"You take a fight and if you win, you win, and if you lose, you lose," he said. "What have I got to lose? I'm 78 years old. I've been paying taxes for 60 years. You're going to pay taxes and you're going to die. Those are two things you're going to do. What can the judge do to me?"
He can put you in prison for nine years, a reporter said.
"No, he can't put me in here for nine years because I'm not going to live that long," Beavers said, laughing.
Some reporters were disappointed that he didn't testify in his own defense, but did they really expect him to take the stand? There's no percentage in it. The only thing he could do is what he did: Hope for a hung jury. And he didn't get it.
Since I've known him for years, I know when he's having fun. And he had fun in the lobby, playing the cool basso profundo, watching the reporters get all twitchy when he mentioned the magic word "Daley."
A few of them know him too, and understand the show, the defeated Beavers needing to win back some self-respect.
"Listen, I ain't got no regrets at all, you understand? I'll take my lumps, OK? Like I told them when they came and asked me about John Daley. I'm not a stool pigeon or will be. I'll take my lumps."
One of the legal reporters there, perhaps thrilled to be so close to such obvious machismo, talked to Beavers as if they were in some kind of old cop show.
"Did someone drop a dime on you?" the reporter asked.
"Man," Beavers said, laughing and ridiculing the guy. "Drop a dime? Don't bring me that s---! Come on!"