My paralegal, Kathy, who was diagnosed with breast cancer 2 weeks ago, has gotten about the best news she can under the circumstances. The surgery was totally successful, and it was probably the stage which will require only moderate radiation treatment post-op. About time she catches a break. One of the strongest thing she has going for her is a loving husband who is a great source of positive attitude.
Tina, the crack lady, entered a plea yesterday. The District Judge and I had an on-the-record honest discussion about the necessity of rescinding her bond. If she got out again on bond and used drugs again (and it is probable that she would), the potential 6 year sentence I'm aiming for would real quick turn into a 14 year sentence. I told the judge that I'm really heartsick over this case. She commented that I have a good heart, which honestly embarassed me - and added that she has to think of the best result for the client and for society at large. Darn hard duty being a judge. I've often said that I disagreed with this or that decision that she has made, just as she's been peeved with me a time or two, but no one has ever heard or will ever hear me say that I think she has intentionally done the wrong thing.
Oh, in answer to my question, I told Tina very little about what could be coming, that there was sealed information in the file which could be trouble, but that the ramifications to not showing up would be devastating.
In our state bar newsletter today, there was an item that the state bar revoked the "Young Lawyer of the Year" award given a couple of months ago to a young fellow in an adjacent town, because he has been charged with embezzlement. I don't know this guy. I can argue this both ways. On the one hand, there is the presumption of innocence, which you would think an association of lawyers would respect. And there is the fact that this action focuses attention on what may turn out to be dishonorable conduct. But also, I think back to a similar situation in our local Boy Scout Council. A fellow who was awarded something called the Silver Beaver, which is a nice award to dedicated adult volunteers, was charged with and convicted of sexual misconduct with a kid at Scout camp. Basically, we treated him like the character from Last of the Mohicans, the Huron Reed-That-Bends. His name was unscrewed from the plaque at camp and deleted from the list of recipients, and he no longer has name or remembrance with us, and as far as we are concerned, he has dishonored us and never existed. So which way would you go? Ignore it, or make a big deal of rescinding it?
My partner has entered into a horrid conspiracy with my doctor, and I'm on a hopefully short leave, some time off-duty. So, another question - if you're not reading or working, how the hell do you go about having fun?
Mizpah!
R
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Oops, an ethical question, and a driving review
Tina, the woman who is charged with crack, got arrested by the Marshals this morning. She didn't show up to pre-trial services for a drug screen. This sucks in one sense, because she's going to be gone a long time, and the chances of a sentence less than the mandatory minimum just vanished. On the other hand, she'll be separated from the crack. The ethical question is this: Over the weekend, I received email from the Court scheduling a sentencing hearing for tomorrow, which is blindingly fast, and at the same time email to the effect that sealed documents had been put into the Court file. No dummy me, at least about this sort of stuff, I figured that something was cooking that was bad. So - should I have told her that something bad was about to happen and take the chance that she would not appear or even run and when caught catch a 20 year sentence, or not tell her even though I knew darn well that something bad was about to happen? I'm not going to disclose what I did - I'm curious what y'all think.
We went to B&N yesterday afternoon, and I drove La Elu's new car/truck/whatever-the-heck-it-is. It's a Chevy Equinox. Shhhhh - don't tell her I said so, but I hate driving it. There is absolutely no feedback from the controls, and it's loose and mushy. On the other hand, it may be just that I drive so few different vehicles these days. She likes it, and that's all that matters.
Crossed the 90 barrier today.
R
We went to B&N yesterday afternoon, and I drove La Elu's new car/truck/whatever-the-heck-it-is. It's a Chevy Equinox. Shhhhh - don't tell her I said so, but I hate driving it. There is absolutely no feedback from the controls, and it's loose and mushy. On the other hand, it may be just that I drive so few different vehicles these days. She likes it, and that's all that matters.
Crossed the 90 barrier today.
R
Friday, August 10, 2007
They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings. I am the Doubter and the Doubt, and I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
Thoughts on my day, about 3 people who's lives intersected with mine today.
Kathy, my paralegal, had her surgery this morning. Her husband (a brother) called me and reported that the doc said that she was "doing as well as can be expected." What does that mean? Why do all professionals (myself included) become all mealy-mouthed when talking about the people whose lives we touch? What's wrong with "She's OK," or "There's a problem," or something that's not a fucking cliche? She will have another surgery, minor by comparison, next week, to install a subclavian "port" for long-term administration of chemotherapy. This may sound corny as hell, but I'd MUCH rather that the doc (who is a friend of mine) was doing the cutting on me instead. Then at least I could DO SOMETHING. It's very difficult to stand helplessly on the sidelines. Kathy has been thrown into the maw of this impersonal medical machine monstrosity and will emerge, I hope, healthy but affected by the terrible experience. I almost said "scarred" by the experience, but I don't know that. Perhaps she will be able to make something constructive of this. Why does the body suddenly "decide" to start manufacturing cancer cells? Who decides? We can talk about decreasing the incidence of cancer (and other diseases) through preventive things, but that statistical phenomenon means NOTHING to the person whose turn it is to be the target.
