By its fourteenth season the show was losing its élan. The stories were often as interesting but a bit more convoluted. The directors had the actors shouting more often. And some of the newer replacements in the cast were simply not up to the standards set earlier. And poor Jerry Orbach looked and sounded washed out and creaky.
But this episode stands out from most that came this late in the series. A homeless man is found dead, apparently hit by a car. The detectives identify the car -- not very difficult, since it's an Aston Martin that costs as much as a house -- only to find that the victim had died of an earlier beating.
The beating was the result of an argument with another homeless man, a psychotic, over sharing an orange. The killer, who simply lost his temper during the fight, is brought to trial and the defense counsel contends that rules among the homeless differ from ours. Basically, the guy is suffering enough. He sleeps in a subway tunnel surrounded by excrement and rats. McCoy's position is that the law applies to everyone, regardless of circumstances.
What helps put the show over is the performance of the defendant. At first he looks only like a rather typical specimen representing the species of Homo that you cross the street to avoid because he looks dangerous or, at any rate, frightening. But in his testimony it emerges that unlike most of the homeless, he isn't at all mentally ill, nor has he ever had a problem with substance abuse. And gradually, as he tells his little narrative with growing passion, a viewer can with some little effort imagine being in his place.
He had a job working steel and was injured and lost it. His unemployment benefits were expended and he "blew through" his savings and sold his house because he couldn't meet the mortgage payments. At first he slept in his car but finally had to sell that too and wound up on the streets. As he tell it, it was all one long slippery slope downwards. McCoy argues that he could have found a job. But, speaking from some experience with this life style, I have to make the observation that McCoy never found himself at the age of forty, dressed in rags, unshaven and unbathed for months, presenting himself at a job interview for a position in which he had no relevant experience. It isn't just difficult for these guys to "find a job." It's damned near impossible. Nobody hires fifty ditch diggers anymore. They hire one guy with the training and skills to operate an earth mover or back hoe.
The irony of the trial is that the more the defendant (whose name I can't remember) demonstrates his ordinary, fustian humanity, the more he vitiates the defense's argument that homeless people are special because they're forced to live like animals in communities where only Darwinian processes take place.
He's convicted and sent to Sing Sing for sixteen years. Sing Sing is a notorious hell hole. McCoy shrugs. "At least he'll be fed and have shelter." But between Sing Sing and a subway grating, I'm not certain which would be the better choice.
But this episode stands out from most that came this late in the series. A homeless man is found dead, apparently hit by a car. The detectives identify the car -- not very difficult, since it's an Aston Martin that costs as much as a house -- only to find that the victim had died of an earlier beating.
The beating was the result of an argument with another homeless man, a psychotic, over sharing an orange. The killer, who simply lost his temper during the fight, is brought to trial and the defense counsel contends that rules among the homeless differ from ours. Basically, the guy is suffering enough. He sleeps in a subway tunnel surrounded by excrement and rats. McCoy's position is that the law applies to everyone, regardless of circumstances.
What helps put the show over is the performance of the defendant. At first he looks only like a rather typical specimen representing the species of Homo that you cross the street to avoid because he looks dangerous or, at any rate, frightening. But in his testimony it emerges that unlike most of the homeless, he isn't at all mentally ill, nor has he ever had a problem with substance abuse. And gradually, as he tells his little narrative with growing passion, a viewer can with some little effort imagine being in his place.
He had a job working steel and was injured and lost it. His unemployment benefits were expended and he "blew through" his savings and sold his house because he couldn't meet the mortgage payments. At first he slept in his car but finally had to sell that too and wound up on the streets. As he tell it, it was all one long slippery slope downwards. McCoy argues that he could have found a job. But, speaking from some experience with this life style, I have to make the observation that McCoy never found himself at the age of forty, dressed in rags, unshaven and unbathed for months, presenting himself at a job interview for a position in which he had no relevant experience. It isn't just difficult for these guys to "find a job." It's damned near impossible. Nobody hires fifty ditch diggers anymore. They hire one guy with the training and skills to operate an earth mover or back hoe.
The irony of the trial is that the more the defendant (whose name I can't remember) demonstrates his ordinary, fustian humanity, the more he vitiates the defense's argument that homeless people are special because they're forced to live like animals in communities where only Darwinian processes take place.
He's convicted and sent to Sing Sing for sixteen years. Sing Sing is a notorious hell hole. McCoy shrugs. "At least he'll be fed and have shelter." But between Sing Sing and a subway grating, I'm not certain which would be the better choice.
