Coming to you from Orange County, California, it's Griddle Cakes Radio. Welcome to Griddle Cakes Radio, Season 19, Griddle Sode Number 2. I'm your host, Ron. On today's Griddle Sode, I have a story for you called The Slow Wheels of Justice. Good morning, good morning, good morning. I hope this podcast finds you happy and healthy. In May of 2022, I released a griddle-sode called Primary Care. The sad story of me learning that my primary care physician of 20 years
was killed in a mass shooting. I've been following this story closely by attending most of the courtroom hearings. My hope for today was that I could tell you the final story of justice being served, but alas, after two and a half years. That moment has yet to arrive. So I have an interim story for you instead. A story that I call The Slow Wheels of Justice. Never could keep a call. Always trying to take a stand.
Arraignment Day, August 19, 2022. I arrived at the Superior Court building for one reason and one reason only. To look into the face of evil. I didn't know what to expect. Would he have calculating eyes filled with arrogance or cold black eyes reflecting indifference? But things are rarely the way you expect them.
Rather than seeing him perp walked into the courtroom as expected, I saw him through the black mesh screen of a temporary holding cell. He looked unremarkable. There were no piercing eyes, no sinister smirk. Instead, I saw a frail old man. A chill came over me. I had expected to see Hannibal Lecter, but the reality before me was far more disturbing. This man...
responsible for such heinous crimes, looked so ordinary, so harmless, that I realized a terrifying truth. Monsters can and do walk among us unnoticed. We don't know when the old man left his home in Las Vegas, and we don't know when he arrived, but we do know that the 68-year-old drove over 270 miles to his destination. the geneva presbyterian church located on el toro road in the retirement community of laguna woods california he entered the building to find a homecoming of sorts
Billy Chang, former pastor of the Irvine Taiwanese Presbyterian Church, had recently returned from a missionary trip to Taiwan. The group of about 50 attendees skewed older. the average age well over 65, with the oldest being 92, and the youngest, a local physician, 52-year-old Dr. John Chang, who is taking his mother to church for the first time since her husband, John's father,
had died a few months prior. The congregation paid no attention to the old man sitting in the back of the church reading a newspaper. Why should they? His attire led them to believe that he was a security guard. so they thought nothing when he began securing the doors to the outside but they should have you see the man wasn't locking the doors to keep intruders out his goal was to keep the occupants in
He wrapped chains around the handles, injected glue into the locks, then started distributing Molotov cocktail-style explosives throughout the building. Upon securing his kill zone, he drew his handgun and opened fire. Despite meticulous planning, the old man hadn't accounted for a counterattack. Dr. John Cheng, a Kung Fu grandmaster, stepped up to disarm the old man. Unfortunately,
The speed and skill of a grandmaster proved no match against bullets as the old man unloaded his pistol into Doc Cheng's body. And while his valiant effort failed to disarm the shooter, The distraction lasted just long enough for other attendees to pummel the assailant into submission, bind him with electrical cords, and wait for the authorities. A few minutes later, law enforcement entered the church to find a dead hero
five people being treated for gunshot wounds, and a restrained suspect. Within hours, Orange County District Attorney Todd Spitzer announced that the old man was being charged with several felony counts, including both first degree... and attempted murder, all with special circumstances of lying in wait. He also revealed a possible motive. The old man may have been politically motivated by a with the Taiwanese community at large.
I arrived at the court building for the arraignment about a half hour early. I waited with about a dozen people outside the locked doors of courtroom C-55. Most occupied their time engrossed in their cell phones. A young man across the hall wore a blue wrinkled shirt and a tie. If I had to guess, it was the first time he'd ever worn one in his life. A man dragging a roller suitcase sat next to me.
A few minutes later, a large man with two cameras slung sash-style across his plump belly approached. Where is everyone? Camera Guy asked. His voice caught the attention of a woman sitting next to the boy with the tie. She looked up from her phone, smiled, and joined their conversation. It didn't take me long to gather that Camera Guy was from the Orange County Register, Suitcase Guy was from the Daily Mail,
and the woman was a freelance reporter. A man emerged from C-55 and made a beeline for the trio. I only have room for two photographers, he said. If another shows up, you'll have to work something out. With that... The court's PR guy disappeared back into C-55. The doors to the courtroom swung open. A barrel-chested, silver-haired bailiff queried each entrant. Do you need to check in?
One by one, defendants did so before settling into their seats to await their fate. This was the first time I'd seen the inside of a courtroom without a television frame around it. The room had an older vibe with its dark brown paneling illuminated by fluorescent ceiling lights. If it hadn't been for the LCD screens used by the courtroom staff, it would have been easy to think that I'd stepped out of a time machine and into the 1970s. That's when the bailiff called out, Court is now in session.