My son Tim has been working a lot of hours at his rescue company. For the past couple of weeks, he's had a bad run of suicides. He came home a couple of mornings ago, and wanted to talk to me about a call he had during the night. A 30-something woman suicided by pills, mostly psychotropic stuff, a very nasty way to die. We talked the EMS-philosophy thing about getting some distance from the impact of the call. In "my day," we used to kid that the first thing you should do at a cardiac arrest is check your own pulse, because that gives you perspective. He also wanted to talk about the clinical decision to not "work the arrest." See? It's not whether this system attempts to save a PERSON, we talk about whether to address the THING. I'm very, very rusty on clinical stuff, but it was very clear to me from certain findings (that I will not inflict here) that they made the right choice to listen to Mr. Reality, call it a night, and call the medical examiner. Tim didn't tell me the deceased's name. And that was that, end of story. This morning, I got to No. 3 by 7:00, put on the coffee and sat down to read the paper. I always read it from back to front, because I figure that the comics will be the high point of most days. I got my usual chuckle out of Dilbert and Hagar, and felt good following the lives of my friends in For Better or For Worse. Then, toward the front of the paper was an obituary of a friend who died suddenly, a 30-something woman. I called Tim, and he was somewhat miffed that I woke him. You guessed it. She was a dear person, committed and caring and intelligent and funny. I last talked to her in Court a couple of months ago, and we had a pleasant if largely irrelevant chat. My God, what was going through her mind that night? What caused her to take scads of meds which put her through Hell before they killed her? Why didn't she call somebody, anybody? We weren't intimate friends, but I know 20 people me included who would have gone over to sit with her in a heartbeat. We are so damned cocky, me included, thinking that we have the power to eliminate pain in this world, but we don't, and good and worthwhile people have their lives swept away, and by this time next week, she will be a fading memory. She died alone and lonely. Think about that - not alone like when your family goes out shopping and you stay home, alone like there is NOBODY IN THE WORLD who gives a shit about you. Christ, I am so sad.
Then I drove down to a neighboring town to talk to a client, Tina, because she has absolutely no transportation. We met at a McDonald's, went over a plea agreement, signed it, and talked about what happens now. Her history is relevant for the sentencing, which will take place around November. We had talked before, and she filled in some gaps today. She was born into stunning poverty. At age 9 and for several years thereafter, her father habitually molested her. To escape, she got pregnant, left high school, and became addicted to booze and drugs. She had 3 children, who were taken from her by the Welfare Department over the years. To feed her drug habit, she became a prostitute. Along the way, she developed Type II diabetes, but because she has no medical insurance nor any way to get medical care, it is untreated and out of control. She described today symptoms which lead me to suspect that her vision is deteriorating and she is developing peripheral neuropathies. In recent years, she became addicted to crack. She was indicted for distribution of more than 50 grams of "cocaine base," i.e., crack. That's a lot of crack. With that drug quantity, she is looking at a mandatory minimum sentence of 10 years, and in the federal system if you get a 10 year sentence, you WILL serve 10 years, no parole. At least she will get medical care in prison. She wasn't a "drug dealer" in the movie-character sense, where they seem to drive BMW's, wear lots of jewelry and carry wads of cash. Normally, she took her "profit" in the form of a rock or two, plus a little cigarette money. She has existed in a life that you and I can scarcely imagine, one of hopelessness. Of course, we read about people who have "risen up", from poverty and drugs, and we piously condemn those who don't have the gumption or the character to do that. But that life is all that she has ever known.
I know that I'm pretty negative this evening, but that's the truth of what I'm feeling tonight.
R
Kathy, my paralegal, had her surgery this morning. Her husband (a brother) called me and reported that the doc said that she was "doing as well as can be expected." What does that mean? Why do all professionals (myself included) become all mealy-mouthed when talking about the people whose lives we touch? What's wrong with "She's OK," or "There's a problem," or something that's not a fucking cliche? She will have another surgery, minor by comparison, next week, to install a subclavian "port" for long-term administration of chemotherapy. This may sound corny as hell, but I'd MUCH rather that the doc (who is a friend of mine) was doing the cutting on me instead. Then at least I could DO SOMETHING. It's very difficult to stand helplessly on the sidelines. Kathy has been thrown into the maw of this impersonal medical machine monstrosity and will emerge, I hope, healthy but affected by the terrible experience. I almost said "scarred" by the experience, but I don't know that. Perhaps she will be able to make something constructive of this. Why does the body suddenly "decide" to start manufacturing cancer cells? Who decides? We can talk about decreasing the incidence of cancer (and other diseases) through preventive things, but that statistical phenomenon means NOTHING to the person whose turn it is to be the target.
