitor and wanting to deny him his pension and imprison him for the ludicrous charge of orchestrating a thirty-plus year admittance of students into the elite school's halls reeked of irony, class struggle, and conspiracy, among other things. What would the plaintiff university really be trying to cover up? The Cleaner knew that all media inquiries made to Harvard's Office f General Counsel would be denied as the office "couldn't discuss current legal actions." It was almost laughable that suc a strong opponent in the court room would be so facile and impotent with the next best weapon, the media.

Justice Osborn
"It would be a shame if your granddaughter and grandson weren't admitted into Harvard of Yale Law, wouldn't it?" The Cleaner posited.
Justice Osborn pressed no further and replied with only a contemptuous curling of his lips.

CHAPTER : The Vile and the Bile
The Cleaner refused to wear a suit to any of his trials, arguing to the press and other non-judicial interests that his only crime was that of being insufficiently elite. A class warfare proposition was guaranteed to attract more and different media outlets compared to those who supported the theory of a multi-Ivy League university underground network of janitors secretly admitting students for the right price and having been in operation for over thirty years. The Cleaner wore the disguise he had worn at work for so many years. Wide-strapped overalls and faded jeans were more appealing to the group whose support The Cleaner was seeking.
Playing the media was a lesson The Cleaner learned in his third year of cleaning the elites toilets and drinking fountains. The vile and the bile of their socialist views of American jurisprudence often made the Cleaner wonder which appliance was dirtier, their toilets or their drinking fountains.
　
The Cleaner had either personally or through his established network of janitors, admitted three of the Supreme Court Justices hearing his case. He was not concerned about which side of the case those Justices would support. After all, if it wasn't for him, those Justices wouldn't have learned how to write and read the legal briefs and (opinion) of the court, supporting the majority's ruling.
The Cleaner kept as much of this information as possible from Anika Schnieder, his attorney, a blue-chip criminal defense alum of Harvard's pseudo-hallowed or faux-hallowed halls. His counsel had clerked for one of the six Supreme Court Justices, whose law school admission the Cleaner played no part in.
"Williams, Stevenson, and Blair are not the Justices we should be focused on persuading," the Cleaner told his attorney. Their private meetings were more reminiscent of advanced legal study courses with the Cleaner leading the conversation via the Socratic method and never admitting to Anika she was correct (even when she was), a fact which frequently made the Cleaner;s counsel uncomfortable.
"Why is that?" Anika queried.
The Cleaner looked at her for a few seconds before responding.
"...because of their previous judicial leanings." He responded.
"I can't shape your appeal to persuade only a few Justices. We need as many of them as possible. The probability that all or even five of them will vote against their alma mater's, many of which have buildings named after those Justices, is not a walk through the park." Anika calmly stated.
"That's what you said in Cambridge, at the first trial, and that's what you said at the (NINTH?) Circuit Court of Appeals. What happened in each case?" The Cleaner instructed.
"Well, the court in Cambridge ruled in your favor-" Anika started.
"Our favor." The Cleaner interrupted.
"Right. They ruled in our favor. The District Court of Appeals ruled in favor of the university, and now we're preparing to present our case to the Supreme Court." Anika finished.
"Correct, and how many days have I spent in jail since the first trial began?"
"Zero."
"How much money have I had to pay to get released on bail?"
"None."
"How many times have I been on prime time news media outlets since the first trial began?"
"Sixteen, I believe."
"Twenty-one times with five more interviews scheduled,." The Cleaner corrected
　
　
　
***What Constitutional issue would suggest the Supreme Court needed to hear the case?
　
NOTES:
"At the heart of every trial is a performance. At the heart of every performance is the truth. In the courtroom, you're the actor, the producer, the director....A trial attorney must construct his own reality." -Gerry Spence
"Should you fall asleep in the courtroom and wake up suddenly, stating your objection will help gain your focus, even if the judge overrules it."(Lawyer from A Civil Action)
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
Chapter title: A Brown Broom and Sweet Solitude
Chuck had never aspired to become a judge or President of the United States. Such aspirations didn't seem practical to the only son of a farmer father and homemaking mother from Central Massachusetts. He was raised on a beautiful 50 acre family farm and after developing the muscles necessary for farm labor, he enjoyed the vistas and the beauty of the changing seasons, which he viewed daily. By the time he graduated high school, a feat he was lucky to accomplish in the first place, he had trouble correlating an apparently coveted by most, desk job, when he felt physically rewarded in addition to financially sufficient by participating in physical labor, just as he had done every month of the year, as he was growing up.
