I’ve been spending a lot of time in various courtrooms lately. And no, it’s not what you’re thinking. Nobody saw me do it and you can’t prove anything.

No, it’s thanks to the alleged criminals of York County that I’ve been forced to dust off the ol’ slacks, pull myself together and drag myself to court to provide coverage. It occurred to me, during one of these trips, that there isn’t a single reason to go to court that’s any fun. You’re either facing charges, arguing with lawyers, contesting tickets, or working, whether it be as a clerk or a journalist. None of these things are enjoyable. The closest court comes to being any fun is when I’m there in the capacity of a photographer, but even then, when I’ve got a few shots under my belt, the fact still remains that I have to sit there and listen to people in ties and pantsuits bicker in lawyer-speak. That’s like person-speak, except you say “Objection, your honor,” instead of, “Nuh-uh, they’re stupid!”

I went to Cumberland County Superior Court in Portland recently to cover a proceeding there ”“ my first trip to that particular courthouse in years, marred by my inability to navigate that city’s network of one-way cobblestone streets. Packed shoulder-to-shoulder with other media-type folks, many of them carrying cameras that could be used to bludgeon a marauding bear, I found myself almost ”“ almost ”“ enjoying myself, without being able to put my finger on why. I was covering a three-hour hearing and forgot to leave a trail of bread crumbs to the parking garage, so by all rights the experience should have stunk out loud.

It was while lining up a shot with the Nikon that I realized why I didn’t feel like beating myself about the forehead with a wooden cooking spoon. One of the defendants was locked in my viewfinder when it occurred to me that it was my vantage point, standing just behind the jury box, that was allowing me such a clean shot. Normally, getting a decent angle on a defendant is a harrowing experience, outshadowed only by long prison terms and “Dancing With the Stars.”

That’s because I normally shoot at York County Superior Court in Alfred, which has become more strict in where it allows media to stand. To be fair, that may be a decision the judge makes. And even if it’s a court-wide policy, I’m sure they have their reasons: Unruly TV news anchors shouting profanities during testimony, flatulent print reporters, that kind of thing. But lately they’ve been sticking us in the pews behind the action, prime seating for viewing the bald spots on the backs of attorneys’ heads. (Yes, I’m aware of the irony.)

Print journalists simply writing notes aren’t the worse for wear, but the poor photographers and videographers, from that vantage point, are forced into one of two options: Grab footage of the pertinent parties as they’re making their way into the courtroom, or frame them from the back as they’re seated and wait for them to turn their head at just the right angle. The latter option is rather like swatting a fly. It requires quick reflexes and a knack for predicting how something (or someone) is going to move. Also, it usually results in a string of muttered profanities.

Such is the life of the newsroom shutterbug. And such is the reason why the Portland court was a breath of fresh air: From behind the jury box, I had a clear-cut, 90-degree angle to one of the defendants, and could snap profile shots until my lens was smoking. At that point, my job boils down to not dying or losing an arm through spontaneous leprosy.

It’s not the job of the courts to make things convenient for the media. But it’s a beautiful thing when it happens. Thank you, Cumberland County Superior Court, for not adding to the already considerable headache of covering legal proceedings. Now if only you could give me a nearby spot in which to park my stupid car.

— Jeff Lagasse is a staff writer and columnist for the Journal Tribune, and was born without a sense of direction. He can be contacted at 282-1535, Ext. 319, or at jlagasse@journaltribune.com.