My son Tim has been working a lot of hours at his rescue company. For the past couple of weeks, he's had a bad run of suicides. He came home a couple of mornings ago, and wanted to talk to me about a call he had during the night. A 30-something woman suicided by pills, mostly psychotropic stuff, a very nasty way to die. We talked the EMS-philosophy thing about getting some distance from the impact of the call. In "my day," we used to kid that the first thing you should do at a cardiac arrest is check your own pulse, because that gives you perspective. He also wanted to talk about the clinical decision to not "work the arrest." See? It's not whether this system attempts to save a PERSON, we talk about whether to address the THING. I'm very, very rusty on clinical stuff, but it was very clear to me from certain findings (that I will not inflict here) that they made the right choice to listen to Mr. Reality, call it a night, and call the medical examiner. Tim didn't tell me the deceased's name. And that was that, end of story. This morning, I got to No. 3 by 7:00, put on the coffee and sat down to read the paper. I always read it from back to front, because I figure that the comics will be the high point of most days. I got my usual chuckle out of Dilbert and Hagar, and felt good following the lives of my friends in For Better or For Worse. Then, toward the front of the paper was an obituary of a friend who died suddenly, a 30-something woman. I called Tim, and he was somewhat miffed that I woke him. You guessed it. She was a dear person, committed and caring and intelligent and funny. I last talked to her in Court a couple of months ago, and we had a pleasant if largely irrelevant chat. My God, what was going through her mind that night? What caused her to take scads of meds which put her through Hell before they killed her? Why didn't she call somebody, anybody? We weren't intimate friends, but I know 20 people me included who would have gone over to sit with her in a heartbeat. We are so damned cocky, me included, thinking that we have the power to eliminate pain in this world, but we don't, and good and worthwhile people have their lives swept away, and by this time next week, she will be a fading memory. She died alone and lonely. Think about that - not alone like when your family goes out shopping and you stay home, alone like there is NOBODY IN THE WORLD who gives a shit about you. Christ, I am so sad.
Then I drove down to a neighboring town to talk to a client, Tina, because she has absolutely no transportation. We met at a McDonald's, went over a plea agreement, signed it, and talked about what happens now. Her history is relevant for the sentencing, which will take place around November. We had talked before, and she filled in some gaps today. She was born into stunning poverty. At age 9 and for several years thereafter, her father habitually molested her. To escape, she got pregnant, left high school, and became addicted to booze and drugs. She had 3 children, who were taken from her by the Welfare Department over the years. To feed her drug habit, she became a prostitute. Along the way, she developed Type II diabetes, but because she has no medical insurance nor any way to get medical care, it is untreated and out of control. She described today symptoms which lead me to suspect that her vision is deteriorating and she is developing peripheral neuropathies. In recent years, she became addicted to crack. She was indicted for distribution of more than 50 grams of "cocaine base," i.e., crack. That's a lot of crack. With that drug quantity, she is looking at a mandatory minimum sentence of 10 years, and in the federal system if you get a 10 year sentence, you WILL serve 10 years, no parole. At least she will get medical care in prison. She wasn't a "drug dealer" in the movie-character sense, where they seem to drive BMW's, wear lots of jewelry and carry wads of cash. Normally, she took her "profit" in the form of a rock or two, plus a little cigarette money. She has existed in a life that you and I can scarcely imagine, one of hopelessness. Of course, we read about people who have "risen up", from poverty and drugs, and we piously condemn those who don't have the gumption or the character to do that. But that life is all that she has ever known.
I know that I'm pretty negative this evening, but that's the truth of what I'm feeling tonight.
