O'Brien's Desk. Ona Russell

allegiance and are therefore from here on out barred from serving on the police force. And, and,” O’Brien continued, quieting the crowd with a severe look, “pursuant to section ten of the Ohio Criminal Code, you are hereby sentenced to six months in prison, beginning today November twenty-third, nineteen twenty-three.”

      Gasps and whispers erupted, prompting O’Brien to forcefully tap his gavel once more. “Order . . . I’ll have order in this court! I am not quite done yet.” O’Brien waited for the noise to settle down before proceeding. “Mr. Cavender, you are furthermore ordered to pay a one hundred dollar fine.” This time there was little response from the crowd. “The people must know that there are consequences for any official who abuses the public trust. The defendant is now remanded to the custody of the Ohio Bureau of Prisons. Court is dismissed.”

      As the bailiff commanded the court to rise, freeing reporters to run to the phones and everyone else to simultaneously voice their opinions, Sarah offered O’Brien an appreciative smile. The sentence, though not undeserved, was a bold move, and she knew that he would take some heat for it. Already she could see the disappointment in Chief Dodd and hear outright anger from several individuals inching out of the room. O’Brien had stood firm today, and she was proud of him for it, especially as she observed the relief on Marie’s face. But, as usual, she was also worried about the added strain this could place on him. Her boss didn’t take pressure of this sort well, even though he would never admit it.

      I must catch him before his next appointment, she thought. After I offer my congratulations to the Harrisons, I’ll ask him to lunch. Then I’ll really be able to tell how he’s doing.

       Assuming a much practiced, neutral expression, Sarah approached the formidable set of closed double-doors that led to O’Brien’s chambers. She was just about to knock when the judge’s secretary, Elaine Marsh, appeared alongside her, balancing three cups of steaming coffee. Having only been on the job for a couple of months, Elaine had already proved herself to be an invaluable employee. Sarah had taken to her immediately, especially because in spite of O’Brien’s protests, she had recently cut her hair in the new bob fashion. “A woman after my own heart,” Sarah had told her in approval. “I’d do it myself if I were younger.” Elaine shook her head. “He’s got visitors, Sarah. Two men.”

      “Already? Court just let out. Do you know them?”

      “Can’t say as I do. But then, I don’t recognize many faces yet. They followed the judge in here. I don’t think either of them had appointments.”

      Just what he needed, unexpected guests.

      “I guess I’ll just have to come back later,” Sarah said. But instead of leaving, she remained standing next to Elaine, staring at the coffee. “Hmm, tell you what, Miss Marsh. It just occurred to me that you might need some assistance. You look a little unsteady there. How ‘bout if I help carry that heavy load?”

      “Sure, Miss Kaufman,” Elaine replied, with a knowing wink.

      “So kind of you to offer.”

      Sarah winked back as Elaine passed her two of the cups, and deferentially pushed open the doors.

      Guests indeed. There with O’Brien were two of the most unlikely Sarah could have imagined, engaged in what appeared to be a surprisingly good-humored conversation. First to catch her eye was John Augustus O’Dwyer, Napoleonic leader of the Democratic party whose influence, like that of his Republican counterpart, Walter F. Brown, extended far beyond Toledo. She had spotted the portly, ruddy-faced man in court, but still couldn’t fathom why he would be there. Finding him in this room was even more confusing, for, as far as she knew, he and O’Brien were barely on speaking terms. Currently, O’Dwyer was chairman of the Democratic Executive Committee, but for many years he served as president of the Lucas County Board of Elections, and while in that capacity, during the election of 1912, a deep rift between him and O’Brien occurred.

      The puzzling incident was never really resolved. In short, O’Dwyer was accused of putting the lean on one of his precinct judges to vote and stuff ballot boxes for, ironically enough, Walter F. Brown. This was particularly strange because O’Dwyer, in addition to being known for his strict allegiance to the Democratic party, had always been notoriously hostile to Brown and all he stood for. Nevertheless, the case went to trial and the presiding judge was O’Brien, who, despite eventually dropping it for insufficient evidence, strongly believed in O’Dwyer’s guilt. When O’Dwyer became aware of this, he immediately put into practice the philosophy for which he would eventually become known: “never forget an insult, or never forgive an enemy.” Severing all but the most necessary communications with O’Brien, O’Dwyer even went so far as to try through innuendo and rumor to turn fellow Democrats against him. But now, there he stood, in seemingly excellent spirits, laughing along with the judge as if they were the best of chums.

      Joining in the fun was Kenneth Ballard, whose presence was equally baffling. Kenneth, a tallish, slender, and fastidiously well-dressed man, had been O’Brien’s roommate at the Monticello, the hotel where the judge lived when Sarah first started working for him and where he continued to live for many years thereafter. She knew Kenneth well, but had not seen him since O’Brien’s wedding reception last May. The sight of the three of them together in such a jovial state was simply bizarre. As far as Sarah knew, Kenneth didn’t even know O’Dwyer. An engineer who worked for the Ohio Gas Company, Kenneth didn’t travel in the same circles as O’Brien. He had never held public office nor had he ever been seriously interested in politics, two of the chief reasons O’Brien had found him so appealing as a roommate. In fact, during the entire ten years they had lived together, Sarah couldn’t recall even one visit to the courthouse from Kenneth, something she had always attributed to his lack of interest as well as his confessed uneasiness with, as he had put it, the “unsavory characters” who steadily streamed through its doors.

      As Sarah stood contemplating this unlikely trio, O’Brien said, “Sarah, my dear, for goodness sake, you look positively mesmerized. Put those cups down before you drop them.”

      “Oh, of course . . . certainly, Obee,” Sarah said, and placed them carefully on the end table next to the one Elaine had already placed there before leaving the room unnoticed. “Sorry, Judge,” she added, apologizing as much for the lapse of formal address as the near disaster. Sarah was among the handful of friends who were close enough to O’Brien to call him Obee, the moniker he had acquired in his youth. The problem being that she was not always successful in remembering to observe his title in an official setting, a faux pas that some saw as a consequence of the judge’s failure to assert his authority over the weaker sex.

      “I was supposed to be helping Elaine, wasn’t I? Seems as if she really could’ve done the job better without me . . . even though, as you know, Judge, a broken cup is a sign of good luck.”

      “You know better than I that it is a broken glass which is said to have such properties. But, never mind that. Let’s have it. You didn’t come here just to aid my more than competent secretary. Come on. What are you up to?”

      “Well, actually,” Sarah admitted, “there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you. I was hoping we might have lunch and go over them, but . . .” she added, turning from one visitor to the other, “I didn’t expect you to have company so soon after the trial. Hello, Mr. O’Dwyer. Good to see you, Kenneth.”

      “Humph, yes, well of course you’d want to talk, Sarah,” O’Brien said. “And, I suppose you have a right to wonder. Gentlemen, do you mind if Sarah joins us?”

      Neither man objected so Sarah moved closer, reshaping the triangular group into a perfect square.

      John O’Dwyer greeted her with a stiff handshake, a gesture befitting his general distrust of women who ventured beyond what he thought to be their rightful sphere. Sarah could never figure out why O’Dwyer was considered a Progressive, for he was certainly not progressive in this sense. Kenneth, on the other hand, gave her an affectionate hug and seemed genuinely happy to see her. “Hello Sarah. How are you, my love? You look wonderful. Really, just wonderful. Not like our friend here, however, I’m afraid,” Kenneth said,