His original plan, if you could call it that, was to stay on the family farm and work it with his father until his father grew too old. His plan changed dramatically when (DEMOCRAT) subsidy for corn was passed in (1970-1985). His father called the politicians and voiced his opposition to the federal legislation, but apparently his campaign contributions were insufficient to bring about the change he wished to see. The subsidy program was passed and all of the farms bordering Chuck's property agreed to plant less and less crop seeds each year, in exchange for a check from the government. The main supporters of the legislation claimed that it would help strengthen the American economy by driving export prices up and increasing the comparative advantage of the Unites States, compared to other export-oriented countries. What the subsidy program accomplished for those who wouldn't agree to a government handout when hundreds of millions of people around the world were starving, was annually increasing fines for those stubborn farmers, too stupid or unwilling to know what is best for them, according to the viewpoint of Congress and the fornicating, drug addicted President Kennedy. Chuck's father was raised on principal and refused to accept a hand out from the government. He also refused to stop planting a full rotating crop, every year. Chuck's family was fined an annually increasing amount until they lost the property to foreclosure. Chuck's mother had pleaded with his father in private to either accept the subsidy or move closer to the city to find new work. Her nagging actually inspired a few trips to the city, by Chuck's father, but to no avail. Employers were not interested in hiring a person who had extensive knowledge in a, to them, outdated agricultural lifestyle. Chuck's father couldn't find other work due to the DEMOCRAT Recession, and due to his lack of technical or truly any skill other than farming. He was too old to go back to school, he said, and Chuck, as reluctantly as possible, went into town to look for work.
Chuck got lost twice on his first trip to the city and didn't have much of a plan other than to "goto town and see where I can work," he told his parents on his way out. He had changed from his work clothes into his Sunday clothes. He felt optimistically excited but didn't expect results too different than his father's.
　
　
The
A Computer and A Cheater
Kennedy, Kissinger, and Chuck
The Vile and the Bile
Part of V and B chapter:
Company Expansion
Chuck and his network had long discussed expansion into other areas, including infiltrating the janitorial crew of the Supreme Court, White House, Senate, House of Representatives, World Bank, United Nations, International Monetary Fund, and the Federal Circuit Courts of Appeal.
"Why not get someone a career placement with union protection into these places where every politician and law school graduate is competing to get into?" the lead janitor at Yale Law suggested on the conference call.
"Focusing on top law and medical schools has been the most lucrative thus far, hasn't it?" Chuck asked into the speaker phone.
"Yes it has but the information in the White House, Senate, and such buildings is worth exponentially more than we're earning from eager beaver college grads." the lead custodian at Stanford pointed out.
Chuck looked doubtfully at the other janitorial crew sitting around the dark oak table in room 137 of Griswold Hall. Some of them were nodding in agreement with the comments received. The older janitors weren't nodding.
"Alright," Chuck said, after his lengthy pause and silent evaluation of his Harvard crew, "Here's what we'll do. We'll start researching the Federal Appellate courts and the Supreme Court custodial crews. I don't want anyone researching or recruiting any other janitors. The information from leading government officials is no doubt much more valuable than what we charge our clients (Chuck always referred to the applicants as clients and kept his own political views out of the network he successfully created and managed for over thirty years) but it's too risky. If anyone were to get caught after obtaining such information, espionage charges and worse would be likely. I wont be leading this group of ours forever and you can suggest that plan to the next leader if you want."
"But aren't you being indicted now?" One of the Yale Medical School janitors asked.
Never missing an opportunity to teach, Chuk patiently and Socratically replied, "Yes, but fraud and theft are very different than espionage, and enemy combatancy. The punishments for example are almost polar opposites and when defendants are tried in military courts, the media's usefulness is significantly compromised. As I said, it's a risk I'm not willing to take but research should beign immediately on the Appeals Circuit and the Supreme Court. Is there anything else, gentlemen?" Chuck concluded.