R
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Justice, Just Us, and Slogging Through the Day
I donned my "Elu" cloak last night, and stole into the Shelf, and was accosted (kindly!) for not having blogged lately. Well, it's been busy and I've been frumpish. So, some random observations:
Things are really in turmoil here at No. 3. Kathy, my paralegal, was just diagnosed with breast cancer, so she's starting on that marathon with the health care system, beginning with surgery Friday. I'm very, very worried about her. Frankly, I don't know for sure how to support someone in that predicament. From the work end, it's easy, I've told her to take whatever time she needs, we'll cover things here and just do whatever it takes. (I know that big companies do leaves-of-absences & Family-Medical Leave Act status, but I will be damned before I start acting like them.) But from the personal end? I guess I need her to tell me what she needs, and I assume that those needs will change from day to day. Any extra help on requests to The Big Man Himself on her behalf is appreciated. Her husband is a brother, and I've told him that when he crashes (and he will) to call me and I'll go with him and watch him drink a beer. (Not drinking right now, more on that anon.)
This darn political campaign is a major pain in the ass. It's distracting my partner, the process is demeaning (what does marching in a parade have to do with making just judicial decisions?), I'm catching flak from the bar over the whole thing and my very close connection to two competing candidates, and let's face it, neither my buddy Dave nor Amy is going to win anyway. I have an uncanny ability to predict elections, and if that sounds cocky, so be it, I got the track record to back it up. One of the other candidates (4 way race) is going to top 40% and I'm open to bets based on that prediction. (The only betting I EVER do is on elections.) That woman has a fanatic work ethic, and is leaving everyone else in the dust, and she won't slack off a bit until the primary.
My son Tim was in the local paper today in a little feature called "ordinary people," as he was out working at his (my old) rescue company at a public function. That's a nice thing. He's a good kid. Oh, and Rox, he's taking the paramedic class this year.
La Elu's car crapped out for good Monday, RIP, so she went and bought a Chevy "Equinox." Funny name, unusual vehicle, a cross between a mini-van and SUV. As for me, my Audi's got 120K miles on it, and it's good for 200K anyway, so I'll not be in the market for a car for a long time. I'm not always attentive to details, but I'm fanatic about taking care of my vehicles.
I've been asked what 3 books I'm waiting for that are just published: In At The Death, by Harry Turtledove - the 11th and mercifully last installment of a looonnngggg alternate history series; The Aftermath (Book Four of the Asteroid Wars) by Ben Bova; and Wheel of Darkness, by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child, the latest installment in yet another themed series of novels. I've also ordered Wayne Dyer's new book, even though I have misgivings because he has gone from nuts & bolts to spooks & smoke over the years. Let's see, and I'm waiting on Chuck Norris's new western. I just finished an interpretation of TR's writings & speeches by a guy names Strock, and I sent it over to JC in Baltimore - I'll be interested in what tracks she leaves in the book, compared to the ones that I left. I always read with a highlighter in my pocket, I'm a track-leaver in books, and sometimes it looks like I walked through them with a whiffinpoof. (If you don't know what that is, ask Pete.)
Doreen's recent blog about writing was really great. If you haven't looked at it, you oughta.
I've alluded to a distracting major personal project. Many months ago, I blogged about my morbid obesity. I explained that I was waiting for some ineffable quality or spirit to come into my mind which would fix it. Well, I guess I got tired of waiting, or the gremlin caught up with me or God moves in mysterious ways or there are spooks & smoke at work or something. Beginning in March, I have been attacking the weight as hard as the biochemistry and physics of the situation permits. Last night, I walked past the 80 pounds-lost mark. I’ve a long way to go. So I’m “humming a little cowboy song and walking ahead at a scout’s pace.” I'm journaling a lot about this experience, because I cannot forget where I've been and how bad it is/was.
I impressed myself yesterday. I was assigned a new serious drug case on Monday, and there was a hearing set for Tuesday. I got the whole thing resolved VERY favorably for the new client because I have an excellent working relationship with the involved police & prosecutors. Won't make much of a fee, though, but that's just life.
TR is looking at me from behind my desk, so I'd better go tend to business.
Mizpah!
R
Things are really in turmoil here at No. 3. Kathy, my paralegal, was just diagnosed with breast cancer, so she's starting on that marathon with the health care system, beginning with surgery Friday. I'm very, very worried about her. Frankly, I don't know for sure how to support someone in that predicament. From the work end, it's easy, I've told her to take whatever time she needs, we'll cover things here and just do whatever it takes. (I know that big companies do leaves-of-absences & Family-Medical Leave Act status, but I will be damned before I start acting like them.) But from the personal end? I guess I need her to tell me what she needs, and I assume that those needs will change from day to day. Any extra help on requests to The Big Man Himself on her behalf is appreciated. Her husband is a brother, and I've told him that when he crashes (and he will) to call me and I'll go with him and watch him drink a beer. (Not drinking right now, more on that anon.)
