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 here
was a time long ago when I believed that all lawyers were smart
and honest, and that all judges were wise and fair.
Then I became a cop. Viewed through the lens of two decades as a
policeman, those beliefs now seem as rational as my childhood belief
in the Tooth Fairy. Today, I know that a lawyer is just a person
who went to law school, and that a judge is just a person who went
to law school and later gave money to the governor for the privilege
of wearing a black dress.
In a Doonesbury cartoon from the waning days of the Cold War, Garry
Trudeau depicts an Army general testifying before a Senate committee
on the possible aftermath of a nuclear exchange with the Soviet
Union. "And you really believe, General," says a senator, "that
following an all-out nuclear attack, 60 percent of our economy could
rebuilt within two years?" "That's right, Senator," replies the
general. "Unless, of course, a disproportionate number of lawyers
survive."
The Soviet menace may have faded into the history of another era,
but the American legal profession, with its standing army of some
half-million attorneys, presents as grave a threat to western civilization
as has ever existed. For proof of this, I recommend to the strong
of heart a visit to Overlawyered.com,
a website that will at once amuse, bemuse, and horrify.
Two or three times each month, the site presents synopses of cases
culled from newspapers and sources on the Internet. A handful of
examples, selected at random from the past few months, illustrate
the danger posed by briefcase-bearing barristers to the continued
advancement of society:
A
federal judge ruled that a woman dismissed from her job due to her
belligerent attitude had a right to sue her employer under the Americans
with Disabilities Act. Given her "evidence linking her behavior
to symptoms of her mental disability," the judge ruled, a jury must
be allowed to consider her claim for damages under the ADA.
The Ohio Civil Rights Commission supported the claim of a West
Toledo woman against a local comedy club for failing to provide
a sign-language interpreter at one of its shows.
An adult man is suing the hospital where he was circumcised as
an infant, claiming the procedure was conducted without his consent,
and that it has resulted in an unsatisfactory sex life.
The city of West Hollywood, California has enacted an ordinance
that allows apartment dwellers to file complaints when tobacco
smoke drifts over from neighboring units. Offending smokers are
ordered to arbitration, and those who refuse run the risk of civil
fines and eviction.
A Pontiac, Michigan third-grader was suspended for bringing to
class a 1 ½-inch gun-shaped medallion in violation of a "zero-tolerance"
policy regarding weapons in school.
The city of Denver has agreed to pay $1.2 million to a teenager
who, while fleeing from a burglary, was shot by a police officer
after pointing a gun at him.
I should say at this point, in an effort to forestall an avalanche
of angry mail — if not a summons or two — that some of
my dearest and most cherished friends are members of the bar.
| “'Remember,
kid,' he said, 'any [jerk] can become a lawyer. And most
of them do.'” |
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Some
— though not many — are even criminal-defense attorneys.
When not actively engaged in the arena of conflict, there generally
reigns an atmosphere of relaxed bonhomie among the players in the
daily drama of the courtroom.
There are exceptions, of course.
I recall an incident of years ago, the mere recitation of which
is causing the Dunphy Irish to rise as I write the words. The occasion
was a preliminary hearing for a young man whom I had arrested for
possession of a controlled substance for sale, to wit, heroin, and
for being armed with a handgun at the time of the offense. A nasty
bit of business indeed. The defendant was represented by a particularly
odious defense attorney, one I most certainly did not count among
my dearest and most cherished friends. Perhaps you've seen his kind
on television. His courtroom livery was given to shiny suits and
cowboy boots, and on the day in question he was shod in a particularly
gaudy fashion. The boots were, as I learned through overhearing
a discussion on the matter among the attorneys, made of ostrich
skin.
I had not, until that day, expended much mental energy in the contemplation
of the fate of ostriches. The Lord gave man dominion over the animals,
but it seemed doubtful that He had in mind that one of His creatures
should be sacrificed so that this man might be the cock of the walk
in the Criminal Courts Building. Still, if poor taste had been his
gravest sin there would be no need in here telling the tale.
The case, I supposed, was about as open-and-shut as one will find,
and I expected that at the conclusion of the hearing the defendant
would accept a plea bargain and be packed off to prison where he
belonged. I testified to the facts of the arrest, then retired to
the hallway and waited while the defense presented its case. I'll
venture a bit of haughtiness here by saying that my reputation in
the courthouse was then and remains today one of unquestioned integrity:
When you've been nicked by Dunphy you've been well and properly
nicked.
So imagine my surprise when, at the close of the hearing, the defendant
strolled out of the courtroom just as free as you please, flipped
me the old bird, and strolled off to the elevator in the company
of several seedy-looking companions. In discussing the case with
the prosecutor, I learned that the defense had presented witnesses
who testified that in my zeal to nab the defendant I had committed
all manner of affronts to the Constitution, everything short of
quartering British soldiers in his home. The judge, in a display
of gullibility I found disturbing in a man of his position, went
for it hook, line, and gavel.
The "witnesses" the defense presented were not in truth witnesses
at all, for they had not even been present at the time I arrested
the defendant. That their accounts were orchestrated by the defense
attorney I cannot say with any degree of certainty, but the topic
was broached when I soon found myself in the elevator with none
other than Mr. Ostrich Boots, Esquire himself. Had the hearing been
held on a higher floor, or had we caught the local rather than the
express, our descent might have been of such duration that it conclude
with the learned counsel headed to the emergency room and Dunphy
to the cooler. But, as it turned out, all that occurred was a lively
dialog touching on such subjects as legal ethics, subornation of
perjury, and the proper footwear to be worn when appearing before
the court. I'm sure the disinterested onlookers with whom we shared
the car found the exchange most entertaining.
The incident put me in mind of a bit of wisdom bestowed on me by
one of my first training officers when, as a guileless rookie, I
had crossed paths with a similarly loathsome defense attorney. "Remember,
kid," he said, "any [jerk] can become a lawyer. And most of them
do."
(*Jack
Dunphy is the author's nom de cyber. The opinions expressed are
his own and almost certainly do not reflect those of the LAPD management
.)
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