Reporter’s notebook
Locked in court



GUILDERLAND — Covering a murder trial is never easy. There are no happy endings — not for either the family of the accused or of the deceased.

Grieving is always tough, but an untimely violent death is particularly hard.

As a reporter, you look at both sides of the story, but as an outside observer. You see only what is presented, just the faces people put on in public, not what is in their hearts.

But covering the Hashim Burnell murder trial was a different.

Burnell was convicted of killing Todd Pianowski in his Guilderland home with a .40 caliber handgun while robbing him. The murder was a senseless, violent act that nobody may fully understand, except for the killer. I feel deep sympathy for Pianowski’s family and his girlfriend, Lauren Parker.

Watching a family mourn a living son is no better. Lavern Burnell, Hashim’s mother, told me she moved her son at the age of 11 to Guilderland where his father lived to get him out of the city, where she currently lives — in Queens. She was completely surprised by the amount of drugs in what she thought was an affluent suburban school district.

The only thing that mattered now, was the trial at hand.

Once the jury was given instructions around 2 p.m. on Tuesday by the judge, the waiting began.

The waiting gave me time to think about the day’s testimonies and mull over some of the interesting points.

The families inside of the courthouse had a lot more than a story and deadline to worry about.

After about five o’clock that evening, the guards manning the metal detectors went home, meaning no re-entry. Once you left, there was no coming back.

I had a choice to make: Either go home, write the story, and relax after working all day or stay locked in the courthouse with both families.

Something told me to stay.

Up to that point, both families had been cordial to each other, considering their circumstances. At one point during the trial, outside the courtroom, Hashim’s grandmother, Annie Burnell, borrowed a cigarette from Pianowski’s mother, Patt. A little tension hung in the air, but mostly, an overriding feeling of sadness and loss.

The Pianowskis are absolutely certain that Burnell killed their son; the Burnells are absolutely certain their son is innocent. I watched and listened. I honestly did not know how to feel. The journalist in me, the outside observer, was excited, but the inner me was confused and awkward. I didn’t want to give the sense to one family that I was paying more attention or acting more sympathetic to the other.

Trying to maintain a professional objectivity became a conscious effort during those hours inside of the courthouse. Both families were very kind and gracious to me as I tried my best to understand their plights.
"He was a good kid, but all of this waiting is killing me," said Mrs. Pianowski, a working-class woman, as her tired red eyes stared off into the distance.
"He was a very smart kid. He had straight A’s. One of the reasons we moved up here is because the schools were better"" said Lavern Burnell, a tall, fashionable woman, who was so choked up she had to stop talking. After a pause, she went on, "He was loving and very giving."

I wasn’t fooling anyone. I couldn’t even begin to understand or pretend to articulate what these grief-stricken families were going through. The Pianowskis had already lost a son, and the Burnells knew they might be loosing a son to prison.

Although both families were kind, they were always a bit standoffish, keeping their distance and keeping their cool, because, after all, nobody trusts a reporter.

I watched the families hold the court doors open for each other so they could get outside for a cigarette or two while we all waited. I watched them pace, I watched them worry. I watched them support each other and console one another. Times of sadness bring family together; it’s when we need each other the most.

The wheels of justice were turning ever so slowly. Everything was silent in the building that night, a stark difference from the hustle and bustle of the previous hours.

Everyone was waiting for some sign from the 12 men and women sequestered in a small room.

The verdict wouldn’t come until the next day — guilty. And once again the two families will stand apart — on either side of the courtroom — as they assemble to hear the sentence.