Most of us started to stand up, expecting him to say, all rise, but instead he motioned for all of us to remain seated. The judge took his seat at the bench, logged into his computer, which initiated a steady stream of people lining up in the aisleway. behind a podium. The judge looked up from his screen to address the first person in line. Good morning, he said. Good morning, your honor, a young attorney said before announcing her name and case number 21CF something something something.
Although I didn't know it at the time, I'd just been introduced to a conversation that I'd hear for at least a hundred times over the next two and a half years. It went something like this. The defense attorney would announce that Mr. or Ms. so-and-so was in the courtroom and that they were requesting a pre-trial hearing for a future date. The judge would check with the assistant DA and if the date was acceptable, would then address the defendant.
Do you understand that you are waiving your right to a preliminary hearing, which by California law must occur within 10 court days or 60 calendar days? The defendant always said yes. The judge would update his court calendar. then look to the next person in line to repeat the conversation all over again. I learned that there are two types of criminal court hearings, pretrial and preliminary.
Pre-trial hearings, like the one I just recited, are simple status checkups. A preliminary hearing, on the other hand, is more formal, as it's the first time that the state lays out their case. A preliminary hearing determines whether the case goes to trial, leads to a plea deal, or, you know, to tell you the truth, I have no idea because I haven't seen one yet. At about 1230, a well-dressed man entered the courtroom.
I recognized him from the news coverage. Orange County DA Todd Spitzer. I got the feeling that Mr. Spitzer doesn't grace courtrooms unless there's press around. The court's PR guy motioned to the photographers to join him next to the bailiff. He pointed to a holding cell at the far corner of the courtroom. When I followed the invisible line from his finger, I saw it. The face of evil, masquerading as a harmless old man.
A woman in a sharp blue dress approached the podium, identified herself as Jennifer Ryan for case number 22CF something something something. D.A. Spitzer stepped forward with a tall woman who identified herself as Assistant D.A. Jennifer Walker. I double-checked my notes to make sure that I got that right. The defense attorney and the ADA were both Jennifers.
The judge called up the case, but before he could say anything, defense attorney Ryan made a motion to remove the OC Register's photographer, explaining that his application arrived well after the court's five-day minimum requirement. Wow, that's petty, I thought, before reconsidering. If I were accused of a serious crime, I'd probably want my attorney to go all Alan Dershowitz on the process also. The judge denied her motion, explaining that he'd allow it due to community interest in the case.
The once quiet courtroom was then filled with the sounds of shutter clicks, as the two photographers captured images of everyone involved in the case, the judge, the old man, the two Jennifers, and of course, D.A. Spitzer. Defense attorney Ryan called for a young woman to join her at the holding cell. The woman introduced herself as the Mandarin translator, then passed an industrial-looking headset through an opening in the old man's cage.
The arraignment only lasted a few minutes, with the old man pleading not guilty to a slew of charges through his interpreter. Defense attorney Ryan requested a future date for a pretrial hearing. The judge asked the defendant if he understood that he was waiving his right to a preliminary hearing. And after some back and forth, he answered yes through his interpreter. I left the courtroom knowing that I'd return on October 21st, 2022.
What I didn't expect was that I'd be attending a dozen more over the next couple years. The routine remained the same. They'd bring the old man to a holding cell. He'd don his translation headset. The attorneys would ask for a pretrial hearing. and we'd be out the door. But the routine changed on April 18, 2023. Instead of walking into the holding cell under his own power, a bailiff pushed the old man into the courtroom in a wheelchair.
I felt a little unnerved. For nearly a year, he'd always been obscured through a mesh screen at the far end of the courtroom. But this time, he was a mere 15 feet away. And the only barrier between us was a waist-high railing that separated the judge's area from the gallery. He looked different. He'd lost weight and had grown a white chin beard.
that's when he began scanning the courtroom to take in the view from his new vantage point he scanned the room until we made eye contact he looked puzzled confused as to why he was the focus of my attention. Unimpressed, he broke eye contact and continued his survey. The attorneys then performed their pre-trial hearing dance only to kick the metaphorical can farther down the road. My body tensed with frustration. It had been over a year since the murder and I needed to know what was going on.
So I followed the assistant DA into the corridor. Excuse me, Ms. Walker, I said politely. She turned. Yes? I was just wondering what's taking so long with the case. The ADA gave me a once-over. What case is that, she asked. The one we just left, I said, mentioning the old man's name for clarification. And you are?
I was one of Dr. Chang's patients, I said, my voice cracking unexpectedly. Her demeanor immediately sobbed before she started explaining that the state needed more time to translate thousands of documents written in Mandarin. So we won't be going to trial anytime soon, I asked. We need a preliminary hearing first, she corrected. Of course we do, I thought. Holla
After a year of hearing, dozens of pretrial hearings, a handful of arraignments, and a couple of pleas, I'd finally settled into the court's rhythm. All I had to do was wait for my case to come up. Sometimes it took a half hour, other times it took two, leaving me with lots of time to observe the most bizarre courtroom interactions. For example, a silver-haired attorney entered the courtroom. He called across the room.
