Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Funeral Instructions:
I want a simple service at the Irish Road Christian Church on Tuesday, October 4, at 4 p.m.
with Rev. Don McElwain presiding. I’d like for Mrs. Nora Baines to sing The Old Rugged Cross.
I do not want anyone to attempt a eulogy. Can’t imagine anyone wanting to. Other than that,
Rev. McElwain can say whatever he wants. Thirty minutes max.
If any black people wish to attend my funeral, then they are to be admitted. If they are not
admitted, then forget the whole service and put me in the ground.
My pallbearers are: Harvey Moss, Duane Thomas, Steve Holland, Billy Bowles, Mike Mills,
and Walter Robinson.
Burial Instructions:
I just bought a plot in the Irish Road Cemetery behind the church. I’ve spoken with Mr.
Magargel at the funeral home and he’s been paid for the casket. No vault. Immediately after
the church service, I want a quick interment—five minutes max—then lower the casket.
So long. See you on the other side.
Seth Hubbard
Jake addressed the witness and said, “And Sheriff Walls, this suicide note and these
instructions were found by you and your deputies in the home of Seth Hubbard shortly
after you found his body, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you do with them?”
“We took them into our possession, made copies, then the following day gave them to
Mr. Hubbard’s family at his home.”
“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“Any cross-examination, Mr. Lanier?”
“None.”
“You are excused, Sheriff Walls. Thank you. Mr. Brigance?”
“Yes, Your Honor, at this time I would like for the jury to be instructed that it has
been stipulated by all parties that the documents just admitted into evidence were
indeed written by Mr. Seth Hubbard.”
“Mr. Lanier?”
“So stipulated, Your Honor.”
“Very well, there is no dispute as to the authorship of these documents. Proceed, Mr.
Brigance.”
Jake said, “The proponents call Mr. Calvin Boggs.” They waited until Calvin was
summoned from a witness room. He was a large country boy who’d never owned a
necktie, and it was obvious he had not even considered buying one for the occasion. He
wore a frayed plaid shirt with patches on the elbows, dirty khakis, dirty boots, and
looked as though he just wandered into the courtroom from a pulpwood-cutting
expedition. He was thoroughly intimidated and overwhelmed by the surroundings, and
within seconds began to choke up as he described his horror at finding his boss hanging