A QuizLaw Dramatic Reenactment
Here’s the scene: 58-year-old canoeist Dennis Bohrn and his friends are hanging out on the shores of the Snake River out in Twin Falls, Idaho. They are doing what groups of people usually do on the shores of the mighty Snake — gossiping, playing Truth or Dare, roasting marshmallows, and telling tall tales about the powers of the river (its reputation for wild, white-crested rapids and canoes that capsize, never to be turned upright again).
Suddenly, from a short distance, the group notices a suicide jumper from the corner of their eyes — she leaps from atop a bridge (ahhhhhh), whooshes through the air, hurtles toward the water, and finally splashes into the river, sinking into the murky depths of the fierce and violent Snake. Fueled by the cupfuls of adrenaline coursing through their veins, and without thinking, Bohrne and his pals act quick, jumping into their canoes, and paddling with great force toward the body. Left. Right. Left. Right. In two canoes, they manage to reach the woman and pull her in — heroes! Promptly, they wipe their brows of perspiration and turn their tiny wooden vessels around, paddling against the tide — left, right, left, right — and bringing the woman to shore.
Sadly, it’s too late. The Mighty Snake has taken another casualty. The jumper had accomplished her goal — to snuff out her life.
Borhrn and his buddies are crestfallen. Here they lie with a dead body, mourning the loss. They are despondent. Heartsick. Achy. Wondering, perhaps, if there was anything they could’ve done to save this poor woman’s life. They are grieving. Some are even weeping. Bawling. Slamming fists. “Why! Why! Why!” Tears stream down their cheeks like the Snake slivers downstream — with vigor and might and a deathly hiss.
Two police officers approach them. One, a female deputy with common sense and a bit of tact, bends down and consoles the group. She puts an arm around a female canoeist. Whispers comforting words: “There, there. You did the best you could. You are heroes. Sometimes, it’s just not in the cards. It was just her time. You don’t worry a bit.”
However, the other officer — a menacing, by-the-books sergeant with a chip on his shoulder and an angry black pen in his shirt pocket with a cap begging to be set free — eyes the group of canoeists. He glares, curling his upper lip, forming a devilish sneer. And then, with sinister delight, the sergeant delivers the following words with the gravely tone of Dirty Harry standing atop the Golden Gate with a pistol trained at his prey:
“I see you don’t have any life jackets so I am going to give you a citation.”