This darn political campaign is a major pain in the ass. It's distracting my partner, the process is demeaning (what does marching in a parade have to do with making just judicial decisions?), I'm catching flak from the bar over the whole thing and my very close connection to two competing candidates, and let's face it, neither my buddy Dave nor Amy is going to win anyway. I have an uncanny ability to predict elections, and if that sounds cocky, so be it, I got the track record to back it up. One of the other candidates (4 way race) is going to top 40% and I'm open to bets based on that prediction. (The only betting I EVER do is on elections.) That woman has a fanatic work ethic, and is leaving everyone else in the dust, and she won't slack off a bit until the primary.
My son Tim was in the local paper today in a little feature called "ordinary people," as he was out working at his (my old) rescue company at a public function. That's a nice thing. He's a good kid. Oh, and Rox, he's taking the paramedic class this year.
La Elu's car crapped out for good Monday, RIP, so she went and bought a Chevy "Equinox." Funny name, unusual vehicle, a cross between a mini-van and SUV. As for me, my Audi's got 120K miles on it, and it's good for 200K anyway, so I'll not be in the market for a car for a long time. I'm not always attentive to details, but I'm fanatic about taking care of my vehicles.
I've been asked what 3 books I'm waiting for that are just published: In At The Death, by Harry Turtledove - the 11th and mercifully last installment of a looonnngggg alternate history series; The Aftermath (Book Four of the Asteroid Wars) by Ben Bova; and Wheel of Darkness, by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child, the latest installment in yet another themed series of novels. I've also ordered Wayne Dyer's new book, even though I have misgivings because he has gone from nuts & bolts to spooks & smoke over the years. Let's see, and I'm waiting on Chuck Norris's new western. I just finished an interpretation of TR's writings & speeches by a guy names Strock, and I sent it over to JC in Baltimore - I'll be interested in what tracks she leaves in the book, compared to the ones that I left. I always read with a highlighter in my pocket, I'm a track-leaver in books, and sometimes it looks like I walked through them with a whiffinpoof. (If you don't know what that is, ask Pete.)
Doreen's recent blog about writing was really great. If you haven't looked at it, you oughta.
I've alluded to a distracting major personal project. Many months ago, I blogged about my morbid obesity. I explained that I was waiting for some ineffable quality or spirit to come into my mind which would fix it. Well, I guess I got tired of waiting, or the gremlin caught up with me or God moves in mysterious ways or there are spooks & smoke at work or something. Beginning in March, I have been attacking the weight as hard as the biochemistry and physics of the situation permits. Last night, I walked past the 80 pounds-lost mark. I’ve a long way to go. So I’m “humming a little cowboy song and walking ahead at a scout’s pace.” I'm journaling a lot about this experience, because I cannot forget where I've been and how bad it is/was.
I impressed myself yesterday. I was assigned a new serious drug case on Monday, and there was a hearing set for Tuesday. I got the whole thing resolved VERY favorably for the new client because I have an excellent working relationship with the involved police & prosecutors. Won't make much of a fee, though, but that's just life.
TR is looking at me from behind my desk, so I'd better go tend to business.
Mizpah!
R
Friday, July 20, 2007
Observations on the fringe of Harry Potter and feeling pretty good
I took my mother to Barnes & Noble this afternoon. She's 84, very healthy, and a constant reader. This is a relatively rural area. The opening of a B&N 25 miles from our homes was a pretty big deal. (After B&N opened, Amazon started sending me get-well cards.) In any event, it's always a treat to go there, scout out the books, buy a new magazine I've never tried before (today it was Wild West, I told you I have plebian tastes), and suck up some decent coffee while my mom shops. The parking lot was crowded, and so was the store, including a few leftover people in peculiar clothing which I assume is connected to celebrating the release of the new Harry Potter book. These revelers were a good-natured bunch, and so I'm inclined to doubt the extreme fundamentalist Christian view that J. K. Rowling is an incarnation of Old Scratch himself. I could be wrong, Old Scratch is a devious fellow.
I'm at No. 3 Equity Court, because I didn't have a working computer for the past couple of days, while "Rob" fixed it. No, I don't know what was wrong. It was broken. He fixed it. Point of the spear, that's what counts.
I got a compliment I honestly appreciated yesterday. I was in Federal District Court for a status conference on a criminal case. In that case, my client asked months ago for a new lawyer, and that motion was heard last week, and denied by the Magistrate Judge. After the hearing today, the District Judge (who I had cases against when she was a practicing lawyer) popped back into the Courtroom for something or other, and asked how I was getting along with my client. I told her that I'm getting along with the client great, that her motion was made at a frustrating time when she was going into drug rehab and was in need of extra TLC by me, but I was going quickly out of service on medical leave at the time, and I wasn't there as much as she needed me. The Judge commented that she figured it was something like that, because she'd never known me not to get along with my clients. Hey, I'll take the reputation of being a workmanlike decent human being over being known as a brilliant asshole any day of the week. I don't know how the Courts work in the bigger cities, but it's all very clubby in the small towns of West Virginia.