Mr. Aquino, are you here, Mr. Aquino? A young man behind me waved sheepishly. I think I have a deal for you today, the attorney bellowed, but I need to talk to the DA first. Everyone waiting in the gallery felt a twinge of cringe. The two men leaned closer to discuss the deal, but the entire courtroom could hear one side of the conversation.
Okay, we've got $150 in fines, $40 for damages, and simple battery. How much do you want? 90 days? Mr. Aquino whispered something back. Look, you can ask for whatever you want, the attorney said gruffly. Mr. Aquino whispered again. All right, sit tight, the attorney said, before approaching the ADA to negotiate. For some reason, this conversation was discreet.
The old attorney then looked up and yelled across the gallery, Mr. Aquino, you don't have to hang around. I'll let you know when you have to pay the fine. And at that, Mr. Aquino slunk out of the courtroom. About a half hour later, the old man arrived via wheelchair, but something had changed. He looked much healthier than he did just three months ago. He'd put on some weight, shaved his chin beard...
and seemed to be in good spirits. Defense attorney Ryan greeted him with a smile. Though the old man's surprisingly good English caught me off guard, it was the tone that truly bothered me. The conversation wasn't merely cordial. Its sugary-sweet tenor triggered my gag reflex. An Asian man in a gray suit approached. He handed the old man a business card and they bantered back and forth playfully. The old man laughed, looked at Ms. Ryan and said,
He's a very attractive Asian man. I found the levity inappropriate considering the reason for all of our attendance. Fortunately, it didn't last long as the pretrial hearing was postponed yet again. January 11th, 2024. The old man arrived via wheelchair. He was definitely putting on weight. The Asian man from six months earlier approached the podium, introduced himself as Arthur Fan.
and rattled off the old man's case number. Rather than kicking the can down the road, he announced that the old man wanted to forego his Mandarin translator. The judge wasn't convinced and questioned the old man about his ability to understand the proceedings. I will try, the old man replied. Still not convinced, the judge said, okay, let's do this. We'll keep her around.
Thank you very much, the old man said, before the case can was yet again kicked down the road. April 18, 2024. Kicked the can. June 26, 2024. Kicked the can. We've just passed the two-year mark. August 21st, 2024. The Jennifers arrived early. They huddled together and spoke in hushed tones. I'd never seen them so animated before. Could this be it? Could we be on the cusp of the elusive preliminary hearing? The old man entered the holding cell under his own power. He looked much stronger.
He scanned the courtroom from behind the mesh screen before we locked eyes for a second time. His expression registered some sort of recognition. He looked away and then back, only to find my focus unchanged. It felt like a battle of wills, with each of us refusing to look away. I won. Hey, Walker, Arthur Pham called across the gallery to the ADA. We talked about setting up a prelim. Pham approached the podium.
introduced himself, cited the case number, then restated the old man's wishes to ditch his translator. Just like he had done before, the judge questioned the old man, who didn't respond. The judge repeated his question, but rather than getting an answer, the old man said, In my cage, my hearing is bad. He pointed across the room to where he once sat in the wheelchair. Can you put me by the police over there?
The judge, unwilling to accommodate the old man's seating preferences, solved the can't hear issue by shouting into the courtroom microphone, his voice not only reverberating throughout the courtroom, but likely the entire courthouse. It worked as the old man answered all his questions in English without the need of a translator. Your attorney has requested a preliminary hearing, the judge shouted. Do you understand? I understand.
the old man said. Finally, the words I've waited so long to hear. A preliminary hearing was finally set for January 7th, 2025, two years and eight months after the murder. When I was young I had it all planned out That something big was down the road I really thought I'd have it all by now And I'd be a failure if I don't That's when you say My love will know we're near the end There'll come a day That's when you say
I swear you ain't seen nothing yet. This life is heavy with an overload. Like every door I see is shut. But when we sink into our deep... We've got nowhere to go but up That's when you say My love will nowhere near the end There'll come a day I'm cautiously optimistic that this next hearing will have more substance than the dozen or so others I've sat through. And while I don't know what to expect, I do know one thing. I'll be there.
I have to. It's the only thing left that I can do out of my respect for Dr. Chang. Well, that's it. Griddle Soad S19002 is in the can. The music on this Griddle Soad was licensed from Audio.com. That's audio with two I's. In order of appearance are... You can find links to the artists in the show notes located at griddlecakes.com. If you've been a long-time listener, thank you. You're the reason that I keep producing this show.
And if you're new to the show, welcome to the Griddle Cakes Radio family. I love to hear from listeners. Did you like this griddle-sode? What did the story mean to you? Let me know by either sending an email to griddlecakes at gmail.com or by leaving a review. of the show bye for now and we'll catch you next time