The trouble with a courtroom story is that everyone wants it to end at the moment of applause.

The actual work begins after the chairs are stacked and the courthouse doors are locked.

The store was still missing merchandise.

Rebecca still needed rent money.

Clarence still needed someone to check whether he had eaten breakfast.

And I had stood before a judge and promised that our neighborhood association would help make things right.

Our association was five people and a folding table in the church basement.

We had organized a spring cleanup and once convinced the county to fill a pothole.