Rattlesnakes did their dirty job for Mr. Johnson

Coming home from Palm Springs is ordinarily about as exciting as

coming home from Compton. However, for me, there is a little more

attraction. In making the trip, I pass the scene of a memorable

escapade of a man with whom I had a short but exciting relationship.

The man’s name was Rattlesnake Johnson.

Mr. Johnson was married to Mrs. Johnson. They lived in the desert

between Palm Springs and Riverside, but the monotony of the desert

must have affected their relationship because Mr. Johnson decided it

was time to jettison Mrs. Johnson. Unhappily for Mrs. Johnson,

divorces cost money, so Mr. Johnson found another way to get rid of

his wife. He went out into the desert and picked up a few

rattlesnakes.

I hate snakes. I can’t understand the popularity of a program like

“The Crocodile Hunter.” Whenever the picture of a snake appears on

the screen, I turn my head, so it’s a little hard for me to relate to

someone actually picking one of the things up, but people who live in

the desert are a tribe unto themselves.

Anyway, Mr. Johnson picked up some rattlesnakes, put them into a

box and took the box home. Now, the next part is a bit of a mystery.

Somehow, Mrs. Johnson’s foot ended up in that box. I have always

wondered how Mr. Johnson managed that. As far as I know, she wasn’t

deaf, so it’s hard to imagine he persuaded her to step into a box

emitting an ominous noise. Maybe he knocked her out and stuck her

foot in the box. Anyway, that’s where her foot ended up, whereupon

all the rattlesnakes took a whack at her.

A minimum dose of venom can be fatal. In the case of Mrs. Johnson,

the minimum was exceeded many, many times. Insofar as Mrs. Johnson

was concerned, the results were disastrous. She died from rattlesnake

venom.

I now came into the act. Fortunately, for my mental health, it was

long after all traces of actual snakes had been removed. I was a

young, eager deputy district attorney, and it was my first capital

case.

Somehow, I managed to stumble through the case and avoid an

acquittal. Mr. Johnson was convicted, got the death penalty and went

to meet his maker, and I suffered many sleepless nights -- not

because of any qualms about Mr. Johnson’s sentence. It’s just that

all that testimony about snakes gave me nightmares.

ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.