This is one of those very few times that Alan Shore might find himself in exactly the situation I'm writing about. I'm sure some lawyer is going to, anyway.
The death of Declan Sullivan has hit the Notre Dame community rather hard, as you would expect. A young man in the prime of his life lost that life in an absolutely senseless and ridiculous circumstance. He was on a portable scissor-lift platform videotaping football practice during high winds. A gust measured at over 50 miles per hour knocked over the platform, and Sullivan fell over 30 feet to his death, landing on a paved road.
This entire situation is ugly and pointless, as you would expect the death of a 20-year-old to be. Questions about who put him in such a dangerous situation will be asked and answered over the course of the various investigations into the accident. No doubt as some point there will be litigation on the matter, and even more and better answers may come out of that process.
The trouble with litigation, though, is oftentimes you get more answers than you really need or even want. That reality leads me to what will likely be an unpopular (and possibly illegal) opinion, but I'm going to write about it because not only is it something I would do were I a lawyer involved, I also think it's something Alan would do.
The only way this situation can get even more horrifying is if the video tape from that young man's machine becomes public property. Based on his well-publicized Twitter entry, he was filming for a good 20 minutes before the accident, and I would imagine the tape was running right up to (if not during) the wind gust that claimed his life. Even if the video does not contain the plummet to his death (which I would hope to God it does not), no doubt any audio on the tape would capture exclamations or other expressions of the fear he endured up on that platform in the minutes prior.
So what would I do if I were in ND's athletic or legal departments? If the fall didn't do it, I would ensure whatever video was captured by that camera was destroyed beyond recovery immediately. If the fall didn't do it, some combination of a hammer or magnet or scissors in my hand would.
Yes, the video may be considered probative by whatever legal entitles hold sway, and such an action might result in punishment. No, it's not at all my intention to allow the people responsible for Sullivan's death to escape justice -- all I want, to paraphrase Sally Brown, is what they have coming to them.
But as I can tell you from experience, the probative value can be far outweighed by the damage it may do to Declan's family. And that damage can last a long time. Four years ago, my aunt was killed in an automobile crash, and the knowledge that she saw the other car coming and reacted to it still haunts me to this day. It's one thing to wonder about the last moments of your loved one's life. It's quite another to have them thrown into sharp relief via a deposition or People's exhibit A, especially when the person likely can be convicted without it.
Yes, they'd probably throw me (or Alan or whoever else) in jail. But it'd be worth it to spare the Sullivan family a modicum more of pain than what they're probably already experiencing. As the father of two kids, I can't fathom having to bury one of them, and wouldn't wish it on anyone. Let's not make it worse.
Do the smart thing, guys. If you haven't already.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Not Phish Nuns
Trish is a couple months into her new gig with the Sisters of St. Joseph out in LaGrange. No, she's not cloistered, she's the financial director for their retreat center out there and helps the sisters with various money situations, some serious some not. And today, she got a reminder how necessary that help can be sometimes.
A little ways into the day, the center's HR director came into her office, looking nonplussed. "I guess we haven't been paying our taxes," she said. "The IRS sent us an email saying we need to get it sorted out."
Trish has been a CPA for quite a while now, so she knows to take our governmental friends seriously. But this didn't smell right to her. "Email?" she asked. "Why don't you forward those to me."
She took a look at the three emails the HR director had received. All looked to have come from the official IRS.gov website, listed specific account numbers, and explained in pretty tough language what would happen if the accounts weren't reconciled.
(editor's note -- as I heard the story this evening, my 20 years of IT experience told me exactly how it was going to end)
Official looking or not, my honey didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. She called the IRS directly to sort it out, and was told in no uncertain terms that when the Federales want to get their hooks into you, they do so via snail mail, not electronics. They told her to forward the emails to their anti-phishing email address and get on with her life.
Overall, a relatively innocuous event, and it's not like any of our information is now in nefarious hands. But it pissed her off (which, after 15 years of marriage, I could have told them was a very bad idea). CC'ed on the email were a number of older nuns, some of whom might not be as savvy as Trish in dealing with communications of this type. She quickly fired off an email to the group at large, warning them not to respond to the email and that everything was being taken care of.
There are times I weep for the state of America -- fast food on every corner, and a Kardashian on every channel. The talentless performing for the tasteless. If they ever played a Lady Gaga song on an episode of Jersey Shore, it might create a cultural singularity whose event horizon would swiftly (and mercifully) destroy us all.
But those irritants pale in comparison to the sheer evil of trying to fleece nuns of what little money they have. God forbid the scrotal chancres who attempted this larceny spend half that much energy contributing to the welfare of the universe, rather than the ill-gotten pursuits that, if there's any justice in the universe, will fast-track them to one of Dante's more interesting levels.
Sometimes people suck.
A little ways into the day, the center's HR director came into her office, looking nonplussed. "I guess we haven't been paying our taxes," she said. "The IRS sent us an email saying we need to get it sorted out."
Trish has been a CPA for quite a while now, so she knows to take our governmental friends seriously. But this didn't smell right to her. "Email?" she asked. "Why don't you forward those to me."
She took a look at the three emails the HR director had received. All looked to have come from the official IRS.gov website, listed specific account numbers, and explained in pretty tough language what would happen if the accounts weren't reconciled.
(editor's note -- as I heard the story this evening, my 20 years of IT experience told me exactly how it was going to end)
Official looking or not, my honey didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. She called the IRS directly to sort it out, and was told in no uncertain terms that when the Federales want to get their hooks into you, they do so via snail mail, not electronics. They told her to forward the emails to their anti-phishing email address and get on with her life.
Overall, a relatively innocuous event, and it's not like any of our information is now in nefarious hands. But it pissed her off (which, after 15 years of marriage, I could have told them was a very bad idea). CC'ed on the email were a number of older nuns, some of whom might not be as savvy as Trish in dealing with communications of this type. She quickly fired off an email to the group at large, warning them not to respond to the email and that everything was being taken care of.
There are times I weep for the state of America -- fast food on every corner, and a Kardashian on every channel. The talentless performing for the tasteless. If they ever played a Lady Gaga song on an episode of Jersey Shore, it might create a cultural singularity whose event horizon would swiftly (and mercifully) destroy us all.
But those irritants pale in comparison to the sheer evil of trying to fleece nuns of what little money they have. God forbid the scrotal chancres who attempted this larceny spend half that much energy contributing to the welfare of the universe, rather than the ill-gotten pursuits that, if there's any justice in the universe, will fast-track them to one of Dante's more interesting levels.
Sometimes people suck.
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