Fight or Flight (Retaliation or Resignation)
Like his father, Chuck was a man of principal despite the lucidity of such principals and the all-wrong doing excuse of the "greater good," and the "ends-justifying means or mens rea." Resigning, too strong and flattorious a word for the event of a lead janitor being forced out of his un-tenured career. Chuck had more than a sufficent amount of funds scattered throughout the Caman Islands, Swiss Bank accounts, and other tax-free shelters. After his confronation with Dean Parilla, he pondered on whether or not a simple retirement would be just what the doctor ordered. He could easily afford the best criminal defense attorney in the country. It wouldn't dent his true retirement fund to emply the bluest of the blue chip firms for years, as his case or "persecution" as he would term it, progressed to the Supreme Court.
"No more New England winter's, no more green monster (the Green Line branch of the Boston subway system), no more looking at the ground humbly as the aristocratic professors and pupils pass me in the hall," Chuck thought.
After unsuccessfully trying to get himself to resign, Chuck decided to continue fighting the legal battle.
"My father lost his farm, his homestead, his livelihood not because he faught the wrong fight, but because he fought the right fight with the wrong weapons," Chuck thought. Every father wants his children to have an easier, more successful life than they did and Chuck wanted to make his father proud by not only following in his footsteps but exceeding their trail, by fighting Chuck's fight with the "right weapons," the City, State, Federal, and Supreme Court Judges, clerks, janitors, and attorneys.

One of my children has the psychology book Psychology: The Science of Behavior, by A. A. Branca. On the flyleaf and covers are three photographs of a rat in a box.56 (Never mind that the poor rat is almost certainly crazy, driven insane by the ways of science. A good recent article on that subject claims that these animals are not living under normal conditions, and they soon lose their balance; a creature in a maze is not a normal creature at all.) In the inky tracks that show the rat's wanderings in the box, our school children are told, are a sure index to the workings of the mind.


Chuck leaned back in the tattered chair he had rested in for several decades.

“You know Anika, a great scholar once wrote:

‘The genius of behaviorism was to discover that overt behavior is the only kind we can study; therefore, to all intents and purposes, overt behavior is the complete disclosure of the mind at work. It is the story of the lost keys. We look in a certain place, not because we think we lost them there, but because conditions for looking there are much more convenient and comfortable than elsewhere. We search for the mind in a rat maze because it is easy to make mazes and put rats in them. But psychology, being the science of behavior, is the equivalent to religion being the study of bells and steeples, or patriotism being the study of firecrackers. Only the external aspects of the thing can be studied. Therefore, for the sake of convenience, we assume that only the external aspects exist, and of course this leads to trouble.’

What better field to enter in such psycho-babble than law, particularly criminal defense? How can a prosecutor cross-examine some widely believed theory which practical and pragmatic attorneys know is false but continually use as mitigating circumstances?”

Anika listened patiently, burying her unease at being lectured to by a non-elite.

“Chuck, you know the insanity defense is seen as a last resort by juries and a growing number of judges. It doesn’t seem probably, in my opinion, that such a defense will work for you.”

Chuck leaned forward, removing both hands from behind his head, where they had been arrogantly resting.