The rough and ineffectual insults which have percolated on the community blog lately are not distressing, they are merely pointless. The physical world has plenty of distress in it, why honor it here?
Three new books I've been anxiously waiting for are being released over the next six weeks.
Tomorrow - No. 3 Equity Court will be buzzing. Or, at least, I'll be here and busy.
Mizpah.
R
I'm at No. 3 Equity Court, because I didn't have a working computer for the past couple of days, while "Rob" fixed it. No, I don't know what was wrong. It was broken. He fixed it. Point of the spear, that's what counts.
I got a compliment I honestly appreciated yesterday. I was in Federal District Court for a status conference on a criminal case. In that case, my client asked months ago for a new lawyer, and that motion was heard last week, and denied by the Magistrate Judge. After the hearing today, the District Judge (who I had cases against when she was a practicing lawyer) popped back into the Courtroom for something or other, and asked how I was getting along with my client. I told her that I'm getting along with the client great, that her motion was made at a frustrating time when she was going into drug rehab and was in need of extra TLC by me, but I was going quickly out of service on medical leave at the time, and I wasn't there as much as she needed me. The Judge commented that she figured it was something like that, because she'd never known me not to get along with my clients. Hey, I'll take the reputation of being a workmanlike decent human being over being known as a brilliant asshole any day of the week. I don't know how the Courts work in the bigger cities, but it's all very clubby in the small towns of West Virginia.
The rough and ineffectual insults which have percolated on the community blog lately are not distressing, they are merely pointless. The physical world has plenty of distress in it, why honor it here?
Three new books I've been anxiously waiting for are being released over the next six weeks.
Tomorrow - No. 3 Equity Court will be buzzing. Or, at least, I'll be here and busy.
Mizpah.
R
Monday, July 16, 2007
Oh, what a dandy f.ing fellow I am, and by the way this so-called Justice System is seriously broke.
I blogged in February about a domestic case that I’m doing “pro bono,” i.e., without charging a fee. I met my client when I was the volunteer domestic violence shelter lawyer at a domestic violence docket day in Family Court. Not a big deal, I get stuck doing that 3 or 4 times a year. This young mother had a domestic violence petition against a former boyfriend, and she told me a very sordid story based on having a pending Family Court case where he was seeking “joint parenting time” of her 9 year old son even though this guy is not the boy’s biological father. (Oh, but he is a convicted felon.) When she began hesitatingly to catalog a little of the history of abuse and her essentially disabling terror of the Courts, my purely self-aggrandizing so-called “noble instincts” kicked in, and I told her I’d do the Family Court petition case for her, too. What a wonderful human being I am. Great Caesar's Ghost, I'm a sanctimonious bastard, and it’s enough to make you sick.
I talked to this woman several times over the following few weeks. She didn’t trust me a hell of a lot, because nobody in a position of authority had ever really listened to her, and nobody had ever stood still while she dribbled out her story in a parade of non sequiturs. I think I know how to get clients relaxed and talking, and get the facts out of them, and it just takes time. Her story included a ton of sexual abuse, she was embarassed, and let’s face it, I’m not what you would call urbane and tactful, and she was just very uncomfortable telling this stuff to a guy. (I always had a woman representative of the local domestic violence shelter there when I talked with this client. That helped her comfort, my comfort, and gave me another brain to express ideas. I’m not proud, I’ll take suggestions wherever I can get them.) It was her fourth visit to me when she remembered to tell me about 3 nighttime break-in’s plus rapes that this guy had committed against her. And that was the milder stuff. This boyfriend was (is?) one sick puppy.
Doing this case was not a big damn deal. Now, if I stepped into an operating room and took out someone’s appendix, knowing only what I know now, I’d be worthy of some heavy-duty back-slapping. But doing a case? It’s just what I do. I planned it out before and during the first hearing (on Valentine’s Day, I love Family Court hearings on Valentine’s Day), and just followed the plan. Boring. Mind you, I did let the toxins flow during the hearing today, and the abuser left really smoking after the Judge ruled that he was an abuser, and would never have any contact, direct or indirect, with the boy or my client. I think I can safely count him among those who are less than friendly to me. But it’s still just a case. Besides, I piss people off one at a time, while the Judge pisses them off in droves, so he’s more liable to get ambushed than I am.
