Leprechaun Court
“Once you’re here, there’s no goin’ back.” -King Brian of the Little People
My favorite St. Patrick’s Day movie is a charmingly twee 1959 Disney film called Darby O’Gill and the Little People, about a battle of wits between an old Irish man named Darby and King Brian Connors of the Leprechauns.
In his pursuit of a pot of gold, Darby ends up a hostage in the leprechaun court, where he must outsmart King Brian with ale and song. The two duel back and forth through the whole film, tricking each other into and out of three wishes the whole way to the show-down with a banshee, the arrival of the death coach and the big sing-along finale.
It turns out underage delinquents are far less clever than leprechauns. I say this, after spending all morning in a little peoples’ court of my own. There was a lot less jigging and drinking in the circuit court of Prince George’s County, Md. in the little hamlet of Upper Marlboro, and a lot more sitting on a really hard bench, crocheting a hat and trying to figure out why the courthouse sports a framed oil portrait of Jim Henson and Kermit the Frog…
It's not easy being green...
I still don’t know much about the adult thief and destroyer of my car, but I was subpoenaed last week to testify against his 13-year old accomplice in juvenile court.
I didn’t actually take the stand because the kid copped to the charges, got an ankle monitoring bracelet and an admonishment from the judge and was released into the custody of his stern-faced mother. His lucky day.
But there might be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for me, too. It turns out I’m entitled to about $1,500 in restitution, half from each defendant. I don’t know if I’ll ever see any of it, but just holding the court order in my hand made me feel a little better.
So did getting to hang out with some fine, upstanding officers of the law– the first one of whom took one look at me and said, “Stolen from D.C. and driven to Maryland? Or stolen from Maryland and driven to D.C.” Then I made them try to guess the make and model of the car, based on the neighborhood from where it was stolen. They got it in a few tries.
Turns out cops are much more friendly when you’re a poor damsel in distress and not a meddlesome newspaper woman. But since I’m the latter at heart, I’ve picked out another pair of smilin’ Irish…er, Scottish eyes for my swooning. Here’s a drop-dead gorgeous, dimpled and pompadoured 29-year-old Sean Connery, singin’ about his Irish lass in Darby.
