TO WIT: EVERYTHING THAT RISES
By my nature, I am an extremely private person, and I tend to harbor solitude like a squirrel gathers nuts. Perhaps because I have so often been obliged to forego that singular pleasure to attend to a client’s arbitrary demand of service for fee, I now more than ever hold dear those moments when I am left blessedly alone to drift with my own peculiar current.
Accordingly, while I count myself as ambitious as most, I do not aspire to a seat on the Bench, for I cannot imagine a more goldfish-like existence than swimming in the Judiciary bowl. I relish neither public scrutiny nor personal power, and I abhor chicken dinners and fire halls. In addition, after so many years toil in the adversary arena, I do not believe I could withstand the artificial disciplines of civility, fairness and objectivity that the constraints of judicial temperament would impress upon my otherwise flagrantly biased psyche. No, no, no, I am an extremely private person, and I fully intend to keep all my foibles entirely to myself.
I now stand again reminded, though, that many of my colleagues do not share my opinion of rising aspirations. Our own Judicial District currently has two vacancies, one created by a stroke of the Legislature, the other by a stroke of the cerebrum, as a result of which 14 otherwise normal colleagues have broken from the pack to announce their candidacies. As a group, they no doubt represent a fair cross section of this, or any other, Bar. Some are possessed of intellect, others by the lack thereof, some are of good and reasonable judgement, some catastrophically myopic, some can listen, others prefer to be heard. All, however, are distinguished, a few by virtue of years of workmanlike service to and achievement in the profession, the others by their uniform lack of any basis upon which to lay claim to the job.
While it is practically impossible to predict with any degree of accuracy what king of Judge a lawyer may make post hoc ascendente, a certain foretelling is possible from the campaign slogan by which a candidate chooses to expose himself to the public. A number of years ago, one candidate, a particularly frivolous little assistant district attorney, sought a hard line prosecutorial motto to convey his own predilections to a certain constituency. Persuaded by close advisors that his first choice, “Death to Streetwalkers”, was a little heavy handed, and if pursued would deprive some of the party faithful of family, he chose instead “Get the Criminal Off the Street – Put On The Bench.” He was elected, and for years thereafter, it was his wont to demand a pre-sentencing report on every litigant found guilty of contributory negligence.
Experience with criminals and criminal law has become a very definite asset these days for promoting a judicial campaign, and that no doubt accounts for the recent rise in the number of candidacies of assistant district attorneys, public defenders and legislative assistants. It is quite common now for every candidate to use some form of the “slam the jailhouse door” gambit to create an issue the electorate can masticate upon over dinner. Even those whose distinguished careers have kept them almost exclusively within the confines of a civil practice feel thus inclined to rail against misfits, miscreants, malfeasants and liberal judges. One candidate in the current campaign, however, boldly intended to build his run around his years of excellent service as a civil practitioner, but his attempt to boor brimstone for the present vogue appears to be a failure. To date, he has failed to generate much interest with his campaign theme, “Never Give A Tortfeasor An Even Break.”
When the various candidates are through stressing their intellect, temperament, experience, ability, fairness and maniacal hatred of criminals, the voters will make their choice on the basis of religion, nationality, sex, acquaintanceship, or, mercifully and supremely rare, the similarity of the candidate’s name to that of another person the public knows and loves. Some of the candidates then will be left with the responsibility of delivering justice, settling disputes and bringing order to the disarrayed lives of ordinary people. Others, being obliged to give up their practice, will move on to the Bench.
In truth it seems an odd job for a lawyer. The hours are long and unpredictable, the pay horrendous, the rewards imperceivable, the abuse manifold and the prestige seriously eroded. Any lawyer who desires to work under those conditions ought just as well stay put and at least avoid the plethora of fowl dinners.
For my part, from those elected I no longer expect miracles. I do not expect Learned Hands, not even Dancing Feet. I’ll support any candidate who is competent, honest, fair and willing to acknowledge that my argument is generally superior to that of my opponent. Oh, I know, I know, some will no doubt criticize that my notion of the qualifications for judicial office is shortsighted and selfish, and that it hardly encourages the impartial administration of justice. Well, while I have no ambition to be a judge, I work hard, and I am ambitious and clever, and by all rights I should win every case I take. Though some may disagree, to me, that’s justice.
Copyright 1981 – S. Sponte, Esq.