Curtis Mathis woke in his jail cell, expecting the judge to give him the option of going to prison or military service. In the mid-1960s, minor offenders would get the option of jail or military service.
After breakfast, the six-foot, twenty-nine-year-old Curtis Mathis smiled as sheriff’s deputies escorted him from the jail and to the courtroom of Judge Henry McCullen.
A slightly overweight, forty-six-year-old court reporter read the charges. “The People vs. Curt Mathis. The charge is assault in the second degree.”
“Mr. Mathis, how do you plead?” Judge McCullen asked with very little emotion.
Curtis being the first of nine offenders who would be standing before him. Judge McCullen expected all of them to plead not guilty. Judge McCullen would then set a trial date. At a later time, some would plead to a lesser charge in lieu of going to trial.
“Guilty, your honor,” came the unapologetic words out of Curtis Mathis’s mouth. The public defender didn’t have time to answer for Curtis.
So struck by the defendant’s answer, Judge McCullen looked at the prosecuting attorney. “What are the details in this case?”
Once again, Curtis didn’t give the lawyers a chance to speak. “The bartender ignored me when I asked for a beer. He ignored me three times. So, I took the nearest thing I could put in my hand and threw it at him. I just wanted to get his attention. It got his attention.”
The judge read through the arrest report and other papers. “Mr. Mathis, according to the police report, the bartender was taken to the hospital and required twenty-seven stitches from several lacerations.”
“Uh, well, after I hit him the first time, he still refused to serve me. So I grabbed an ashtray and another bottle and threw them at him. The only reason I stopped was when some linebacker tackled me.”
“Mr. Mathis, I see you were released from county jail just last week. The reports from the officers at their say you were a model inmate. What do you think I should do with you?”
“I function well in a structured environment. Your honor. I understand that you have the ability to sentence me to the Marine Corps instead of jail.”
“Why would you want to go into the Marine Corps?”
“My father was a Marine. He always told me it would be the best thing for me.”
“I see you’re twenty-nine. Why haven’t you gone into the Marine Corps before now?”
“Well, I never believed my dad. Now, I’m willing to give it a try.”
Judge McCullen looked over at the Assistant D.A. “What is the recommendation from the District Attorney’s office?”
“Considering Mr. Mathis’ long history of impulsive, uncontrollable behavior, we would like to see Mr. Mathis undergo a psychological evaluation and treatment.”
“I’m not crazy,” Curtis protested. “Your Honor. I just need some structure, like the Marine Corps.”
“From what I see in your record, I don’t believe the Marine Corps would do you any good. Your uncontrolled emotional outbursts worry me.”
“I am sure you have heard of men getting their lives turned around by going into the Marine Corps,” Curtis said.
“What assurance do I have that you would not take your anger out on your drill instructor or another Marine?”
“I just won’t.”
“If I may, Your Honor?” the Assistant D.A. interjected.
“Yes, what do you have to offer?”
“You do have the authority to sentence Mr. Mathis to an indefinite stay at the state mental hospital for a full psychiatric evaluation and treatment.”
“Your Honor,” Curtis interrupted. “I will gladly accept a sentence to the Marine Corps or back to jail as punishment instead of going to any mental hospital.”
“You just wait a minute.” Judge McCullen raised his hand toward Curtis. “Give me a minute to think this through.”
Assistant D.A. added facts to his recommendation. “If you look at Mr. Mathis’ record. He has quite a list of similar offenses. The people would want some assurance that Mr. Mathis’s outburst would be under control.”
Judge McCullen turned to the defendant. “Mr. Mattis, how do you feel about the recommendation of the district attorney’s recommendation?”
Curtis slowly raised both hands with his middle fingers extended. His left hand in the direction of Assistant D.A. and his right hand toward Judge McCullen.
The judge’s facial expression darkened in anger. “Mr. Mathis, because of your blatant disrespect for this bench. Your behavior leads me to believe you are not a sane individual. I must, therefore, follow the Assistant D.A.’s recommendation.”
“I’m not crazy,” shouted Curtis. “You can’t send me to any mental hospital. I would rather go to state prison.”
An evil grin rose on Judge McCullen’s face. “Well, you are going there.”
“I’m not crazy.” Curtis repeated, raising his voice. “You can’t send me there. I don’t want a nut jacket.”
“Judge, you can’t do that to me. I am not crazy. I just have a low filter when it comes to expressing my emotions.” Curtis rounded the defendant’s table, where he was intercepted by two large sheriff’s deputies.
“Mr. Curtis Mathis, I hereby sentence you to Atascadero State Hospital for as long as they deem you to be a danger to yourself and others.” The judge’s gavel struck the block. The sound rang throughout the courtroom.
“You can’t do this to me,” Curtis protested. “I’m not crazy.”
Judge McCullen waved the gavel toward the side exit. “Get Mr. Mathis out of here.”
The two deputies grabbed Curtis under each arm and drug him out of the courtroom.