This woman was in a lot of danger without a lawyer. She hadn’t a clue what evidence was or how to present it. Common wisdom says that Judges collect every important fact, and then make wise rulings. That’s not what happens. They hear disjointed bits of evidence which tell darn little about the life stories of the people involved. They try to make sense of the evidence, get frustrated as hell, do the best they can with limited information and the good ones (this is a good one) then lose sleep and get ulcers. My client is on Social Security Disability, has zip for money, and without someone helping her gratis, she may have lost this case. The Judge couldn’t talk to her privately and find out the facts and determine what helped her case. He does 750 hearings a year, and can’t act as the advocate for 1500 people and, besides, he's not allowed to talk privately with "litigants." (Oh, the abuser was represented by a friend of mine who is a pretty good trial lawyer, and who thrives on aggression.)
What good things can you say about a system where the rich get good lawyers and the poor get dumped into a totally unfamiliar setting? What good things can you say about a system in which money is often the only thing that talks? This woman’s case was an exception, when access to the Courts should be the fucking rule. The monied interests are lying, cheating and stealing to convince the people to emasculate their advocates, to give more and more power to the judges (who are selected in one manner or another by monied interests - the exceptions are few) who by and large are conservative, money-protecting umpires, to convince the people to give away their rights to seek justice. Hell, we are afraid of the word, and I want to stand out on the front steps of the Courthouse and sermonize like a street evangelist that the building should be a place of Justice, where the right thing is always done. But too often the only fucking thing that matters is money. And in most cases (sometimes even in Family Court cases), the only justice I can get for people is money. I can’t fix their back injuries or erase any sorts of scars, I can’t make their spouses faithful, I can’t put love or light or acceptance back into their lives. Money. That’s how I spend most of my days, moving money around and piously taking my cut.
I had a fellow come in the office last week with a MAJOR criminal problem. I quoted him a “retainer” of “eighty-seven-fifty.” He thought that $87.50 was very reasonable for the services. He was the recipient of serious sticker-shock when I told him he misunderstood what I meant by the figure. I don’t have a clue where he went, or what has happened or will happen to him. I feel terrible about not helping him – but the landlord of No. 3 Equity Court doesn’t give me a break for being a dandy fellow. I’m downsizing the workers’ compensation practice because my ability to do those cases and make fees commensurate with the effort has gone down the tubes. I’m turning away several comp cases every week. I temporize with these people about how I “just can’t help you now-a-days like I used to be able to, blame the Legislature, not me” but I’m as much a slave of money as the lowest, meanest whore on the streets.
Like the old Don himself, I’m finding that the windmills are just beating Hell out of me. It’s not fun, and God’s going to have to punch my ticket before I’m off duty.
So, how was your day?
Mizpah.
R
I talked to this woman several times over the following few weeks. She didn’t trust me a hell of a lot, because nobody in a position of authority had ever really listened to her, and nobody had ever stood still while she dribbled out her story in a parade of non sequiturs. I think I know how to get clients relaxed and talking, and get the facts out of them, and it just takes time. Her story included a ton of sexual abuse, she was embarassed, and let’s face it, I’m not what you would call urbane and tactful, and she was just very uncomfortable telling this stuff to a guy. (I always had a woman representative of the local domestic violence shelter there when I talked with this client. That helped her comfort, my comfort, and gave me another brain to express ideas. I’m not proud, I’ll take suggestions wherever I can get them.) It was her fourth visit to me when she remembered to tell me about 3 nighttime break-in’s plus rapes that this guy had committed against her. And that was the milder stuff. This boyfriend was (is?) one sick puppy.
Doing this case was not a big damn deal. Now, if I stepped into an operating room and took out someone’s appendix, knowing only what I know now, I’d be worthy of some heavy-duty back-slapping. But doing a case? It’s just what I do. I planned it out before and during the first hearing (on Valentine’s Day, I love Family Court hearings on Valentine’s Day), and just followed the plan. Boring. Mind you, I did let the toxins flow during the hearing today, and the abuser left really smoking after the Judge ruled that he was an abuser, and would never have any contact, direct or indirect, with the boy or my client. I think I can safely count him among those who are less than friendly to me. But it’s still just a case. Besides, I piss people off one at a time, while the Judge pisses them off in droves, so he’s more liable to get ambushed than I am.
This woman was in a lot of danger without a lawyer. She hadn’t a clue what evidence was or how to present it. Common wisdom says that Judges collect every important fact, and then make wise rulings. That’s not what happens. They hear disjointed bits of evidence which tell darn little about the life stories of the people involved. They try to make sense of the evidence, get frustrated as hell, do the best they can with limited information and the good ones (this is a good one) then lose sleep and get ulcers. My client is on Social Security Disability, has zip for money, and without someone helping her gratis, she may have lost this case. The Judge couldn’t talk to her privately and find out the facts and determine what helped her case. He does 750 hearings a year, and can’t act as the advocate for 1500 people and, besides, he's not allowed to talk privately with "litigants." (Oh, the abuser was represented by a friend of mine who is a pretty good trial lawyer, and who thrives on aggression.)
