TO-WIT: BOZOS THE CLOWNS
I don’t do a whole lot of litigation any more, certainly not as much as I used to, and while I don’t miss the way litigation gobbles up my time in huge bites, I do miss being in our courthouse. It is a grand place, with graceful, swooping arches, hand inlaid tile and mahogany wood lustered with a patina wearily reflective of the many years it has spent in service of the law.
Recently though I attended a morning hearing in that glorious place; the only meaningful result that came of it was that I was able to have lunch at Sans Merci, only a block away and my favorite downtown eatery. The plat du jour was “Dindone ala’ CuisineArt.” Its a delicacy for which I have always been a sucker, a quality quite essential to the task of consuming it.
As I sat myself down in a booth I noticed a long time friend and colleague come in; I waved him over to join me and the conversation immediately turned to the upcoming judicial election and his readily apparent consternation regarding its possible outcome.
Two colleagues are currently contending for one seat on the bench. One is experienced, honest, ethical, intelligent, well liked, kind, sensitive, savvy, knowledgeable and respected and the other one isn’t; he has appeared in court only once, unsuccessfully representing himself in an attempt to change his name to Attila.
No other judicial candidacy of memory has caused so much collegial consternation, never such a beating of breasts and a pulling out of hair; there hasn’t been so much renting of garments since our Bar Association’s last formal dinner dance.
Though he is clearly unqualified, I am not so disquieted by the prospect of his election. Sure, its nice to have judges who are capable but as long as the choice is left to a populace that so often disfavors shinola, we are from time to time going to be set upon by clowns. It has happened before, it will happen again, and no matter, the world still spins at (7.29 x 10−5 ) radians per SI second.
Take for instance the curious election of Shirley Ujest. Though deemed a bozo by her colleagues, she was elected and permanently assigned by a perspicacious president judge to family court where the odds of her making a disastrous decision were never more than fifty fifty.
Eventually perplexed by always being overturned, she decided the only way to ameliorate her shabby reversal rate was to get elected to the appellate court. To the jubilation of all, she was successful and never heard from again.
Then consider the brief transit and flaming descent of Bernard Phyph. A lawyer of loud mouth, little repute and way too much alcohol, he got himself elected by currying favor with the gun crowd. In tribute he decided to display his six shooter right next to his gavel at every hearing.
His career was sidetracked abruptly at his very first proceeding when in an alcoholic stupor he mistook his gun for his gavel and sustained a grievous head wound trying to open court. Obliged then to step down, he resumed his private practice where the damage to his frontal lobe was no impediment to the way he had always practiced law.
There are many other examples that clearly reveal how these seemingly catastrophic elections have a way of working out. So trust me on this one, try not to fret and keep your appeal forms handy. As history demonstrates, you’ll only need a few.
©2015, S. Sponte, Esq.