“Again, Anika, my defense will not be simply: he was insane and orchestrated the admission of hundreds if not thousands of academically unworthy people into Harvard Law School. Don’t insult my intelligence. My defense will consist of,” he said as he counted out each point with an additional finger, “One, genetic predisposition to every mental disorder every one of my siblings suffers from; two, conflicts of interest exist between myself and the judge, a previous client of mine, and she should therefore recuse herself from hearing the case; three, throw in some psychological crap about the warrior gene and how that has also influenced my supposedly wayward behavior. You’ll subpoena every sibling and parent of mine and ask them every possible detail about every mental disorder, arrest, mental institution, divorce they ever had. The jury will be so disgusted, their pity will overcome any overzealous prosecutor. How many people on the jury do you think attended an Ivy League university? Do you think any of them resent that? Do you think any of them don’t like the fact that elites from such universities comprise the majority of Congress and dictate how us, lesser beings, should live?”








The Trial (Supreme?)Court of Massachusetts Reveals 33%
Massachusetts Appeals Court - Reveals 66%
Chuck had heard the same arguments before: the preservation of different classes in a pluralistic, dynamic society with a vibrant economy is required and serves many beneficial purposes. He knew that those in class systems in India would beg to differ. So too would the millions of residents trapped, not helped, by public and assisted housing, America’s Trillion Dollar Mistake/Nightmare.

Also detail (Iraq and Vietnam) Mention the Veteran who served in Bataan and Vietnam, as a close friend of Chuck. Chuck worked with (Veteran) before and after he served in Bataan and tried to help him readjust to civilian life but the extremities he had been exposed to at the hands of the Japanese, led him to at least weekly ask Chuck if he could see the soldiers walking down the law school halls they were both cleaning. Chuck didn’t know how to help his friend and coworker, who was unable to get sufficient help from the Veteran’s Affairs Office and in his mind, had no choice other than to re-enlist. The last Chuck heard from him was that he had been deployed to Vietnam, shortly before the Battle of Antietam.

US District Court of Massachusetts – Reveals 99%

US Supreme Court - last chapter



　
Pillars:
Scene: Lunch on the Supreme Court steps; Chuck and Anika Schnieder, his attorney, a blue-chip criminal defense alum of HLS

Length, width, other dimensions of the pillars at HLS and Supreme Court

"You know, you shouldn’t be so nervous just because we’re hear playing with the big boys. I mean, if you look, these pillars look a bit taller than the pillars at Harvard Law School," Chuck said as he sat on the steps and unwrapped the hot dog he purchased from a street vendor. It was always nice to fall back on comfort food, when the people you are with seem overly anxious. Anika wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Spending retirement in a federal prison had less of a shine to it than the house in Arcadia, Florida Chuck purchased ten years prior.

"I got one for you too," Chuck said as he grinned a half smile and held up the second hot dog to his lawyer.

"Thanks, but I'm dieting," she told him, as she hesitated to both continue walking down the cement courthouse steps and sit down by Chuck.

"It's got all the trimmin's," Chuck said, as he dug deeper into his repertoire of persuasive argumentation.

"Heck with it," she said as she sat down next to him and began unwrapping her lunch, realizing that if she lost this case, her weight would be the least of her concerns. Chuck had been unable to threaten her with anonymously revealing how she got into law school, but he didn’t avoid mentioning her husband’s academic shortcomings and its accompanying implications. (Chuck illegally admitted Anika’s husband to HLS.)

"You know, I really hate dieting," she said as she chuckled and took her first bite.

"Maybe you should work in a less sedentary job, then you could eat whatever you wanted, like me." Chuck offered. “We may have a job opening soon, depending on how this case ends.” Chuck laughed.




　
　
Miserable Pizza
There were countless times when Chuck would come home on a Friday night and his wife had an Italian dish prepared and waiting. This was before Friday night was commercialized ad nauseum into pizza night. It was disheartening to Chuck, to see such delicious cuisine as the Italian culture provides, globalized into making most of a country's citizens content by eating the cheapest and most quickly prepared and delivered pizza, regardless of it's quality or knowledge of origin.