What good things can you say about a system where the rich get good lawyers and the poor get dumped into a totally unfamiliar setting? What good things can you say about a system in which money is often the only thing that talks? This woman’s case was an exception, when access to the Courts should be the fucking rule. The monied interests are lying, cheating and stealing to convince the people to emasculate their advocates, to give more and more power to the judges (who are selected in one manner or another by monied interests - the exceptions are few) who by and large are conservative, money-protecting umpires, to convince the people to give away their rights to seek justice. Hell, we are afraid of the word, and I want to stand out on the front steps of the Courthouse and sermonize like a street evangelist that the building should be a place of Justice, where the right thing is always done. But too often the only fucking thing that matters is money. And in most cases (sometimes even in Family Court cases), the only justice I can get for people is money. I can’t fix their back injuries or erase any sorts of scars, I can’t make their spouses faithful, I can’t put love or light or acceptance back into their lives. Money. That’s how I spend most of my days, moving money around and piously taking my cut.
I had a fellow come in the office last week with a MAJOR criminal problem. I quoted him a “retainer” of “eighty-seven-fifty.” He thought that $87.50 was very reasonable for the services. He was the recipient of serious sticker-shock when I told him he misunderstood what I meant by the figure. I don’t have a clue where he went, or what has happened or will happen to him. I feel terrible about not helping him – but the landlord of No. 3 Equity Court doesn’t give me a break for being a dandy fellow. I’m downsizing the workers’ compensation practice because my ability to do those cases and make fees commensurate with the effort has gone down the tubes. I’m turning away several comp cases every week. I temporize with these people about how I “just can’t help you now-a-days like I used to be able to, blame the Legislature, not me” but I’m as much a slave of money as the lowest, meanest whore on the streets.
Like the old Don himself, I’m finding that the windmills are just beating Hell out of me. It’s not fun, and God’s going to have to punch my ticket before I’m off duty.
So, how was your day?
Mizpah.
R
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I'm tired, I'm grumpy and Amazon parrots should be in the Amazon
Today was a couple of weeks long.
Among other things, I went to a home to do a mortgage signing for DiTech. They are killing local banks on interest rates, and are offering fixed rates. Great Caesar's Ghost, in reading those words, I see that I've been taking money from the corporate King for his enslavement of people. Shit. I'm a hypocrite. Dammit, how could I have missed this?
Anyway, this was the home of a mine fire boss. That's a very responsible management position in charge of safety. He works 6 days a week, 12 hours a day. In the home, there is a large-ish bird cage, and in that cage is an Amazon parrot. That disturbs me a lot. The bird shouldn't be in a cage in West Virginia, he should be in his natural habitat. Again, perhaps I'm a hypocrite, what with having two indoor cats (one of whom was with me when I lived alone, also an indoor cat then.)
My son had a minor injury in an ambulance incident a couple of days ago. He's black and blue all over. (Basically, an idiot cut off the ambulance which was hauling ass with a patient, and the driver dropped the hooks.) Welcome to what was my world, Tim. He's sanguine about it, and we've discussed why I told him to favor sitting in the backward facing seat. Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgment.
Yours in flaming hypocrisy,
R
Among other things, I went to a home to do a mortgage signing for DiTech. They are killing local banks on interest rates, and are offering fixed rates. Great Caesar's Ghost, in reading those words, I see that I've been taking money from the corporate King for his enslavement of people. Shit. I'm a hypocrite. Dammit, how could I have missed this?
Anyway, this was the home of a mine fire boss. That's a very responsible management position in charge of safety. He works 6 days a week, 12 hours a day. In the home, there is a large-ish bird cage, and in that cage is an Amazon parrot. That disturbs me a lot. The bird shouldn't be in a cage in West Virginia, he should be in his natural habitat. Again, perhaps I'm a hypocrite, what with having two indoor cats (one of whom was with me when I lived alone, also an indoor cat then.)
My son had a minor injury in an ambulance incident a couple of days ago. He's black and blue all over. (Basically, an idiot cut off the ambulance which was hauling ass with a patient, and the driver dropped the hooks.) Welcome to what was my world, Tim. He's sanguine about it, and we've discussed why I told him to favor sitting in the backward facing seat. Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgment.
Yours in flaming hypocrisy,
R
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
