This article really brought back some memories of my days in court.
I've known some odd lawyers and judges in my day. So many of them have quirks that are either charming or repulsive, and one wonders sometimes -- particularly in the case of judges -- how the hell they ever made it to the bench. Sometimes "smart" really does mean "weird as hell," but that is not to say that all the weird ones were even that smart. If ya know what I mean.
Not long ago, I had a chat with one of the med students, who said to me, "I feel like judges are like the surgeons of the legal world. They've made it."
Ah, youth.
Inside I was laughing my ass off, trying not to snort, and was thinking thoughts of My Cousin Vinnie when I looked at him and said, "Yeah. Well, maybe not always so much," and I went on to 'splain: Probably more often than not, what he said is true. But more times than we'd like to know about, it's just a matter of who you know and how much money you have, where you went to school, what political favors you are owed, and the same-old-same-old that happens in every other aspect of life.
And I guess one's weird quirks, or even the fact that one's law practice to this point requires the newly appointed judge to Mapquest how to get to the courthouse because the last time he's seen the inside of a courtroom was in his swearing-in ceremony, do not necessarily negate the fact that one might be qualified and could even turn out to be a great judge. But as someone who sat in court for all those years, I have often wondered WTF?
The article about the attire that I linked above brought back memories of one judge I worked with for many years. He was a very nice man -- as far as I could tell, a devoted father and husband -- and if you'd see him at a party, he was Mr. Affability. But in the workplace, he could not have been more stuffy, stiff, and weird. Behind his back, people referred to him as "Chuckles," in the most ironical way. He often turned his chair backwards while he was on the bench, and people thought he was sleeping (in fact, we are sure he was sleeping at least once or twice or a couple of dozen times). He said that was how he thought. There would often be these incredibly uncomfortable and long and awkward pauses when he was asked a question. Or he might seemingly be in this sort of half-sleep, or daydreaming or whatever, and then abruptly do or say something that was totally bizarre. One time when I was in his courtroom, right in the middle of an attorney's opening statement to the jury -- which is one of those really crucial times in a lawyer's presentation, duh -- this judge sort of barked out, "Counsel, approach the bench."
Approaching the bench is this sort of solemn and relatively rare moment meant to be used for something quite unusual. The at-the-bench proceedings were on the record in those days (who knows what happens now, since they hardly use court reporters in court anymore, but tape recorders), and I'd have to jump up and make my steno machine tall on its tripod, and stand next to the bench to take down the whispered conversation. It was stuff that was meant to be outside the hearing of the jury, the parties, and other people in the courtroom. Often it was to do with rules of procedure or some big juicy Perry Mason moment where somebody had just, or was about to, spill the major beans in violation of the rules or some ruling that had been made previously. Or it could be something like the judge had noticed that one of the jurors or one of the attorneys was asleep, or the defendant was making eyes at one of the jurors, he saw someone pass a note to someone else -- or who knows what it might have been. It was usually something quite adrenaline-inducing, at least for me.
In this one bizarre instance, the judge said to the public defender, "Your top button is not buttoned."
Seriously. The attorney to whom he was speaking was a cute, charming, but incredibly shy and bumbling, and not terribly nattily dressed, public defender. He was usually tugging at his clothing and tucking in his shirt and fidgeting while he was speaking, and never quite getting at looking neat and unrumpled, but he was definitely within the bounds of proper dress for the courtroom at all times. From my perspective as the court reporter, if he only could have completed a full sentence, we'd have been golden. I never did know how to punctuate that poor guy. The dash key was used more in his transcripts than any other lawyer I've ever known. I admittedly did want to strangle him on more than one occasion.
But to interrupt the poor guy in the middle of his opening statement in a criminal case to tell him the top button of his shirt, under his tie, was not buttoned?
One of the more bizarre moments in the history of the courtroom, if I do say. Even the State's Attorney who, in moments of a trial in a criminal case, was the mortal enemy of this public defender, met my eyes with a bemused look that said, "Did that really just happen?"
Yes, indeed, it did.
As did this incident, involving the same judge, different attorney:
Traditionally on the opening day of the term in the county court, all attorneys who practice in that court came together for the Call of the Docket -- all the cases expected to be addressed that term are called, lawyers say, "Yes, your Honor, that is my case and we will be ready for trial on such-and-such a date," or something of that ilk. And, well, mostly it's a waste of time. The most I can say for it is it was an easy day for me three or four times a year, and I got to have a fun social day with every attorney and his brother and sister.
Well, one year one of the attorneys had broken his toe and wore flip-flops on his feet with his bespoke suit. It was the same Judge Chuckles presiding that term. The attorney was called to the bench and chastised about his disrespectful attire.
The attorney said, "I apologize, your Honor. I'll try not to break my toe in the future." (To be fair to the judge, the attorney had not told anyone that the reason he was wearing flip-flops was because he had a broken toe, and if he had, I'm quite sure that even Judge Chuckles would have forgiven him his transgression.)
Being a guy quite heavy on The Grand Gesture, this attorney went home during the lunch hour and appeared in the afternoon session in his $250 wing tips, the front half of one of the shoes cut out.
The memory still sends me into fits of snorts and giggles.
Ah, we did have fun.
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