------
"Is the almighty arch between JFK and Brattle, starting to get angry that another baby took it's saber and rattle?" Chuck demeaningly asked.

Chuck wondered aloud, “I’m not trying to embarrass our great university any more than President summers’ resignation/firing already has.”




Good Morning, Worm, Your Honor
“What they cannot obtain with the ballot, they force down our throats with the gavel.” (Credit Weinter, who coined the phrase.) Chuck sighed as he looked at the ground pondering when Massachusetts and his country as a whole would find the democracy it lost.
“’Both ends is the same,’ Lenny said as he looked at the face card, in the Steinbeck classic, Of Mice and Men. So, to me, it’s really just more of the same. Civilizations usually follow the same cycle: wealth and prosperity, then pride, then destruction, then humility and reconstruction, then wealth and prosperity, and so on…” Chuck taught.

The body was found in Revere, several months later, with no one suspecting an elderly janitor pushing a large garbage can on wheels, of being a mastermind manipulator and murderer. He had felt regret over his actions with this recently added new employee and potential contributor to Chuck’s network, but the concern and anxiety were over now. The man was dead, no one suspected the cleaners involvement, and the mirrors and urinals of Harvard Law School still needed to be cleaned.

(BEFORE Chuck agrees to steer Sean Beecroft to the locker bribe scenario.)
Chuck tried to not act like a used car salesman or an admissions specialist, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He did feel Sean’s pain at least on a commercial level, but at the same time didn’t want the young applicant to think that law was the one professional full of rich happy people, smiling and hugging strangers and trees on their way to work each day.
“The question you have to ask yourself is: Do I want to contribute to the rich getting richer or, put another way, do I want to help the “Have’s” have more and the “Have Not’s” have less? If so my boy, corporate law is for you. If you want to really make a difference in the world, you should consider studying something other than law in graduate school. It’s difficult to see that even the poorest people in our country have a better life than about 2 billion other people in the world, who live on less than a dollar a day.
You could study affordable housing and help providers learn how to milk the government and enslave the people in public and assisted housing, forcing them to be dependent on welfare for generations…that is, if you are in favor of supporting the party of “the little guy.” You could study international law, or the interpretation of treaties, which will change diametrically each time the guy in the White House changes. You could work in a field you care nothing about and politically loathe and fight against…that is, if all you are interested in is a big paycheck. (MORE ABOUT CLASS STRUGGLE)”
Sean hesitated, not sure where the criminal was trying to lead him.
“I’m not sure…A lot of people told me that to make a difference, I should work in corporate law and then donate to my “change the world” causes.” He stated after recalling that tidbit from TopLawSchools.com forum.
Chuck nodded in agreement.
“That’s not a bad idea…as long as you like spending 60+ hours per week in the law offices. I won’t deny it’s a lot of money, more than I’ll ever see, but any way you slice it, there’s more to life than blue chip salaries and sparkling, air-freshened bathroom stalls….we’ve got those here. If that’s what you really want, I’ll wait here and you can use the restrooms. Um, the ones in the basement were cleaned about 20 minutes ago.”

Scene: Interior of Cambridge, MA Police Station – interrogation room

“Did you take the envelope Detective Beecroft left in locker (#) in Griswold hall?” the Chief Counsel of Harvard University asked, while looking at his paperwork and not meeting Chuck’s eyesight.

“I clean all the halls of Harvard Law School five days a week.” Chuck said, revealing nothing.

“Please answer with a yes or a no.” Chief Counsel directed.

Chuck wasn’t sure how extensively the FBI had targeted him and, fearing the previous placement of a hidden camera, he issued what sounded like a polished report for the press.
“As part of my daily work procedures, I am responsible for cleaning the floors in the halls where lockers are located. On the occasion that I find a locker has been left open, I try to shut it and ensure that it will remain closed to everyone other than the combination-holding user. On the rare occasion that the lockers which have open doors are unable to remain closed, I open the locker door further and see if anything is getting in the way of the locker door hinge. If anything is in the way, I may try and move it and see if that will let the door shut and remain locked without any other aid.”

“On the evening of (DATE), did you have to fix an open door of locker (#)?” Chief counsel asked, after having waited through Chuck’s boring and elaborate answer.

Chuck hesitated, scratched his head, and looked above the chief counsel’s head. He remembered a neuro-linguistic programming seminar offered to law students interested in the veracity of eye witness reports and deposition accuracy.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

“Are these your initials on the daily list of areas cleaned?” Chief counsel asked as he slid the paper across the table to Chuck.

Chuck slowly removed and put on his glasses before leaning over the paper.
“These look like my initials.” He eventually confessed.

“Would watching the security videotape from the night in question help you remember?” Chief Counsel asked, with a slight tilt of his head, indicating his perceived superior knowledge.

Chuck knew where the security cameras were and had already made sure the envelope retrieval was not visible to those cameras. Unless a small hidden camera had been placed in the locker or a tracking mechanism placed inside the envelope, he would still not be suspected.

(Did Chuck ask a different Janitor to pick up the envelope?)
(How does the deposition end? Chief counsel has a lot of words but no real answers.)


List of some of the characters:

Chuck Holmquist: Lead Janitor at Harvard law school. Age 50+
Detective Sean Beecroft: The Undercover FBI agent who leads the investigation against the Cleaners. Age: 25-35
Azenett Parilla de Kokal: Dean of Harvard Law who pressures Chuck to resign after he’s implicated but is unable to actually fire him, since he has worked there for several decades and is a member of the employee’s union. Age: 35-45
Anika Schnieder: Chuck’s defense attorney: Evalena
Officer Warriner: Detective
Harvard University Chief Counsel:
Cambridge Court trial:
Judges
Prosecutors
Janitors:

The Second Circuit Court of Appeals[1]:
Judges
Prosecutors
Janitors:

Supreme Court: How many Justices have to agree to hear a case before it is heard?
The US Supreme Court uses the rule of four to determine which cases are heard; any four justices may vote for a petition in order to grant certiorari.

Individuals, litigants or petitioners who seek review by the Supreme Court submit a petition for a writ of certiorari, and if granted, the case comes before them for disposition. Such was the Florida case of Gideon v. Wainwright.

Read more: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_many_US_Supreme_Court_justices_must_agree_to_hear_a_case#ixzz1HLboUAz4
(One of the four Justices that agree to hear Chuck’s case jokes about how Yale is a better university.)
Judges
Prosecutors
Janitors

Massachusetts Production Tax Credit:
http://www.mass.gov/?pageID=dorterminal&L=4&L0=Home&L1=Businesses&L2=Help+%26+Resources&L3=Film+Incentive+Credit+Information&sid=Ador&b=terminalcontent&f=dor_business_filmcredit&csid=Ador
http://massprodcoalition.org/ma-film-tax-credit/ma-filmtv-production-tax-credit-resources/

$50,000 total expenses / 12 months = $4,167/month

Soundtrack:
Requirement: Add my medley, “Please,” to the soundtrack.
Add all other songs from “Cambridge Must Die” album, even if the songs aren’t in the movie.




Add: Chuck has to use the device (that holds and allows janitors to extend their rings of keys several feet out from their belts) and puts tit around the neck of his enemies, in order to fight off someone in the police station in Cambridge, where he’s taken before Beecroft questions him. Also, Chuck could use it in HLS to threaten or get his way out of a difficult situation.

End the book with foreshadowing of Chuck’s network existing and having been successful for decades in other Ivy League colleges: Medical school, graduate schools, undergraduate admissions, etc.
“At the end of the day, the limping, lowly janitor seems like the last person one would suspect of a career of fraud, placing co-conspirators at the highest levels of the public and private sectors.”